"I'm going to get better, then I am going to have a cup of coffee, I am going to read the newspaper, I am going to have a strawberry milkshake, I'm going to read a book...." Things my father in law rattled off to my husband that he'd like to do when he gets better. Only he isn't going to get better.
The simple things in life, symbolic of a far simpler time. Times that bring back the joys of maybe swinging on a porch swing at dusk in the summertime, going swimming in his favorite swimming hole with his friends when he was younger, mooning the trains that went by (one of the stories he loved to entertain my girls with when they were little). The simpler things that represent my father in law, who now lies in a hospital bed, a former shell of himself.
My girls face-timed him today, before they moved him to hospice, to say they love him one more time. While he is lucid and knows them again. One more time before he slips into the clouds of his mind that his Alzheimer's brings.
A man from humble origins. His mom and dad came over from England and settled in the West Chicago area. His dad was a brick mason by trade, and he'd do a handstand atop every chimney he completed. My father in law spoke very rarely of his dad. I believe it was too painful for him. He had the unfortunate luck of finding his dad after his father decided to end his own life. An event that so desperately scarred him, depression haunted him his entire life because of this.
He and my mother in law married later than average for their time. They didn't rush to get married at 18 as was de rigueur, adopted my husband even later than most people do for the era they were born in to. He liked listening to big band music, loved golf, but then loved things like watching the Sopranos. He was an amazing golf player during his younger life, even worked as Arnold Palmer's vice president back when you came home to a martini waiting for you from your wife before dinner and smoking a pack or two a day wasn't an issue according to doctors. Hell they might even recommend your brand for you.
We moved this lovely human being into hospice this evening, because as he said during moments of his lucidity today, I've been sick a long time. It seems like it. Like Brad and I said, he was healthy for 87 and a half years, the last year and a half will not be how we remember him. I choose to remember the man I met 27 years ago, who cried when he met the woman who had captured his son's heart. The man who brought Beau treats because Beau tickled him so. The man who played the dollar game with my girls until the shaking in his hands got to be too much and he stopped playing it.
He had many health issues through his life, but overcame things like his heart disease or diabetes problems and did his best to take good care of himself, dieting and exercising although he did hide potato chips in his car so my mother in law wouldn't find them. I won't mention how he longed to stop at the roadside stands that sold beef jerky near his villa in FL.
All it took was pulling three teeth, and his world unravelled. The bleeding wouldn't stop, turns out he developed acquired hemophilia for no apparent reason they could ever find, and after that stint in the hospital to stop his bleeding from those three teeth, he was never the same. It seemed to accelerate the rate of confusion he encountered. The medicines they put him on to control his new condition made him tired, cranky and he stopped wanting to eat. The man who loved nothing better than a bratwurst, a piece of standing rib roast with Yorkshire pudding, anything hardy, because no dainty finger sandwiches would do for my father in law. The man who I loved to feed, because the Italian in me was overjoyed when he ate until he was ready to burst and he thanked me for making him dinner. He stopped eating. He stopped caring.
Today, this beautiful human being went to hospice, to wait for the last breath he will breathe. And we all wait with him. Wait for him to go softly into that goodnight because the night is falling for you dad.
You are surrounded by those who love you, like that line from Ghost I often quote because I know in my heart it's true, the love inside, you take it with you. I know you are feeling that love inside, and I know you are taking it with you.
Until we all see each other again. Please scratch Beau's big, old Boxer chest for me. I know he will be waiting for his treat from you, and let my dad know how much I miss him and how well I am doing!
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.”
2 comments:
Dee this is so sweet. It is so hard to see those we love disappear from us right before our eyes. I watched my own father wither away to half the man he was by the cancer that robbed him of his life. All those memories, continue to share them with your girls. I talk of my mom and dad all the time to my kids. Both my kids will say whenever we are in Chicago "Grandpa worked on the Sears Tower, right mom" I always tell them about his love for VW beetles and how many he owned during my life time with him. So sorry to hear about this.
Thanks Debbie. It's been a tough few days.
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