Some call me part of the "Sandwich Generation," but as a chocolate lover, I've chosen the Oreo reference. As mother of two kiddos in elementary school and more recently becoming co-guardian of my brain-injured and alcoholic father, I'm learning the fine art of balancing parenting with caring for a parent. This blog is a way to keep me writing and reflecting, but perhaps in the process others might connect or be helped in this sharing of experiences.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Ol' Box of Chocolates
My brother has recently taken to the the famous "box of chocolates" line from "Forest Gump" when describing visits with my dad - because these days, we truly don't know what we're going to get. Over Thanksgiving, he was amiable and good-natured. We even got in some stress-free Black Friday shopping before he headed back up to Mahnomen.
Christmas didn't fare so well - his planned three night stay ended on the 23rd with a three hour showdown in the lobby of Embassy Suites, when he refused to go over to his sister's for the afternoon.
We gave it another cautious go a month later in mid-January, and invited my dad down to our house for an evening. Aside from being ornery about not getting to stay two nights, he was relatively benign. This led the way for my brother to give it a shot the next month, and have my dad down for his daughter's fifth birthday.
All went peachy (relatively peachy - he got stuck in the bathroom for 10 minutes at the Institute of Arts, had a couple accidents at my brothers, etc) from Saturday afternoon up till Sunday evening, when the party began. My dad waited till just before dinner to call my brother and I into a quiet room to let us know he wouldn't be going back up north. With the Christmas episode under our belt, we felt a bit more equipped to handle the situation. There was much less angst yet perhaps a bit more annoyance. Here we were, trying to celebrate a special day for my niece, and my dad decides to monopolize the evening. It ended with him walking out without his suitcase headed in the direction of downtown, us calling the cops on a vulnerable adult, and his program driver convincing him to head back to Mahnomen.
These last two weeks my dad has called wanting to come down and visit. He doesn't seem to see how his previous visits make us more and more wary of having him at our houses. If he could only string together a few uneventful visits, we'd better know what to expect, and be more receptive to his requests. Not the case right now. As much as I like chocolates, I'm ready for a bag of caramels.
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