Trapped & Guilty in New Beginnings

I had my employee evaluation Monday. My manager left me a glowing review for my new boss, John, so I will be getting 100% of my bonus. Yay! In discussing my future at the company, John explained that ultimately they anticipate promoting me to the position of Consolidations & Reporting Manager, my former bosses position. He promoted Lindsey to that position for the time being because I'm still too "undeveloped" in my current position, so at least I know I have a future where I'm at.

I just don't want a future at this company. Atlanta is crowded and congested. Housing is ridiculously expensive. Property taxes are absurd. Traffic during rush hour is impossible. I want to move back to Athens where the air is clear, the stars shine at night, and I can afford a home I'd want to live in. I suppose if I could get to a point where I can telecommute at least on a partial basis, I could stay where I am professionally and move where I want geographically. However, this brings me to the problem of my dad.

I spoke to my dad last Sunday as I do every week. He mentioned that he'd like to clean up that bedroom I sleep in when I visit him during the holidays, so I could visit more often. What probably isn't clear from the previous sentence is that there's hardly any room in his house. My dad has a hoarding problem. He's crammed probably 3,000 square feet of belongings from his old house to the 1,300 square foot house he lives in now. To be fair he got rid of a lot things when he sold that house, but his current home is still cluttered, filthy, and disgusting. So many of those possessions he wants to keep because they belonged to Mom before she died. "Dad, it's just stuff," I'll say. To which he will reply, "but it was Mom's stuff." Furthermore, he plays his brain injury card. Any requests for him to keep his house somewhat neat or orderly is dismissed with, "Well, ha' know, my brain don't work."

Honestly, it's been almost seven years since he senselessly injured himself. Yeah, for a several years after his accident he was limited, but he can drive a car, manage his finances, and do his own shopping. Given all that, I think he can manage to put garbage in the garbage can instead of letting it pile up in various rooms of his house, but not according to him.

I don't know what I'm going to do. Brother and Sister are absolutely no help. I can't help but expect that I'm going to have to take care of him eventually. I was toying with the idea of maybe having him move in with me one day. Hypothetically, if I could acquire a telecommuting agreement with my company, I could build my dream house out in Athens with enough room for the both of us. My one condition would be that everything, everything, in his house would have to be put in a storage unit (with the exceptions of his clothes, computer, and possibly his bedroom furniture). As soon as I start imagining that solution, I then start worrying if I can manage him. I mean, I'm not so sure I could be vigilant in keeping his hoarding problem in check. As incompetent as he is, when we're together, we still default to the parent-child/father-son relationship dynamic. Being in charge is not something he's going to relinquish easily, which is also why putting him in an assisted living facility would undoubtedly fail. Then, if I can't manage him, I'll be stuck living in the midst of his garbage.

Even scarier, I think of a story one of my college professors told me. The professor I mention had an aunt who, upon finishing school, decided that it was her job to take care of her mother. However, her mother lived into her 90s, so her daughter wasn't able to be on her own until she was in her 60s. It doesn't help that my dad had an aunt who lived past 100, and my dad shows no real signs of physical limitations at his current age of 67. The misery could be unending. I want my dad to be all right, but I also want my own life. I've already sacrificed my career for his mistakes. The possibility of becoming his caregiver blocks me from looking for a possible wife. How can I promise to provide any sort of quality of life for a wife when I have a mentally disabled dad interfering? What drives me absolutely mad is how every bit of his current predicament was self inflicted. After Mom's death, he could have done so many things besides climbing up on the roof. He could have cleaned out the basement, kept the rest of the house tidy, or kept the lawn from growing into disarray, but he chose to do his whatever-the-hell he was doing on the roof, which should have only been done by a professional to begin with, and ended up with a brain injury.

It's been seven years. At what point is this ordeal going to be over?