Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Trying to Hold onto Every Moment


            Today I buried my father. I have this feeling that I want to hold onto everything. I just asked mom if we can get dad’s medical records. As I’m putting together his memories, I want everything. What I really want is a giant record of every moment of his life. I know it’s impossible and irrational, but it’s what I want.
            I set up two video camcorders to record people coming in for calling hours and also record the service. I want memories of everything. I tried to record audio on all discussions on my phone, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t want to let go of anything. I’m probably going to become that person that takes pictures of everything, just so this doesn’t happen again. As the video slide show of dad’s life rolled, I didn’t see any pictures of our trips to Cedar Point. That’s a great memory and I don’t know if we have any images to record it. I may have to reconcile with just putting the memories in writing.
            When no one was looking, I was curious if dad’s mouth would open. It wouldn’t. I didn’t pry. I didn’t want to do anything that would spoil the way his body looked. I never really got a good look into his mouth to see the hole in his palate. I know it’s morbid, but I’m curious. It’s not a happy thought, but it’s a detail I don’t have. Right now, I want every detail of his life. Today I was taking pictures of everything—the rooms of my parents’ home, outside around their house, their cats, family members, our limo driver, Dwight Ellis (who I had a brief talk with. He was from Thomas Limousine, so I think we worked together for a short time), the limo and the flowers. I pretty much got everything but pictures of everyone that came to calling hours. I’m hoping that came through on the video I recorded. I just couldn’t talk to people and snap pictures. I did get a few, but not everyone. I don’t want to let go of anything. It’s irrational, but it’s where I’m at.
            I cried harder and more frequently than anyone. Funny, because I’m supposed to be the strong one. When we first went in and saw dad before everyone arrived, I cried seeing his body. Of course, cries came with hugs and then telling people, “I’m okay”. I think that’s a lie. I’m not okay. I’m an open wound.
            One of the biggest cries came when I touched dad’s hands. He was ice cold—probably just room temperature, but he felt like ice. As dad went through treatment with cancer, he got to the point where he was always cold. According to mom, he was cold through the whole thing. I remember him being cold as he went through hyperbaric treatment. Mom thinks the coldness began after the surgery. And then, according to her, he got colder and colder. Dad’s cold hands were too much for me to bear.
            I remember mom and I got dad an early birthday/Father’s Day gift. Both mom and I agree that we ordered dad his gift on Tuesday, June 2nd and it arrived Thursday, June 4th. I think it cost around $90 and was over a $100 with shipping. I threw in half--$45 and mom covered the other half and shipping. I usually don’t have much money in my wallet, but had $50 from a third place finish in a comedy competition out at Slim and Jumbos in Garrettsville, Ohio on May 16th, 2015. I somewhat wish dad would have been able to see more of my comedy performances. And, I kinda of wished I had taken up hunting. I don’t like it, but dad loved it. I know dad and I couldn’t share every moment of our lives together, but I kinda wish it would have been more. I think this loss is going to change how I approach life. I kinda wish I would have just paid a little extra to have Amazon one-day delivery on the gift. It was a heated mattress pad. I just asked mom if he had it soon enough for Thursday when he went to bed. Mom said he did. That helped him sleep warm. He actually became too warm and had to turn it down. I’m so glad we ordered it and didn’t make him wait until his birthday or Father’s Day. His birthday was June 23rd. Father’s Day this year is the 21st. I just found myself correcting the previous sentence from “is” to “was”. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. We ordered the heated mattress pad in between appointments at his prosthodontist. It wasn’t a surprise gift to dad. It came up in discussion between dad’s morning and afternoon Prosthodontist’s appointments. He had a 10:00 a.m. appointment and then one later in the afternoon—I think originally scheduled for 2:00 and then changed to 1:30 p.m. In between appointments we went to Red Robin. We ended up in a private booth where mom could tube feed dad. I think we started at a table, but then moved. On our appointments the following week, dad wanted to again go to Red Robin. There was something he liked about it. I think the environment was a little dark and secluded and he was self-conscious. I think he may have felt his surgery left him deformed. It hadn’t. His left check was slightly sucked in, but hardly noticeable. He also had a hardly noticeable scar that went around the left side of his nose and down the little indent on the top of the lip. It was more noticeable after surgery, but it eventually healed to the point where someone would have to look closely to even see it. He also had some mild lines on the left side of his neck where some lymph nodes were removed.
