I’m home this weekend to be with my father. Of course, the whole family is staying with my grandparents so that my Papa can help out with my Dad when George’s at work. It’s weird. I’m not going to lie. It was novel a few months ago. Now, stressful.
There is no being alone in this house (except when my grandparents leave, that’s when I get to steal into their room to use the computer. No wifi. No cell service. I’ve fallen into the Twilight Zone). And my father, bless his heart, the meds have him slightly off balance. Off balance like asking where we are at all times, what we’re doing, and heaven help you leave him alone. He’s moved a recliner in his old room to sleep in, the thought is it will help with the bile from coming up at night and making him have to throw up constantly. This, however, means that my mom is in the bed all alone. Meaning there’s now room in their room for me, too. So instead of having my own room, I’m sharing one with my parents. I get it, Dad wants us all close given the circumstances and countdown on time when we can be together. But it’s not easy.
Did I mention not only is there a room that connects to theirs through a jack and jill bathroom BUT a basement with another bedroom? And our own house just two houses down?
There are talks of me moving back down here to be more hands on with the business and, well, you know. I think I may go insane. And I feel so selfish for saying that. But I don’t feel like I can give up the little bit of sanity and release my life gives me to move back out here.