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Pookah had been bugging me all day Saturday to go see his Grandma Rose. I mean ALL DAY. I really wanted to take a drive down to see my Dad, but my car is not reliable right now, so I was resigned to not going. But at the last minute, knowing I really wanted to go, Cdub offered to drive us down. Pookah was deliriously happy. My mother is the only female that he will throw me over for. I am chopped liver next to my mother. And I understand. Completely.
We got there late, so I figured that my Dad was asleep.  But he was awake.

He was so small. So frail. So…tiny in that bed.

I wanted to cry so badly.

He can’t talk at this time. And can barely get out of the bed. My cousin who is a nurses aid and I spent a lot of time teaching my mother about proper body mechanics and how to safely move him in the bed. He’s so light now that I swear I could pick him up if I had to.

He used to be so strong.

My mother is loosing weight also.

It’s the constant caregiving. The up and down at night. Being 66 years old and taking care of your bedridden, sick husband 24 hours a day 7 days a week.

I feel like I’m loosing them both.

Slowly.

Surely.

And there is nothing I can do about it.

She won’t let me hire help.

I don’t have the money to hire help.

But I would mortgage my house to the hilt if I could to help.

The only light of the weekend was Pookah’s constant need to check on his granddaddy. Pookah being the only one to get him to drink water. Pookah being the one to get him to eat.  Pookah drew him a picture  of us and taped it to the wall, “so Grandaddy can see us.”

I hated to leave. I felt like I was abandoning them.

Sigh.