Many many years ago, I made a promise to my dad that I would do everything possible to keep him out of a home. After he got sick 15 years ago, that promise was tested. Even more so here in the last couple months.

15 years later & somehow we’ve managed to keep him here with us at home.

I haven’t spoken much on how things have changed, not only in the last 15 years but also in the last 6 months.

My dad went from a man who drove a semi across the country being gone for weeks at a time, having to pump fuel pretty regularly, to a man who goes to the gas station with me and has no idea what to do.

He went from someone who has ALWAYS had a pot of coffee brewing, to someone who, most days, has no idea how to brew a pot of coffee.

He went from someone who was the chef, to a man who isn’t allowed to touch the stove unless someone is standing right over him watching his every move.

He went from someone who’s passed every extreme physical with flying colors, to someone who can’t walk 30 feet without falling or stumbling.

He went from someone who was always the chauffeur, to someone who hasn’t been behind the wheel of a vehicle in multiple years.

He went from someone who taught me how to completely detail the semis(& if you know him, you know how particular he was about his trucks & chrome), to someone who doesn’t even know how to wash a plate.

He went from someone who kept up with lawn care, to someone who can’t push a lawnmower to feet or even hold a weedeater. (Thank goodness he taught me all the stuff when I was growing up)

When I was growing up I had so many visions of how I wanted my life to be when I grew up and had children & how I couldn’t wait for my dad to teach his grandchildren all the things. But instead, my reality is so different from what I envisioned.

This is my reality.

Feeding him is my reality.

Picking him up because of fall after fall is my reality.

Helping his shower is my reality.

Shaving him is my reality.

Making his coffee is my reality.

Helping him dress is my reality.

Putting his socks and shoes on his is my reality.

Walking behind him throughout the day holding a gait belt is my reality.

Signing his name on everything, because he can’t is my reality.

Reading things to him to where he can understand them is my reality.

Providing everyday care is my reality.

Some days it’s hard. Really really hard. Some days I want to yell, scream, and cry.

He’s constantly apologizing to me cause this is the life we live, and thanking me for everything I do. I just hope one day he realizes, I’d do it all over for him again, a million times without thinking twice about it.