It was about 5:00 a.m. when my husband awakened me and said, "Your dad is sick, Jude. You'd better get up." I learned that Pop had been vomiting since about 4:00 a.m. We visited him in his bedroom over the hours watching him weaken. Through the day he continued to appear to have some sort of virus. But by evening we began to question our theory of "viral." Very much against his will (he was sure he was just fine) we carefully loaded him into the car and drove to the emergency room. That night he was admitted and the next day was in surgery to repair an intestinal blockage.
The following week, during my daily visits, I watched his strength drain from his body until he looked like a Holocaust victim. The lack of solid food had taken its toll. In those hours I was reminded again the truth behind the old adage "ignorance can be bliss." As the hours rolled into days his continuous, repetitive questions reminded me that he had no recollection as to how much misery he had endured, how close to death he had been, and how uncertain his future was. As we approach the Christmas holiday season he is resting and recuperating in a convalescent hospital. I can't help but wonder, where will Pop spend Christmas?
I know that his memory challenges have trapped him in a chronic state of oblivion sort of like being locked in a room with one way mirrors; we are able to see in but he is unable to see out. Oblivious to the seasons, the celebrations, the life which swirls on around him he continues to live but not really live. Thanks giving was a blur, a non happening. I assume Christmas will be the same. While I bustle around preparing for this blessed holiday season I fit in time to see him daily but he has no idea how many hours have transpired between our visits.
Unless you've been through something like this you might not understand the following statement and think that it sounds cruel, but I often wish Pop could just spend Christmas in heaven.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
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Judy,
ReplyDeleteI love your word picture - "sort of like being locked in a room with one way mirrors; we are able to see in but he is unable to see out."
Perhaps this describes the human condition we all face, as Paul says in 1 Cor 13, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
All of us here on earth just "see through a glass darkly" unable to fully understand life as God sees it, but we have the assurance that when we see Him, He will wipe away all of our tears and we will be like Him, clothed in a body that will never suffer the ravages of sickness and dementia. We'll be restored, whole. And your wish that your dad couild spend Christmas in heaven is the cry of a daughter who knows that truth.
Your loving care for your dad is a great example of the way this same chapter in 1 Cor concludes, "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."
Betsy
Judy, this is the first time I've read your Blog; I'm so glad I did. I've met your father and even though I've only been to your home a couple of times, your writing absolutely transports me right into your living room, or at the table in the middle of your "meltdown," or in the car on the way to the podiatrist. I knew that you were beautiful and classy and thoughtful (as I often teased Wink "How did you manage to capture that one for yourself?") But now I also know how very REAL you are as well. You could have shown us only the sugar-coated version of a long-suffering, "look at me, I'm so patient and always find humor, and something positive in everything" facade. That would just leave the rest of us feeling guilty that we couldn't do what you're doing as well as you're doing it. You, however, have managed to show us a loving and positive and upbeat daughter who so obviously and unconditionally loves her father who is also human and flawed and not afraid to admit it. It's an honor to be given this small, intimate window into your family's life with your Dad and his dementia, and I thank you for that.
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