I went to an Alzheimer's support group recently, thinking that 1) group therapy is often a good idea and 2) I needed a little support to get over my anger, because it is eating me from the inside out. I spend an hour with him and I break out in hives. Seriously, I puffed up like Harry Potter's Aunt Marge. My physical therapist asks "WTF is going on in your neck?" because it is so tight.
The support group was made up of mostly 50ish women taking care of their mothers...and bless their hearts and the hearts of anyone taking care of the lost. But day-um! I want the drugs these girls are taking because their attitude was " I am so lucky to be able to spend time with my dear old mother in her declining years. She cleaned my butt when I was a baby and now I am happy and honored to be able to return the favor."
I'm not there yet. I am pissed off that my father has turned into incompetent old fool that wets on himself. I want to scream at the sky and shake my fist when he asks me the same question for the 10th time in 5 minutes. He ate a sponge the other day because he thought it was a sandwich.
Yeah, I'm mad and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.