I was at the Southern Festival of Books or napping all weekend. I realized walking the dog this morning that I don’t have anything spooky lined up for October this year. Frankly, the thing that scares me is the idea of my dad dying up there in Illinois and us being helpless to stop it.
The amount of people who call me and tell me my dad needs to be at Vanderbilt is… I mean, it feels like it’s every fucking body who knows him. And I’m like, yes, I know. But he’s not senile. He’s not incapable of making his own decisions.
This, how things are right now, is what he wants. Except he wants to be able to return to driving all over the damn country.
And yet, I’m going to be honest, I’m fucking terrified of them coming down here and what that means for my life. And that makes me feel bad. Like a shitty daughter.
But, like I told S. yesterday, if they wanted someone who could take care of them in their old age, they should have gotten me help when it was first obvious I was depressed and anxious, gotten me on meds and in therapy. You know, back when I was 14. But here I am thirty years later, just getting my shit together and I’m only this good and capable.
And I can’t have them living with me. I can’t even have them needing to see me all the time. So, this whole thing is spooking me.