I am not okay

This was written on 2/24/19. For whatever reason, I never posted this. It's been almost six years since I've posted in this blog. I am not sure why I stopped writing. All I know is that I've been thinking of a blog post, but never knew exactly how to articulate my thoughts and feelings. Today has been hard. Really, really hard. The past 9 months has been incredibly hard. My dad fell and broke his hip Memorial Day weekend. And when it happened, when I saw him in the hospital lying in the bed in so much pain, I knew and the reality hit home as to what his new normal was becoming. He had been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease and had started falling, but he had always gotten up and been okay. There's something about the mind that makes you think the person that you've known...will always be the same. That they will always be around and be healthy and be there. But it was that moment that changed it all for me. The moment that I realized that his life was about to be permanently changed forever and that he was only going to get worst. Recently, after his last hospital stay he was referred to palliative and hospice care by the hospital doctor. We didn't quite understand what that all meant. I talked to a really nice woman named Kyla who went and helped my mom discharge him from the hospital. They were able to get quickly a hospital bed and oxygen for him within a day. It had taken Medicaid months for him to get approval for other equipment. To make a long story short, my mom ended up not wanting palliative and hospice care for him. In speaking with Kyla, she let me know that my dad had an extremely rare condition but she couldn't remember what it was. She then texted me the words that I wished that I had never Googled. He had suspected supranuclear palsy, a rare brain disorder for which there is no cure and often is misdiagnosed as Parkinson's Disease. Surprisingly enough, reading this didn't make me lose it even after I had Googled what it was. But today visiting him and seeing him, the stark reality of what his life and what my mom's life has become hit me like a ton of bricks. I am grieving losing him when he's still alive. He is being robbed of life. Now many might argue that he's been lucky to have lived 83 years and had three children and two beautiful grandbabies and a wife who has stood by him through this horrible disease. And I wouldn't argue that. It doesn't make it any less hard for those that love him to see him suffering. I have many regrets, my biggest being of not spending more time with him. Of not hearing more stories about his life. Of the times that he called me on the phone and I was too busy to talk when he wanted to talk. I would do anything to have him call me on the other end of the line just to talk. I can still see him, touch him, and visit him. Yet I can feel him fading right before my eyes. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help him except to spend time with him and bring over his grandbabies that he loves so dearly and bring him so much joy. I started listening to the sermon today from church and these were the main points. 1. You are not alone. 2. Pain has a purpose. 3. Hang on and don't let go. Somehow God always knows what I need to hear.