            Because of the surgery, dad couldn’t talk well. He was receiving therapy to recover his speech. At times I understood what he said. At times his speech was garbled. At times we sometimes shaked our heads, pretending to know what he said. Or, dad would just give up trying to explain. He also drooled some. The little stains he left around the house drove mom crazy. She wasn’t mad at him. It was just the situation. At times he lost pills out of the corner of his mouth. I remember finding one in my car. I don’t remember when. It may have been an Ativan. Mom told me over the past few days that she found quite a few pills in his room when she cleaned it up. I think she cleaned it up Sunday or Monday. She couldn’t stand the smell. His room smelled like vinegar. This was due to the cold. He wouldn’t let mom give him a bath. He was often both cold, but also sweating. His body was just all out of whack. I noticed the smell particularly this past trip to the prosthodontist. Mom gave him great care. He was just so cold, he wouldn’t let mom bathe him. In a future blog, I’m going to have to discuss the smells that cancers leave. Maybe it will help others understand.
            Mom told me today she was giving dad enemas. I would have quessed maybe she had given him one, but apparently he had quite a few more as well as some accidents. I think mom somewhat protected me and my brother from all the details of the illness. I’m not sure if this was good or not. Dad probably wouldn’t have had us worrying. But, mom needed the help.
            Often when I would help out mom and dad or drive dad to an appointment, mom would treat me to a meal. I have mixed emotions about that. I guess I feel a little guilty, because at times I found myself hoping dad would go to bed early so I could have time with mom. It was like our little date—a vacation away from the situation with dad. At times we would talk about him. Never in a mean way, but we were both frustrated. I guess we had to blow off steam. For a while, I think dad was jealous of mom and me’s little “dates”. But, he later accepted it and then started telling mom to make sure to take me out to eat. I think he started to accept the closeness between mom and I as helpful for mom and he loved mom with all his heart. He also wanted to die and was fully convinced throughout the whole ordeal that he was going to die. I think both his desire to die and his conviction he was going to die came in waves depending on his pain and also the weakness he was feeling. He talked often about being weak, tired, or cold. By often, I don’t mean incessantly. At least to me, he wasn’t constantly talking about it. But, it was a continuous thread of thought that came out. I think this caused a level of frustration between dad and the family. I say frustration, because there was constant love and I don’t think it was grounded in anger. I think at times I may have felt something similar to anger, but it just felt similar. I don’t think I was angry at dad. I may have been the kindest person in his life. Although, my brother Lance is also kind. It’s a trait dad had and a trait my brother and I have to carry on. Mom was more frustrated with the situation, but she had to deal with it 24/7/365.
            As dad was going through radiation treatment, which I think started around November of 2013, just shortly after surgery, he became weaker and weaker. I think it was later in February of 2014 that dad developed cellulitis in his face. If I recall correctly, it was shortly thereafter that he was put in the nursing home out at Pebble Creek. I’ll have to talk with mom to get all these details correct. I think after that point, he started to go downhill and lost his will to live. I believe in June of 2014 he came home from Pebble Creek. He did seem to gain some strength, particularly as he was able to go for walks with mom out at Lake Anna in Barberton, Ohio. I went over there for a few of those walks. He was also receiving therapy and was getting stronger. I think he regained a little will to live, but I don’t think he ever fully believed he was going to make it. With all the pain he was in, that’s understandable. I think later I’m going to have to talk to mom and record all the random hospital visits and the medications he was on. I think it might give me some comfort. In the future, if I don't record these memories, I might think dad was being a big baby for not wanting to live. He wasn’t. He was in great pain. I want to record the pain, so I can appreciate how much of a fighter dad was. He was tough to go through everything he did and keep on fighting. There was a noble strength there to face everything he went through as he did. I think my brother appreciated dad’s willingness to fight more than I did, so I may need to talk to Lance.
            I think it was in the Fall of 2014 that dad took a spill. He was feeling stronger and went out for a walk. He went too far and ended up falling and cutting open his head. Mom noticed he was gone for too long and went around the neighborhood in the car to find him. I remember receiving the call that dad was again in the hospital. I think I’ll save a description of that sinking feeling when I received “the call”, which happened on several occasions, for a future post.
