It was one morning in May, 2010 when I get a panic phone call from my mother. My mother is an undeclared Ice Queen and always reserved. For her to call me crying and upset brought the chill cold fingers of fear around my heart. Did dad die?
I couldn’t think of it but I couldn’t understand what mom was hollering about either. I gathered myself and calmly told her that I would be right over. I only lived a mile down the road. When I arrived at their house I could hear my mother hollering and my father, who had lost his ability to speak but he could grunt in some twisted yelling/panic conversation. I ran into the master bedroom where all the commotion was and my mother is crying, her face contorted in a painful kind of helplessness.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” “I can’t get your father out of the bathroom! I told him to use the pan but he REFUSED and now I can’t get him out of there.” “Okay. Did he fall in the shower – is he on the floor?” “NO,” she wailed, “he’s on the toilet and he won’t let me help him up! I can’t help him! I don’t want him to fall. And HE’S FIGHTING ME!” I walked into the bathroom and see dad sitting there. His eyes were spitting mad because his body was giving up on him. “Mom and I are going to help you up and back to bed, okay?”
We tried pulling him up but he fought back. It clicked – his legs aren’t going to support himself. With my mother screaming at him and my father howling with unimaginable indignation I let go of his arm and yelled at them both to shut up. I kicked mom out of the bathroom and turned my attention to dad.
He always had a strong front for my mom – but whenever we talked he would confide in me.
Once mom left the room I saw the defeat in his eyes. But I was NOT going to give up.
Straight off I said, “Dad – I can’t carry you and I’m not going to try but I am going to put you on my back.” I turned around and presented my back and squatted so he could get leverage on my shoulders.
Holding his arms I stood back up and he was able to get on his feet. He got nervous because he started pulling at me, choking me like a panicked drowning man.
Very calmly I said, “Dad. DAD! If you pull me we will both fall down. Don’t fight – just lean on my back. If you work with me we’ll get you to bed. You have to trust me. I will never drop you but you have to help me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
His grasp loosened and I was able to leverage his armpits over my shoulders while he rested on me. “Now one step at a time, okay?”
22 steps later, with my mother clucking, wiping him up, and pulling up his sweatpants the entire way, we finally got him settled in. He was exhausted. With a kiss on his forehead I said, “See? I told you I wouldn’t drop you.”
I couldn’t stay longer than that. The adrenaline had left my body and I didn’t want to let him see how upset and shaken I was. The man who used to toss me into the air and catch me; who taught me how to ride a bike and drive a car; who insisted I learn how to change a tire and replace a toilet was too weak to walk or wipe himself. I cried for the longest mile drive I have ever taken. When I got home I hid under my bed covers and bawled like a baby. It was the last time my dad got out of that bed – thus began the business of dying.
The raw stuff of life and death – again, you brought tears to my eyes, Mere…
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I love you Mere
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Your dad was always so strong with an imposing character! It’s so sweet that despite making your mom upset, he continued to try and protect her from his physical decline. He may have been tough, but love was always there for the 5 of you! Sorry you had to carry the weight alone, both physically and mentally.
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Powerful! I was just talking about the first time I met Dad. Still can’t believe he’s gone.
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A very moving story x
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