My Own Bucket of Cold Water

Yesterday’s post was a little long, so I left out my “adventures” from Friday. I knew when I went to work that morning that M was having a rough day. He was out of sorts and in an overall bad mood.

I asked my dad to check in on him and he offered to take M out to breakfast, but he didn’t want to go. I asked Younger Son to give him a call – which he did – but nothing really seemed to help.

Around 2 pm, I called M to see how he was doing and he was having a fit. He was all out of sorts because he couldn’t find his gun and, he said the cops were on the way and he needed to be armed.

What?!?!

I was in a panic! I flew home as quickly as I could and I could tell he had spent hours, tearing the house apart. In our den, especially, furniture was turned over, shelves were down from the bookcase and the dogs were cowering in fear from him. That’s when I hit the roof – I can put the den back together, but for him to scare the dogs with his shenanigans?

He was still ranting and raving about the missing guns (which I had WELL hidden away.) I finally told him that when he had stopped working, money was really tight, so I sold the guns to make ends meet.

Suddenly, all concern about the guns stopped. All concern about the cops coming to get him stopped. It was like I had thrown a bucket of cold water on him.

I had to wait until he was asleep that night to get the guns out of their hiding place and take them to my dad’s house where he has a locked gun safe to store them.

When I was telling my dad about the situation and how bad things had gotten, he told me “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but I think it’s time for you to move M into a permanent placement where people who are trained to deal with this can take care of him 24/7.”

Talk about a bucket of cold water being thrown on you! And one I wasn’t ready for – at all. But if there’s one thing I can always count on my dad for, it’s clear-headed, honest assessments of any situation. No sentimentality or schmaltz to get in the way.

Whenever I’ve had dogs that were getting old and I’d be talking about how many vet visits it would take to get them from 14 to 15 years old, he’s the one to say “Hey, it’s time.” I never want to hear it. Or believe it. But he’s always right.

Sadly, this situation is so similar. I don’t want to believe that it may be time. That we may have actually arrived at the point where I can no longer take care of this man I have loved for 37 years.

But he has become dangerous to himself – trying to get out of a moving car. Trying to arm himself for a confrontation with the police. He has become dangerous to me – every episode in which he loses his temper, the level ratchets up just a little. Pictures are knocked off the wall, furniture turned over – what’s next?

Will the new medication he’s been prescribed help? Will the Memory Care Day care change things? Is there something else out there, that I haven’t thought of, that would make a difference?