Long Goodbyes

Dad and I have said many goodbyes, having lived in separate states for 31 years. We liked to keep them short. It hurt less that way. Tonight I am sitting on the sofa at my father's home, with my laptop on a TV tray, keeping vigil. Across from me is the most brilliant, complex, and fortunate man I've ever met. My father. Five minutes ago he did not know where he was or why friends weren't coming to get him. Now he is asleep sitting in his chair. My daughters and I had planned an end of school visit. The day we were to arrive Dad went into the hospital suffering from vivid hallucinations.
He needed to be on a geriatric/psychiatric unit for observation. Professionally, I knew that was the absolute best option. The doctor agreed. All but one family member agreed. My father refused. He is a neuropsychologist who, at 82, remembers some very horrible things about 1960's psych wards. He obtained his postdoctorate after surviving a major traumatic brain injury from a motor vehicle accident. The recovery was horrendous. He hates hospitals. He was furious with me for suggesting he go.
The doctor discharged him with instructions that my father not be alone until his follow up appointment. My father is very private and introverted, yet charming and social. His idea of "a visit" is that my girls and I come and go so he gets his alone time. In fact, Dad and I have pretty much survived this way for years. We give each other a lot of space and have each other's back when the chips are down.
Dad is struggling to accept the gravity of this situation. Intellectually he knows far more than I do about what is happening to him and what to expect. It's his greatest fear. Several years ago he supported his mother through dementia, so he's experienced my side of it too. For several days he was in denial, short tempered about being watched. This morning at his follow up visit the doctor reiterated that my father needs supervision, especially at night when symptoms worsen. He also told him not to drive. And that he wants Dad to see a neurologist and psychiatrist.
On the way home Dad became agitated about being "babysat". Finally I just looked at him and said, "Dad, there's nothing good about this. It sucks. It sucks that you are hallucinating. It sucks that your balance is off. It sucks that you are on so many meds. We just have to get through it." His response was to fall asleep. Or maybe he was just thinking. Either way, he became quiet and calmer. Later he stated this had "been a long time coming".
We--Dad, me, my sister, his grand kids, his friends--will whether this long goodbye.