Quitters

I'm not a quitter. Never have been. In fact, I'm the one who usually stays too long in relationships. But I suppose I look like one now. My friends tell me I've done enough. Taking care of them for the past 10 years, spending every weekend and holiday with them. Sacrificing my vacation time so my dad can get away for a week to go hunting.
But, now I think thats the reason my dad can't make a decision regarding my mom's care. Because I'm here. Enabling the situation. Making everything nice. Well, at least it might be part of the reason. You know how it is, you caregivers. You're dedicated. You bring your cheerful attitudes, tons of groceries, homeopathic remedies, loyalty and spirit every day, every weekend, whenever. I actually quit my job and spent 8 months as their live-in caregiver, domestic helper, cheerleader, chef, advisor, babysitter, you name it. Some say this is co-dependency, but I don't think so. And I don't want to discount myself or other caregivers in this way. That's B.S. It's love. Pure unconditional love.
And I love my parents and could clearly see they needed help. And why not. They're fine people, nice, easy to please. Actually, this whole thing is a crock. My parents don't deserve this. They lived their lives well, healthfully, conservatively, selflessly. They went to church. They've been married for 51 years, raised 5 children, worked hard to care for the family and each other. But after last weekend, I'm different, changed, afraid.
Ten years ago I took my dad to see an elder attorney to explain the strategic division of finances in order to afford better end-of-life care alternatives. I read everything on Alzheimer's, met with case workers, researched care facilities, interviewed care providers, found them a CMA to come to the house, offered much information and coaching from the sidelines. But, he hasn't made a move. He turns away outside help. Has not changed his financial status. Look, I know he's depressed, And he's angy, very angry, critical of everyone, the news, the street lights, the overweight woman at the grocery store, me, and stuff I probably don't even know about. He's careful with his money. Doesn't want to pay top dollar for care. Thinks it's all a racket.
So, needless to say, its kind of hard to be around him. If your coffee cake doesn't turn our perfect, you hear about it. Understand the landscape?
Last weekend, after surfing through those gigantic waves of awful fits, seizures, mini stokes, demonic invasions, whatever they were, (with my mom), my heart broke. It snapped, like, tore apart, stopped feeling, went numb. In my head some kind of voice was saying, "that's it, no more, we're done, your stupid, why are you here, where's the airport, buy me a ticket, let's go, is this real, sell your house, leave everything, New Mexico sounds good, sunny, warm, artist working there, time to leave town, is dad going to have a stroke, where's my siblings, why am I alone, mom doesn't deserve this, God are you there?, etc, etc, etc. Then, I saw the advanced directive. The document I signed 7 years ago at my dad's invitation to be responsible for their end-of-life medical decisions. He showed me the documents, explained what they meant and told me I would share the responsibility with my older brother Joe. I understood. I signed my name. Later the documents were witnessed and notarized by the neighbor down the street. But, last weekend when my dad pulled these documents together for the hospital workers, I took a minute to review them. My signature was not there. I asked my dad what happened. He said he was too stressed out to discuss it and that he couldn't remember what happened 20 years ago. It was 7 years. I was mad, confused, hurt, tricked? Whatever. That's part of the reason why I am done. I don't mind not being chosen. In fact, its a gift of freedom, not to be appointed as head. But I didn't like the feeling that I was tricked. You see, I was there that summer, helping them move. No siblings were around for the job. Maybe he felt obligated to include me at the time. I don't know. And I don't care. I'm telling you it's freedom not to be appointed.
I hope those of you who are out there doing the work, making life bearable for someone you love, digging deep into your souls on behalf of someone else - will understand why I'm quitting, at least for now. I need to take stock, look inside, erase the experience, maybe make some new choices.
Obviously, I was there for my mom. Of course, she deserves everything. The best. But I truly felt she died, twice, last weekend. Once in my arms when she slumped over and stopped breathing after the seizure. So, I guess what I'm feeling is a kind of shock, with a side order of confusion. Can you understand?