Him moving to the local long term care facility. Constant wondering on my part.
I am taken up completely. Talking about my father, talking with my father, paying attention to things that he does not complain about but that I observe, talking to the nurses about his care - feeling helpless.
He's in a shared room while we wait for a private one and there is no place to sit really, and besides it seems as if there is always something happening. I don't have a rhythm yet. I don't feel the love in it - from him - I don't feel good about things when I visit him. I'm always on the alert.
He lives in a new reality, more about how his life used to be. Three years ago. 30 years ago. 80 years ago. I read that this is normal, but it's new and scary for me. Not so much for him.
Two of our kids and their partners are coming home for Thanksgiving and we will have Grampa here for the afternoon, for dinner etc. I hope that this will be a positive experience for everyone.
These images are of the marks I've been making on linen over the week.
I don't know what they are about, or where they are going, but they are.