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.
