I wanted to say something personal about my dad who passed on this last November 25, 2010.
Although he was 84 years old and had recent bouts with pneumonia I just expected him to rally and return to the nursing home room that he shared with my mother, Hannah, like he'd done for the last two years. In fact, he has been a champ about hanging on "for us" when he has been paralyzed for the last 14 years. In fact, no only was he paralyzed on his left side, he had neuropathy as well; often the lightest touch caused him pain.
In addition to hanging on "for us," he had a wonderfully sense of humor and memory. He told the CNA's and nurses jokes -- not all of them appropriate, but many that were -- and he pulled the string for the CNA button for Mom when needed. He couldn't read anymore, so for the last 14 years, I've been reading aloud to him books that he might have read on his own. The last group of books were written by James Stewart. I liked them particularly because they were easy to read aloud, and believe me, not many are, but also because he repeated characters book to book. That made it easier to keep tract of the story line sense the reading of a book might take a couple of weeks. I have never been so glad that I came back to Hughes Springs and my home after an absence of seven months trying to find gainful employment. This last year I probably read 20 books to Dad and had some wonderful talks, hugs and times in general. Mom listened to the books as well, but she was often off doing her activities like domino-bingo, gatherings and celebrations, singing, and religious offerings from local ministers. (If there were a function to attend, unlike Dad, Mom was there.)
Dad on the other hand, stayed in bed, rarely getting out -- mostly when CNA's coerced and cajoled. Because of his personality and strength of character, he was actually a favorite of most of the workers around the nursing home. One example of his humor: "CNA's/Nurses would come up to him and ask if he knew their name (trying to ascertain if his mind was sharp). He'd tell me dryly that these nurses around here can't remember their own names; "They're always asking me what their name is." Dad always had his "out of the box" reasoning, and even if I thought he was dead wrong, I'd usually find out he wasn't -- certainly not totally.
For most of my life Dad and I had huge issues, mostly negative on my part. I never felt loved by him, not ever. When I got the courage to take both my parents under my supervision six years ago, I was wary, not only as to my capability to do what was required financially, since I was recently divorced after 34 years of marriage. A dear friend told me, "They are your parents!" In East Texas credo, that's simply enough. So, I stepped up to the plate (after asking all other available siblings) and said, "Yes." So that's how my Dad came to die in extreme East Texas far from his roots in Bay City, Texas or even The Woodlands, Texas near Houston. Upon reflection I would not give anything for the time I had with both my parents, but especially my Dad, my problematic patriarch.
At first he treated me like I was still sixteen or seventeen years old, the last time probably I was living at home. That was his last memory of me since I went off to college and married right after graduation. Gradually, we all started to see each other in new, older, more adult light. During this time respect grew in us all, for us all. Dad quoted often, "Growing old isn't for sissies." I was surprised how much my little life doings -- job applications, training, teaching, etc. -- genuinely and adv idly interested in what was going on in my life, no matter how small or inconsequential it might be. It was an amazingly supportive gesture for me after a long life of feeling dissed or ignored as insignificant. So, after the two years almost with Mom and Dad sharing a room and my visiting them almost every single day for at least an hour and a half, often two or three hours, Dad started to get choked up after returning from the hospital with another bout of pneumonia. . I was in the midst of preparing my first complete Thanksgiving dinner, one in which I'd shared with Dad about how important it was for me to start taking control of my life, my house and my own holiday festivities.
The nurse was suctioning my Dad's throat,m saying she was getting his Oxygen up now...as I left to finish my Thanksgiving dinner. In fact, the last thing my Dad said to my was, "How was your dinner?" I told him that it hasn't happened yet. I went off thinking everything was in control, that his oxygen was going up now, and things would go on as they were.
However, upon arriving home five minutes later, I got a call saying my dad was on his way to the local hospital, and that I should meet him there. This was the first time I was asked to go quickly and meet him there, so I felt that was unusual but still was not alarmed. Upon arriving straightaway, no Dad. I asked them to call the ambulance because they had left before me with "sirens a'blaringlaymen's terms, that I was not understanding. The nurse invited me to move to a nearby empty room where she could explain.
She plainly told me that Dad would be placed on a breathing machine indefinitely where the machine would provide oxygen for him and later if his heart needed help pumping, they'd put him on a machine to do that for him. I immediately told her that that was NOT what my dad had ever wished for, and that he'd always been clear on that point. "No, no, no, he would not want that!" I said.
The nurse then said that "I'd made a difficult decision, one that is hard to make for many."
I then got more suspicious and said, "Are you saying that by not going to the bigger hospital, that Dad will remain here but most likely die."
Her clear answer, "Yes." She said it might take minutes or days, but that would be the outcome.
I knew that my sister, Sue, was practically on her way because I'd called her earlier. I also went into see Dad in that little room that was once filled with 8-10 people, now empty with my dad on a table with the oddly pumping breathing machine forcing him to breathe. I was overcome. I leaned over to his ear and told him to "hang in there Dad, Sue and t the others are on the way here." I told him I loved him. I noticed at that point that his vibrant blue eyes were staying wide open, not blinking at all. In fact, it faintly occurred to me that he was already gone.
