Cork

In the meantime, the cork that is Dad rode his own tide. He stayed with me, one on one, over Easter weekend. I cooked for him, fussed over him, fit him into the fabric of my life while Himself and The Boy visited the in-laws. He spent a couple nights with my brother before coming back to my house. My brother and I had to face telling him how dire his wife's condition was, and hope he understood us. He went to my brother's for a week once Mom stabilized, while my family - guilt-wracked - left for a vacation long in the planning. 

When we returned, we agreed - he would stay with me and we would have a day-time caregiver to stay with him while we worked. He would no longer be bounced from house to house, living from a duffel bag. Our first day back from vacation was a flurry of laundry, setting up the guest room, settling him into it, and folding him into our daily lives. I made him breakfast each morning before work while we waited for his caregiver. We had coffee together and every day he asked: "When's Ma coming home? Are we going to see her today? Do you have to work today?" to which I answered, every day: "I don't know, yes we are and yes I do." Because I am only 15 minutes from the rehab, we took him in to see her most every evening.

It was perfect. It lasted a week. 

One night, visiting Mom with my brother, his wife and my Dad I watched as if in slow motion as Dad slid down the wall of her room to collapse on the floor, unconscious. He folded like someone removed his bones - ankles, knees, waist - saved from slumping on the floor headfirst by my brother, standing closest.  Paramedics were called, we tried the usual stroke tests, and he was bundled off to the ER (two blocks away) while Mom looked on helplessly from her bed, and my brother & I wondered if it was another stroke.

It was dehydration - he hates being nagged to drink more water, and yet that simple thing led to so much more...complexity...in our world.  He was admitted for observation and an MRI. In the meantime, they found he'd broken his ankle when he fell.

My house has guest quarters and bathing facilities on the second floor only. Ditto my brother's. We made due for a weekend with a twin bed in the dining room before getting services aligned that would allow us to take Dad back to his own home, one level, with a live-in caregiver.

It's been a mixed bag. Dad hasn't the coordination or upper body strength for a walker or crutches, so he's confined to a wheelchair for mobility. He can't remember how he broke his ankle, and that frustrates him sometimes.  Having him back at his own house makes it harder to get him to see Mom - I can't manage his mass if he falls, and so we wait for when Himself or my brother to be available.  It's 40 minutes from our house to his, time to get him out of the house, load him up, then 30 minutes back up to see Mom, an hour visit, 30 minutes back to his house, 40 minutes back home for us.

The first week, he managed to call my house a couple afternoons before I got home from work. He'd ask The Boy, "Is anyone going to see Grandma today? Are they going to take me, too?"  It was heart breaking.  He asks less, now. We think that her being out of the house is his new normal, that he's adapting to it. We always thought he'd just fade away without her, but maybe we were wrong.  Maybe he's more resilient than we gave him credit for...or maybe it's just the way his memory works now.