I just re-read a couple of my earlier posts, and I sound like a raving bitch. I'm ashamed of myself and at the same time painfully aware. Life is breaking my heart, and what I've written is actually the ravings of a really scared little girl who's afraid of losing her dad. The chemo is kicking his butt and he's shrinking, going from about 220 b4 surgery to 186 as of Wednesday. Although he makes a valid attempt at eating -- he stuffs the fridge with all of the non diabetic foods he's historically enjoyed -- he's just not consuming the calories. Last night I tried to tempt him with some pork chops dipped in egg, dropped in flour and instead of baked, fried in oil and then smothered in gravy with some candied sweet potatoes on the side. Yeah, I know, not very heart healthy but at this point we just want him to eat something. He told me to put everything in the fridge and he'd eat it tomorrow. I already know the gestation period in the fridge will be approximately one week before I toss it in the garbage. Been there, done that.
Ernie left on Wednesday and I wonder if that has anything to do with him being so down. His little bro's visit was really good for him, and yes, I have to admit Ernie made a liar out of me by staying for the duration. He cooked for him, did some house cleaning, fed the dog, did dad's laundry, drove him to his chemo appointments on Tuesday, and on Valentine's Day, made us all the best damn pot roast I'd ever tasted. He was awesome. The pot roast was followed by a chocolate cake dad ordered from Safeway, as a thank you to his girls for taking care of him. It was a really sweet thing to do.
Ernie and I talked alot on the drive to the airport and he gave me a lot of insight into dad as a person. I talked to him about our fears and frustrations. Crazy frustration when Dad continued to lay around after his surgery when we thought he should be making more effort to keep moving, and we thought he should have made more effort to cleaning up after himself, and we thought he should have been more involved with his ostomy care and eating healthier. Bottom line, we were completely out of our depth, in an emotional upheaval trying to adjust in uncharted territory. And Dad?...well, Dad's body has been in active combat, in a war zone on the front lines, sustaining numerous casualties. All he's been trying to do the past couple of months is survive, which has literally taken everything he's got. Life after surgery has been a royal bitch, and his primary focus has been, and continues to be the extreme effort that is necessary to keep moving one foot in front of the other. Literally and figuratively.
Uncle Ernie's advice? Help him continue to live in his own home with dignity. Hold him up when the burden of his illness becomes too heavy for him to bare alone, pick up after him if he leaves something behind, listen to him when he needs to spout off. Because tomorrow...well, it's a gray area.
And so we'll take Uncle Ernie's good advice, and just be there for Dad no matter what. And pray, lots of prayers.
Dear God, I am really weak, please don't let me crumble under pressure. Help us all to be what dad needs us to be to help him get through this.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Love You Forever - Part II
We live in a society where people who are on the fast track are applauded and praised for keeping up and surpassing everybody else; people who are independent and progressive thinkers, active contributors to society. This is a good thing. The bad thing about it is there no longer appears to be a place in society for those who can no longer keep pace, like the elderly or the sick. Their past contributions are tossed aside like something used up and no longer of value.
Over the past few years and more recently in the last couple of months since Dad's surgery, I've heard the word "burden" tossed around more times than I cared to hear. Of course, nobody specifically connects the use of the word in relation to mom, Kenny and now dad, but it's there unspoken. It's usually stated as a side bar, with an explanation on how they've managed their own lives so as not to be a burden on their family. And again, this is not a bad thing. Matter of fact, it's a very responsible way to go about taking care of those loose ends. However, everybody is not as well equipped to handle the reality that bad things happen to good people. So, what do we do when they do happen-- the bad stuff I mean? When debilitating illness strikes, like cancer, stroke or heart attack--and we're not as prepared as we'd intended to be. I've seen the answer to my question in the nursing homes where I volunteer for hospice. Somewhere along the road, placing your loved ones away in a home to be cared for by strangers has become the norm, the acceptable, the punishment for no longer being able to keep pace. When did this become okay?
When Kenny was sick, Joan was there every step of the way, making those trips between California to Arizona and back again. It must have been exhausting, but I don't remember hearing her use the word "burden" to describe the situation or the disruption to her life. I saw the tears in her eyes for the impending goodbye she'd have to make, but I never saw resentment. I saw the determination in her will to make sure our brother died with dignity, and in peace and knowing, that not only was she there for him in his time of need, but that she would continue to be there for his children in the years to come. And she's done all of that and more. It was during this terrible time of loss, that I learned truly for the first time, the depth of my big sister's character, her level of compassion, her devotion to her younger sibling, and capacity to love, unconditionally. I think we are closer now than ever before. Kenny never doubted Joan's love and loyalty, and knew she'd be there for him, no matter what. I know because he'd commented on it, on more than one occasion.
There are so many different ways of making people feel like shit without saying a single word. Like going through the motions of helping, of listening, of being there all the while carrying inside a lot of resentment and anger that this person's moment is keeping you from something you need or want to be doing. Honestly, I'd rather be put in a state-run facility than look into the eyes of a family member and see myself as their burden, instead of the love that I'd hoped would be there at such a time.
"I'll Love You Forever, I'll Love You For Always". Unconditionally, no matter what. I'll be there for you. The sincerity of a promise that encompasses every single moment, good and bad without censure. How many of us can love like that?
