Long Day’s Journey Into Night

I started this blog for many reasons. I love to write and, not unlike the painter interpreting his world with strokes of a brush, this is my canvas. When I write, I am in my zone. It does not always flow, it is not always great. I accept that the bar of excellence is very high for those who share their soul. And I am my worst critic. But it is almost like I cannot stop; I am in love with the process, the words, the images.

My friends and family have told me that I have a lot of interesting life events and I agree. Not because I feel selected or special. Rather, life has handed me a legacy that is story-telling worthy. And now, within these pages, I hope I can compel with the process of plot and with a respectful acknowledgement of the human experience.

And finally, I write for the release. I am at a huge crossroads after 66 years filled with wondrous surprises, mistakes, heartaches, and love. I now bring my heart to a place of introspection. And when one finds herself in a new city, a new life…well, therein lies the quintessential metaphor for even further self-discovery. It is indeed a very personal long days’ journey.

The segue here is a purposeful one, so here goes…

My blog is and will continue to be about life converging to this time in Sacramento. And, to move forward, I must tell you how I came to be here. I have tried to write about it on numerous occasions. I found myself deleting every attempt. Not only because I am not satisfied with the actual writing but because it is still so raw. This is a tough story to tell.

For the past previous years, I was living with my father. It was a difficult decision to do so--for all the obviously predictable consequences of an adult moving back with a parent. But also because my father is a difficult man… narcissistic and manipulative. But I felt I had no choice. I was starting my own business and thought I could consolidate my savings and focus. I would get the company up and running and then move out. (I will share more about my business in a future blog)

It was challenging living in this situation but I was grateful for the opportunity and I told myself that it was temporary. And, after all, I would tolerate his verbal tirades and controlling demands, for this was my Father. One puts up with the sins of a father.

Then the unthinkable happened. He became sick and diagnosed with Sundowning, the onset of Alzheimers. His caretaking fell to me. Because I was “there”, I would manage his safety, his medications, his daily actions.  I researched, I called medical experts, I sought additional care. But it seemed the more I tried, the angrier he became.

Ultimately, it was so difficult that Dad was placed in a home that specialized in memory care. He spent the next two weeks wailing in the hallways, not sleeping or eating. He called social services and reported me for abuse; he called his friends and asked them to help him escape. And then, one day, he did escape. He just walked out. When the police found him, the facility refused to take him back. His doctor re-examined him, changed/minimized his diagnosis to early dementia, and declared him legally competent. And with that, he was sent home. He was free to come and go.

I asked the doctor, “What just happened here?”

His response, “Move out.”

What followed were days of confusion and chaos.

A friend wrote to me:

“If I were a psychologist/psychiatrist, I would want to study the development of narcissism into dementia. I know a number of people going through this with their parents right now. The children are put through the ringer, complete with dealing with authorities who get called on the children, due to the narcissistic charm the parents still can turn on at will, causing the children to be blamed for things they've either not done or have been horribly misinterpreted. I've seriously heard multiple stories from people recently, which are almost word for word identical (to yours). The fact that this seems so common means it needs to be looked at. It's truly ruining lives of many people in their prime, who have so much to offer the world.”

And then, in one of his continuous rants, my father screamed, “Get out of here, I never want to see you again.” 

My brother said to me “This is what it is. This is the Father we were given. He wants to be alone and miserable. Don’t take it personally. Go.”

So I packed up my dog, booked an apartment sight unseen, and called a mover. My life had exploded…but I was finally free.

And that is all I can now say about my Father.

In the words of Eugene O’Neil, in this long day’s journey into night “None of us can help the things life has done to us. They’re done before you realize it, and once they’re done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you’d like to be”.

For this moment in my journey, this is where I must be; to become. And so I write.

Once