My dad spent his days after our weekend away trying to show us that he was still capable of living on his own.  He refused to use the wheelchair when he went out and even worse, he started to drive again. Then, on a day when neither my sister or myself could be with him, he fell in the parking lot of his condo and laid on the ground until someone came along and was able to help him up.

I don't know that I can describe how it felt to hear that.  It was like our worst nightmare had come to life--the nightmare in which he falls and lays helpless on the ground in pain and getting weaker and weaker.  It's horrible and I literally felt sick in my heart when I heard the news.

Fortunately he wasn't badly hurt, but it did mean that it was time for some very hard conversations.  Up until this time we were trying to be respectful to his feelings and while we brought up the idea of assisted living, we never pushed it when he said he wasn't ready for that just yet.  However, the fall in the parking lot changed all that.

We finally sat down and told him that it was time.  We told him we were worried that he was going to fall, break a bone and then all his choices would be taken away from him.  That if he was badly hurt his only option would be a nursing home and that was not the life we wanted for him.

This was very difficult for him to hear this and for us to say it.  I do believe that he has the right to determine how he was going to live the rest of his life, but things were at the point where I couldn't believe he was making thoughtful, rational choices.  He had always been a practical man and now he was telling us that he was still completely independent when the truth was that my sister and I were cooking his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his medication and setting up and taking him to all his appointments. 

And so we had our conversations.  My sister and I tried to be respectful and kind. We did what we could to help him hold onto his dignity and tried to help him mourn another loss in his life--the loss of his independence.   All of three of us cried and lost sleep.  

In the end, my father made the decision that my sister and I could look at places for him.  It was not a happy choice and he was very depressed about it.  It was very hard to do what we thought was the right thing for him when he hated it so much.

The Express Bus to Crazy Town

Let me tell you something about my dad.  He was in the Navy during WWII and he is a retired firefighter. Those two facts should tell you a great deal of the kind of man he is.....proud, independent, tough.  So trying to help him is a delicate dance; the old two steps forward, one step back.
When my dad first began to fail, my sister and I swooped in determined to help set him right as only two people who have spent their lives in the helping professions can do.  We made appointments for hearing aids, the doctor, OT and PT.  Because we felt he could no longer be by himself, one of us began to stay with him all the time.  He had basically stopped eating and was pretty much living on a cup of milk a day, so we started to cook him dinner every night.
In the space of a few weeks my dad rejected his hearing aids saying that he can now hear just fine.  He told the PT and OT not to come back anymore.
Last weekend, my sister and I planned a couple of days away.  A little vacation with a girlfriend.  A time to shop and walk on the beach and relax. 
 As my dad had fallen four times in the past two weeks, we discussed with him that we really didn't feel he could be alone anymore.  He agreed. And then would disagree a few hours later.
My sister had a friend of her daughter come to spend the weekend with him.  Hours before we left, my dad and my sister had a huge fight over this.  My sister told me that she thought she had won.
We left and spent most of the weekend talking about my dad.
On Sunday I began getting phone calls.  My sister's friend was, in his words, about to worry him to death.  He wanted her out.  If she wouldn't leave, he was leaving.
"Do you really think he will leave?" I asked my sister.
"No, he can't get out of the house by himself anymore.  He can barely make it to the bathroom using his walker." said my sister.
A little later, my sister got a phone call.  Dad had left. Using his cane. He drove away in his car.
We called his lady friend and she found him and got to go home.  Thank God, he didn't kill anyone while driving.
How do you help someone who refuses to admit that he needs help?  How do you help someone who tells you over and over how depressed he is, but then won't make any changes to make his situation better?
Oh, we did get him to the podiatrist and had his nail cut.  I guess that's something.