The father I knew is dead ... sort of.

Ikari_Gendo · Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2008 6:18 pm Post subject:

I spent a week in the house that I swore I would never go back to.

I was psychologically abused by my father to a point where I was treated for post-traumatic stress disorder. I struggle with contact with people, and have little to no luck with relationships. About 10 years ago, I was visiting my parents when I got into an argument with my father which was the final straw. I told my mother that I would not be coming home again, and she understood why.

Recently, Mom needed her knee replaced and had to be hospitalized, and had trouble taking care of things after that. The biggest thing she had trouble with was Dad.

Dad's mind has been drifting away since I was in high school, back in the 1980's. Ideas crystallize in his mind, and no matter how the world changes around him, these facts remain true. When he was in college, there were formal dances every Friday night. When I was in college and said that I was having trouble meeting women, he told me to go to the formal dances. When I told him they don't do that any more, he called me a liar to my face. This is a typical sample of my interactions with my father.

His health has been in decline for several years. He has high blood pressure, diabetes, heart trouble, and other problems. In March he had the flu and was near death. He recovered physically, but his mind is gone. He cannot transfer information between short, middle and long term memory. I agreed to take care of him out of love of my mother, and found I was babysitting a 5-year-old in the body of an 80 year old man. He wants snacks. I tell him his blood sugar is high and he can't have them. He asks about things. He wants to know about my job. I tell him that my department got laid off. He needs to go to the bed, but first he has to take his medicine. And he has to have a glass of water. And he has to go to the bathroom. And he wants a snack. And he wants to talk ramblingly and disjointedly about something. And he wants to argue about whether it's bedtime.

The worst part is that I want to hate him. I want to be angry at the man who spent decades abusing me.... but i can't.

He's not home.

In his place is an empty shell of a man who can't remember that I graduated high school and that my sister is married and that he has a granddaughter who's going into the 5th grade in the fall.

I don't even know what to feel.

Thank you for listening to my rant.