The two nurses now came out in the hallway with me assuring me that they could do things to help my Dad not suffer. I told them that after one bout with pneumonia Dad had said that that feeling "of drowning" was the most horrible feeling. I told them to promise me that they would do anything they could to keep him from suffering. They assured me and were kind as they could be.
I decided to get Harley home out of the bitter cold night and wait a couple of hours for Sue and perhaps my brother to come. The prognosis of a few minutes to a few days seemed likely to be at least a few hours, perhaps a day (at least). To my surprise I got a call from the doctor about five minutes after I returned home saying my dad had passed. He told me that he would not have given me so much encouragement (not having my dad before as a patient and all) if he'd seen the x-rays of his chest. I thanked him and called the family, numb and disbelieving. In fact, I'd forget for days as I awoke each morning and have to remind myself that I'd be missing my Dad in that room at the nursing home, or that I wouldn't be getting one of his rather zany but affection calls. Oh, how I'd wished I'd saved even one of those calls. I used to get at least 10 a day.
I may not have known that Dad was gearing up or down to dieing, but I now am sure that he was. Why? Because for the last few months or so his messages were so kind and appreciative, thanking me for all I was and had done for him and Mom. He also started about that time asking, no demanding, a hug both upon arrival and departure from his presence. Oh for just one more of those hugs, one more message, or call, one more conversation, one more book to read.
He knew, and he knew that I didn't. He was taking care of me and being sure there would be few if any regrets. He gave me two odd messages that I now perceive as messages: 1) He brought up that I had never though while growing up that he loved me. I told him, "Yes, Dad, I thought that, but now I know, I really know, that you did, you always loved me,: and 2) Out of the darkened hospital room (the next to last stay) he said, "Deb, you need to take care of yourself."
I had just tole him about my training days that week, and that I would be missing my regular visits during that time -- managing his expectations -- so I responded, "Are you being facetious?"
His response simply, "No. I mean it."
I told him I would. Now, when I go walking with Harley in the mornings, I talk with him, saying, "Okay, Dad, I'm taking care of myself. I love you and miss you very much."
My dad was a big, strong, manly man who played golf well, fished well, knew no strangers, was smart if not confident, and magnanimous. He was also one of the most honest people I've even known. He lived up to his own credo -- to tough it out and provide for his family, both financially and emotionally.
I know in this epitaph that I'm glossing over the difficulties my dad presented in m life. I used to think that one of the worse things a young person could experience was having his attention, because I had a lot of it growing up. My sisters both think on some level that I was the favorite; however, I never felt like that. In my child's eye he was much kinder to my little sisters because they got to do so much more than I did. "They got away with murder." Cassie, the baby was always greeted with "Hey Doodle." He and she thought a lite, sort of like his own mother whom Cassie favors physically. I always thought she was his favorite. There's a case the Sue, the middle sister was the favorite because he chose her to manage his estate, which she did, really did. Only when she got her fill did she relinquish the parents care to "us." I offered both my brother and youngest sister the "opportunity" that I rather ruefully accepted. (Cass had just remarried and was in her honeymoon stage; she didn't even answer me.) (Bubba said, "No.) So, it fell to me, and as I've hope to make clear, it was the best thing to happen in my life, to clear up so many early issues in life, and to forge an adult-to-adult, true relationship with my parents. I'm so glad they were long-lived, and I had this opportunity.
Today would have been my Dad's 85th birthday. He off and on said that he wanted to "die," and once or twice he thought when he went to the hospital that he wouldn't be returning. I was never really sure that he meant that he wanted to die, but my Dad was not in the way of lying. He was rather honest to a fault sometimes, but you could count on his telling you the way it was. So, I believe that he did want to die, or pass on to another experience. In his latter years, he allowed his nephew, John Huss Shearer, to pray with him, as well as others. He watched lots of TV preachers as well toward the end. His mother was a Christian Scientist, the same as most of the family at this point. He knew Christian Science because he'd remind up when we weren't living up to it. I feel like he was able in the end to let himself pass on. He gave his permission I suppose. He was well loved, and will be missed. His journey, his long journey has ended, but his legacy will live on, perhaps "forever," certainly as long as I live, as well as his nine great grand children, whom he was intensely interested in from afar in East Texas. He mixed moving to Houston during the last year saying, "Don't fix something that isn't broken."
However, within a few weeks of Dad's passing Mom was moved to Houston where many of the relatives now reside. She seems to be happy there and to their credit the other's are visiting regularly and getting her all she needs. (I think everyone's consciousness was raised by Dad's passing. For someone so strong and influential to pass away served as a wake up call about life being rather surprisingly short. Time doesn't always last for us to do all the things we intend. At least my siblings will most likely develop about Mom the satisfied feelings that I have now about my Dad (and Mom both). It's nice to get some of our parental issues and responsibilities resolved before the end time. I wish my siblings God speed, and thank them for making it possible for me to have the time I had with our parents.
