Well, it's been almost 8 months since we took my dad to the hospital. He stayed there for a month. Then he was placed into a care home.
It hasn't been an easy journey. It will only get more difficult. I know all this logically. Yet, there is still a part of me that doesn't want to believe any of it is happening.
So much has happened since I got one phone call from my mom. The hubby and I hopped in our car and drove the 5 hours to mom and dad's place.
It was such a difficult moment. Walking into the house and not having dad greet me at the door. No. He was in his bed and couldnt get out. His legs wouldn't work.
There was brown vomit all over the floor on his side of the bed. He wouldn't eat or drink anything. It was really scary.
Its even more scary when he wouldn't let mom call an ambulance. I ended up doing it. I remember asking the dispatcher to send them, but asking if they can come on silent. Partly not to freak out the neighbors. Mostly though, not to freak dad out.
I remember curling up on his bed with him, telling him that I did something he wasn't going to like. In that moment, he was MY DAD. What did you do ? He asked. I told him that I called for an ambulance, that I need him to get better. He pulled me into his arms and told me it's ok.
He was suppose to be angry with me.
But he wasn't. I curled up in his arms and cried.
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