Perfect

If this photo could speak, it would tell you about a perfect day.   Almost as perfect as the photo itself.    It would tell you about an unusually warm day in October, 2011.    It would tell you how my boys and I visited my dad for the day.    It would tell you about a leisurely walk we took from dad's house to the lake and all the 'exploring' the boys and I did along the way.      It would tell you how we sat on the bench and chatted about the uncharacteristic weather we had and how perfect the lake looked in all its autumn splendor.    Perfect enough to capture in a photo.  This photo would tell you how incredibly normal everything in life was. And life was beautiful.

And just like the smooth glass lake surface in the photo is calm, so was this point in time. Calm. 

I know now that it was the calm before the storm. A quiet, seemingly innocuous storm that crept up slowly, without a warning bell or siren. A storm that has many parts.

Each part by itself can be handled with ease, but is overwhelming when combined. The Perfect Storm.

We recently had a perfect storm - weather wise. It rained. Then then temperature dropped. There was sleet. Then snow. It was still October, so the leaves still clung to the trees. The sleet and snow pulled down on the branches. Branches gave in and snapped. Power lines came down. Between 6 and 10 inches of snow in the area on already wet, leaf covered areas. Many without power for several days. Individually these things wouldn't be so daunting, but together they made the Perfect Storm.

We are now realizing the perfect storm that is my father's predicament. Years of unchecked health issues. A deteriorating mind. And finally a stroke.

Any one of these issues individually can be handled. Maybe even easily. But when all three came to a head at once, it became overwhelming.

As a family, I think we are all happy that dad was in the hospital for a bit because they were able to discover long term problems that went un-checked and go about fixing those problems. I think I can speak for everyone when I say the stay in the hospital was too long and aggravated an already trying situation.

Having an MRI of his brain we can see the shrinkage that was already in place prior to the stroke. We have slowly witnessed the decline in dad's memory, but dismissed a lot of it. Perhaps even the shuffling of his feet we just chalked up to old age.

Now that dad is in rehab things look a little brighter, or maybe just a little more clear. The future is still uncertain.

Dad is strong. But unbalanced. Trusts no one, but will have to rely on everyone.

Life is testing me and my sisters. Dad has always clung to the rational, and while we've watched his ability to reason decline slightly over the years, it is very trying to reason with someone who's brain is broken. And it is very difficult to remember that his brain isn't 'firing on all cylanders' and have some compassion in those moments.

Friday I left dad after having an argument regarding his situation. I was hot. And it was so hard trying to find that compassion. It began with him wanting me to help him get out of the wheel chair. He got mad when I refused to help. I told him to call a nurse, that he had to follow the rules if he wanted to get out of rehab. I felt like I was speaking to a child, and I think that made him even angrier. I was glad when the physician in the room backed me up, but it didn't make me feel better. I knew I was in the 'right', but winning the argument didn't really feel like winning. It was disheartening. Perfectly disheartening.

We're a long way from that perfect October afternoon. I hope that we're on the right track for a perfect recovery, but that is yet to be seen.