Last night, I became aware of a situation with my granddad.  Apparently, he's been having accidents at night.  The lady that sits with him during the day had mentioned a couple of timesthat he was washing his sheets when she arrived, but I figured that it was a one time thing.  During dinner, grandpa pointed to his drink and told me that that was why he was having accidents at night.  Of course, up until now, he's been sure that it was his bed, somehow, that was causing the problem.

 I have to admit, I don't really know where to go from here.  I know that there are those pads that I can buy, but how do I broach the subject with grandpa without making him feel like he's one step away from diapers?

 I don't really expect him to go quietly when it comes to this part of the aging process, but neither can we just ignore the problem and hope it will go away.  I swear, I'm finding more out about raising children by taking care of my granddad than about the elderly.  That's ok, though.  I'm glad there's a point of reference, at least, to give me some direction.

Last night, I had an interesting conversation with a lady from the service that sends someone to sit with my granddad.  She told me about lockboxes.  I knew about the Lifeline, which we alreadyhave, not that grandpa actually uses it, but this was something else.  She talked to me about a lockbox, similar to what realtors use when showing a house.  It keeps the key safe and available only to those who have the code.  However, since it's kept outside the door, emergency people have access to it too.  This is good, since a busted down gate and/or door would be expensive to replace.  I'm intrigued.  She's going to give me more information today.  I had no idea such a thing was even out there.

Friday, I was able to secure non-medical home care services for my granddad.  We'll have someone come twice a week, for three hours a day, to help keep him company, make him lunch, run errands, etc.  It was kind of expensive - $71/day - but less expensive than me quitting my job and staying home with him.  He thinks that I'm paying for it, but he doesn't know that he's actually paying for it, and he should.  It's much less expensive than a facility or me staying home.  Besides, all of the services will be provided for his benefit. 

 I think that if he knew that he was paying for it, he'd never have agreed to it.  He's so dollar concious that he desperately wants something good for nothing, and complains when he doesn't get it.  He doesn't seem to understand that you have to pay for quality, and usually a lot more than what you pay for cheap.  It's been a constant source of conflict for us.  He comes by it honestly, growing up during the Depression, but I won't cheat people out of what they deserve, regardless of whether it benefits me or not.  The best way not to be mistaken for a thief is not to act like one.

I hope that this works out for us.  If it does, it'll be a great way to buy time for him and help him stay home a little longer.  If not, well, we can't say we didn't try.

We went to the doctor last week and the doctor tried, again, to prepare me for the fact that grandpa would need to go to a facility at some point.  I've seen some of those facilities.  They're either ridiculously expensive or they feel more like the residents are inanimate objects rather than people.  The whole thing is insane.  I'm not ready for him to be there.

When I told the doctor that I knew that he would probably have to go into a facility at some point, but not today, he said that unless grandpa died in his sleep, which would be the best thing for him: to go to sleep and simply not wake up (a real possibility since he's 94), he would have to go eventually.  I find myself praying that he dies in his sleep.  Then I feel that it's so perverse that I'm actually praying for him to die.  I haven't told anyone because I'm fairly certain that they wouldn't understand.   Sometimes I wonder whether it makes me a "bad person" and other times I don't care.

I've noticed that grandpa goes through "talking jags" the same way that some people have "crying jags."  During this time, he will talk non-stop, regardless of what's going on, about almost anything.  It seems to be predicated by some sort of strange conspiracy idea that he's come up with.  Wow, he comes up with some doozies. 

 I get concerned, sometimes, that he's going to act on some of his ideas, because he could really damage some of his relationships beyond repair.  I'd hate to see that happen, but it's useless to try and argue with him.  He's beyond reason; beyond logic.  The sad thing is that not everyone is as understanding of his condition, so people tend to treat him like he's serious, when, although he is serious at the time, he's actually impaired and doesn't realize what he's saying.

I spent most of yesterday going through grandpa's papers.  He had been sure that someone was breaking into our house and stealing his papers for about the past two weeks.  He said thatit was the only possibility because he couldn't find them anymore.  Of course, his organization leaves something to be desired on a normal basis, but he's definitely not been normal for a while.  While looking through his things, I found all of the documents he'd been looking for.

 It was a little funny/frustrating.  He's quite the pack-rat.  I think it's from growing up in the Depression.  Anyway, as I was going through things, I was throwing away the mounds of junk that he's been keeping for no good reason.  I turned back and there he was, fishing things out of the garbage and trying to see whether he could keep them.  We went round and round, with me throwing them out, him digging them back out of the garbage and me, waiting until he'd been distracted by something else, putting them back into the garbage.  I was proud of myself because I was able to see the humor in the situation.

Grandpa called me at work to tell me that someone had broken into the house and stolen the dog.  He was certain.  I didn't even try to help him reason through it.  I just came home.

The dog was in my room, like she usually is.   Her favorite sleeping spot is under my bed.  Grandpa had closed my door, so she couldn't get out when he called her.  He doesn't usually do that.  When I told him that she had been under my bed, he said that he'd looked under my bed; that he'd gotten down on his hands and knees and looked.  I know that isn't true, mostly because grandpa can't really get down on his hands and knees and still be able to get up without some assistance.  Of course, if he had looked, he'd have found the dog.