And so, just like that, I'm back in my home. I want to take that concept of home and wrap it around myself and cocoon myself in it and never leave. Or at least right at this moment I do. And instead, I will wash my hair, put on my make-up, get dressed and slough off the lethargy that threatens to engulf me today, and go out.
I am a great goer-outer. I go out every day and try to see the world and engage with people. this helps me to get out of the downward spiral I drop into so easily. Coming back from the States I have had to acknowledge not just that my dad is slowly being lost to his dementia, but that he is slowly (and perhaps not so slowly) being lost to his physical condition as well. This has always been an inevitable outcome of his illness combined with his age, but somehow it seems so much more real now. It will take me a little while to adjust to this new reality.
I went out to my local Starbucks. Even though I am not a lover of the global chain I enjoy my local. A bit like the bar in Cheers, I meet the regulars, know the staff and can always be assured of a friendly welcome. I read the daily papers, do a sudoku puzzle or two and have my daily fix of caffeine. Whilst there, I took off my coat, made myself comfortable and then noticed that my sweater was inside out! Now, to me, this is the equivalent of going out in my bedroom slippers (something I have so far not done). A sign of deteriorating mental faculties or incipient alcoholism. I don't drink so it must be a sign of mental breakdown. What was even worse about finding myself in public wearing my clothes inside out was that I didn't really care. So what, I thought, who is going to see me, and do I really care? Is this progress or just apathy? Not sure yet.
I came home, took one objective look at the hallway floor and knew that it needed scrubbing. I channelled the spirit of my mother, got down on hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. Now my back hurts and the rest of the house needs thorough cleaning. Bit by bit I think I might actually do it instead of looking away.
Is all of this displacement activity to do with coming back from the States in turmoil? Probably. I am finding it hard to keep my mind off what's happening with my dad. There is little or nothing I could do if I was there. He is in his own little world and though he knew me and even knew me by name, he shows no awareness of his immediate surroundings. The thought of eventually losing my father is so painful. He is still the rock supporting all of us. The laughs, the memories, the strength is still there. He lives part of his time in the past and thinks he is still making coats, shipping garments and taking care of people. He sometimes lives in the past in pre-war Poland.
When he was in the hospital a young doctor saw the numbers 143414 tatooed on his arm and asked me if my father had been in a concentration camp. When I told him a little of my father's history he looked at my dad and said, "Mr. Newman, it's a privilege to meet you".
Even as I write this it makes me cry.
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