I AM My Father's Keeper, Dammit...

(Will post Got Narcissistic Parent? That Empty Feeling, later this week)


I am my father's keeper. (It's April Fool's Day. Oh, the irony!)

Nothing drives this home more than spending your entire morning trying to figure out which brand of adult diapers is more cost effective. Mmmm. The brand carried by Target...or Costco? (Costco. Definitely. $19 savings per 72-count).

Okay, the fact that I know that adult diapers come in packs of 72 and the cheapest fastest way to ship 'em is just further evidence that I have become my narcissistic father's keeper.

In a way, I always was my father's keeper. The emotional caretaker of this poor, uneducated, man-child who was badly abused by an alcoholic father in East Los Angeles.

There may be a cultural aspect to all this. Many first and second generation Mexican-American families parentify their children, often out of necessity because they don't understand the language or how to get things done in the U.S. Sometimes, teenagers are expected to work and contribute to the family income, while trying to go to school. Later, daughters are expected to caretake their parents as they age.

The dilemma is that parents are living much longer than ever before. But longer doesn't always mean better. It may mean a slow, agonizing descent into chronic illness and dementia.

And because Our Parents Generation didn't exactly take care of themselves, times being what they were, many weren't even able to take part in the Quid Pro Quo of helping take care of the grandkids. I had my first child at 30. My adoptive mother was in her early 60's and never babysat once. Her erratic behavior turned out to be Alzheimers. (I'd never leave my kids with my narcissistic father. Ever.)

My neighbors up the street, both in their early 30's, have two babies. Their mothers, God Bless Them, take turns taking care of the kids while the parents are at work. Five days a week!

It's hard not to feel a tad envious. Instead of getting help from my parents when my daughters were babies, I was flying across the country to take the car keys away from my mother because my father was too chicken to do it. Of course, I'm not blaming my amom for getting Alzheimers, I blame my father for not handling it and turning my Introduction To Being A Mother into a Double Major of Motherhood-Badly Aging Parents fiasco.

That was, gulp, almost 16 years ago.

My self-centered father now has Lewy Body dementia and I'm still Taking Care of Business. This is a bit of a whine, yes, but I do have a broader point: The other day a neighbor asked if I was working, knowing I used to work full-time. And I mumbled and said, no. Hah! Damn right I'm working. I spent the last week filling out health care forms, arguing over erroneous bills, checking on my father's investments I've made on his behalf, talking to the nurses at the assisted living facility, blah, blah, blah. Literally, that's all I've done. This whole caretaking thing is taking a big, fat chunk of my life. I might as well admit it. Quit minimizing it. This is what I do, folks.

I have a New Job. Not one of those Green Jobs the newspapers go on and on about. But a critical, emerging, Job of the Future: Aging Parent Manager!