The Only Constant

“If I’m an advocate for anything, it’s to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. Walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food. It’s a plus for everybody.”

-Anthony Bourdain

I think the best way to understand your current situation, no matter how crazy amazing or crazy terrible, is to move away from it. It doesn’t really matter how far you go, so long as you go long enough to forget, momentarily, whatever it is you just left.

An alternative perspective, is almost always a net positive. Moving back and forth, in and out of different situations, is even better. It builds self-awareness, which maybe a useless trait on its own, but oh how it enhances every other positive character trait out there if you’ve got it.

And it’s with that fresh perspective, that temporary memory loss of what living in my created nursing home is like, that I returned to that very same nursing home.

“Hi, Dad,” I smiled when I opened the door and saw him, as I expected, sitting on the couch.

He waved at me. Slowly. Like it ached him to do so.

“You know how to get home,” he said.

This was the one and only potential indication that he even remembered that I left. I had wondered if he would. But the following moments, the days that would come, would reinforce that “no,” he did not remember. He could not.

In fact, whatever energy I remember him having seemed to have left him in my absence. I don’t know how, but even now he manages to seem even more sedated just sitting on a couch, watching more TV than ever before.

And so once again, I’ve learned to adapt. And in a way, I prefer this even-quieter version of him. There’s no more second guessing anymore about how much my dad understands, how much he can or can’t love me back. And I’m slowly losing my expectation of it, especially when he sometimes doesn’t even remember that he already cooked himself some oatmeal and so he goes to heat up another bowl.

It was Chinese (Lunar) New Year recently. A cousin invited us to come over for dinner. I didn’t want to bring my dad. My mom demanded that we do, and so I consented. But I quickly jumped back into my improved list of “risk management” techniques.

I sat my dad at a specific seat with open space around him that would be easy to get in and out of, with no one to get in his way. I made sure he had a napkin. I got him a spare cup to spit in. I was able to ask for hot tea and an orange before he got too annoyed about it. And finally, I got lucky that my cousin’s kids were watching the Olympics on TV.

Just like being at home. That’s my new goal, my adaptation.

“I don’t know what you did,” my cousin said to me after dinner, “tonight was so peaceful.”

I laughed. Nothing, I think, I told her. I guess I just knew what he wanted and tried to get ahead of it as much as possible. If my dad is a videogame where you can get three things wrong before he gets frustrated, well, that’s a game I can play.

It’s been nearly a year since I came home, which is crazy for me to think, since it feels like two or three years and sometimes even five.

The good news, is that after taking two months to travel and clear my head, my parents have survived. With one small emergency exception, my parents actually did perfectly fine. The support structure I laid in place, actually worked. My dad got his diapers, his food, and nobody died.

I try to remind myself that this is something to celebrate, that I was able to disappear for two months and actually forget what it was like to be my parents’ caregiver.

Coming back to it, I realize how much I’ve learned, how much I’ve changed. That maybe one of the reasons things feel more stable is because I, myself, am more stable now. Things surprise me, but they don’t shock me the same way. (Knock on wood)

I know enough about my dad and his situation now to really prepare for me being gone long-term. My brother one-upped me while I was gone, buying a lot of my dad’s necessities online so that my mom only ever worried about herself. I can do that too. My dad built a new habit to pick up the newspaper from outside. I can have things delivered to the house and he can just pick them up. I could probably teach him to leave the trash outside in a bag and have someone come pick it up. Worst comes to worst, I’ll hire someone to come inside and clean the house. I’ve already helped hire a cleaner, why can’t I do more?

What seemed insurmountable now seems like solvable problems. I really understand now why people say keep the elderly in their home if at all possible. My dad is way more sufficient at home than he ever was at that care center. I’m sure his physical condition had something to do with it, but familiarity, at that age, must provide a level of mental stability.

But that is a familiarity that I don’t need right now, and don’t crave.

I swore I would move out when I came back, and I haven’t. But that itch is still there, the itch to go off and do something else again.

I can’t go back to Seattle; I took a short trip there a few weeks ago and—this is why I always like to move around—realized that there really is no going backwards anymore. What for? I’m a different person. The world just looks different to me now. I have a perspective that I don’t know how you get otherwise, and it’s a perspective that means I don’t want to go back to that young adult world I once knew.

My life feels like it’s constantly changing, changing on its own, and changing in response to my dad. It’s funny, because for him, life is basically constant now. He has, and whether I’m physically there or not, will always have the things he needs. It sounds sad, the idea that I might not be around the house and he’ll be left alone. But if he just thinks I’m out with friends and can’t remember that I’m gone, and most importantly, if he’s happy, I think that’s best for everyone. He gets his constant bliss, the only thing changing for him being the date printed on the newspaper.

He’ll never know that behind the scenes, I’m running around making whatever adaptations I need to make to keep him happy. And I think that’s okay, because at least I’ll also get to do what I want.

Now, what to do about my mom…