My dad’s new diagnosis with dementia is more severe and a steady decline. The doctor would like him to make a plan to stop driving. These are all not new things, as I knew he was having memory issues in like 2016.
He was never warm, very kind or open to me, more just sarcastic, never someone I would have a heart to heart with like some, but he was capable and I did call him when I had a problem that I needed help with. Now my husband is that. My husband is capable and can fix stuff, but I feel like everyone could use a dad that you could hug and sit with and talk to.
He is basically not my dad anymore, which is hard for me.
My mom, with her no memory issues and her health, was never someone I could really sit with, cuddle, hug, feel accepted, feel understood, feel loved with. She loved her teaching only. She loved her students. That’s about it. She still subs to get away from my dad and that caregiver life, but she’s not nice to him.
She should never have taken him back when he cheated all those years ago if she was just going to be irritated and him and hold a grudge. All they did was fight and I don’t know what they do now. But it’s not like a marriage really. It’s like my mom is my dad’s parent.
If I really sit and think about my parents I’m absolutely ripped to shreds that I didn’t have an experience like some other people have where they just adore their parents and they had a great relationship with them and it was open, honest and kind. Maybe my generation didn’t have parents like that. I know a lot of my friends have parents who have passed away or they had a strained relationship with them. But there’s still some that could run into their arms if there was an issue or terrible situation. I never had that. And maybe that’s why I always wanted to make sure I had a boyfriend or someone I trusted. And I mean with Dustin, I did get a trustworthy person and we have been really going through a lot lately.
And it was postpartum stuff and kids and life and stress. And it’s getting better.
But my parents. That will never get better. My mother won’t talk about anything hard and gets mad at me if I bring up upsetting childhood things. And what’s the point in bringing that up to a man with dementia.
As a child, I was never explicitly taught many things. Many social things. How to be kind, accepting, understanding…we never had talks about anything really. My sister stopped really being nice to me after I moved away, I think. So she wasn’t someone I could talk to. I figured things out on my own or talking to other people. I am, at my core someone who cares a lot about people and am sensitive and get hurt easily when people don’t reciprocate.
I was born into the wrong family. I wish I had a family who was loving and kind to one another. I can have that with my little family.
My family sweeps the dementia under the rug. We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about much. I bring stuff up to my sister every now and then. I know she has been screwed up by our parents too. But she keeps it in when I don’t want to do that.
Sometimes I want to break away from them. Not because they’re so toxic that I just can’t be around them, but they are just like…so aloof and apathetic to dealing with the fact we are dysfunctional.
It’s hard to explain.
But having my own kids has ripped open wounds I never knew I cared about. And that’s wild. That’s all.