Devastating exhaustion. Defeat.

The last time Daddy stayed with us was a nightmare. I swore last time that he would never stay here again. Between the not sleeping and the hallucinations, the messes and complete disruption to every aspect of our lives (what little "life" we could claim), including that of my small children, I swore: never again.
But here we are with him here...because it was getting beyond ridiculous with every single facility...of course NOW I know that the "assisted living" facilities are completely not for someone like my Dad. Either way though, I shouldn't have so much work to do when we're paying out the nose for "care".
What is puzzling me is that each facility has their own system of figuring out what each resident's monthly cost is. There is a base fee, say, $3900, plus "care points" according to how much care is needed. In my Dad's case at the Stratford, with the extra "care points", the monthly charge came to $4205/month. And that was with him showering himself and taking care of all his own hygeine needs. No one told me that they'd been helping him in the bathroom at all. None of them mentioned they needed to help him get dressed, even though dozens of times when I came to take him out, I had to help him do just that. I thought maybe he thought I was in a hurry and he'd take too long, so I always just helped him when he asked or clearly needed it. The monthly rate never went up and I can only assume that we would be charged more for having to shower, clean and dress him. Of course we would, there are no freebies.
Every day here though, we've had to basically do everything for him, and he now told us that they were helping him with everything. Jesus. I would have never brought him back here if I'd known that. Or I would've already had a nurse or something set up to come in...although hubby and I had discussed that we really don't want people we don't know in our house 24/7.
I printed out a list of Nursing Facilities, and this morning is my Alzheimer's Caregiver support group, so I will start the process of looking. It makes me completely ill thinking that he will have to go to a Nursing Home, but these "assisted living" facilities are ridiculous. As "nice" as some of them are, there really is no level of care that takes the stress of the family members...at least not in our case. And for me to admit defeat....Arrrgh. And after, what has it been...6 days?
But I am admitting defeat. I can't do this.
Last time he was here, my health wasn't good, but this time around it's much worse. Everyone warned me, asked me what I was thinking trying this...but I'm too stubborn. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I think I could do this? Why?
I know my intentions are good, I want what's best for my Dad. But I'm beginning to see that what that saying means now..."the road to hell is paved with good intentions".
Touche. Got it. I'm an idiot.
Last night I actually got a few hours of sleep. But it did nothing to make up for the days of sleep lost. I think I have officially lost it.
This morning, I was, as usual, the first one to go downstairs.
Hoo-boy.
Every room down there was rearranged and upside down. He'd been on an eating binge again and had gone through almost the entire supply of snacks I've kept stocked in his room...I just went shopping yesterday too. And he'd had another accident and had tried to clean it up himself, which really just made the situation worse.
I went upstairs and told hubby to get down there and help ASAP as I started mopping. Then I got the sheets off his already wrecked and stripped bed and started a load of wash.
THEN.
As I was putting the new set of sheets on his bed, I heard something.
Clear as freakin' day, absolutely without a doubt, it sounded exactly like my Mom's voice calling my Dad's name.
I immediately looked around the room, looked to see what was on the TV (it was a cartoon) and went quickly into the the other room to ask hubby if he'd just heard that...and I started crying.
I AM losing it.
Now, for the record, I truly believe in that stuff. I've had far too may odd experiences in my life related to things like this to deny that. But this made me question my sanity in a huge way.
Hubby said I must just be way past my limit, under too much stress and beyond exhausted.
Yes, well, I passed that limit a couple of years ago, so now I must just be fried. Irrevocably frizzle-fried. Or showing my OWN signs of Lewy. Dear god.
More later.