The First Time I Took Care of My Daddy

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I finally, with a lot of prodding from Rob, went to visit my Dad yesterday. I’m glad that I went because well, I saw my Dad; seeing him…the way he was, it made me sad. 

While we were there I struggled so much with my daughter/mother instinct to care for him, which I know was the last thing he wanted; it was also the worst thing for him. He needed to do it all himself to help him regain his muscle mass; most importantly to remind and prove to himself he could. Yet to stand there and watch him struggle to feed himself, again my instincts were strong but I knew he’d never allow me.

Then I saw his actual incision which truly drove home that my Dad won’t live forever, nor is he invincible. In the end, I am his daughter and therefore should be there more often. However, when I asked him if he wanted visitors, he said ‘no.’ I realize that probably doesn’t apply to Mom, Zach and I (the Boys aren’t allowed to visit.), still, I don’t want to overwhelm him. It seemed difficult and a struggle simply to have a basic conversation or to have us in the room, so we all wound up standing/sitting there in awkward silence. When we left I felt he was relieved to have us go.

So, unless something happens or changes I’ll only go visit every few days. He’s just too overwhelmed, especially with visitors; I don’t want to add to it all.