Inertia

Time moves forward, but inertia holds things in place. We stand at the brink of changes in our lives, knowing we need to step off the cliff and yet...we can't.

Inertia. 

Mom continues in the rehab facility, but has been discharged from the therapy program for "failure to make functional progress". 

Change. 

We face the challenge of finding a place to move her to that can meet her needs, and is in some reasonable proximity to my brother and I.

Inertia. 

Dad continues at home under the watchful (and very patient) care of Henry, his live-in care giver.

Change. 

Dad is becoming hostile and antagonistic towards Henry. We wonder if we need to change over to a female care giver to eliminate the antagonism.

Interactions with either of them have become even more draining. He still asks if she'll be back home in a few days. She still talks as though she can come straight home, ignoring her inability to do something so simple as transfer from a bed to a wheelchair. 

We have become the parents, but more than that. We've become the doomsayers of their lives. We must try to make them understand truths that are more than uncomfortable. Rather, they are truths that are heartbreaking, all the more so for having to say them often and in different words, on different days, with differing amounts of understanding on their part each time.

Why do we stand so still on the edge of this cliff? Is it, perhaps, that we are as yet unwilling to take that step that finalizes the loss of their independence, knowing what it means to them?