Four Weeks and Six Days
Well, it has been four weeks and six days since I moved out to my parents to help take care of my dad. Every day is more depressing. It takes his dying for me to realize how much I have taken him for granted, and now, when he has nothing left to give, I cry. There hasn't been a day that I haven't been crying. All I wish is that he can just pass...retain his dignity instead of getting weaker and more depressed himself. Thankfully, he isn't in any pain that we are aware of, but he can't seem to swallow so he is eating less and less and is loosing more and more weight.
And of course, I feel sorry for myself. I made the decision to move out into the middle of nowhere because I wanted him to be able to come home to die. The doctor didn't want him to come home because he would be too much for my mom. In ways this is too much for me, let alone her. I keep feeling like I'm suffocating and no one is hearing me screams. Mom has hives on her neck because that's how she shows stress. Yet when the social worker from hospice calls, Mom says everything is great! No they are not!
Sometimes I think he would be better in a nursing home-half the time he doesn't know where he is. Yet, I can't do that to him, nor do I want to. These selfish moments can be overwhelming and then I think about how much I love him and I realize he is where he needs to be. I pray to God He takes him soon though...It is time.
It is time...or at least we, his family, think so. This is a virile man who may not have spoken a lot yet said much. He taught all of us how to love and how to accept burdens as part of life...how not to let bad things destroy us. Dad has always been a faith filled-awe-inspiring, gentle man. His generosity and sincerity have made him legendary to anyone who has had the priveledge to know him. So why? Why has he been reduced to this man whose final days are designated to a bed...too weak to get out of the bed-vision deteriorating because of macular degeneration-hands unable to hold a cup to his own mouth?
Please, if you pray, pray for God to take him home. That is mine and my family's prayer now...God-please take him home to You...now.
And of course, I feel sorry for myself. I made the decision to move out into the middle of nowhere because I wanted him to be able to come home to die. The doctor didn't want him to come home because he would be too much for my mom. In ways this is too much for me, let alone her. I keep feeling like I'm suffocating and no one is hearing me screams. Mom has hives on her neck because that's how she shows stress. Yet when the social worker from hospice calls, Mom says everything is great! No they are not!
Sometimes I think he would be better in a nursing home-half the time he doesn't know where he is. Yet, I can't do that to him, nor do I want to. These selfish moments can be overwhelming and then I think about how much I love him and I realize he is where he needs to be. I pray to God He takes him soon though...It is time.
It is time...or at least we, his family, think so. This is a virile man who may not have spoken a lot yet said much. He taught all of us how to love and how to accept burdens as part of life...how not to let bad things destroy us. Dad has always been a faith filled-awe-inspiring, gentle man. His generosity and sincerity have made him legendary to anyone who has had the priveledge to know him. So why? Why has he been reduced to this man whose final days are designated to a bed...too weak to get out of the bed-vision deteriorating because of macular degeneration-hands unable to hold a cup to his own mouth?
Please, if you pray, pray for God to take him home. That is mine and my family's prayer now...God-please take him home to You...now.
posted by Mares @ 4:39 PM
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