We don't truly know what's wrong, the doctors say it's Alzheimer's, but we'll never really know. He medically looks just fine, every test coming back mostly positive. But he's anything but fine. He can barely walk, falling often. He's confused, forgetful and sometimes not present at all.
It's the most heartbreaking thing to watch a man that has been your everything, fall to pieces. It's almost more than I can bare.
For that last several years, I've had weekly lunches with him which I will always treasure. Now I spend 2 days a week taking him to lunch and helping out however I can. It's hardest on my step-mother, Mary Lou. She bares the brunt of his illness and I try to help both of them with what they need.
The reality of it all set in a few weeks ago when we had to get him a hospital bed for the living room. It seems like each day I watch him slip away, losing more of himself slowly but surely. It breaks me.
This man. This man who has always loved me, stood by me, supported me, has been there for me, scolded me when I needed it most. He's slipping away. I don't know how to process that. How could I possibly put into words everything he means to me? How much I love him? I don't think I ever can.
He taught me to ride a bike. He taught me to fish. He taught me to drive a stick shift. He tried to teach me to whistle, I never could get that one down. He taught me that I should never settle for a boy that didn't love and adore me. He taught me to love Jesus. He never missed a single dance recital, tennis match or football game that I performed in. He taught me to love photography and that you can have too many pictures of flowers. He taught me to grill. He taught me to always stand up for myself. He taught me to waltz.
He taught me what a father's love meant.
I spend my nights worried, panicked that I'll get a call he's not okay. I hold back tears every time I'm with him. I fear the day he truly doesn't know who I am. And then I fear that he'll be gone before that day gets here. Some days I curl up on the couch after being with him and just cry. Today was one of those days.
I worry that I wasn't enough for him. That I didn't make him proud. That I let him down. A few weeks ago as he was lying on his bed while I put on his socks and shoes, he told me I was a good daughter. We sat there in tears, talking about things. The ups and downs that are inevitable between every parent and child. In that moment, he reassured me yet again. I was enough. I had made him proud, despite a few bumps in the road.
With all the sadness this new chapter brings, I have so much joy. My mom wasn't here when I had Caroline, she never got to hold my baby. But he did. He was there, ready to love on his new grand daughter and he's loved her ever since. That has always been so special to me that she had him. I love the way he smiles when she's silly and I laugh when he gets grumpy because she's loud.
I'm so very thankful that she's had the past 12 years with him, to make memories with her grandparents, something I never had. She'll always remember the beach vacations, the trip to Canada so they could show us where her grandma grew up, and the cruise we took a few months ago with them. She'll remember them coming to her soccer games, to her school events. She'll remember his love, just like I will.
Somedays I just can't take all the pain.
I just can't. I can't imagine life without him.
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