Epilog

Dad was the victim of scammers who took most of his money. This happened when he was out of the country. Despite repeatedly telling him to stop communication with these people who were obviously scammers to my brother and me, Dad thought they were giving him free money. Perhaps he was at fault for being greedy, but I don’t know many people who would turn down free money.

Once we came home, my brother flew in and we went straight to the bank to continue the fraud investigation. Without getting into details, it’s been a mess. We’re still hoping to recover funds, but hope is not a strategy.

Yesterday the scammers called Dad. I was at my desk when I heard his phone ring and strained to hear what he was saying, something about a credit card that he no longer uses, and then my brother’s name. Shit.

I went to his room and asked him to give the phone to me. “Who is this?!” I demanded and a soft male voice with an Indian accent informed me he was with a credit card company (name withheld). I demanded his number and it was the same on my dad’s caller ID, but something just didn’t sit right. I continued to argue with the man telling him I knew he was a scammer and that I was going to inform the FBI of this call (I did send a report to the FTC after, but what a black hole that is). I told him never to call this number again, so then he asked me what number this was. I (stupidly) thought “what if this really is a credit card company?” and repeated back the number. I’m still kicking myself for that. After I hung up but before giving the phone back, I told Dad to not answer any calls from anyone who wasn’t a relative, and to never give any information, about anything, ever. I went back to my desk and a whole slew of thoughts of what I should have done invaded the peace I had been given the day before. Why didn’t I demand his employee number? Then tell him to wait while I called to confirm? Why didn’t I just tell him to fuck off and hang up? Why was I so stupid to think I could have any kind of meaningful conversation with a scammer? I texted my brother what happened, but instead of details, I texted that I wasn’t sure what information Dad gave them before I took the phone. I’m such a chickenshit. It took until this morning for me to let go of my own disappointment in myself. As I begin my practice of compassion for Dad, I need to also practice compassion for myself.

Something happened to me yesterday. It stopped hurting. I touched acceptance on my grief journey for the first time. Sadness is still there as I can easily cry, but there’s a plan in place that resonates with me in a way that brings me peace. Dad will live with me until March. Then live with my brother until summer, then back to my place, and we’ll keep going like this until it’s time. This gives Dad time to save up to pay for a place that will provide the kind of help my brother and I can’t give. But while he can eat, use the bathroom, and make it up and down stairs, he will stay with us. Making his breakfast this morning felt different. Before I had little pleasure in doing this, but today I felt real joy. Priorities have shifted again. Going to get TheragranM from Walgreens, picking up ginger snaps, taking him for a movie this afternoon, and got tickets to see holiday lights for new year eve. I’m entering a kind of peace that feels like grace from God. I didn’t do anything to get here, except maybe let go. Let go of years of fighting, frustration, resentment, anger.

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.” -K Hosseini

After today there will be 79 days until our flight and my life will be relieved. I have no interest in being anyone’s cook and cleaner and chauffeur, least of all an old man with entitlement issues. I don’t know where to find compassion. I’m burnt out already and it’s been only 11 days. I go to bed grateful to be done with the day and hope that three months, 12 weeks, 79 days can go fast.
I’m already so tired.

I don’t want to be resilient anymore. I want to fall apart. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was someone there to catch me.
If I had more energy I would be more thoughtful in my documentation of this time. The better me would take Dad to the gardens this weekend. She would make sure he gets in his steps. She would ensure that he’s not dehydrated. She would care for him these three months, soon to be 79 remaining days, until he’s planned to be her brother’s burden.
I don’t even have the energy to want to be a better person. I just want to have my comfortable problems of loneliness and overeating.
I should stop correcting Dad and let him live in the fantasy world where he exists, as difficult as that may be for me, it’s still likely to last only 79 more days.

I see myself more clearly and I’m not the person I thought I was. I have a short temper, I get annoyed with ignorance, I despise entitlement. But for decades I have controlled my emotions, swallowing situations to prevent other’s discomfort. I’m tired.

Now I let people know. My honesty can be prickly, I’m trying hard not to handover my time as easily, and I’ve stopped trying to be a good person. Now I just want to be me.

My father moved in with me 10 days ago and he broke my sink, again. He forgot his charger on the plane and now I have to help him with that. I yelled at him today. He was so calm and asked me what I would like him to do, I yelled, “I would like you to stop breaking my sink!” I’m taking him to the doctor tomorrow and hope to get a cognitive assessment. He has an air of entitlement, as if I should be honored to take care of him. In actuality I resent it. I hate that I have to make his breakfast and dinner, that I can’t leave him alone in my house for more than a few hours. That my life is on hold until I take him to my brother’s house and he becomes the caretaker. March can’t come fast enough.

My father will be 87 next year. He’s gotten himself into a situation where he no longer has any financial independence. In December 2023,I went to where he was and brought him to my home without any idea of what was going to happen next, just a sinking resentful feeling growing in my belly.

I’ve been writing down my feelings as a way to give myself relief. I had forgotten about my WordPress subscription until it renewed itself this week. I decided to share my thoughts and feelings here, like a digital message in a bottle. This is my therapy.