Dad was in multiple nursing homes during his descent. The cycle of home, injury, hospital, nursing home, home, injury, hospital, nursing home was brutal. He died at home, in hospice, where he wanted to be.

It was most difficult for mom, who diligently took care of him at home, changing his diapers, feeding him, giving medicine, keeping him company, taking his vitals. She went above and beyond.

It was difficult for us, too. Every week we’d pile into our tiny Corolla and drive down during rush hour to go help out. Then every Sunday night we’d have dinner then head home, kids fast asleep as we drove by Disneyland’s 9pm fireworks show. I don’t nkow how we did it week after week, but we did.

Nursing homes, especially Palm Terrace, are vile places. Harsh fluuorescent lighitng, stale air, unmotivated nurse aids, horrible food, little access to windows, staring athe ceiling all day, listening to your neighbor on the other side of a curtain moaning in pain, or listening to Tucker Carlson at 100% volume, constant interruptions by nurses to take vitals or feed pills, the loud clashing and clangs of hospital carts and banter from the hallway

they’re the opposite

what do you need to heal:

• rest; quiet
• love
• good food
• fresh air
• peace & quiet

i’d return from those visits a lesser being. i cannot imagine how it felt for dad, spending days, weeks, and months at a time there.

between my mom, brother, and i, we were able to visit him every day, spending a few hours a day. we’d take shifts, because being there for more than 3 hours would start to eat at our life force.

i’d come home feeling broken, emotionally distraught, physically unable to process what i was experiencing there

one method of therapy helped.

i’ve

But there were times where she couldn’t handle it.

I believe that physically writing is superior to typing when digging deeper into emotional states. there’s a mind-body connection with writing, motions we learned when we were very young.

I came across a post by Austin Kleon about drawing using a brush pen

I decided to give it a shot

I’d sit next to him while he lay in bed, mouth agape, usually sleeping, drifting in and out of reality. Wwaiting with him until his next meal, answering his questions about where mom was, and cohabiting with him in his latest version of reality.





Dementia with onset Parkinson’s turned him into a giant mech without a pilot.

Dad would be downstairs listening to music in the dark. He said music sounded better with one’s eyes closed or when it was dark. I was bummed when he refused to listen to music while at the nursing home.

We all know this: That while you’re healthy, you don’t think about health. But my dad wasn’t, and seeing him stand on his own for the first time in a month was a small win we celebrated, but given his decline, I knew it would be short-lived.

Having little left in the reserve tank revealed the need for me to be aware of who in my life was helping (giving energy) and not (taking energy). the realization i had is that usually vampires don’t know they’re that way due to lack of self awareness and innate selfishness.

Sometimes dad wasn’t fully there, and his eyes reflected that; as if a curtain was pulled over his eyeballs. the last time i saw it this severe was many years ago in a dear friend going through a very intense bout of depression.

–

Thank you to all the social workers, nurses, charge nurses, doctors, hospice. They’re doing their best in fucked up system.

Go hug your loved ones.