Still here...

I feel like I'm on the world's shittiest roller coaster and Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract" but only the line "I take two steps forward, I take two steps back," is on loop.  One day my Dad rally's.  The next is worse then the day before he rallied.  It is nothing short of absolutely shitty.  My day is on automatic repeat:  get up, shower, get dressed, head into hospital, stay until 7pm (shift change), go back to Dad's house, sleep.  Lather, rinse, repeat. 

On one of Dad's days where he rallied, I went up to Evansville to get a massage - my back has been killing me from the three days that I slept at the hospital.  It's FINALLY on the mend courtesy of that massage and a crap ton of bengay.  That night he called me at 7:30 and was wondering where I was.  He sounded incredibly disoriented and not good and it scared me so I headed in.  I made it until about 1:30am before I gave up and went back to his house.  

He has not talked about leaving the hospital for a few days now.  He and I talked about him going into a rehab facility to help get his strength up (read: nursing home, but they don't want to call it a nursing home because that makes it sound like just a place where old people go to die).  While I don't think he necessarily likes the idea, he's amenable to it, so if we get out of the hospital that's where he will go.  Unfortunately, he's not stable enough to move yet.  He has to be able to do certain things by himself and every time he stands up his blood pressure drops and his heart starts beating more rapidly and more erratically.  

He has his humor today, though, so that's something.  He has been complaining about how his mouth gets super dry and he doesn't like that, so he started sleeping with the covers over his head (he's awake for maybe a total of an hour or two a day; he spends most of the time sleeping).  This morning I got a hilarious picture of him with the covers over his head and the nurse came in.  

"Mr. Gooch? I'm here to get your vitals and I have your meds," the nurse said.  He moved the covers off my dad's arm so he could scan his hospital bracelet and as he did my dad slowly pulled the covers off his face, revealing a goofy little grin.  

"I'm not a ghost.  Yet..." My dad said and giggled with a heh-heh-heh that he's so famous for.  I couldn't help but laugh and it reminded me of when we would go camping when I was little and my Dad would put a sheet over his head and walk through the airstream trailer saying he was the ghost of the trailer.   There are a lot of memories that have been popping up in my brain lately and I can't help but be grateful for all the things my Dad did for me when I was growing up.  Would I like to be with my own family? Yes.  Do I wish I could grab a flight home? Yes.  I just don't feel like I can leave my Dad in the state he is, though.  I don't want him to be alone.  It makes me even more grateful for what my cousins did for me when my Mom was passing. 

I finished organizing all of dad's files.  I still feel like I'm missing something - like I don't quite know where all the bodies are buried? But his house is in better shape than it has been in at least a couple of years.  One of the first things I did was de-cobweb everything but being out in the sticks that's almost a daily task.  I put things away in storage (I had permission to pitch them but I didn't want to throw anything away without Dad actually having a chance to go through them first- even though I know in my heart that he never will) and tonight I'm going to start the task of cleaning and making a list of everything that needs to be repaired at the house.  The actual repairs - that will be a "tomorrow Jess'" problem.  And by that I mean that will be taken care of as his estate gets settled.   It's a look at things daily kind of situation here that isn't much fun but what else can I do?  I keep as busy as I can, head fully in the sand, even though I see the writing on the wall.  It's hard to ignore, in bright neon colors, screaming at me.  

All I can do is stay for now.  That's what he needs from me and that's what I'm going to give - all of me. But damn, do I miss my family.