"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." -- unknown

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

my father.
October 07, 2002 - 6:26 pm

he's smoked all his life and he's a big guy, 6'2" or so and probably 300 pounds. it's no surprise he's troubles are heart related.

that's not what this is about.

last weekend, two fridays ago to be exact, my mom called to say my dad was in the hospital and had been for a week. this is how things are in my family and a different entry, in fact it's an entry i posted long ago...go on a treasure hunt to find it if you like. i went down to see him in the hospital. i wasn't sure how i'd react to seeing him lay in the bed. he didn't have the strength to stand. he needed help to get into a chair.

i tried to imagine laying in a bed nearly nonstop for seven days. i don't wish to know if my thoughts were accurate.

i want to keep this on point. so just alittle more background stuff. one of this problems is that he was depressed at being in the hospital and didn't want to eat. of course if he didn't eat, he wouldn't get stronger and couldn't get out of the hospital.

my mom tried to get him to eat, but he wouldn't even raise the bed up. we sat there for a while, mostly in silence. she decided it was time to go and said she'd meet me down stairs, meaning for me to talk to him. i didn't say much. just that he needs to eat to get stronger to get out of the hospital and that i loved him. probably five sentences in all. he closed his eyes turned his head and mumbled as well as he could that he loved me too. i left.

my mom was crying when i caught up to her.

this is about two things, her and what perhaps i should have said.

they've been married for something like thirty-four years. as hard as it was for me to imagine laying in a bed for seven days, i can't really fathom living day in and day out with someone for thirty-four years, 12410 days, not being there. i can't understand how hard it is for her, a nurse, to see him in the hospital..to know and understand what the doctors are saying and to be helpless. she wanted him to eat, to get better and get out of the hospital. she knows he can't be forced to do it, he has to want to do it. she's seen it a thousand times in what she does running a personal care home. she's known a thousand folks who come into her facility...a pit stop on road to dying. she's chatted with them, joked with them..done her best to make them smile, but she knows one day they won't be there. she might get a call in the middle of the night that so and so is gone..dead or off to the hospital with some major problem. this is different. this isn't some stranger, this is her husband of over 12,410 days.

one day she will wake up and he will be gone, not just in the hospital, but gone gone.

i talked to her about the furance. she said that dad told her to clean it before she ran it, to make sure it wasn't too dusty and that the filter was new. i had to show her how to change the filter. it's not that she's not smart, she's just never ever had to do it. how many other millions of things are there the he did, that she's never had to do? how daunting a prospect is that?

this is about me sitting in my car riding home and thinking about what i should have said. i had no idea my mom was going to leave me alone with him, i hadn't prepared any sort of thing to say. i'm not always the best at quick fire speaking..but give me a minute or two and i'll pull something good out of my ass.

this is what i decided i should have said as i drove my car north. i could see myself standing at the foot of his bed. i have a slight sniffle, so i don't want to hug him and give him my cold. my hand on his sheet and sock covered foot. he has an oxygen hose in his nose and iv's in his arms. i'd say something like

"dad, for all my life, for all my brothers life, for as long as you've known mom...you've done everything you could to make our lives easier, to help us succeed and you've done a damn fine job. you've done things for me and us that i'm only just begining to understand. but now it's time for us to help you. i know it's a tough idea for you to swallow, but it's true. you need to eat, to get stronger and let us help you. you don't want to be here, we don't want you here, but you need to let us and others help you."

something like that i'd say.

he's supposed to be out of the hospital this week. he's in a physical therapy room all this week. he's probably going to have to walk with a cane or a walker for a bit. there's a good chance he's going to get a pacemaker in the near future.

everything i hear is that he's going to be better. not as good as he was, but better. that's how these things go. people start off healthy, they get sick and recover...but they never quite recover back to where they were. they get sick again and perhaps they recover again, but again..less than before. it's a slow...slow, cruel process.

***************************

undoubtedly some of you are going to feel the urge to send me some sort of "i'm sorry message". why are you sorry? i know it's how people are supposed to feel. i know it's the proper thing to say. i never understood it's so. perhaps if you knew me and/or him it would be appropriate it, but honestly...i don't it's so for strangers.