Inside Out
Submitted by Debbie on 2008, July 22 - 10:55.
I just recently admitted to myself how I categorize and characterize people by their life-roles. The doctor is a wise man with all the answers. The minister is calm and patient. The child is questioning and pushes his or her parents to their limits. The parent is old, mature and somber. I don't know if it is age or caregiving that's caused me to open my eyes and see beyond my perceptions of those roles. Either way, I am grateful, especially when it comes to my dad.
Growing up, Dad was not very nice. In fact, most of the time I thought he was pretty mean. As an adult, I realize that he was just very sick. My dad is bipolar. He was either manic (prone to schemes, too much energy, filled with grandiose plans and potentially very angry) or he was depressed (sullen, filled with guilt for everything that happened during the manic phase). Growing up, all I knew was you could see the changes coming and would batten down the hatches to try to survive the storm.
As I grew older and came to grips with his inappropriate rage, I became angry. Oh, I was so very angry. Not just at him, but with my mom. I never understood how she could be so weak as to stay with such an awful man. Then, somehow, the tide turned and I forgave her. Still, I couldn't find it within me to forgive him.
It never occurred to me that I would become his caregiver. But, here I am. In the beginning, I was very cautious and a little frightened. I made rules and plans and deals with myself. If Dad would become violent, I thought, I would discontinue his care. If his language became abusive, I thought, I would find an alternative living arrangement...and on and on. What I did not figure in was that he would show me who he really is. Somehow his dementia has wiped away the awful nightmare of his being bipolar.
Dad is generous. He has delusions of having millions of dollars—and his plan is always to give that "fortune" to me.
Dad is gracious. He often makes a point of telling me how grateful he is for the care I provide and for our agreeing to have us all live under the same small roof.
Dad is loving. He will walk behind me and gently place his hand on my shoulder to get my attention.
Dad is funny. He tells me the most inappropriate stories that just tickle my funny bone.
Dad is irreverent. He will loudly state his opinion.
Dad loved my mother with every fiber of his being—and she knew that. In her infinite wisdom, she was able to separate the man from the disease and continue to love him through all of it.
I have been given the gift of seeing my dad not simply as my parent or the one for whom I care. I have had the pleasure to meet him in so many stages of his life. Through his dementia, I can see the little boy who loves his mommy, the tough-guy teenager who's really not that tough, the Army private looking for love, the adoring husband and loving father. I get to see the dad not affected by disease, inside out.