I… I don’t even know what I’m doing here, to be honest. It’s 2am, the house is so quiet it’s almost deafening now that the kids are gone, and I just… I need to say this out loud, or into the void, or whatever. I dropped my dad off at daycare today. Not like, *my kids’* daycare, obviously, no no no. My dad. My 78-year-old dad. At an actual adult daycare center. And I feel… like a monster? I guess? It started because… well, because of everything. Always everything, right? Two jobs, single mom for like, forever, trying to keep it all together. The kids went off to college this year, both of them, and suddenly it’s just… me. And Dad. He’s got the early stages of dementia, and it’s been getting tougher, you know? Like, he forgets things, sometimes gets confused, wanders a little. I used to be able to manage it, squeeze it in between shifts, but lately… it’s been impossible. The second job, the new one, it's a good opportunity, but it’s nights sometimes, and he can’t be alone. Can’t. Absolutely not. So my sister, who lives three states away and doesn’t really *get* it, she kept pushing for the adult daycare. “It’ll be good for him, sis! Socialization! Stimulating activities!” And I fought it. Hard. Like, what kind of daughter… you know? My own father? Dropping him off like a package? But then last week, I had a double shift, the babysitter cancelled, and I came home to find him trying to cook toast in the microwave. The whole kitchen smelled burnt and I just… I broke down. Right there on the floor. It was a *mess*. So I called the place. Today was his first day. I drove him there, and he was sort of quiet, looking out the window. When we got there, he saw the sign and just kept saying, “What is this place, honey? Am I going to school?” And I tried to laugh it off, “No, Dad, it’s just… a place to hang out, make some friends.” And he just looked at me, this look, like I was betraying him. He didn’t cry or anything, but his eyes… they just looked so lost. And I walked him in, saw all the other older people, some just staring, some shuffling around. And I just felt this GUT WRENCHING guilt. Like, is this what we do? We just… deposit our parents when they get inconvenient? I gave him a hug and said I’d be back later, and he just nodded, his head down. Like a kid on the first day of kindergarten. And I just… wanted to run back in and grab him. Take him home. But I had to go to work. I HAD to. I’ve been home for hours now. The house is so quiet. My husband… he’s asleep, I guess. We haven’t really *talked* since the kids left, not really. It’s like we’re roommates now, politely orbiting each other. And I just keep picturing Dad, sitting there, wondering where I am. Wondering why I left him. And I know, I KNOW, people will say it’s for his own good, it’s necessary, it’s not selfish. But it FEELS selfish. It feels like I’m choosing my paycheck, my sanity, over his comfort, his dignity. Maybe that’s just how we are as humans, though. Always choosing, always sacrificing one thing for another, and then feeling like absolute garbage about it. I just don’t know if I can keep doing this. If I’m a good person. If I’m doing the right thing. It’s just… so lonely, sometimes. All of it.