            I remember dad going to Akron City Hospital. His head was pretty cut up. Just yesterday I was looking on my cellphone of the stages of grief. One of those stages is anger. I’m not sure if I was looking this up to or from Hartville Kitchen or maybe both. Mom and I had a dinner and we were talking about and looking forward to the Cavs game. Yes, we watched and enjoyed the game together. We also talked about everything with dad, but the Cavs game was an escape from our grief. When I think about some of the treatment dad received, there is some anger. The medical system can be brutal. I think I’ll have to have a future post about the anger. I’m not just angry at dad’s care, but angry as I think about how our elderly are cared for. I talked to my friend Kevin a few days ago who also shared similar concerns. He called me around 10:44 (according to my call long) p.m. on June 13th. He was returning a call I made at 11:24 a.m. on the same day. He shared some of the struggles he’s going through with his parents’ failing health.
            When dad was at the hospital, they asked about a Do Not Resuscitate order. We had been asked that before during another one of those terrible calls. I’ll talk about those terrible calls in future blogs. On this particular occasion, it didn’t fully hit me at the moment. The family (as I recall both mom and my brother were there) were handling the immediacy of the situation. He went through a battery of tests. They checked him for everything from concussion to a broken neck. Eventually they treated him by stapling the wound. He wasn’t in the hospital long. I’m not sure, but I think we may have brought him home the next day or it may have been a stay of a couple days. So, we had an opportunity to get away from the situation for a short time while the hospital staff cared for him. I remember it hit me. Why were they asking about a Do Not Resuscitate for what amounted to a bump on the head? It just wasn’t appropriate to the situation. I later mentioned it to mom and she agreed. She remembered dealing with her mom’s deteriorating health and there was the eventual point where they were dealing with not resuscitating. But, in grandma’s case, the situation was appropriate for it. For this particular hospital stint, it just wasn’t appropriate. We talked about how things had changed in recent years and not for the best. 
            Kevin, a good friend that I met at Cedarville, said his mom had something similar happen. We talked a little bit how the so called “death panels” may in fact be a reality. I think we’re both a little angry at the care loved ones have received. When I say this, I don’t take anything away from all the wonderful caretakers dad had. But, the system is corrupt.
            One of the things I’m struggling with is my mortality. I’m 45 and still single. I want a wife and kids. I want to know if I’m ever in the situations that dad was in, that someone will be there to care for me. I’m praying that God will give me a wife and kids. There may be a few things I’ll have to deal with in a personal blog. I really want a more personal encounter with God—to know for sure he is real. I believe he is, but I want something more powerful than what I’ve experienced. I did experience a peace during dad’s service, particularly when pastor was giving the message. I do think this was God’s Spirit, which is real. But, my brain and emotions right now are shaken.
            Last night I requested some information online from Denver Seminary. I think all these situations are pushing me back towards God. I’ll have to share in more detail in later blogs why I’m thinking of Denver. I’m already dealing with that through another blog I’m writing, but it hasn’t been published. So, eventually you may get to hear the tale. Over the past few years I’ve lost my confidence in church—or, it may be more accurate to say the institutional version of church. I have already completed most of an M.Div degree. However, if I go back for training, this time will be different. I will be less inclined to believe what I’m being taught. I really want to get a hold on God and start shaking through my whole belief system and see what remains as true and what is man-made traditions and rituals that man has added. As I go through this, I may need to reconnect with my religious roots. I’ve already contacted Rabbi Eric through email at the Messianic Synagogue I used to attend and left. I thought there might be bad blood (my fault for not handling things well), but from his email, I don’t think there is. I think he and Tikvat Yisrael may play a part in helping me through the grieving process. I also think my friends at Real Life, the singles group (probably 30’s-50’s, but most 40’s) I used to be really active in will help. Real Life is part of the Chapel, which started in Akron. I may also need to connect with Pastor Glenn and Temple Baptist Church. This is my mom’s home church, but I attended there for many years, sang in the choir, preached and taught various classes. I may need to connect around the fringe at several religious groups to help me figure things out. I may even go out to Faith Family Church in Canton. I have had some involvement with a writer’s group out there. I think I’ll have to figure out all these details in a future blog. One of the things I’ve done in the past is to connect and then become committed to one congregation. I don’t think I can do that. It won’t be enough. I’ll deal with my issues with organized religion in other post. However, I do love Christian people and do need Christian fellowship. As I was sitting through dad’s service, it gave me comfort that Christianity is real. I could feel it in the love around me. I also want to work through my faith and make sure I’m right with God. I believe I am, but I want to be sure. For the remainder of my life, I’m going to have to find God in a more powerful way in my life.
            Anyhow, this blog is getting pretty long. So, I’m going to have to start editing and proofreading and then publish it. I’ve worked through enough for the moment. I just have to write, because it brings me some comfort. I’m starting to feel a little better about things.

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