I visited my father in the nursing home this weekend. I won’t go on about how that place gives me the creeps, or how tedious it is listening to my father talk about himself without even asking my mother how her cancer treatment is going… *sigh*
What I will say is I was amazed to be almost struck by the trigger train again. It’s been a while since that train stopped at my station. It happened as I was leaving, and my father gave indications that he wanted me to kiss him good-bye. No way. Not on your life. Uh uh. Nope. The idea of touching him makes my skin crawl and makes me shudder. I left feeling like I needed a shower. Yuck.
I wish I didn’t feel like that. I wish I had the kind of relationship with a father where the idea of touching him wasn’t a signal for the trigger train to come on through. But I don’t. I never have had, and never will have. If I think about this too much it makes me sad – firstly that I never had such a father, and secondly, that my father gives me the creeps (even if my rational brain knows that’s ok). I’m hoping one day it won’t affect me.
What I am pleased about is that I saw the trigger train coming around the bend and headed it off at the pass, diverted it onto another track, so to speak. I could still feel the train going past, but was able to hold it together. I’m also pleased that the drive to my parents’ house is no longer filled with anxiety now that he’s in the nursing home. 🙂
My father’s health is declining. Again. I’ve written on this topic more times than I care to think about. I can’t help thinking, “is this is?” though I feel like I’m jinxing myself for saying that. It’s as David once said: “I wish he’d just get it the hell over with.” Yep, me too.