Decompression... breathe, breathe, breathe

I've been decompressing all afternoon from another stressful trip to see my dad. He's 80, has had a stroke that slightly affected his mobility, is diabetic and doesn't pay attention to it, is a tightwad to the point that he makes bad choices for himself even though he has lots of money, is mostly deaf and would rather have us yell than wear his hearing aid, has a vocabulary that would embarrass a sailor, is convinced that he can drive even though he has no peripheral vision and has cataracts, and, to top it off, is unreasonable to the point that any idea other than his own is bad until he comes to the same conclusion 10 minutes later then announces his great new idea- formerly my own. It makes for stressful, unpleasant time spent with him. And still, I have affection for him, even though he and I have never had a lot to talk about. I gained a lot of respect for him while my mother was ill, and saw him suffer deeply after she died. So, it is hard, when he is being a shit- which is most of the time- to be patient and not want to throttle him. Even though we have it out about his health and choices, I try to leave on a positive note, but it is damn hard. *sigh*
For anyone who ever wants to experience the fun with me, here's an offer you can't refuse: if you ever want to hear the words Jesus Christ uttered frequently outside a church, come see my dad. Just about every other sentence starts with these words, and he's not saying a prayer, I assure you.