Bringing my Dad home yesterday, although it was a joy to him, it made me feel many emotions. It pulled at my heart and made me feel good all at the same time. I was pretty good most of the day, I was too busy to think about the fact that pretty soon I would be an hour and forty minutes from him. I wouldn’t see him daily with my own eyes. So I couldn’t witness the pain or joy he was feeling at any moment. I won’t be making sure he eats regularly and takes medications and hold his hand or pray over him. But at this point, it’s what I have to do. My family still needs me and I will make as many trips as I can to help with him. I will be there twice a week to start, at least that is the plan for now.
The busyness that kept the tears from falling upon my cheeks included going to a pharmacy, doctor’s office, oxygen provider, bank, and Walmart. I was fortunate enough that one of my sister’s was with me and there to help with what needed to be done. This will be a team effort, to care for my Dad in the coming weeks or months that we have left with him, whichever it may be. My sisters, my Dad’s companion, and one of her daughters.
I’m sure it’s not easy for my Dad, to let go of some of his normal routine or never probably eating food that isn’t pureed. He was so overjoyed by the stint they put in his esophagus verses the permanent feeding tube (for now), it became a joy in the midst of a valley of life. I created a binder that holds doctor’s, pharmacy, oxygen supplier, and other pertinent information. This is the central station for our team, the bright green binder that will become the key to keeping his care in check. I’m sure many other children in the world have done the same things or even more for their parents. It’s not a trophy but I will accept this title for as long as I can. I will serve my father.
As I sat and watched my Dad, not long before I had to leave it started to sink in. So much time was missed long before this day. I’m not angry, not at all. Reality is coming into view, of how much we missed by choices that were made. Those choices do not really matter now, as time is slipping by us. I got up and pulled a chair next to him. He took my hand, and thanked me for helping. He didn’t let go of my hand, we just sat there. Tears filled my eyes, I tried to hide them. My sister and I left not long after. It was a good car ride home, it was two children of one man sharing things and just trying to figure out the next step.
I’m thankful for this time, but it’s truly hard as I’ve mentioned. My Dad’s 75th birthday is Tuesday. I plan to make a meal and although he has to eat it pureed we will celebrate with food that has flavor and perhaps some ice cream! I’m not sure how to end this post today, so I will just go now.
Grace is a gift,