So Monday went better than any of us could have dreamed. Dad is adjusting just fine to the nursing home. So far anyway. He's eating more than ever--every meal they've served so far. He's still had family with him all day - it's only day 2 - but no one at night. And my sister doesn't have the stress of running his household and doing everything, and I think that's helping everyone.
I was there yesterday and today until 8 pm. Monday I got there at 2, when he arrived in the wheel chair van the VA sent to pick him up. Today I set up his Internet with a Verizon hotspot wireless thingy. I was there 3 hours tonight. Not planing on visiting tomorrow because Sophie has voice lessons, and I need a night off.
Today I was in a terrible depression. I can't explain it really. I'm glad dad is doing well and not shutting down. But I'm afraid he could live like this for many months or even years. I don't know if I can handle that. It's still so hard to deal with it all.
And I'm angry with him. He's seen what his care needs have done to my sister and uncle. Yet he let them feel guilty and grovel over the nursing home. He was supposed to have 6-12 months. This is month 11 and I see no end in sight. I know he can't control when he dies but I feel like there was an expectation that's now blown out of the water, and he has fought to stay alive, preferring a paralyzed existance to heaven.
Which is a big issue for him, I think. He says he believes, but I think he has just enough faith to slide under the pearly gates. Of course, lots of people are afraid of dying. I don't blame him for that.
I blame him for putting himself first before everyone else for the past year. Like his illness has given him carte blanch to treat so many people like crap, and take advatage, and not give in return.
I feel horribly guilty about felling and thinking all of this.
The past 10 months I've not made myself a prioprity. At all. And now I'm in tight size 12s and dropping to the floor in front of my closet this morning, in tears because I'm terrified I'm going to be the girl who lost a bunch of weight and 3 years later is Fat Again.
I just can't go there. I can't.
I talked with Mark about it today. He said he'd support my time to exercise. He understands and thinks I'm being too hard on myself (I am). But I'm still afraid of the speed train to obesity that I'm on.
It's only been 2 days and my involvement with dad hasn't decreased yet. It will though, hopefully. The emotonal issues that are a big part of my eating problems aren't going anywhere. How am I going to fix myself this time? I don't know yet. I just don't know.
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