Nervous about visiting Dad after moving him to dementia care
Dear Grassflower: Three weeks ago my husband and I moved my dad to dementia care. He was lost and confused when we pulled up outside and a nurse helped him out of the car, but I think at some level he knew he wasn’t going home. I felt like a horrible person when we drove away to sort through the house and figure out what to keep or sell. I wanted to cry. I feel like all the little “therapeutic lies” we told him to get him to agree to the move were hardly worth the pain and guilt. I feel like a horrible traitor to everything Dad stood for. I keep telling myself, “at least he is safe now”, but it feels empty. Now we’re planning a visit and I don’t know what to say or do.
~Lynne, Mobile, AL
The Reality
One of the things I like to do when I feel strongly conflicted about a decision is to approach it in two pieces: the logical hard-core facts and my feelings. My husband likes to say that we eliminate options based on logic but when there’s no clear choice, we decide based on feelings.
You mentioned he was confused and lost when you arrived at the dementia care home. I would also imagine that you didn’t come to the decision lightly, either. It was probably a combination of things that led you to it: Based on that, I think you KNEW that your dad couldn’t stay at home any longer.
A lot of folks who are learning to wrap their heads around being a caregiver for a parent or spouse with dementia also struggle with what to tell them. If I tell Dad that he’s got dementia and I’m moving him out of his house and into a dementia care home, is he going to take it well? Maybe. Or maybe he’ll get angry, refuse, scream at you that you’re just trying to steal his house from under him, and to wait until he dies first. Perhaps he’ll break down in tears after having his deepest secret fears of losing independence confirmed by a medical diagnosis.
The point is, there are STRONG arguments for not telling Dad everything, and I’m guessing your gut is telling you you were right, but it still doesn’t sit well with you.
There’s a saying in Buddhism that one should speak truth, but pay attention to whether the words you choose are both necessary and kind. Is it necessary to tell your Dad he’s moving to a dementia home? Is it kind? What could you say instead that would get the same point across?
Or try Ephesians 4:29: “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” Is telling Dad that he can’t live at home any more helpful for building him up according to his need? Probably not.
You almost certainly know that there are times when telling a partial truth is more helpful than telling the bald, unvarnished, jagged-edges-of-broken-glass version.
Don’t second-guess your strategy to protect Dad. It’s been a good one so far.
What you’re trying to reconcile, then, isn’t whether moving Dad made LOGICAL sense (it does!), but whether it makes EMOTIONAL sense TO YOU.
The Feelings
You used words like “pain”, “guilt”, and “horrible traitor.” That’s a pretty harsh self-judgment for someone who’s doing their best.
That doesn’t make emotional sense.
If you’re doing your best, why let yourself feel this way? You could not have prevented Dad’s dementia, couldn’t have caught and stopped it earlier, and you can’t stop it now. No matter what you do, the part of Dad chased you around the yard as a kid, cheered you at soccer practice, taught you to tie your shoelaces, and sang off-key while driving the entire family to Disney World is drifting away, and something in the back of your mind is already grieving his loss. You feel bad about leaving this stage of Dad’s life behind. You feel like when you weren’t looking, it snuck out the back door, got lost, and it was your job to make sure it didn’t happen.
PLEASE stop kicking yourself. There is nothing else that could have been done, and you’re doing everything you can!
How will Dad feel when you come to visit? Confused, probably. Maybe irritated. But he still needs you. He needs your company, he needs to know he still matters to you, and he needs to know that no matter what happens, you’re going to make sure he’s as safe and content as possible.
His world is simpler now. When you visit Dad, don’t dwell on your complex feelings of self-judgment, self-doubt, or inadequacy; instead focus on what brings him comfort and happiness. If you bring worry to your visit, Dad will pick up on it, and will probably be worried as well, for reasons he doesn’t understand.
A wise man once said that while pain is inevitable, suffering is a choice we make when we become attached to things we cannot have. Please do not let the pain you are feeling about the loss of Dad’s “old life” turn into suffering. Don’t focus on what can no longer be.
Instead, focus on sharing simple pleasures you know Dad enjoys. Bring something from the old house to brighten up his room, like a photo of the family. Bring cookies or chocolate. Bring flowers, play games, and tell jokes. Do all the stuff you never had time to do with your dad. This is your chance to steal happiness from the time he has left; and the happier Dad is in the moment, the happier he’ll be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
You will discover peace in knowing you lifted his spirits in those moments of joy; and in time, your heart will stop breaking.
