Wednesday, 12 March 2008
My dad is currently in the throes of a difficult divorce and may or may not be coming to live with us. I've spent the last week alternating between bouts of frantic cleaning/organization and vertigo supposedly induced by a "virus in the labyrinth of the ear" for which I am currently being forced to take Meclizine. Fortunately, I have found a housecleaner who was able to help. (And I plan to keep her on regular once a week as a result of all of this.)
Dad was supposedly driving up Monday or Tuesday for a day visit to check out "what's up there."
We spent Saturday driving around with Big Ed who helped up pick out an eight drawer dresser and a full-sized futon/bed along with two lamps. Big Ed also found a fellow to help unload the stuff. Husband put together the futon, lamp, and dresser-- rather impressive I must admit-- leaving me only the drawer handles to screw into place.
Sunday afternoon Dad called to announce that he was halfway here. I was instantly glad that we had set up the bedroom on Saturday. We scurried around like rats to scrap away the last remnants of sludge from the homestead. A couple hours later and still no dad.
The police department called. First thing I said without even saying hello was, "Is my father alright?"
Turns out his cell phone stopped functioning so he went to the police department. The desk sarge was good-natured and hunted through four log books before finding our address and phone number. We went down to the police station to pick up my dad.
Dad had worn a leather jacket. For years now I have been telling him that it really is colder up here but to no avail. We got him home and warmed him up and then went to a diner for a bite to eat. Husband lent him a warmer jacket. After dinner, we spent some time with the telly. The dog and the most courageous cat spent some time pestering-- I mean getting to know-- the stranger in the easy chair.
Dad slept in the bedroom we had set up for him that night. The next morning, husband went off to work. Dad and I went out to breakfast at the same diner, I gave him a brief tour of Hiserville, he shoveled some ice off of the driveway, and then he was off.
He doesn't know if or when he is moving in yet. I am not terribly interested in him spending another moment in the condo with my soon to be ex-stepmother but it is not my call. There was a bit of cognitive slippage that was noticeable-- "vagueness" is the word that husband used. I sure hope it is not some sort of dementia or neuro problem in vitro.
If it is, that just makes the whole divorce thing that much more horrid. In other words, dumping a mate because he got older and broker bites. Dumping a mate because he got older, broker, and may be showing signs of losing it is total suckage.
Oh, I know that it takes two to make a problem. After all, I am still my father's daughter. The only thing that stops me from telling my soon to be ex-stepmother where she can get off is my half-sister who is her daughter and really hurting about all of this.