This has been quite a hard post to write.
I wasn't emotionally ready to attempt it until yesterday. However, after hours of writing, I deleted the lot.
I've decided to keep it simple, as much as possible. It was an epic 8 days!
So, here goes...
Prelude: Dad drives to Wagga Wagga every year around early March to shoot. Dad loves his guns and loves his shooting- clay targets with double barrel shotguns. This year, he swung by Melbourne to visit his sister, who was in the latter stages of dementia and non responsive. It really hit him hard. When I rang him on his 87 birthday mid March, he was depressed and despondent.
In April, Aunty Rina died. Dad rang to inform us, and ask if we were going to the funeral. But as it's the other end of Australia, I gave my apologies. He understood, and said he would train it down and send our love.
And so it begins...
On Saturday April 29, at around 3pm, I received a confusing, disjointed phone call from dad. It took some effort getting coherent information from him to work out what was going on. Turns out, he was attempting to drive to the funeral, and had got himself a bit lost along the way. Understatement actually. Dad knows the way. Very well. And I haven't known him to be this down for years (dad has suffered extreme losses- a grandchild who died at 16 and two daughters who died several years later), but other than fairly normal age related forgetfulness, he is pretty well wired.
I was so alarmed after the conversation, I told my eldest daughter, Lizzy, and my hubby about the call. They shared my concern. We discussed flying down to meet dad, but something just didn't seem right. As he's only recently purchased his new (2nd hand) car- a purchase I was against, we didn't even know his rego. So, the decision was made- we would drive down to find him, and safely take him to the funeral in Melbourne.
Enter break neck speed packing for a much colder climate, a funeral, and a week on the road. Add some food, and a few possible locations dad offered as clues, a few blankets and a slightly confused toddler, and we were on our way by about 4:30pm, with no solid idea of where exactly we were going.
My hubby, me, Lizzy and Belle crammed into our very packed car and just drove. A late night, very winding road provided an abundant of wildlife and a car sick toddler who threw up. The idea of driving straight through to find dad was aborted due to this, and me- my back was still giving me grief after my recent pancreatitis episode.
We booked accommodation as we drove. I picked a winner the first night, a Deer Inn at Armidale that let us check in after 10pm. It was then I realised I was wearing the only jeans I remembered to bring. Then a Bates Motel replica the second night. It came complete with a patron cleaning his gun in the carpark, and a room so dim, it absorbed the light and gave us nightmares and feelings of hopelessness and despair. From that point, I was banned from choosing.
A miracle happened very early the next morning though- after countless attempts to call him, dad answered! Our stopping proved wise- we had to back track and get to another freeway to find him. So, after pleading with dad to stay put, we made yet another quick getaway and drove for 2.5 hours in hope that he had stayed put, and was where he said.
We eventually found dad in Cowra, 11 hours drive from his home in Brisbane. He had lost a huge amount of weight, was dehydrated, confused and disorientated, but thrilled to see us. It was now Monday morning. Dad told us he left early Thursday morning. He had been zigzagging for 5 days, disorientated and confused :(
As an ex dementia/ aged care nurse, I'm aware the importance of basic nutrition/ hydration, so that was my focus. I also figured dad was utterly exhausted, so plenty of rest was important too.
While it was a relief to have found dad, and know he was safe, we still had a funeral to get him too. Dad's physical abilities are very limited. He is extremely deaf, and his mind was not in a good place. He needed our support. He was panicky and distressed right up to getting to the funeral. But once there, he was relaxed, chatty and praised my Lizzy for driving him safely there to all who would listen.
Enter the shift.
Memory lapse time. 'This getting lost business is a bit of a joke gone bad. I know my way around! Funeral? When was that again?'
Grateful dad became snappy Cranpa and cranky dad. Did we take his keys and phone?! Why were we keeping him away from his gun-club- he had to get back for work you know!
The next few days were utterly exhausting. Dad's agitation grew.
We attempted to get him to enjoy a slower trip home to enjoy a rare holiday with 2 of his granddaughters and us. Nope. Not having it.
We were still worried about him, so even though he hated it, we made sure we rested a lot and ate well. Still, we rushed to appease him. But not quickly enough apparently. Someone had set his mind on home, and we were keeping him from it.
