The Wedding and everything after

Sorry dear internet, this is more for me than for anyone else; I need to spit this all out.

I woke up yesterday morning all set for, what was going to be, a big day. My little sister was getting married and we had a day full of hair, makeup, photos and pretties.

Mum called at 8.45 to say that she was going to be late; dad was not well. She was crying and tizzed - she didn't think he'd be capable of coming. He was worried about what the savages were going to do. Being the level headed one, I told her that we'd get our hair done first, get home and we'd re-evaluate before we told J anything.

We get home, hair all done, and we check on Dad. He's not all that, so I dose him again and put him back to bed. We didn't have to even get him organised until 3, so we still had a fair bit of time up our sleeves. All the girls were getting ready there, so we could easily check on him throughout the morning / early afternoon.

Toward early afternoon, he was much more lucid and could talk properly and even he thought he could do it. The other option was, both G and I would pull out of the wedding and come as guests - so we could look after Dad. But, by the time the photographer turned up, he was up and dressed. Not all that, but he was there.

Cut a long story short; he walked her down the isle. He actually DID IT. It was bittersweet; in that he was so sick, but he did it.

I had a moment when he got up and did the bridal waltz. Not all smooshy because of him and my sister; but because he looked so ill. I went outside and pulled myself together before I sucked it up and went inside.

But he did well. I bought him home at 8.30, gave him his medicine and put him to bed. He was exhausted. Utterly spent, but we were so proud of him (and pleased for J) that he'd done it. I went back to the wedding for the final hour.

Because I'd decided to drive, I bought home Mum, R, J and my G. We all went to mums, I had a coffee whilst the others (mum mostly) were just so relieved we'd all gotten through it unscathed (relatively) that they all let loose and had a few too many drinks. We all laughed and just revelled in the weight off all of our shoulders.

G and I left at 3am. I'd checked on Dad; mum and the others were having a ball. Not rowdy, not blind; but laughter and fun. Finally. He'd had his last dose just before I left; and we expected that he'd be out and stuffed for at least 2 weeks.

At 5.30am this morning, mum called hysterical. Dad had vomited everywhere and didn't understand what was happening to him. I had a quick shower and went over there. We were beyond managing him at home; it was time for the ambulance.

He didn't recognise me. He looked at me and drew a blank. Right then and there my heart broke. My dad doesn't know who I am. But I sucked it up and we spoke with the ambulance and I followed in the car down to the hospital.

We get to hospital and he thinks he's in Geelong, it's 2005 and he's 28. Mum, at least, is mum. Me? 'Oh, she's....a nurse?'. Ouch.

We stayed until we'd seen the doctor, he'd had the drip inserted and was asleep. Mum was still well under the influence and hadn't showered or anything. So, we went home and I told mum to have a shower and a sleep; I'd pick her up later and we'd go back.

But, I couldn't. I am devastated. I know in my head that he knows who I am and that once he becomes normal, he'll know who I am and all will be fine. But, for the moment, I don't have the children, I am in the car alone and I am starting to lose the facade of the strong one.

I howl. I cry as though I was dying and actually felt physcial pain. I felt as though I was nothing, nobody and that my own father didn't know who I was. I was the one who has held everyone together and kept everyone strong for these last two years; and he doesn't even know who I am.

I get inside and I am a mess. G gets up and just holds me. I collapse onto the floor, crying for all the times I have wanted to lose it, but not been able to. For all the times I have held onto this mask of togetherness for the kids, or for mum, or for my sister, or for my work. I cry for me, and how unfair it all is and how much pressure I feel.

I have a pain in my chest which I know is telling me that I am about to fall apart. But, I dont' have time to fall apart. I have two kids, no house and a full time job. And my biggest fear; if I do take a big breath, let go of the cliff that is me coping and drop down into a sea of some sort of breakdown - is what if I can't pull myself back together again?

My head knows that my father knows me, loves me and that this is just the illness. But my heart? Is broken.

I can't bear to even call my sister; I can't fathom hearing again how he cried when she spoke to him. How he remembered her. Because, right now, even the slightest thing gets me crying and I don't have the ability to just stop and fall apart.

And I dont' think I can put myself back together if I do.