RIP Dad

I have not written in over a year. This journey has been a long heartache. Once you have thought you gained your footing the stumbling starts again.  Pop passed four months ago. It was not an easy pass through this life, and this is not an easy post to write.

Throw out everything you think you know will happen. Throw out what they tell you will happen then strap yourself in and prepare. Being a retired nurse did help a lot, but if you are not bound with some medical knowledge you'll be torn, conflicted and mortified at what is going on. I am not one that would reach out for help my favorite saying was, "I got this" when in fact it had me.

After Christmas, I reached out for help for palliative care, which turned to hospice within a week. That was the part I was not prepared for. If you are not prepared for the inevitable I would not suggest that you take the last months at home. Again I am stubborn and would only call if I could not handle it. He disliked being touched by anyone other than family and I abided by that. He may not have known who we were, but constant bed changing, meds and dressing changes I was already used to doing when I was working. Ordering the hospital bed was a whole other story.

When the bed came there was an argument because I wanted it in the living room. I made room for it, no I was not putting him in his bedroom. I wanted him around friends and family with some loving voices and stimulation from music and TV.

I did, however, call what was going to happen.  I tried to explain to my adult children that no he is not going to pass from Alzheimer's. That is not how this works. One of two things is of near 99 percent probability either a massive infection or pneumonia.  He passed of an infection from a callous on his toe. No bedsores, no other skin breakdowns.

Within a month his mind was completely submerged in another world I could not see nor touch. He spoke in broken sentences and told me about his daughter. I am his daughter but recognition of that was gone. Ironic that moments early in the morning he would know me for a few moments then it was gone. I wrote an article that has been debated across the web for more than 15 years about "faint flicker response", a term we used back in the early 80's in nursing homes. His momentary recognition is what is a faint flicker response, my voice, his full night's sleep gave him a mere lucid moment and faded.

I slept on the couch in front of him, mid-February after two weeks of no communication other than a grunt or a groan I rolled him up to hear TV, his vision nearly gone. He had an extremely lucid moment. "Hey Sis", Yeah pop? "I could really go for a BMT from subway". Shoot I called up my daughter and she jetted to buy him one, it had been weeks fighting for him to take food. He ate a foot long loaded BMT! "Thank you, honey, damn that was good." Yes we were all so happy, maybe it was a minor set back...maybe....not.

Pop went to sleep soon after eating, I watched him closely to make sure he did not get sick. He was resting well then all hell broke loose. His breathing was terrible, his color was pasty so I rolled him back up hooked up the oxygen and tried to talk to him but no response.

The morning of February 28th, I was changing the bed and giving him a bed bath. He struggled to breathe and it was killing me inside. I sang to him, he grabbed my arm. His eyes clearer than I had seen them in years began to cry. I asked if he was in pain he shook his head no. I have been around enough death to know something was troubling his heart and he was ready to go, but holding on for something. I asked if it was family, the kids, a friend? He shook his head no then pointed and poked my arm. Me?  Yes, he shook his head. No, pop no worries for me I am going to be just fine. Again he shook his head no. Yes Pop, I promise I am going to be fine. I know what he was worried about, and I understood. Like a daughter should I lie? I told him something false, comforting so he would be ok and not struggle any longer. I knew that night would be it.

I had been on night three with no sleep. I watched as the life faded, and called Hospice. By the time they arrived, he was gone. I spent those last moments singing and holding his hand. That's how this story ends.

No two people will go the same, but they all will have one worry, concern left before they go. I have heard a million time how strong I am. It is a lie, both my parents in three years in the same house, one unexpected and one expected, although it doesn't change the basic facts that on the outside you have to be the rock, someone HAS to be the rock while everyone else is falling apart. End of an era, end of a generation, and my family quickly dwindles away.

I sit here now, alone in the same house four short months later wondering what the hell do I do now? I have dedicated the last 17 years taking care of my parents. My children are grown and living their own lives. For the first time in forever, I wonder my purpose. Sleep is not a luxury I am afforded right now no matter how hard I try a couple hours if I am lucky. My mind won't shut off, I can't clean anymore or there will be no nap on the carpet or paint on the walls.
Don't be like me, talk to your doctor and let them know you are grieving, call a counselor, your clergy or friend to talk. You don't got this, it has you.