Deconstructing My Father – Part Seven
Deconstructing My Father is a linear narrative about a weird point in my life – late 2018 / early 2019 (I’m not entirely sure) – where my estranged father developed dementia and I had to take over running his life and the lives of both of my little brothers. I started documenting it in a weird journal using pseudonyms for my brothers and family. It was probably the most stressful time of my life.
You should probably start with part one if you want this to make any sort of sense.
Pieces on the Game Board
“You may have jumped the gun a little bit. I understand why you did it; but there’s some more paperwork you need to get in order.” This is my father’s lawyer. I needed an adult and, in this situation, she is paid to be one. Specifically to be mine.
“Your father’s power of attorney has no time definition on it so you’re within your legal right to get access to his accounts.”
“I was just trying to do the right thing.”
“You’re fine,” she assures me,”but his trust dictates that in order for you to assume all legal control you need letters, from two independent doctors, declaring him incapacitated.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know that.” I’ve had my father’s Trust, Power of Attorney, Advanced Medical Directive and other legal paperwork filed away in my home office for two years. I’ve never read them with any more detail than what we went over in the lawyer’s office originally. These documents were meant to be a parachute in the case of catastrophic failure; not a slow – yet uncontrolled – descent.
“I know you have lots of questions. You’re doing fine so far. You can access his money and pay what needs to be paid; but I would feel a lot more comfortable discussing this with you once you have those letters. At that time there’s some additional paper work we need to file and then I can act as your lawyer on behalf of the trust.”
I called her office this morning and in a rambling, coffee induced frenzy, explained to the woman who picked up the phone exactly what was going on. I told her exactly how lost I was in the forest of the unknown that my father had left behind. The admin on the phone confirmed all of my insecurities in one simple phrase, “Oh god. Yeah. You can’t do this alone. I’ll see when she can call you tonight.”
“Thank you.” An hour consult with the lawyer was supposed to cost me $350. Well, cost my dad. It’s a price worth paying to not feel like a child lost in the woods.
I need to be completely honest and tell you that I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. Up until this point I have been running on pure instinct.
What is the next question?
What is the next problem to solve?
What is the next box that I can check to make it seem like I’m in control and make sure that my brothers aren’t burdened by this?
I have been relying on the actual adults in the world to simply push me from space to space on the game board.
Go to the doctor’s office, they’ll know what to do.
Go to the hospital, they’ll know what to do.
Go to the skilled nursing facility, they’ll know what to do.
Go to the bank, they’ll know what to do.
Go to the lawyer, she’ll know what to do.
It’s not like there’s an instruction manual for this. And even if there was, I’m sure it would be so complicated you would need an expert to walk you through it.
I have access to my father’s bank accounts; but I have a ton of unanswered questions about his finances. His wallet has six, SIX, credit cards of unknown balance. His mail has bills for everything from the aforementioned mystery storage unit, to what I think might be a timeshare, and an eight hundred dollar invoice from Clark pest control.
I’m fairly certain, based on his physical condition alone, that my father is never coming home again. Long term care facilities cost a ton of money and I have no idea what that might be or if he can afford it.
I’m probably going to have to sell his house. I think I’m legally allowed to do that.
The lawyer assures me that all of that can be answered once I have the letters declaring him incompetent.
I have one. I requested it from the hospital as a means of covering my own ass before he was discharged – and before I even knew I needed it. Apparently I’m a portion of a functioning adult.
My father has been moved to a skilled nursing facility. The nomenclature and definition of this facility are important I’ve come to learn. This is the place that the hospital required him to go after being discharged. They need to determine if he can be rehabilitated to the point where he can be independent. After this, if he does not improve, his two options are either an assisted living facility or a boarding care facility.
An assisted living facility is an independent living facility where he, essentially, has a studio apartment in a conjoined complex where he can be social if he chooses or he can be the hermit that he has worked so hard to be for the last few years. He has to be able to function, relatively, on his own. Considering he hasn’t been able to walk since he was admitted to the hospital – and his general antisocial, asshole demeanor – I don’t see him making his way to the day room to play canasta with the other residents.
A boarding care is like a group home for those who can no longer function on their own; but who have no family who can take them in. Or whose needs have grown so demanding that their family can’t sustain them. At a boarding care the staff will attend to their every need. Essentially it’s an orphanage for old and broken people. I don’t know what it says, about growing old, that a place like this has its own, specific, name.
Based on the conversation that I’ve had with the nurse and social worker at the skilled nursing facility, this is likely where my father will end up; but I have to find one.
Thankfully the hospital gave me the name and number of an elderly care advocate who can help me navigate the pitfalls of selecting one of these facilities.
That’s nice. Another adult. One more space on the board.
Call the elderly care advocate, she’ll know what to do.
I’m so absolutely, positively, ecstatic that I don’t have to be the only fucking adult in this. If I did, it would all probably fall apart.
Travis
when i grow up
