It just occurred to me last night that the reason I am so exhausted and in more pain is that I’m doing everything. I mean, I knew I was doing everything, but I hadn’t really thought about all the little things (and bigger things) Dad used to do to help. Have you considered that I’m just an idiot? I guess I just didn’t realize how much he really helped.

Before Dad’s bout with pneumonia, he was helping. (And helping even more before his fall and heat stroke.) Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect him to help. I’m just saying that he isn’t helping like he used to. Maybe he can in the future, but not now. He used to wash dishes at least once a day. He would transfer laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then put most everything away. He used to scoop the litter box when he got up in the morning and again when he went to bed. (I’d do it about 1,500 times in between.) He also gave the cats fresh water daily, knowing that since I walk with crutches, I can’t carry the water bowls. He swept the bathroom floor every time one of the cats (mostly BobCat!) kicked litter all over the place. Dad did a lot of things to help, some little, some big. Now he’s not helping at all. It’s all on me now. 

I have to pace myself and do a little, then take a break. Meals have become a major pain in my ass. Oftentimes before, Dad would just make himself a sandwich for dinner, and he was fine with that. He got his own snacks and breakfast. I would prepare lunch, sometimes something quick, and other times, I’d actually cook. Now, I wait on Dad hand and foot. I don’t mind that so much because he is my Dad and my best friend. I’m taking care of him the best I can. Anyone who thinks otherwise can kiss my ever-lovin’ ass.

Until next time,