Dad

Every morning since I started this blog I wake up wondering about the direction of my writing that day.  It seems that most of my blogs this week have had to do with time and I think that was all leading up to this morning.

My Dad passed away about a year and a half ago.  Every day I think of him, remembering him as he was when he was younger and stronger; he was so full of life and always an integral part of everything happening with my Mom, my brothers and I.  He was funny and seemed so powerful to me, yet he was always supportive, caring, loving and there.  I wrote an essay after he died, it was called, “My Dad is Strong Again”.  My brother, who works for a hospice company, sent it along to his company’s marketing folks and I believe they actually printed it in their monthly newsletter.  Perhaps I’ll copy it to this post later today so you can read it if you’re interested.

Anyway, this morning I was having my coffee and surfing the channels when I came across a movie on HBO called, “Dad”.  The movie was from 1989 and it starred Jack Lemmon and Ted Danson. Although I had to get moving and couldn’t watch the entire thing, (I set it up on the dvr to watch later), it sparked a light in my heart.

Being unemployed is mostly lousy, but, I have to say it afforded me one thing I would not have otherwise had during the last few months of my Dad’s life, time.  I had the luxury of being with my Mom and my Dad right up to and through his passing.  I didn’t have to worry about things at work, time off, none of that.  I could just be here.  I could be with them.

My Dad had been ill for a long time.  My Mom, being the main caretaker, was exhausted.  Although they lived with us, most of the hard work in caring for him fell to her. I was worried about her, but the love they had for each other was beyond impressive.  She took care of him, watched over him, spoke for him and was his strongest advocate.  But, two weeks before he died, he started showing signs that his body just couldn’t take anymore.  The Doctors, who had cared for him throughout his years on dialysis and his many strokes, saw those signs even though we were too immersed in his care to see them.  One doctor called us on a Monday morning after my Dad had arrived, by ambulance, for his dialysis treatment.  He told my Mom and I that he felt the dialysis was just too much for him at that point and that since my Dad was complaining about not feeling well, he was sending him to the local hospital.

My Dad had been hospitalized so many times that this in itself wasn’t particularly alarming, but there was something in the tone of the doctor’s voice that told us this time was different.

I drove my Mom to the hospital and we were there in time to see my Dad admitted.  He seemed happy because he actually missed his dialysis treatment, something he dreaded all three times a week when he had to go.

We talked with my Dad and he appeared to be feeling okay, so we waited to speak with the doctor.  It wasn’t long before a lovely woman doctor came to us.  She was relatively new to my Dad’s team of nephrologists, but she certainly knew all about my Dad.  She said that she, and the rest of the team, recommended my Dad no longer receive the dialysis, which had kept him alive for the last 6, almost 7 years. But, naturally, the decision was up to the family.  How do you make that decision, we asked ourselves?

She read our mind; she talked with us for a long time explaining why they believe he had reached this point. The social workers from the hospital then joined the discussion and my Mom and I felt comfortable asking them everything we had on our minds.  We called my brothers and asked them their thoughts and questions.  We asked my Dad what he thought, even though we weren’t sure he really understood everything, he answered us.  His voice was stronger than it had been in months when he said, he did not want to have any more treatment, he just couldn’t.

That last week in the hospital with my Dad, my Mom and I were there constantly.  From morning to night we sat with him, we fed him, we sang with him. My Mom and Dad sang old show tunes and there was one nurse in particular who would hear us and come and join in!  The Olympics were on that week and we watched the skiers and my Dad took notice of things that he hadn’t seemed to pay attention to for quite some time.

At the end of the week, after watching him sleep, talking with him, feeding him (he enjoyed the carrots very much – he hadn’t been allowed to have them during his dialysis treatment) it was time for him to be discharged.

They wanted him to go into a hospice program.  My Mom and I had visited where they were going to send him and it just didn’t feel right in our souls to let him go there.  So, we quickly set up hospice in my home.  We arranged for nurses and had the bed delivered about an hour or two before the hospital sent my Dad to us.

Everyone came over that Saturday; my house was full of love.  My brother, who had been sick all week with Shingles, my nephew from New York, we were all together.  My brother, who lives in Florida, was there through the magic of Skype.  It was a full, busy day and by the end, when everyone left, we were exhausted.

My Dad was in some discomfort at that time.  My son was the one who was taught to administer the morphine, and he did so with such care and compassion…I was so full of admiration and love.

The overnight nurse was settling in and so we kissed my Dad goodnight and went to bed.

Around 3 AM I woke up and thought I’d go down and see how he was doing, but then I thought twice about it.  I didn’t want the nurse to think I didn’t trust her.  I was up, yet exhausted.  Finally, I decided to go to the bathroom and then try to go back to sleep.  When I came out of the bathroom, my husband was walking into our bedroom (I hadn’t even known he was up). Apparently, he heard my Mom gently call up to us after I had closed the bathroom door; my Dad had passed away.

My Mom and I sat with my Dad until the hospice and then the funeral home came to take him away.  I swear I felt his presence in the room.  He was absolutely with us.  My Mom kept saying, “I’m a widow now”.

I could feel my Dad’s surprise when he saw his sister.  I felt him thinking, how could she be here, why didn’t they tell me?  (Dad, we didn’t think you could take the news of your sister’s death, we’re sorry, please don’t be angry.) That was the dialogue in my head.

The rest of the week was a blur.  My Dad actually passed away on my brother’s birthday and was buried on mine.

Now back to time.  I had that time with my Dad.  I miss him every day, but I am so thankful for that week, which although difficult, was deeply meaningful.  I was lucky to have the time to devote to him, and my Mom, and I suppose it was one of the rare benefits of being unemployed.

That week was a blessing in many ways.  I feel my Dad with me every day. I am so thankful I had the gift of time to share with him, my hero and protector.