It's taken me awhile to get to a point where I feel like
writing about dad but he is much on my mind as my first Father's Day without
him has passed.
After mother died in 2011, he grieved by blaming me and
my brothers for moving them out of their house and into an assisted living
facility where we believed mother could get the care she needed in the final
weeks of her life. He was frustrated at
his inability to "fix" her and angry with us for arranging for others
to help with her care. After she died in
2011, he actually said that moving her had killed her, that if we had left them
alone she would still be alive. He
insisted on returning to his house and even though we believed he needed the
services of assisted living we honored his wishes and arranged for home care
services for him. Eventually he needed more care and at times seemed lonely and
even afraid alone in the house. In the
fall of 2013 he agreed to move to a studio apartment at the Cedars of Austin
and surprised us all by soon calling it home.
He spoke kindly (most of the time) about the staff and the care he
received there. Surrounded by the few
things that mattered to him, his television, favorite blankets and a small
refrigerator that held his ice cream treats, juices and forbidden tobacco chew,
he settled into a routine and kept peace with those around him. Most of all, he loved the daily visits from
his nurse, Nancy J. and we all appreciated the loving care she showed him
the last few years of his life.
Dad knew he had family that loved him, even forgave him
for his bad behavior at the time of mother's death. We all had unique relationships with
him. My older brother David and
sister-in-law Mary visited him daily and proximity made them his first
responders. Jim and I started referring
to them as our new heroes because of their 24/7 dad-duty. They did a stellar job of attending to his
every need (and most wants!) and they were unfailing in keeping us informed so that we were all in agreement
about important decisions effecting his care. Younger brother Duane seemed to
be dad's emotional partner. Often quiet
and not verbally communicative with me and David, he and Duane spent many hours talking about
his early life, war year experiences, hunting and fishing escapades and end of
life issues. With me, he often seemed
most content to just sit and hold my hand.
As the only girl, he seemed to want to spare me any stress and frequently
told me "not to worry my pretty little head" about whatever current
issue we faced. We siblings joked that we seemed to take turns being the
"fair-haired golden child" - he didn't hesitate to let each of us
know when one of the others had done a particularly good, or bad deed, usually
involving him!
Those few years passed quickly even though failing health
prompted innumerable doctors appointments, lab visits, several ambulance rides
and hospitalizations At times, those
happenings interrupted our lives and
prompted a flurry of phone calls among us as we put our heads together to
decide the best way to walk him through the modern medical mine field. We
occasionally gathered together in the Twin Cities, or in Austin to chart a plan
and make sure we were in agreement. I
think now that those 10 years we were so engrossed in taking care of our
parents brought us closer together as adult siblings than anything else could
have.
Although I knew it couldn't be, sometimes it seemed like
he would be there forever! Even as the
years passed and he grew old - really old - he never seemed frail. His voice was always strong, and his big
hands always held mine tight. He still
joked with us, lectured as he saw fit, remained headstrong in his opinions, and
grumbled when he wanted to. But when he
declined to attend his granddaughter's wedding, he met his match and her tears
got him to agree to (as it turned out) his last adventure. He was the early attraction at the reception
as family and friends gathered around his wheelchair and snapped pictures that
we now all treasure.
And then the end that seemed so very long in coming, came
so fast. From March until October he had
done so well, not needing much intervention.
And then suddenly there were many failing systems and a required
hospitalization which he declared would be his last. He agreed to hospice care when he was
released from the hospital and left the Cedars only once more, to join family
for Thanksgiving dinner at David and Mary's house in Austin. One day in early December his eating slowed
and he slept more. David alerted us to
come and we began a round the clock watch at his bedside. I was blessed to be sitting with him the
morning his ragged breathing slowed and as I took his hand one last time, I
said the Lord's Prayer aloud to him. He
looked directly at me and closed his eyes.
I felt a change in our grasp as he slipped away and I knew he was gone.
At 93, dad was the last of his generation in our family
and his passing gives me a new sense of my own mortality and the realization of
the passing of time. I turned 70 this
year but no matter how hold you are, I think you always have the capacity for
feeling childlike, until your parents are gone. Now I am the parent, the senior, the elder but
wearing this mantle comfortably make take some time. I sense my adult children are beginning to
look at me in the ways I looked at my parents.
Sometimes they seem impatient with me if I miss a cue or forget
something and I feel defensive, not because they are wrong but because I know
they are right. I am well aware of the
creeping signs of aging in my life; I'm just not ready to have others notice!