Over the past few years and more recently in the last couple of months since Dad's surgery, I've heard the word "burden" tossed around more times than I cared to hear. Of course, nobody specifically connects the use of the word in relation to mom, Kenny and now dad, but it's there unspoken. It's usually stated as a side bar, with an explanation on how they've managed their own lives so as not to be a burden on their family. And again, this is not a bad thing. Matter of fact, it's a very responsible way to go about taking care of those loose ends. However, everybody is not as well equipped to handle the reality that bad things happen to good people. So, what do we do when they do happen-- the bad stuff I mean? When debilitating illness strikes, like cancer, stroke or heart attack--and we're not as prepared as we'd intended to be. I've seen the answer to my question in the nursing homes where I volunteer for hospice. Somewhere along the road, placing your loved ones away in a home to be cared for by strangers has become the norm, the acceptable, the punishment for no longer being able to keep pace. When did this become okay?
When Kenny was sick, Joan was there every step of the way, making those trips between California to Arizona and back again. It must have been exhausting, but I don't remember hearing her use the word "burden" to describe the situation or the disruption to her life. I saw the tears in her eyes for the impending goodbye she'd have to make, but I never saw resentment. I saw the determination in her will to make sure our brother died with dignity, and in peace and knowing, that not only was she there for him in his time of need, but that she would continue to be there for his children in the years to come. And she's done all of that and more. It was during this terrible time of loss, that I learned truly for the first time, the depth of my big sister's character, her level of compassion, her devotion to her younger sibling, and capacity to love, unconditionally. I think we are closer now than ever before. Kenny never doubted Joan's love and loyalty, and knew she'd be there for him, no matter what. I know because he'd commented on it, on more than one occasion.
There are so many different ways of making people feel like shit without saying a single word. Like going through the motions of helping, of listening, of being there all the while carrying inside a lot of resentment and anger that this person's moment is keeping you from something you need or want to be doing. Honestly, I'd rather be put in a state-run facility than look into the eyes of a family member and see myself as their burden, instead of the love that I'd hoped would be there at such a time.
"I'll Love You Forever, I'll Love You For Always". Unconditionally, no matter what. I'll be there for you. The sincerity of a promise that encompasses every single moment, good and bad without censure. How many of us can love like that?
Love You Forever
When Michael was nine I bought him a book called, "Love You Forever" by Robert Munsch. The reason why the book comes to mind of late is because a co-worker mentioned it. We were talking about kid's story books and how really violent and/or deranged some classic children stories and lullabys were, for instance Rock A By Baby. Poor little baby sits in a tree top, in a cradle and falls. May be an example of either teen parenting where they're too stupid to know any better, or child abuse straight up. We actually sang this lullaby to our children to put them to sleep at night. Like watching Nightmare On Elmstreet I-IV and then expecting to get a good nights sleep. My co-worker then asked me if I'd ever read the book called, "Love You forever". So I told her, "Yes of course. I bought it for my son when he was nine. I loved that story. It's about unconditional love." She looked back at me like she had a secret or something. "Um," she says. "Didn't you find it to be just a little bit creepy the way the mom keeps stocking her son?" Huh.
Here's an excerpt of the back cover, "A young woman holds her newborn son and looks at him lovingly. Softly she sings to him:
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.
She does this throughout his terrible twos when at times you're more inclined to drop the kid off in the dark of night on the steps of an orphanage then lull him to sleep with a lullaby, through the teen years when typical focus must be given to not slapping him or her silly, and adulthood when sanity starts to level out to the point a parent can actually communicate with their adult child. Through the good, the bad and the ugly moms sings the same lullaby.
Okay perhaps the uncomfortable moment comes in when the kid is grown and living on his own and mom is sitting outside her grown son's house like a cat burglar. She patiently waits for the lights to go out, then sneaks into his bedroom window, crawls across the floor, peaks over the side of the bed (a tad creepy!) and,
"If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth." Dang. Again, with the lullaby.
But seriously, when I first read this book I cried. The author's intent was pure, not sadistic or perverted, and I got that right off and wanted to share it with my child, which is my point for bringing this up in the first place. Love is unconditional, it just is. In my opinion, if we can't bring it like that, we're better off not loving at all. Well, I've gotta go. I want to get over to dad's house and clean up his bedroom while he's having his chemo today. I had another point to make, but can't quite recall what it was so I'll get back to it later.
Here's an excerpt of the back cover, "A young woman holds her newborn son and looks at him lovingly. Softly she sings to him:
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.
She does this throughout his terrible twos when at times you're more inclined to drop the kid off in the dark of night on the steps of an orphanage then lull him to sleep with a lullaby, through the teen years when typical focus must be given to not slapping him or her silly, and adulthood when sanity starts to level out to the point a parent can actually communicate with their adult child. Through the good, the bad and the ugly moms sings the same lullaby.
Okay perhaps the uncomfortable moment comes in when the kid is grown and living on his own and mom is sitting outside her grown son's house like a cat burglar. She patiently waits for the lights to go out, then sneaks into his bedroom window, crawls across the floor, peaks over the side of the bed (a tad creepy!) and,
"If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth." Dang. Again, with the lullaby.
But seriously, when I first read this book I cried. The author's intent was pure, not sadistic or perverted, and I got that right off and wanted to share it with my child, which is my point for bringing this up in the first place. Love is unconditional, it just is. In my opinion, if we can't bring it like that, we're better off not loving at all. Well, I've gotta go. I want to get over to dad's house and clean up his bedroom while he's having his chemo today. I had another point to make, but can't quite recall what it was so I'll get back to it later.
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