Going Home

As with many of us ‘middle agers’, our aging parents’ wellbeing and care becomes a bigger part of our lives.  In my newfound unemployed state, I do hope to spend more time with and for my parents.  I am currently with my parents back in my hometown in northern Alberta.

Going home to visit my parents is always an introspective experience. 

Where I grew up will always be ‘home’, even though I’ve been away for 29 years.  The connotations of ‘childhood home’, whether this is the town or house, mean that I’m going back in time and age.

Parents are always parents, but mine haven’t quite figured out that, at 46 years of age, I don’t need parenting anymore.  Advice is always free flowing and concerns voiced.  I wonder if there will ever be a time when I will be thought to be capable.

Going home always stirs up a mixture of anticipation, nostalgia, and sadness.  Anticipation because, after the long trek, I’m looking forward to seeing my parents to confirm if, what they say over the phone, is really how things are.  Nostalgia because this is where the memories of the first 17 years of my life remain.  Sadness because, although not discussed, my aging parents are living the last of their years as independently as possible before they progress to that ‘next phase’.  We never discuss this ‘next phase’ because to do so means acknowledging that we’ve actually thought of it.

My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago.  The diagnosis, however, was only confirmation of what I knew 8 years before, when the first signs appeared.  I’ll never forget those first times when I witnessed my father’s always-so-sharp mind’s deception. 

My mother, who was always the less healthy of the two, is now the full time mother again.  Always the doting wife, she is now caregiver, chauffeur, cook, and everything else.  She rarely complains, but her exhaustion is obvious.

Leaving is difficult.  The guilt of abandoning my mother with such responsibility is overwhelming.  Driving away, back to my easy, uncomplicated and seemingly selfish life is nearly unbearable. 

Oddly enough, my parents are happy.  They have worked hard their whole lives, so for them, their current challenges are relatively small.

Perhaps I would have the same perspective…  Perhaps….not likely.