Hello. This is the first time I have ever responded to any type of posting on any internet site. I have always gained support and advice from reading posts from you wonderful individuals, but I've always had a fear of writing my thoughts, like it's securing fate. Ha. Sorry if this is gibberish, like the ramblings of a preteen girl's diary, but here goes.
My wonderful dad was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's, then unrelated Dementia a month later. He's my favorite guy, one I've worked really hard to build a relationship with after years of anger I carried for him. He's always been the first to demonstrate love and compassion for others; he emulates empathy. But from the age of 12 to the age of 22 (god bless college as a time to reevaluate) I couldn't look him in the eyes or hug him after a very difficult period in our lives. Yet I loved him, and grieved over the loss of our relationship. Thankfully, forgiveness graced us (for each other) and I became determined to rebuild the close bond our family had always shared. I also knew it was a matter of time (my dad was 53 when I was born) and that he wouldn't be around forever. Now or never, right?
Well life's great, for the most part. I have another wonderful man in my life, I look forward to having kids someday sooner than later, but not tomorrow, and I want them to know my funny, witty, brilliant, slightly egotistical, loving, music-snob father. I want more time. I'm selfish, and I hate that every day I see more of him disappear. For years we thought it was the side-effects of his excessive anti-depressant prescriptions, which I think made us silently resent him, blame him for his lethargy, and try to overly motivate him to become more active, as though that would jump his mental state back to "normal". We thought the shaking, the loss of interest in discussing politics or the meaning of life, the shuffling of feet, the constant sleeping, the slightly vacant look were just side-effects (again, which I resented but resigned myself to) and aging (he turned 80 this year). And so did his doctors. Lo and behold, he's no longer on any of his 4 anti-depressants, and he's not depressed! Well that's a blessing, but lord knows how long he's been misdiagnosed. I'm just all sorts of upset and angry, and I can't actually blame anyone except life. I know this, yet when friends, or even family, comment how I'm "lucky" to have had my dad active in my life for "so many years", and that "it's natural" given his age, it feels like they're stealing my right to be sad, to grieve that he will never be "Dad" in some ways again, that my kids won't experience his thirst for life. It's like they just want me to cheer up, accept fate, and move on, and all I can think of is "Be grateful?" For what? And why? I was grateful before. I still appreciate him and will continue to, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about this. False cheer won't bring him any closer to the man I knew. Let me be grateful AND grieve. Dad's disappering; don't make me blind to it, and let me call it what it is, a loss.
Sorry about the length. But it's my first time, eh?