After nearly a year of planning, packing and preparing, getting Dad into our house felt like the finish line. It wasn't. The move was really the beginning of figuring out what it means to have my dad living downstairs while Nathan and I continue our lives upstairs.
If you haven't been following along, we bought this house partly because it gave Dad his own apartment-style space, with a separate entrance, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and living area. After my mom died and Dad began having more health and mobility issues, living alone nearly an hour away from us no longer felt like the best long-term plan.
Now that the boxes are mostly unpacked and the chaos of move day is behind us, we're learning what this arrangement actually looks like day to day. So far, it's working.
Together, But Still Separate
One of the best things about this house is that Dad really does have his own space. Nathan and I can be upstairs going about our day while Dad is downstairs doing his thing. That separation has mattered more than I realized it would.
I work out early in the morning, and I worried that our schedule would wake him up. It turns out he doesn't hear us. We don't hear much from him either. We live in the same house, but it doesn't feel like we're living on top of each other.
Instead, we're developing little points of connection throughout the day. I check on the cat boxes. I look in his refrigerator and see what he needs. He'll tell me what he's running low on, whether it's water, V8 or those Starbucks mocha iced coffees he likes, and I'll add it to the groceries. Every few days, I'll tell him what we're having for dinner so he can decide whether he wants to eat with us, make something himself or order something.
Sometimes I'll ask if he wants a sandwich.
"What kind of sandwich?"
Chicken. Turkey. Whatever we've got.
Then I'll bring it downstairs with chips and pickles, and he'll look at me and say, "I'm not used to this." He's getting used to it.
Building a New Routine
Some of the adjustment has been surprisingly ordinary. Dad got his first oil change here and was impressed by how quickly they got him through, even if he wasn't quite as impressed with the price. He scheduled his first local pedicure and came home talking about how thorough they were. Again, more expensive than he was used to, but thorough. He's tried DoorDash a few times. The reviews there have been mixed.
He's also learning a whole new way of watching television. Dad has been a satellite TV person for as long as I can remember. Now he's dealing with streaming apps, YouTube TV and the occasional internet problem. That learning curve has not always been graceful. I received a text at 5:19 one morning asking whether I was awake because the TV said there was no connection. Welcome to streaming.
He's also started exploring the area on his own. One day, while he was out running errands, he drove around and stopped by the Lawnton Legion. He talked to a few people and thinks the smaller club might be more his speed than some of the larger ones nearby. At the same time, he's still going back to Newport to see friends, pick up prescriptions and visit the places that have been part of his life for years. I like that.
This doesn't have to be an either-or situation. Moving here doesn't mean erasing the life he had there.
A couple weeks ago, Nathan and I even went away overnight. I made sure Dad had clean laundry and plenty of food, and he went to a VFW picnic back home. He was fine. That felt like another little milestone.
Independence Goes Both Ways
One thing I've been conscious of since Dad moved in is not turning this into a situation where everything is done for him.
Yes, I'm helping more. I've done laundry. I've helped organize his mail. I've switched his closet from summer clothes to fall and winter clothes. We had his Army uniform, Army jacket and several suits dry cleaned, and he seemed genuinely happy to have those things cleaned and hanging nicely again. His old closet had become so packed over the years that he barely used it. Here, he can actually see what he owns. Recently he asked me where his long-sleeve shirts were, and I realized he was taking some pride in getting dressed in the morning and rediscovering clothes he hadn't seen in a while.
But the help goes both ways. Last week, I had an appointment on a day Nathan was working from the office and suddenly realized I didn't have a car. Dad took me and picked me up.
Then this week, one of our cats needed another trip to the vet. Nathan and I were both working, and Dad volunteered to take him. The vet isn't particularly close, and Dad has been dealing with quite a bit of pain himself. He went anyway. He saved the day.
Those things matter to me because I don't want this arrangement to become defined only by what Dad needs from us. He's still Dad. He's still capable of helping us, too.
Some Things Are Harder
Of course, it hasn't all been sandwiches and pedicures. We've had some friction. The biggest issue has been smoking.
Dad has smoked for years. When he first moved in, we found evidence that he'd been smoking near one of the downstairs windows and had to have a conversation about it. For a while, having to go outside seemed to be helping him cut back. He told me that three packs of cigarettes had lasted him considerably longer than they normally would. But we've continued to smell smoke in the house.
This past weekend, I woke up and could smell it all the way on the third floor. When Nathan opened the downstairs door, the smell was even stronger. I was frustrated. I bought an air purifier with a carbon filter, and I talked to Dad again. I didn't want to come at him accusingly. I just told him what we were smelling upstairs and that we needed to figure out a better solution. Eventually, he admitted he'd been smoking by the window for a little while. We're working on it.
That's probably one of the things I'm learning about living with a parent as an adult. Dad is still an adult. I'm not interested in parenting him. But this is also our house, and there are boundaries we have to figure out together. Some days that process is easier than others.
He can also be grumpy, especially when he's hurting or something isn't working the way he expects it to. And because I'm nearby, sometimes I get the brunt of it. I'm adjusting to that too.
Making the House Work Better
The other major challenge has been the stairs. Dad likes coming upstairs for dinner, and I like having him up here. I just hate watching him navigate those steps. His leg gives him a lot of trouble, and every time he makes his way up, I worry.
For the past few weeks, I've been trying to get some help through Operation Restore Hope, a local organization that helps veterans with home repairs and accessibility needs. They've offered $2,000 toward work that could make the house more accessible for Dad. Getting all the pieces together has taken some time, but this week we finally had a contractor come out. He measured the stairs and is working with Operation Restore Hope on the chair lift. We'll still have to figure out what the remaining balance looks like, but at least we're moving forward.
While he was here, I also had him look at the deck above Dad's outdoor area. He's going to give us two options: one that does more of the larger deck work we've talked about wanting to do, and another that simply focuses on creating a dry area underneath for Dad. That would solve another problem. If Dad is going to smoke outside, I want him to have somewhere he can do it without sitting in the rain or snow.
Neither project is finished yet, but for the first time, both feel like they're moving.
A Lot Smoother Than Last Thursday
About a week after Dad moved in, he was driving me home from an appointment. As we pulled into our community, he looked around and said, "Lot smoother than last Thursday."
I laughed. "Yeah," I told him. "Last Thursday was a lot. We've come a long way in a week."
We have. And now we've come even farther. Tomorrow will be three weeks since Dad moved in.
His cats are settling in. Trix seems quite pleased with his new surroundings. Dad is figuring out his television apps, finding places he likes around town, visiting his old friends, learning where everything is in his new closet and developing a routine that belongs to him.
There are still boxes to go through. I'm trying to convince him that one box a week is manageable. There are still things we need to change about the house. There are still days when he's in a lot of pain, days when he's grumpy and days when I have to remind myself that we're both adjusting.
But it's working. I love having him here.
I'm not sure he loves every single thing about being here yet, and that's okay. He gave up a home, routines and a way of living that he'd known for decades. Three weeks isn't very long. But I'm glad he's here.
And for now, I think that's enough.
