Just when I thought it was safe to start making future plans…

Aiden is just months away from graduating from high school and any followers of my life might assume I’m about to hit the road for a lifetime.

Well, not so fast…

It has been quite some time since I’ve checked in or updated the adventures of my life — or even let people know that I’m currently living in the US. The truth is I’ve had to adjust to a rusty old wrench in my life that was absolutely not anticipated: Last October, I decided to take in my dad, who has been suffering with some memory loss. I could say he was “dumped” for lack of a better word, at my doorstep, but I did make the decision to take him in. I didn’t like the option of having him abandoned or sent to a some institution, so I agreed to take him into my home. He had been living with and fully supporting his ex wife and son, a kind of mutual agreement that I thought was working. So when she contacted me in a state of near desperation, I hadn’t realized that his bank account, which was near three quarters of a million dollars just a few years ago, was now at zero. Zilch. Nada. Social Security savings? Zero. Ahhh… the urgency to be rid of him suddenly made more sense.

To say that eldercare was not on my bingo card is an understatement. And certainly not for a man who has caused so much pain in my life. While I loved my mother fiercely, I had no feelings beyond anger and resentment towards my father. I didn’t care to ever see him again. But when he was presented before me – now a weak and gentle man with few options nor any friends to speak of – I couldn’t say no. “Let him deal with his own karma,” said one friend familiar with endless tales of his unethical, thieving and dangerous behavior. My answer: “Yes, but what about MY karma?”

Sandwich generation? Oh yeah, baby. It is so real.

My father will have some monthly income for a few more years, after which he really has nothing. His savings are gone. He has no retirement, no house, no car, not a single asset to his name – in fact, and get this: they shipped him off with more than $10,000 in CREDIT CARD debt. For those unaware, it means that each month you pay the minimum, your balance actually increases, not decreases. And they had been doing this for years. To heap predator on predator, when I called to renegotiate a lower interest rate, the companies condescendingly tried to explain to me that 29.9% really was “the best rate they could do.” Good lord, predatory lending has no limits, especially for elders and poor people.

When I asked his ex why his credit cards weren’t paid off while they were wildly spending my father’s inheritance, I got crickets.

“Sue them! They should be in jail,” declare friends who don’t know what it was like to live with my father. Was it right what they did? Absolutely not. But do I get it? Kind of. Suffice to say, this was one narcissistic and completely irresponsible man who put his own desires and addictions before everyone else in his family – before their safety, their wellbeing, and their own financial security. And now he remembers not one bit of it. Was it wrong for them to run his account to zero with not a stitch to show for it? You bet. But I can’t blame them their total lack of financial awareness, and perhaps for embracing the endless belief my father peddled that there would always be more. Until there wasn’t.

I tell people that I took my father in not because I love him, but rather because I hated him for so long. And hate is too strong an emotion to let die with anyone. Instead, I ask “Who has the gift and opportunity to try to heal their father wound in real life, with their own father?” And to learn patience and compassion at a depth I could never have imagined.

Am I naïve and crazy? Likely, yes. But I also cannot look away when a family member is in danger and in need. It simply is not in my DNA.

Our days together go from great — clear, cogent, grateful and kind — to lost: What day is it? Who was that person and what is my relation to him (his son), how old am I? And everything in between. Memory is a fascinating thing: what we choose to remember, or what trauma erases from our lives. I get wonderful stories of Santa Fe in the 70s, albeit with embellishments. “I was the Attorney General!” Yeah, that’s the ticket. Then he forgets the greatest transgressions against me, my mother or my brother. “I did that?” “I wouldn’t do that… Would I?” Yes. Yes, you would.

This new project has sent me down an incredible rabbit hole looking at my own mortality (and possible impending struggles with memory) and the care, or lack thereof, available in this country for our elders. Did you know a memory care unit STARTS at about $8,000 A MONTH? One friend said she paid $14,000 a month! WHAA??

The most simple assisted living center “deal” I found is roughly $3500 a month, and that’s before any add-ons, like an aspirin or delivering a meal to one’s room. The institutions I have visited smell of urine and cleaner. Old people sit alone in corners, or sleep all day long.

Luckily, I can conduct this search while my dad still has good physical health and a somewhat functioning head on his shoulders. But this won’t be the case for much longer.

I have also explored centers in Mexico and there have had better luck, so this is likely where my father will end up. I’ll be sharing a lot more on this as our story progresses, and as this decision I’ve made finds a more calm place in my mind and body. It hasn’t all settled completely.

For those of you who have extended invitations or expected more news of my life, please accept my apologies. I am just now coming up for air, but I have not yet learned how to swim in this new lake. Have patience as I work to keep my head above water.

Life WILL come back to me – starting with my newly scheduled Day of the Dead Retreat in Mexico! Boy, do I need this…  I am more than thrilled to be sharin this celebration with others.

In the meantime, stay tuned for more Sandwich Babe Chronicles. I know I’m not alone in this experience. But boy oh boy, is it a ride.