I ran away from home.
Right now, I'm in Nagoya.
I will never live in that house in Nagano again.
---
"But you'll probably get worried and go back again, won't you?"
No.
I won't.
I'll only return to Nagano to visit my mother.
---
"So you're going back after all."
No.
I'll stay in a hotel, visit my mother, and then return to Okayama the following day.
I can no longer live with my father.
---
My father's dementia has become severe.
His delusions have grown worse, and no matter what happens, he says things like,
> "I know you're trying to help, but stop making decisions without asking me!"
> "You never listen to what I say!"
> "Why are you still here?! Get out!"
There it was again.
I had finally reached my limit.
My father has dementia.
Reasoning with him or trying to explain anything is meaningless.
To him, every word I say sounds like nothing more than
**"another attempt to deceive him."**
---
On top of that, his dependence on me has become extreme.
While I was away, he had at least been heating his own meals in the microwave.
But once I returned home, he stopped doing even that.
> "Where's the rice?"
"It's where it always is."
> "Where?"
"It's right here."
Even after opening the refrigerator, he didn't bother looking.
He wasn't searching for the containers of rice.
He was looking for the bowl of rice that he expected **me** to have already heated and prepared for him.
---
This morning, he became angry again because there was no grilled fish for breakfast.
After our previous major argument, we had agreed on two things.
> Please do whatever you're still able to do yourself.
> We won't plan our meals around each other anymore.
> We'll each prepare our own food.
This morning, while I was making toast for myself, my father walked into the kitchen in a bad mood.
I said,
> "Thanks for putting the dishes away."
For just a moment, he looked almost pleased.
Then his sour expression immediately returned.
> "Haven't you eaten yet?
> I didn't cook this morning, so just have your usual breakfast.
> Rice, natto, grilled fish, and miso soup."
He remained silent and visibly irritated.
At first, I thought he simply didn't want to prepare his own breakfast.
I was wrong.
He said,
> "You always make your breakfast first, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
I replied,
> "You just heat it in the microwave."
Then he said,
> "I thought you were going to grill that dried horse mackerel."
???
He was talking about the dried horse mackerel we had found in the freezer the day before.
When I found it, I also discovered that the grill rack was so filthy that it couldn't be used.
During the week I was away, my father had repeatedly grilled frozen fish without cleaning it afterward.
The grease had baked onto the rack.
It wasn't something that could simply be wiped off.
So I had told him,
> "The grill is too dirty to use.
> I'll go buy some grilled fish from Seven-Eleven."
I walked to the convenience store, bought four packs of grilled fish, and brought them home.
He quietly ate one for breakfast.
Now, this morning...
Not once had I said I would grill the dried horse mackerel.
I reminded him,
> "I told you the grill was too dirty to use.
> That's why I bought the fish yesterday.
> There are still three packs left."
He insisted,
> "I thought you were going to grill the horse mackerel!"
I never said any such thing.
I handed him one of the packaged grilled fish.
> "The grill is too dirty.
> Isn't this fine?"
He reluctantly heated it in the microwave.
But he kept complaining.
> "You're saying I should clean the grill!"
"No.
You don't have to.
It's a difficult job."
> "I always cleaned it!"
It was filthy precisely because he hadn't.
Then he shouted,
> "I'm the head of this household!"
In other words,
he believed that preparing his meals was my responsibility.
I replied,
> "I'm not your servant."
> "I never said you were!"
"I bought you the fish yesterday.
Why am I being yelled at?"
> "I'm not angry!"
"You clearly are.
People who aren't angry don't talk like that."
> "I'm angry because you keep saying all these things!"
There was no point continuing.
---
My toast was ready, so I sat down to eat.
Behind me, I heard him shout,
> "Where's that bankbook?!"
He was talking about the bankbook we had discussed the day before.
"It's where it was yesterday."
> "Where?!"
"In the drawer with your clothes.
Come here."
I showed him where it was.
He gestured for me to hand it to him.
I gave him his bankbook.
Then I handed him his personal seal.
He exploded.
> "What's THIS?!"
"The bank needs both your bankbook and your seal if you want to withdraw money."
> "I KNOW THAT!"
As I started putting away the remaining documents and my mother's bankbook, he shouted again,
> "What are you doing?!
> What's that?!"
"That's Mom's bankbook.
Only Mom can use it."
> "Mom's?!"
"Yes.
You can put yours away now."
When I tried handing him his documents,
> "You put them away!"
His anger never subsided.
By then, I don't think even he knew what he was angry about.
Everything I did became another reason for him to explode.
> "You think you're helping, but you keep doing everything behind my back!"
"What exactly have I done?"
> "The bank!"
"I haven't done anything behind your back.
You told me you couldn't remember your PIN, so I suggested we go to the bank."
> "I was going to try some PIN numbers I sort of remembered!"
"Last night we talked about trying the ATM.
Then we decided it would be easier just to go to the bank counter.
Nothing was done without your agreement."
> "Don't come with me!
I'll do it myself!"
"Fine.
I just don't want to be accused later of withdrawing your money without permission."
After more pointless arguing that I don't even care to remember...
He shouted once again,
> "Why are you still here?!
> Get out!"
That was the end.
---
I quietly replied,
> "I'm leaving."
I threw away my untouched toast and cherry tomatoes.
I packed my belongings into a backpack.
Everything else went into cardboard boxes and was sent to Okayama by courier.
Before leaving, I took one last photograph of myself in front of the house.
I loved that house.
It was my farewell photograph.
As long as my father is alive,
I will never return to live there.
Goodbye.
---
**5:30 p.m.**
I arrived safely in Okayama.
For the first time in a long while,
I felt relieved.
---
**6:24 p.m.**
My father called.
> "What?"
> "Where are you?!"
"I'm at my house in Okayama."
> "How could you leave without saying anything?!"
"You were the one who told me to get out."
> "I told you to leave plenty of times, but think about the situation!
> What am I supposed to ea—"
I cut him off.
> "You were the one who told me to get out."
Then I hung up.
To clarify,
what my father was really saying was this:
> "As the head of this household,
> it's your job to prepare my meals!
> How dare you leave without doing that!
> What am I supposed to eat for dinner?!"
---
I understand that my father has dementia.
I know that dementia can make people aggressive.
But that doesn't mean I can keep living like this.
I had reached my limit.
If I had stayed in that house,
I believe I would eventually have collapsed—
or developed severe depression.
If I collapse,
my mother will have nowhere to go.
After she's discharged from the hospital,
I want her to come and live with me in Okayama.
My father's care will now be left entirely in the hands of our care manager.
Goodbye, H.
Comments
Post a Comment