Not his choice

My Dad may have passed away over a year ago, but it is still all so fresh in my mind. I can picture him, the sounds, even the smells (good and bad ones lol) still. I love my Dad as much as ever and I am grateful for the experiences I had.

I have said this before and will again as it bears repeating, caregivers are everywhere. I cannot go anywhere without running into one. We talk. We share war stories. We share successes. We help one another deal with the 1001 questions and feelings caregivers have about caregiving.

My mantra at times was not his choice. I saved this for the special moments. Those times when I was tired, frustrated, lonely and sometimes angry. Because of the lessons I learned from caring for my mom, I could catch myself headed down the path of anger and frustration as it only led to a dark hole. Sometimes I would take myself by the hand and say not going to go there today. Right now we will go over here and rest.

Over here was not his choice. Did my Dad choose to be sick? No. Did he want to be sick? No. Was he frustrated with it? When he was lucid he was. Was he scared? God yes. Was this place in our lives going to last forever? No. Was I willing to let a stupid disease steal what was left of my Dad? Hell no. Then I would get feisty and often would see my Dad and I as 2 punch drunk boxers back to back fighting off the enemies. Sometimes the enemies were physical but most often they were emotional.