Caregiving - Day One

Today begins my first unofficially unpaid day of caregiving for my father Harry. It's been quite an interesting journey to say the least. In order to explain how I (or, rather we) got here I have to go back nearly 30 years.

See, I was adopted as a toddler. I was 2 and 1/2 years old when a nice, Christian family welcomed me into their home permanently as their youngest daughter. Growing up the youngest of five was always an interesting proposition...if that's the right word for it.

I reveled in being the youngest and always enjoyed the opportunity to show off for any and everyone who would pay attention. Not that I needed it, mind you, I always got plenty from all the older cousins, nephews and nieces, and foster children running around the house or wherever we might be at the time.

I grew up oblivious to the fact that my biological father was out there, somewhere thinking about me and wondering how I was doing. I always knew I was adopted, my parents never kept that fact from me, ever. In fact, they always made sure to tell me the story of my adoption and remind me that I was chosen to be their child. Not that they gloated over being my adopted parents, just the opposite.

I was very close to my dad and he always made sure to make me feel loved, appreciated, wanted and it was understood that I was his treasure. When Daddy passed away, I was 22 years old, pregnant with my second child and in the process of getting divorced from my first husband.

My daughter was born in December of that same year and life continued. Without getting on another tangent, one that I do not wish to blog about here, I will go on with how Harry and I finally ended up getting acquainted.

I met and married my second husband about a year later and proceeded to start a relationship with my father. This went on for about 10 years until I divorced my second husband and moved roughly 1300 miles away to another state.

When I did that I lost contact with Harry. I lived for nearly 8 years before coming into contact with him once more. In the process I remarried and 15 months later had my third (and final) child.

I reconnected with my father and he and I would talk on the weekends, albeit briefly but at least we were chatting. I eventually asked him to move in with me and my family and he accepted. Now, here we are together.