July 16, 2012

• Decisions.

  I've been trying to write this post for a few days now, but it has always been so hard to write.  To put it all down in words just makes it all seem so real and definite.  Jamie and I have finally made a decision regarding our next move, and it will be back to the US.  As much as we want to stay in Europe (and lord knows, we really want to stay), it just isn't really feasible right now at this point in our lives.

  You're probably wondering what prompted this decision...since I was totally up in the air about everything a week or so ago.  Last week, I got the phone call everyone dreads...the one where you're told something is wrong with a loved one, and you realize there's nothing you can do, and you're a 9 hour flight away, and all you're left with is telephone calls and your own worst enemy, your thoughts (and Dr. Google.  That bastard.).  I called my mom on Thursday, like any other time I call her.  First thing out of her mouth was, "I'm so glad you called, I was getting ready to call you."  For my mom, that's pretty odd...she usually just sits back and lets me do the actual labor intensive work of dialing a phone.  "It's about your dad."  And...my heart sank.  All the way to the pit of my stomach, somewhere behind my spine...hiding underneath my spleen (or somewhere in there).

  My first thought was cancer.  Dad and I are no strangers to cancer...he's had all three types of skin cancer, and a few serious rounds with melanoma...so that's what I thought it was.  Melanoma that had spread.  Scary, definitely, but still treatable.  We'd both beaten cancer NUMEROUS times...we could do it again.  Cancer is scary, but you can win against it.  But nope...not cancer. 

  "The doctors think your dad has dementia, and the beginning stages of Alzheimer's."  And with that...my hopes of cancer (how sick is that...that you HOPE something is cancer), were dashed.  Because...there's no beating Alzheimer's...there's no cutting it out, pumping you full of chemo and radiation, and living another day to tell another story.  Nope...there's mood swings and depression...there's forgetting treasured memories and where you live.  There's forgetting your family.  There's forgetting me.  My daddy is probably going to eventually forget who I am...and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.

  So...for now, there's talk of neurology appointments, and cat scans, and all sorts of tests to rule out all sorts of things.  Mom is making appointments with the lawyer to see what can be done regarding their assets.  And Jamie and I are here for another year, but planning a move back to the States as soon as the contract finishes up.  There's still a chance that it's not dementia, and that Alzheimer's isn't on the table...but I'm terrified to let myself hope.  Because if I let that little seed of doubt start to grow into a tree of "the doctor's are wrong and Dad's fine"...when those tests come back and the diagnosis is more definitive, I'm just going to fall off my cliff that much farther.  My dad is my hero, he's the first man I ever loved.  And the idea that he might eventually not even recognize me is killing me beyond belief.  I know it's worst case scenario, and that it might never get to that (because, theoretically, he could be hit by a bus tomorrow...even though there are no buses in our town, except school buses...and those drivers are nuts), but I can't help but worry that it'll get there...and sooner rather than later.  He's been going downhill these past few years so rapidly...sometimes we talk on the phone and he forgets that I live in Europe.  Other times, we talk and he starts talking about something completely different, mid-sentence, but he doesn't make any sense. 

  So...Jamie and I talked after that phone call.  Actually, we got into an argument where I told him I was sick of living in this perpetual state of not knowing what we're doing next, and how I need a decision made because our whole lives are hinging on this decision (starting a family being one of those things).  Then, mid-yell from me, I just looked at him and said "and I want my daddy to remember me," and started bawling.  Not the best argument, I won't lie.  But, it was real, and it was the truth, and it was probably the closest we've come to the real, honest reasons for making a decision than we have in a long while.  And after that, the decision was easy, really.  It's not ideal, and we'd love to stay (hell...I'd like to go home under ANY other situation than this one), but it's life and life's not always pretty.  Sometimes you have to give up one thing to have another.  And I'd give up a million days touring Europe just to spend that time with my family while I can.

  And now...the decision's made.  We've both informed work about our plans.  I've started the process of letting my boss and upper management know they'll need to find a backfill for me eventually so we can start training.  It's a year away, but that year will go fast, and I'd rather let then know too early than too late. We've started making lists, and planning the last bits of travel here that we'll have, and figuring out mundane things like down payments and what all we'll need to buy once we get home. 

  I've told my parents.  I haven't said why, because I don't want them to feel guilty.  And really, there's nothing to feel guilty over.  I'm happy to be going home.  I'm thrilled beyond belief to be able to see my family whenever I want, rather than have to spend months planning a trip and sorting out vacation.  They may drive me insane at times, but they're family and I love them dearly.

  It's final...we're going home.  I only hope everything works out.

   

  XOXOXO,
  K.

   

   

  • 3:24 pm
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