This Body is Bullshit

Last Thursday turned into an impromptu girls’ Christmas dinner, which honestly shouldn’t have worked—but somehow did. Those last-minute plans sometimes surprise you. I got together with Megan, Carrie, and Donna, and before dinner we even squeezed in photos with Santa. Yes. The four of us grown women with Santa. The pictures were ridiculous and perfect.

I worked remotely last Friday because I had to take Matt in for his colonoscopy. Everything turned out fine, but we were there forever. I’d already told my dad I would pick him up later to take him Christmas shopping for Kathy and then bring him back to my house so we could order the Kindle she wanted.

By the time I picked him up, it was dark. I ran into Nordstrom while he stayed in the car, and I was nervous the entire time I stood in line—worried he’d get out and I wouldn’t find him. But there he was, still waiting. We headed over to stores I thought might be good places to find something unique for Kathy. I could tell right away he was anxious—tapping his legs, repeating questions, clearly uncomfortable.

I got him into the first store—one quick loop and he was ready to leave. Same thing with the second store. The whole point was to spend time together, get him out of the house, and mainly give Kathy a break, but it wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. He just wanted to go home.

I tried to figure out if he was hungry. He said he’d already eaten dinner, which wasn’t true. I kept offering different restaurants, and he kept turning them down. On the drive to my house, the questions—and the deep breaths—kept coming. He was confused about why we were ordering the Kindle from my computer instead of going to a store. When we were almost there, he finally said, “Just take me home. You can order it yourself.”

I told him no—he needed to be there. He came inside, went to the bathroom, then stood over me while I ordered it, and immediately followed it with, “Let’s go.” So much for giving Kathy a break.

I’m going to try again—during the day, in the light. I know nighttime can make things harder for people with dementia, and that probably played a role. Still, it was disheartening. Sad. Depressing. Not personal, I know—but hard. He just cannot be away from Kathy. I’m not jealous. I’m just sad that this is where he is now, and I know it’s not going to get better.

Our original nice dinner plans got derailed because of the Bears game against Green Bay on Saturday night. We ended up at Kenny’s instead, which is what Heather wanted for her birthday. Honestly, it was fun. I brought decorations so it still felt celebratory.

Tonight is the fancy prime rib dinner with Aunt Susie and Uncle Brad, Maggie, and her family. Aunt Susie is spreading herself way too thin making Christmas magic, and she told me yesterday she’s been dealing with some health issues that are now wrecking her sleep. No bueno. I ordered fajitas for Christmas Eve from our favorite little Mexican place, and I’ll be making fruit salad for Christmas brunch back at the Wilsons’, so at least that part is easy on me. Then I work Friday. Of course I do.

I’m anxious about how Dad will do on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

I’m hoping by tomorrow it starts feeling more like Christmas. I’m bummed we won’t have a white Christmas—apparently it’s supposed to be 50 degrees, which just feels wrong. Still, I’m excited for all the festivities. I also need a nap. And I really, really hope Santa brings me that backpack to carry Frank in.