Chaos and Crisis

Somebody found this blog by Googling, "elderly narcissistic parent crisis."

Which got me wondering about the possibilities:

a) Was the self-centered parent having a crisis?

b) Was having a narcissist for a parent the crisis?

c) Did the parent become impossibly self-centered with age or dementia?

d) Was the adult son or daughter having a tough time caring for or making arrangements for their aging parent because said parent was narcissistic?

Having absolutely no idea, I'd like to talk a bit about d).

When it became obvious that my father was no longer able to live safely by himself, it seemed like he did everything imaginable to make a tough decision as miserable as possible.

That some aging folks actually plan or cooperatively participate in planning for their future needs is an idea so strange it's right up there with aliens. Two friends told me about their own mothers, who researched the various possibilities, then moved themselves into assisted living facilities because they didn't want to be a burden to their kids. Sheesh. One of these old ladies even bought a condo in one of those fancy schmancy places so she could give it to her daughter for her future use. Double sheesh.

My narcissitic father?

He took no responsibility for helping me figure out how to make it possible for him to stay in his own home. He'd only say he didn't need any help. That I was exaggerating his need for care. Yet, I was the first call he'd make when he needed help.

He refused to move into an assisted living facility. He threatened to throw himself out of the car if I drove him there.

He refused in-home help of any kind. When I insisted on at least a part-time housekeeper, he threatened to kill himself.

He refused to move into an apartment close to me, his only child, so I could help him maintain his independence. I repeatedly offered help with meals, cleaning and transportation to and from the doctor. He said he'd kill himself if I made him move out of his house.

He refused to compromise in any way. The man simply wouldn't budge.

Then I got the blame.

To everybody else, it must have seemed I was the World's Worst Daughter because I found out he went around complaining that I'd abandoned him after all he'd done for me.

He began to fall down, had his driver's license taken away (another post! OMG! the stress!!!), and things rapidly fell apart.

Have I mentioned my father is a hypochondriac? If he's feeling anxious or if he's upset that I missed calling him at the appointed hour, he begins having chest pains and calls 9-1-1. (Another post! OMG! the stress!!!)

Of course, he expected me to leave my children and fly 400 miles to solve the probems he'd created by refusing all offers of assistance.

Then the phone calls started.

He'd call five, six...seven...up to ten times a day with one crisis or another. This went on for two long, miserable months. I was a nervous wreck, always expecting the phone to ring, not knowing what was going to happen next, but unsure how to solve the problem.

Then I remembered what happened to my poor grandmother.

My narcissistic father failed to take responsibility for her when she developed Alzheimers in her early 90's. Until then, she'd been remarkably healthy. Long story, but I found out that the police had threatened my father with charges of elder abuse and neglect after she'd been mugged during one of her wandering spells, and so I stepped in and took over. I'd only recently moved back into the state and couldn't believe my father had neglected his mother, whom he professed to adore.

So that got me thinking.

I was going to have to get tough. Even if my father pitched a fit, I was still going to have to take responsibility and make the right decision. I certainly didn't want to be charged with elder abuse or neglect. Which was likely because my father was out telling the world about just what a lazy, good for nothing, neglectful daughter he had! It didn't matter if my father was willful and stubborn as all hell.

So tough I got.

I found a top-notch assisted living facility and said he'd need to move in or else he was completely on his own. And I meant it.

Now I look back at that time and shake my head. I felt like such an evil, awful person at making him leave his home. I gave myself no credit for trying to come up with other solutions. For trying to persuade him to accept help. All I felt was Guilt, Guilt and More Guilt. Of all the dark times, this was probably the gloomiest. But finally, in he went and I've never regretted that decision. Not for one teeny, tiney second.