Thursday
My father is stuck.
Although it’s unlike Winnie the Pooh in the Honey Tree
or even a tomcat that’s climbed too high into an archaic but majestic oak, those types of ‘stuck’ are manageable to a certain degree.
It’s like he’s an enigmatic and unsolvable crossword puzzle, a stalemate of stalemates, a real life version of Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day where every day is the same.
And though I repeatedly tell myself that it doesn’t bother me, deep inside it does.
Every visit it’s the same old thing.
I sit and stare.
I tell him stories.
I tell him about the weather and what I had for lunch.
I tell him what I’m making for supper.
Almost like it really matters.
It’s sad when I can’t even fool myself anymore.
I swipe madly at this insidious and maddening cobweb that has my father’s mind and memories
in its grip, deliberately refusing to let go of him.
I was sitting the other day watching him go in and out of sleep like a short-circuiting light bulb, his eyes methodically opening and closing; wax on, wax off.
I softly said, “Dad, what are you waiting for?”
He muttered something incomprehensible and shut his eyes, tired of trying to solve the puzzle, tired of my questions, tired of this confusing life.
And I can’t blame him.
He’s endlessly moored to this drab room in a city nursing home with no knife to cut the ropes.
I’m starting to feel lost as well.
Lost to him and so very lost for me.
I feel guilty after asking him the question and retreat to my dark corner of the quiet boxing ring knowing he shouldn’t have to answer a query such as that.
This is about him and not about a too selfish ‘Michael’ and his all too busy life.
But how does it finally end for this sad and fragile man?
Please, dear God tell me. Will you?
If I’m supposedly being taught some kind of lesson here, I’m really losing my patience and these days nothing seems to make sense. Nothing.
So maybe God listens.
Maybe.
Once again, I close my eyes on another day and I think, maybe tomorrow.
Yeah, right, maybe tomorrow . . .
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These are the posts that reach inside…they clutch my heart and they clutch my soul because I can {literally} hear the pain behind the words.
There are many things in life that don’t make sense, and needless suffering is without a doubt one of the most insidious there is.
Don’t torture yourself my friend. The question you ask is the human thing to do, and many before you have done it, and many after you will do the same. You know inside you, there is no answer…well, not from the person you ask it of at any rate.
If you felt any other way than wanting to see his suffering done, would that not be worse?
I have a very wise, compassionate friend that constantly tells me to look inside and find that warm place I seek so often of late. I listen every time he says it, and I try hard to get there.
My only advise is to do the same and hang onto your faith and know that there are many of us would take your pain if for only a few short hours, just to give you some small amount of relief.
{{{hugs}}} for you and your Dad.
michael, i truly wonder if there is any lesson here for you or anyone to learn. rather i think that it is just a cruel joke played by life that you are all suffering through. that there are no answers to why – it just is. sad and tragic as that sounds – it might be better than beating yourself up about it. you’ve done nothing wrong. you certainly dont deserve this, nor did your parents – it just happened and sadly my friend, it just happened to you and your family. and for this i am so very sorry and wish there was something i could do to make it better. we are often appointed the guardians of our loved ones’ wasting away, powerless to do anything about it but wait and stand the watch. and you’ve done, admirably.
i have no sage advice, nor do i think i can find any words that will truly comfort you because they will not make anything change. just know that all of your friends are there, beside you in this, we pray for you and for your father’s peace. it will come one day and then you can both rest. til then. thinking of you.
sarah
I don’t know what to say except keep the faith. Take care my friend.
This just sucks. Having a parent not even be able to acknowledge how much you care is super frustrating and there is nothing you can do about it. Well, actually, you are doing what you have to do by continuing to visit and talk to him and repeating your routine. You won’t regret it later no matter how futile it seems now. Hugs to you.
When my mother was in her last days, afflicted with Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, I would read to her from the New Testament of the Bible, hoping it brought some peace to her. Who knows. You just do the best you can. You are a blessing to many people, Michael.
Hi Michael
Don’t post (actually never have as you know) usually. Awesome post. I can relate to this feeling as when my father had his stroke it was very difficult for Susanne and I. I went through many of the same motions of not really knowing what to say and having him not be able to respond. I was not even sure if he really understood what I was saying to him. This was made even more difficult because he was such an independent man when he was healthy. Know that I am thinking of you and your family. Hang in there. While this was one of the most difficult times in my life my father actually taught me a lot when he became sick. Something that I am forever grateful for.
Hugs to you Michael for what you are going through. I admire you your strength. When my Grandmother had Alzheimers, after she regressed further and further I found it very difficult to go and see her. In the end I didn’t go and see her until what I knew would be the last time I saw her. That was tough.
Maybe you aren’t being taught some kind of a lesson, maybe you are. Maybe the lessons are patience and forgiveness – but not forgiveness for others but learning to forgive yourself. I don’t know, I’m just guessing here. But maybe you need to forgive yourself that you can’t take away his suffering. As much as you wish that you could, and we do for you. And patience with yourself too. Don’t be so quick to jusdge yourself for feeling what I am sure are normal human reactions to the situation that you are in, and your Dad.
Just love him for being your Dad and that’s all you need. Don’t overthink it.
Maybe if you need some more topics for conversation, read the paper to him, talk about when you were young and memories that you have. I dunno, there’s so much but once you get into that awkward silence its so hard to break out.
Sending you lots of hugs and thinking of you.
This post is just heartbreaking to read. I have no idea what you are going through. There’s a reason he’s still here, even in the state he’s in. Try and be strong. It’s hard not to be selfish. And, I really don’t think you are.
Be still and know….
not about lessons, i think… reminders that we’re all circling the drain… and we never know how it will end. this manner seems particularly cruel.
moments. your father is at the extreme of “in the moment” – so much so that he doesn’t remember the previous one. just being there is about all you can do…
You touch upon some important issues… life in its uncertainty and fairness… time and how much we truly are in control of… how little we are… endless questions in search of answers… it is in these times and moments I truly feel God listens…
I am not religious by any means… i find solace in my unfounded faith… in my dreams which hold little… and in my knowing… of what I have yet to uncover the source… Your father is hanging on… I do not know his condition or what led him to this place… yet he hangs on…perhaps you would too… or I… who knows…
If I dwell on this I am sorry… I learned something from this… you see my father did not hang on… he left … it was his time and my lesson to learn… perhaps I learned it here today… you see… I would not have wanted to see my father as you see yours… He was young (58) when he passed… he was ill, but not ill… he simply went to sleep and never woke up… he was on his way of being “stuck”… diagnosed with congestive heart failure… I only learned how serious it was after he died…
You speak of being selfish… I do not find it selfish one bit, on the other hand I find it liberating… Your fathers’ current state may possibly be a lesson for you… as it may be for him… as it was for me…
I apologize if I spoke too candid… I can relate to this with no reasoning… does that make sense… I hope your situation gets better… or you feel better with it… Namaste
Been there. It’s God awful. No advice, really. I know I got through it when I finally realized Dad wouldn’t remember each visit, but they would stick with me forever. So I started keeping the bad ones very short. He would have wanted that for his daughter. It helped.
I believe, ~m, that you are far from selfish. Just wanted you to know that. My prayers for you, my prayers for you dad.