My heart bleeded, girl

So Dad hates the absolutely gorgeous - seriously, grand piano and floor to ceiling windows in the common room, white tablecloths in the dining room, all the things that have always been right up his alley - assisted living facility that my sister-in-law found not ten minutes from their place in Atlanta that my brother was willing to foot the bill for. Pam is a retired nurse and regularly goes to India to set up clinics, so she knows what's she's doing and really liked the care this place was all set to give Dad.

But he made my stepsister Jessica, who took over when I left last week, drive him down to ATL Saturday to look at it and he hates it. He doesn't want to be around a lot of old people. Says the man who turns 90 in six weeks.

Whatever. He's had to give up the idea of independence, his car, his LOADED HANDGUN, and pretty much all agency. No way are we going to force him to go someplace he hates. So Jessica is taking him home with her. My stepbrother John is with him now, and is going to take him to Jessica, who lives in south Georgia somewhere, this weekend.

I hope it works. When I talked to him yesterday, I could only understand half of what he said. A series of small strokes or too much vicodin? Who knows. He went back to the pain clinic today for another nerve block, and I hope that helps. He's still insisting on going to Germany in April, and John has volunteered to go with him.

Never in a million years would I ask him to come live with us, even if we lived in just one city.

I really wanted him to be in ATL. That's a short flight away, instead of three airports or nine hours in the car the way TN was, or whatever I have to do to get to Jessica's. I wanted to go see him, my brother and sil, and topaz119 on a regular basis, but I guess not.

My brother informs me I can still come to ATL whenever I want.

Here's what interesting to me. The children who grew up with him, the ones he raised, (my brother and I) are like, here, here's a nice assisted living facility. The ones he didn't raise, his biological children - the ones who talk to him, anyway, which is 3 out of 5 - are all, here, he can live with me! I'll go to Germany with him!

I find that telling. Larry keeps saying it's going to be a strain on Jessica's marriage, but he's projecting. Over the years, any time I saw any hint of Larry acting like Dad - which, they do have some similarities- I couldn't deal. His plaintive cry over the years was "But I'm not Chris!"

It would take a book to describe growing up with Dad, whom I've been calling Dad since I was ten, but whom I've been referring to as Chris more and more over the years. This should suffice: have a list of the things I learned not to do when I was young, because what it got me was a command to "Think!" accompanied by a headshake that said, wow, are you stupid. He never yelled, just shook his head and told us to think. I like to think I emerged unscathed, but Larry would argue with that.

Never eat in the same room with him. If you just merrily crunch an apple, it's too loud. If you try to eat it slowly and quietly so as not to bother him, stop playing with your food!

Never make noise when you turn the page of a book or god forbid, the newspaper. Very annoying.

Never under any circumstances, chew ice, eat a lollipop, or shuffle cards.

Don't fill an ice cube tray with anything but cold water.

Don't sit on the floor and lean back on the couch - it wears out the furniture.

Don't turn a door knob and push the door open at the same time. Make sure the knob is turned all the way before you push. It wears out the knob.

I got bitched at for walking too heavy on my heels, and my brother got bitched at for bouncing on his toes. I was never sure which part of my foot was okay to walk on.

Never talk when he's watching TV. Never talk to anyone else when he's around unless he's included in the conversation.

If you're a small child, don't touch anything and be quiet. Unless you're Ashley, who for some reason was his favorite when they were little.

Actually, just don't be a child. Wait until you're a self-supporting adult before you expect him to tolerate having you in the room.

Dinner was its own special kind of hell. Sit up straight, elbows off the table, all the usual table manner stuff, with special emphasis on not letting your knife slide against your fork when you cut your meat, which you could only cut two pieces of at once, and then put your knife at 12 and 3 on your plate. (I have impeccable table manners, btw.)

Anyway, my mother loved him dearly, and he adored her. Any hint of criticism hurt her deeply. One year when the girls were two, I was pregnant with Adam, and my niece was one, we spent what came to be known as The Vacation From Hell with them - they lived in Florida at the time. My sister-in-law and Larry refused to ever go back and I spent the rest of the kids' childhood visiting them without Larry, and my brother just didn't visit.

Anyway, that's Dad. I honestly love him dearly at this point - I like to think I've gotten past it all, and now we all just joke about it. He's never known how much of a pain in the ass he is. I have mixed feelings about all this. I feel like Jessica's taking him away from me, but I don't actually want him. Does that make sense?

And now I'm in Columbus, ready to go see the Jackets play the Canucks. Erin is going with me. She has a migraine because she fucking hates her job but there's nothing she can do about it, but she might as well go to the game with me as sit at home feeling sorry for herself.

Awesome.