After a heated discussion one early morning, when at just on 6, an already dressed dad was raring to get a move on, I tried to explain what had happened the past several days and why we didn't want to rush. That did it- infuriated dad and shut him down. I'm told by Lizzy, he huffed the whole way to the next town as she drove. And judging by his sullen expression and leaving the cafe so he didn't have to look at us, I don't doubt it. He took the keys off Lizzy too.
And, that is where we lost dad again. At Coonabarabran.
Because of his mental state, I called the police. They must have felt it was serious enough to meet us, take dad's details, and try to catch him. Considering his head start though, dad was at the advantage.
Shell shocked, we decided to head to Armidale and stay at the Deer Inn again, just to stop and breathe for a day. And relax enough to erase the memory of watching our Cranpa and dad drive off like an angry teen.
Lizzy cried herself to sleep that night. Belle wanted to know where Cranpa went. I barely slept, worried sick he'd run off the road or was lost yet again. Hubby shared our stress.
Home last Sunday evening, we are still processing the week. We are all so very tired. Our car has a severely cracked windscreen from truck filled country roads. We are yet to properly asses the damage from a sheet of corrugated iron lost from a truck on a Melbourne freeway. Lucky us ran over it- we had no choice, dragged it for a few k's before hubby got us safely off the road. Things are clanking and scraping. But at least the car still drives.
Positives are this:
Had we not have found dad, the outcome wouldn't have been positive. We know that. We also knew he would be crushed by grief had we not have got him to the funeral. We honoured him, and showed our love through actions.
This whole experience has made me aware of so many things, and teased me with glorious places I really want to live.
It's definitely changed my outlook as well. Family matters. Forgiveness does too.
I wasn't emotionally ready to attempt it until yesterday. However, after hours of writing, I deleted the lot.
I've decided to keep it simple, as much as possible. It was an epic 8 days!
So, here goes...
Prelude: Dad drives to Wagga Wagga every year around early March to shoot. Dad loves his guns and loves his shooting- clay targets with double barrel shotguns. This year, he swung by Melbourne to visit his sister, who was in the latter stages of dementia and non responsive. It really hit him hard. When I rang him on his 87 birthday mid March, he was depressed and despondent.
In April, Aunty Rina died. Dad rang to inform us, and ask if we were going to the funeral. But as it's the other end of Australia, I gave my apologies. He understood, and said he would train it down and send our love.
And so it begins...
On Saturday April 29, at around 3pm, I received a confusing, disjointed phone call from dad. It took some effort getting coherent information from him to work out what was going on. Turns out, he was attempting to drive to the funeral, and had got himself a bit lost along the way. Understatement actually. Dad knows the way. Very well. And I haven't known him to be this down for years (dad has suffered extreme losses- a grandchild who died at 16 and two daughters who died several years later), but other than fairly normal age related forgetfulness, he is pretty well wired.
I was so alarmed after the conversation, I told my eldest daughter, Lizzy, and my hubby about the call. They shared my concern. We discussed flying down to meet dad, but something just didn't seem right. As he's only recently purchased his new (2nd hand) car- a purchase I was against, we didn't even know his rego. So, the decision was made- we would drive down to find him, and safely take him to the funeral in Melbourne.
Enter break neck speed packing for a much colder climate, a funeral, and a week on the road. Add some food, and a few possible locations dad offered as clues, a few blankets and a slightly confused toddler, and we were on our way by about 4:30pm, with no solid idea of where exactly we were going.
My hubby, me, Lizzy and Belle crammed into our very packed car and just drove. A late night, very winding road provided an abundant of wildlife and a car sick toddler who threw up. The idea of driving straight through to find dad was aborted due to this, and me- my back was still giving me grief after my recent pancreatitis episode.
We booked accommodation as we drove. I picked a winner the first night, a Deer Inn at Armidale that let us check in after 10pm. It was then I realised I was wearing the only jeans I remembered to bring. Then a Bates Motel replica the second night. It came complete with a patron cleaning his gun in the carpark, and a room so dim, it absorbed the light and gave us nightmares and feelings of hopelessness and despair. From that point, I was banned from choosing.
