Home Again ...

We're home again and back to reality. Our time away was wonderful, though. It was a time to rest, and be pampered. It was a time to reconnect with each other and to re-establish and renew the bonds of Love. The setting was ideal, the service outstanding. The glow remains in our hearts today, but we realise we've returned to the same stressful world we left. Ivy is writing exams this week. Percy was sick in his bed last night, probably suffering the effects of separation anxiety. And my parents are nearing the end of their tethers, emotionally. We stopped in to see them on our way home last night.

Colleen took Mum out to do some grocery shopping as neither Mum nor Dad can safely drive anymore. Dad has voluntarily surrendered to his new limitations and has opted not to be re-tested to renew his driving license. Mum's birthday is in March. She'll have to pass a written test before then to renew her license. At the moment, their car is with my impecunious sister here in Toronto. Dad worries about her, too. While the women were away at the grocery store, Dad and I chatted in the kitchen. Dad chatted. I yelled to be heard.

"How's Mum doing, Dad? Is she any better?"

Dad shook his head sadly. "She's not," he said. "She's getting worse, I think. The last two days have been really hard."

I watched as a tear rolled down his cheek. He caught it with his tongue at the corner of his mouth.

"Never in a million years did I ever think things would go this way, Dale. I thought she'd always look after me. Now I have to look after her, watch over her, make sure she takes her pills, remind her about everything. She gets confused so easily. She needs my help more and more."

His head was bowed, his wrinkled old hands folded in his lap.

"And I can't always," he sobbed. "I just don't have the strength."

Dad promised Mum they would remain in their home for as long as it was possible. I have suggested maybe that limit has been reached, but they're not yet willing to admit defeat. The thought of selling their home, getting rid of their worldly possessions, and moving into a nursing home is completely overwhelming to them. I understand. I really do. I well remember how difficult it was for me to sell my home and my belongings to move in here with Colleen and her daughter. And I was young and healthy then. I can't imagine how stressful it would be for my parents. But the time is coming when we will no longer be able to bury our heads in the sand. The situation in Mt. Forest is becoming untenable.

At home later, we talked at bedtime.

"Mum's getting bad," said Colleen as she struggled into her hand braces. She has carpal tunnel syndrome. The braces will help, we hope. "She asked me half a dozen times what we were shopping for. I told her it was on the list she'd made. And we consulted the list again. And then again. It was such a simple chore, but nearly impossible for Mum without my help."

We kissed and then she put her plastic, anti-snoring gizmo in her mouth. I put my night guard in my mouth (I've been grinding my teeth in my sleep) and turned out the light. At least we're sharing a bed, I thought as I turned to spoon with her. Colleen is my best friend, my anchor, my protector, much as Mum has been for Dad. I don't know how this Life will turn out, but in a way, I'll be grateful if I'm spared the worry and ignominy of old age.

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