spain?

Dad is still living in some mysterious time-slip world in his brain...he’s apparently in Spain and it’s 1976 (or 1989, depending on when you ask him) and I’m never quite sure if he knows who I am.  I’m having a hard time being strong and going to see him.  I am finding very good reasons not to go there every day.  On the home front, we’ve had the plumber in to fix the leaking black water pipe, so that’s one crisis done with once we cover the remainder of the pooling under the joists with lime and gravel.  Now we’re removing all the gravel from the retaining wall outside the house, fixing/ replacing the insulation and vapor barrier, backfilling with clay, tamping it solid, and then replacing the gravel.  I hate this job so much.  I have bitten off more than I can chew and I am afraid of screwing up and I’m just going to have to deal with that because my dad isn’t himself and there is no one else.