The Week After

It’s a challenge to describe horrible events which ultimately turned out okay, and how it significantly changed my family dynamics. I’m hoping this post is cathartic, and if it makes others uncomfortable . . . this one is for me.

Exactly one week after my mother died, my father became suddenly ill and started bleeding with what appeared to be a urinary tract infection. His eye surgery went on hold and I rushed him to his primary care doctor. Despite pain killers and drugs, it got worse and we went back a second time that day. The doctor sent us home again – a sloppy mistake since Dad nearly died that night.

I wound up coordinating an emergency complete with blood clots, vomiting and watching my father struggle in pain. I had never seen him cry and I was petrified. I called some friends who helped me cope. When I briefly left him alone for some privacy on the toilet, he fell grabbing the shower door for support, it smashed and I rushed in to catch him and clean him up. After that, I screamed at my dead mother that she couldn’t have him yet, I pleaded with her that it wasn’t his time. Mom used to get frequent UTIs and complained that he didn’t understand how awful it was. Well now he certainly understood. Paramedics ultimately rushed him into the ER the next morning right as my brother showed up on the doorstep.

Dad spent 5 days in the hospital attached to a catheter. He spent his 91st birthday there with strawberry cake, flirted with the nurses, told me he loved me very much and thanked me for saving his life. I have never had that kind of emotional connection with him in 57 years, or frankly with anyone. He apologized to my brother for being rough on him all his life, allowed him to help, and bragged about what a good son he had. It has never been easy for my father to express himself – and now he tells his children every day that he appreciates us. That is a tremendous gift, I feel very fortunate.

While Dad recovered, my brother and I cleaned out 28 years of household dirt, tattered clothing, and broken furniture. We are very different people, but we finally became friends and supported each other. Although I had to return to Seattle, Dan extended his stay; he’s still there taking care of trips and errands. After Dad’s discharge, his first request was to go to the barber – he wanted a short buzz cut for the past 40 years and my mother wouldn’t let him do it. He looks great. My father and brother are gleefully using coupons together to get deals at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

What’s ahead is a difficult conversation. An apartment is being held at the same independent living facility that was chosen 3 years ago by my mother (my experience as a guest there was the impetus for starting this blog). While Dad is coming to his own conclusion that relocation is logical, actually moving is a whole other matter. I’ll be going back soon to assist with the next round of medical care. I understand that he may die soon due to the impact of losing his spouse and his caretaker role; it is what usually happens in these situations. However if I can facilitate a final happy chapter for that man, I’m going to try my best. He deserves a vacation.

I’m a little worried about my sanity these days, and my anger at my mother. I know that I will go through stages of depression and grieving and ultimately, acceptance. I’m trying to take care of myself. David Sedaris comments in his new book that life is symbolically a four-burner stove: there is one burner each for family, friends, health and work, In order to be successful, you have to cut off one of your burners. In order to be really successful, you have to cut off two. I know the path I will take.