A miracle happened very early the next morning though- after countless attempts to call him, dad answered! Our stopping proved wise- we had to back track and get to another freeway to find him. So, after pleading with dad to stay put, we made yet another quick getaway and drove for 2.5 hours in hope that he had stayed put, and was where he said.
We eventually found dad in Cowra, 11 hours drive from his home in Brisbane. He had lost a huge amount of weight, was dehydrated, confused and disorientated, but thrilled to see us. It was now Monday morning. Dad told us he left early Thursday morning. He had been zigzagging for 5 days, disorientated and confused :(
As an ex dementia/ aged care nurse, I'm aware the importance of basic nutrition/ hydration, so that was my focus. I also figured dad was utterly exhausted, so plenty of rest was important too.
While it was a relief to have found dad, and know he was safe, we still had a funeral to get him too. Dad's physical abilities are very limited. He is extremely deaf, and his mind was not in a good place. He needed our support. He was panicky and distressed right up to getting to the funeral. But once there, he was relaxed, chatty and praised my Lizzy for driving him safely there to all who would listen.
Enter the shift.
Memory lapse time. 'This getting lost business is a bit of a joke gone bad. I know my way around! Funeral? When was that again?'
Grateful dad became snappy Cranpa and cranky dad. Did we take his keys and phone?! Why were we keeping him away from his gun-club- he had to get back for work you know!
The next few days were utterly exhausting. Dad's agitation grew.
We attempted to get him to enjoy a slower trip home to enjoy a rare holiday with 2 of his granddaughters and us. Nope. Not having it.
We were still worried about him, so even though he hated it, we made sure we rested a lot and ate well. Still, we rushed to appease him. But not quickly enough apparently. Someone had set his mind on home, and we were keeping him from it.
After a heated discussion one early morning, when at just on 6, an already dressed dad was raring to get a move on, I tried to explain what had happened the past several days and why we didn't want to rush. That did it- infuriated dad and shut him down. I'm told by Lizzy, he huffed the whole way to the next town as she drove. And judging by his sullen expression and leaving the cafe so he didn't have to look at us, I don't doubt it. He took the keys off Lizzy too.
And, that is where we lost dad again. At Coonabarabran.
Because of his mental state, I called the police. They must have felt it was serious enough to meet us, take dad's details, and try to catch him. Considering his head start though, dad was at the advantage.
Shell shocked, we decided to head to Armidale and stay at the Deer Inn again, just to stop and breathe for a day. And relax enough to erase the memory of watching our Cranpa and dad drive off like an angry teen.
Lizzy cried herself to sleep that night. Belle wanted to know where Cranpa went. I barely slept, worried sick he'd run off the road or was lost yet again. Hubby shared our stress.
Home last Sunday evening, we are still processing the week. We are all so very tired. Our car has a severely cracked windscreen from truck filled country roads. We are yet to properly asses the damage from a sheet of corrugated iron lost from a truck on a Melbourne freeway. Lucky us ran over it- we had no choice, dragged it for a few k's before hubby got us safely off the road. Things are clanking and scraping. But at least the car still drives.
Positives are this:
- We found my dad and got him safely to my Aunt's funeral in Melbourne. And he beamed with pride to have us with him.
- My Aunty blessed me with many gifts over the years, but her wedding night gown is the one I'll treasure forever. It was just as important for me to be there to honour her I realised.
- We met relatives we hadn't seen for decades, and have contacts.
- We got to see some amazing scenery and despite the chaos, create some great memories.
- My Lizzy pushed past her driving limits, and covered hours and hours of driving across some remote Aussie country. I'm so proud.
- I discovered how absolutely amazing my husband really is. His wisdom, calm nature and driving skills were invaluable. He's my rock.
- We all discovered how far we will go for family. Over 3, 500 k's in fact.
- Dad actually made it home safely, my brother informed me from Brisbane.
After all this is said and done, whether dad was cognitive or demented during part or all of this, I choose to forgive him.
Had we not have found dad, the outcome wouldn't have been positive. We know that. We also knew he would be crushed by grief had we not have got him to the funeral. We honoured him, and showed our love through actions.
This whole experience has made me aware of so many things, and teased me with glorious places I really want to live.
It's definitely changed my outlook as well. Family matters. Forgiveness does too.
Love you dad,
and honoured to have shared this time with you.
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