Today I gave away the last vestiges of my dad's dignity. He will soon be moving because he needs a higher level of care, but there are so few choices.
When my dad's Alzheimer's Disease was diagnosed it was a gentle annoyance - mainly for him. Grasping at word's, faces and things said five minutes ago. Today we are entering another phase. A phase that lacks control yet in essence cages him for his own safety. My heart is broken to be a conspirant.
He will be moving from a beautiful facility with kind faces to one where everywhere you look is a face without memories, intermittent screams from souls that can't be quenched and the rooms seem to be cells, not bedrooms. The smells are not pleasant and few, if any, residents smile. I'm sure the staff does their best; I can't imagine working there because there is no hope for those trapped by their diminishing brains this side of heaven.
I am heartbroken that I cannot offer better and that I was the one to sign the dotted line. They tell me it is for his good. I will never be convinced.
All is broken until that day my dad enters into God's rest and moves into the mansion that is being built for Him on the other side of heaven.
“There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?” John 14:2 (NLT)
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