My father is no longer capable of handling things on his own.
His paranoia is out of control, and I simply cannot deal with it anymore.
His memory has become extremely unreliable.
He cannot understand what other people are saying.
He forgets things that happened on the same day.
When he becomes agitated, his story changes even within a single conversation.
At this point, explanations and persuasion no longer work.
Our family doctor has already told me,
> "Your father has dementia."
The doctor also advised me:
> "Given his current condition, taking him to a neurologist would probably cause a lot of trouble, so I don't recommend it. There isn't really any medication that would help anyway."
So what am I supposed to do?
My father cannot do anything by himself.
The terrible state of the house during the four days I was away in Nagano seems to have completely vanished from his memory.
"I do everything properly!"
"I was the one who spent more than two hours cleaning that horrible kitchen until after ten at night.
You were sleeping the whole time."
"I was going to clean it up!"
"You had four days to do it.
How could you possibly have cleaned all that by yourself?"
"Don't make assumptions like that!"
These absurd arguments just go on and on.
I have been arranging things for my mother's life after she returns home, including electrical work and replacing the washing machine.
According to my father:
> "You think you're helping, but you're making all these decisions without even talking to me."
In reality, he handed me 100,000 yen for the washing machine.
He was present when we discussed the electrical work and attended the estimate appointment as well.
Apparently, there are many other things that I have supposedly "done without consulting him."
While I am in Nagano, I am scolded for things like this almost every day.
"Dad, you've forgotten.
You paid for the washing machine, remember?
Why would you say that?"
But questions like that are meaningless once he gets angry.
He simply repeats one incoherent argument after another.
Even when I explain that everything is being done to prepare for Mom's return home, he says:
> "I'll take care of your mother myself!"
"I don't think you can.
You don't even understand what condition she'll be in when she comes home."
For a moment, he fell silent.
"Do you remember the rehabilitation goals we discussed with the doctor at S Hospital?"
"I don't know anything about that!"
"You, me, and the doctor talked about it together.
You were sitting right beside me."
"I never heard that!"
"If you don't know what condition Mom will be in when she comes home, how are you going to prepare?"
By that point, his arguments had become so confused that I could barely keep track of them.
Then he shouted:
> "That's enough! Go home! Leave! Why are you even here?!"
There it was again.
"I'm not leaving.
I'm here for Mom."
"This is my house! Get out!"
"It's Mom's house too."
There was no stopping him anymore.
The day my mother collapsed, my father failed to realize that something was seriously wrong.
She had lost movement on one side of her body and could barely speak, yet he insisted that she was fine.
When he claimed that he could take care of her by himself, I said:
"Dad, when Mom collapsed, you didn't realize that she was seriously ill, did you?
The doctors said she could suffer another brain hemorrhage.
If that happens and you don't realize that something is wrong, she could die."
"What?!
When was that?!"
"On the evening of June 1st.
Mom was lying right there that evening, remember?
That was when the first hemorrhage happened.
When I called and asked if she was okay, you told me:
'She's fine. I'm helping her take a bath.'
And then:
'She's fine. I'm helping her get changed.'
Then you hung up."
Apparently, he still doesn't understand when my mother's condition actually began.
"What?!"
"Do you remember what the surgeon told us after Mom's operation?"
"I don't know! I never heard that!"
"You were there.
You've forgotten."
"What?!"
"The doctor told us that Mom had suffered several hemorrhages.
He said:
> 'The first bleed had already solidified, and we had to scrape it out during surgery.'
The first hemorrhage happened on the evening of June 1st.
If we had called an ambulance at that point, the damage might have been much less severe."
"June 1st?
But you went back home the day before!"
"That's right."
"Then why didn't you notice anything?!"
"Mom suffered the hemorrhage on the evening of June 1st."
"You said she had multiple hemorrhages!
Why didn't you realize it?!"
That was exactly what I wanted to ask him.
My mother was perfectly healthy on May 31st.
She was picking flowers in the garden and arranging them.
I even have video footage of it.
Deep down, I think my father knows that he failed during the initial response.
But blaming me for it is another matter entirely.
At this point, my father is no longer capable of having a rational conversation.
I don't even want to talk to him anymore.
His condition directly affects my mother's future care.
I had hoped that the three of us could live together again.
But there is no place in that future for a father who is consumed by paranoia and pathological dependence on others.
He would inevitably become dependent on my mother as well.
A few days ago, my father asked me to accompany him to C Hospital.
I wanted him to become more independent, so I refused.
"When Mom comes home, I won't be able to leave her alone.
I won't be able to accompany you to the hospital anymore.
Think of this as practice and go by yourself."
"My hearing is bad.
I can't understand what the doctor says.
I need you to listen for me."
I eventually agreed.
Then I remembered that he owns hearing aids.
"Dad, you have hearing aids.
Why don't you use them?"
He looked genuinely surprised.
"I have them, but putting them on is a hassle."
"Then just wear them when you go to the hospital."
"I know that!
They work perfectly well!"
Nothing about the conversation made sense.
"Dad, what are you going to do when Mom comes home?
You can't leave her alone."
He simply stared at me blankly.
"Mom has lost part of her right visual field.
She could fall at the entrance.
She can't remember where the bathroom is.
Someone has to help her.
The doctors also said that another brain hemorrhage is possible."
"Then just take Mom with you."
"You can't drag a sick person to the hospital for no reason.
Absolutely not."
"Fine, then."
And the conversation ended.
He genuinely believes that my mother will return home exactly as she was before.
The same thing happened during today's argument.
The goal of my mother's rehabilitation is:
> To improve her language abilities and enable her to eat, use the bathroom, and bathe with assistance.
My father remembered none of this.
"I never heard that!
Nobody told me!"
"Dad, if you don't know what condition Mom will be in when she comes home, how can you possibly prepare?"
"They'll explain everything when she's discharged!"
"That'll be too late."
"Why?!"
"If they tell us that construction work is needed, we can't just ask someone to do it the next day."
"Why not?!"
"The electrical work over there took two weeks just to get an estimate.
Sometimes these things take a month.
Mom could be discharged in as little as one month.
Do you even know when she might come home?"
I ended up answering my own question.
"As early as one month from now, right?"
"That's right.
She was transferred on June 24th, so she could be back by the end of July.
That gives us only three weeks."
After that, his comments became so absurd that I honestly can't remember them.
He is completely convinced that my mother will return exactly as she used to be.
After the argument, he said that he wanted nothing more to do with me.
The same man who said that was eating the rice that I had cooked.
Meanwhile, an alarm is beeping in the kitchen.
The freezer door is open again.
This is the third time he has left it open.
My own food is inside, so I suppose I'd better tell him before I close it.
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