Awake a lot last night. Suddenly it was pouring…really pouring rain and I got up to close windows and patio doors. I love the sound of the rain–much more than I like the sound of my thoughts churning. Breathing and thinking; raining…breathing and thinking; raining harder. Drifting off into dreams of hospitals and bacteria…
Today, I visit him again. When I arrive, he is having a heated argument with someone. He’s pointing to the floor and irritable. “It’s right there–just pick it up and hand it to me! Now!”
I ask him what he wants and he says, “I’ve got to get going–I need to get out of here.” He’s restrained in a “posy” vest and I tell him that he can’t get up–that he’s in the hospital. With a defiant look, he says, “I most certainly am NOT!” I tell him, “Yes, Dad, you are, you’ve been here for six days.” We’re arguing just like we did when I was in high school–but now he’s in diapers and completely deranged with his blood sugar bouncing from 20 to 66 to 495. He’s righteously indignant and I’m firm and rational…gradually losing it…eventually opting to engage my sense of humor.
When the nurse arrives to check his IV, she points to me and asks, “Who is this lady?” First he says, “That’s my wife.” Then he says, “She’s an apostle.” Later he says, “She’s the examinator–she does all the testing and checking, but she’s not too good. She does it too quickly and isn’t always accurate!”
He’s mostly happy…giddy when people are around. An aide comes to take his blood pressure and he’s ready to interview her. “Now,” he says, “who are you with?” She’s baffled by his question–he elaborates, “What firm?” She shakes her head.
He “sees dead people.” His mother, my mother. He sees another old lady and someone handing him paperwork and others. They’re standing around…he says that some have wings. He hasn’t smoked in eight years but he mimes smoking.
When I leave, I scrub like Ethan Hawke in Gattaca; I use the hand sanitizer outside his door and three more in the hall en route to the elevator…still, it doesn’t seem like enough.
I just wanted to leave a comment saying that I have been following your meaningful writing over the last couple of weeks. I may not always comment, but it is truly honest and important.
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Thank you, Brian–it’s a sweet and complicated time. Your presence ia appreciated.
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Your words are poignant, your Truth refreshing and real. You are so generous with yourself, your Self and your words and your world. I am in the room with you, closing the windows I hear the rain, tenderly I hold your words in my heart and can only try to imagine your pain…you are my Sister bound by Spirit, by the purity of Love. You are not alone. I bow to you and your Dad on this Sacred journey. Jai Ma……Kathleen
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I cannot put into words what I feel when I read your blog regarding this journey with your Dad. It’s so close to home for me,Sandy. I marvel at your writing and send blessings of love and peace to both of you.
Namaste, dear one
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I was captivated by this photo….your dad and mine could have passed as brothers. Dad passed 7 years ago – a sudden massive coronary while he was sitting at the kitchen counter. He was 75 years old.
What you are going through is nothing less than one of the most sacred acts in all of life – right there with assisting those just entering the world. I pray that you will find all the strength, peace and comfort you need for your journey and your loving kindness.
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A friend of mine is experiencing something similar with her son. He’s delusional now but no longer wearing depends. He was in a motor cycle accident with severe head injuries.
When I read this entry I thought about how much it must hurt to watch someone you love so much near their end.
Austin
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