My brother B____ from Ohio arrived in Ontario this past Monday. He was praying Dad would recognize him and realize he had come to see Dad... He has been at Dad's bedside every day reading the Bible to Dad.
Mom has been going with my brother as she would not want him to go alone because it is flat out too emotionally difficult for most of us to go alone.
His first time seeing Dad my brother asked if he knew who he was because when Dad looked at him, Dad didn't respond. All of us have always looked forward and enjoyed Dad's exuberant welcoming. His face lights up and he rushes to greet us with big bear hugs and smiles. Dad looked at my brother and responded, "Yes, you are my son." No emotion. I think Dad is just too tired to muster up any excitement.
I experienced the same thing the last time I visited Dad with Mom....Dad kept his hands clasped in his lap and did not respond happily to my calling him my pet name, "Papa Doots". He usually ignites into joyful happiness, calls out my name and reaches to pull me in for a hug and kiss. He did none of that and it made me cry.
I think he is "on his last road" toward the Lord...
It seems everything is an effort....even eating.
We've discussed the possibility of suggesting a soft food diet, but have concerns it might hasten a disinterest in eating...knowing, eventually, he will stop eating...
I was suppose to leave Tuesday, which I rescheduled to Wednesday...and now it will be tomorrow, Thursday, before I leave to drive to California...
I am all packed, but I am emotionally exhausted.
It takes so much intestinal fortitude to prepare myself for the 250 mile drive to Mom's house knowing what we all face when I get there; plus the emotional preparation I need to psyche myself up to go see Dad...I feel wiped out before I even leave.
I feel Dad slipping away, knowing soon he will be out of our sight and will live in our hearts and memories...
Despite preparing one's self for a parent's death, when it gets close, and I am certain when it comes, the flood gates will open and many tears of sadness and frustration will cover our lives for months and possibly years to come...
Yet, at the same time, intertwined with our grief will be relief. Dad is not really aware of all his physical and medical issues...he lives in the demented bubble, where he may be aware for a nano second, only to have the thought dissolve as he diverts to the face of a pretty nurse. If he were conscious and aware, he would abruptly have a heart attack.
Dad lived haunted by unmet expectations demanded by his Father. Consequently, it crippled him from making important or quick decisions. He was a serial procrastinator with anything urgent. He lived in denial from the ability to not see how it affected those around him. He over analyzed to the point of exhaustion. He made a career out of going in circles. His one and only focus was his family. He loved all of us without question, we could all feel it...but we knew he was not reliable except for limited conversations.
Mom ALWAYS filled in the gaps Dad left. Much of the time, we resented her for it...Now we look back in awe at what she did daily without acknowledgment. She was the-go-to-person we all went to when there was a problem. Dad would listen and give advice, but he could not follow up or be responsible for helping, except for physical labor. We collectively felt and accepted his weaknesses. We never confronted him on it, we just lived with it. Dad was intelligent, strong as an ox, spiritual, gentle, kind, imaginative, inventive, a nature lover, farmer, spoke to and understood both plants and animals almost better than he could relate to humans; he was introspective, eccentric, quirky and quiet and we loved him for who he was.
I speak of Dad in the past tense because he is. The Dad we see today is no where close to the Dad we knew and lived with all our lives. Dad was always puttering. I can think of three times when I saw Dad lying down during the day; when he had mumps, when his appendix burst and with blood poisoning from a redwood splinter... We see what we want to see now because we cannot bare to see the shell of a man left behind from the insidious plague called Alzheimer's . The disease is an invisible thief, sneaking into one's life stealing slowly and indiscriminately until everything is gone and one is left with nothing but loss and death.
It makes my soul ache to see Dad the way he is. I would not wish this disease on my worst enemy...
When I see Dad I have this soft ball sized lump lodged in my throat, my eyes constantly water and I feel like I am visiting some one else's Father not knowing what to say...
All the history we shared throughout our lives are now intermittent. Some times he seems to relate, but most of the time, he doesn't. I am relieved he closes his eyes most of the time, because the blank stare when he looks at me is so much worse.
I find the only way I can motivate myself to go see him is the faith we share, the memories we savor and the knowledge we must gather around him while we all wait for the glorious chariot from the sky to come and carry our Father home...
3 comments:
Donna - I really appreciated what you wrote about your Dad. You covered his strengths and weaknesses and more than that, the love between him and his family.
Still praying for all of you.
I wanted you to know how sorry I am that your Dad is not doing well.
I lost both my parents many years ago. They both went quietly in their sleep while fighting for years.
It is not easy to let go. It won't be for you but the good memories are what remain.
Give yourself time to heal.
Know that you have done all you can. That's always what seems to bother people.
Thinking of you,
JC
Donna, I wish you peace. Your dad might enjoy hearing you sing an old familiar song. That seems to jog the long term memory. I used to sing Que Sera, that Doris Day song, to the aunt in the nursing home, and she loved it and sometimes sang along even when she made no sense and didn't recognize us.
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