Tag Archives: death

Appearances

The thing about dying is that it’s a matter of health.

My dad arrived at our home following a hospital stay during the peak of COVID regulations.  We could not see him during the stay, and we were harassed by the nursing staff for calling daily.  We did not find out until after he arrived and we reviewed the discharge papers that he nearly died there.   It’s a long story involving his care and I’m saving it for a very well put letter to the hospital authorities once I’m no longer seething over it.

He arrived with the appearance of death hanging over him.  I summoned the siblings and let them know we were on short time.  Then my husband and I set about the act of nursing him and caretaking his property.  That was 7 weeks ago.

He had pre-qualified for hospice before the hospital, but had refused to accept a terminal diagnosis, so had settled for home health.  We didn’t know this until we asked about getting some medical equipment.

Now he is in hospice, safely ensconced in a hospital bed in his new ‘bedroom’ which was once our living room.  We’ve changed up our furnishings and set up his desk and PC in the spare bedroom and handed off our main bathroom for his needs.

He’s gone from near death to being nutritionally balanced and hydrated.  Before the hospital visit, he had lost track of doing the basics – proper food and fluid intake, taking his meds timely – and was not in a healthy environment as he had fired the housekeepers that I hired to take care of his house.

He can’t fire me, he’s stuck.  Hubby and I have become the groundskeepers, nursing aides, financial advisors, chefs and housekeepers, with other duties as assigned.  We do have some family assistance as well.

Death is still looming, but it has been delayed.  There will be quality first, health.  The mental health has vastly improved with the improved physical nutrients.  Now it’s up to the disease.  Poor health conditions are no longer driving this bus.

It appears that we will have a resident here for a while.

 

Struggle Bus

I don’t know what to say except that there’s always another something to take your breath away.

Retreat necessary for me, as I expect to be quite involved with end of life care for my dad.

I recognize that as painful as this is, it is an opportunity for much – and I intend to do this as best as I must.

I hope for this to be the absolute most pleasant option for him.

Peace out!

 

Buckets Are Too Limiting

Dust in the wind, worm food – either way, my personal take on death is that I will know no more.  It will be the end of me, the last breath, the circle of life.  Last call…

It’s a heavy thought – to think that nothing follows, that there is just an end – but it suits me, suits my practical nature.

One of my sons once posted a thought, which I’ll paraphrase:  if a person is only good because they’re focused on divine reward, then that person is a piece of shit.  I don’t know if these were his own words, and I don’t know that he won a lot of praise or ‘likes’ for that.  But if you stop and think about it, it makes sense.

If only rules, or rules hedged about with some eternal reward system are keeping you from bouncing out of control and into a psychotic rage, or killing frenzy, then you’re simply a caged rabid animal.  Where is the realness, the human connection, the compassion?

If those pieces are missing, then you really are a piece of shit.  Like it or not, calloused though it may be, it’s the simple truth.

There are moments when I think people see me in similar light.  Cold.  Unreachable.  Distant.  Tightly strung.

The truth is that I feel so deeply, watch ever so intently and capture essences and nuances of meaning and feeling that often escape others.  It’s painful, it’s draining, and it makes me put on the tough skin of protection to keep it from shredding me into millions of little pieces.  Dust.  Pieces of dust that would so easily blow away, carried off to unknown places and spaces, away from me.

Another son stated when announcing a pregnancy that he and his wife were ‘growing a human’.

How aptly said.

A combination of their parts, their pieces, that attach little parts and pieces of the generations preceding them – a tiny piece of me – grew inside the womb.  Destined to be an infant, this little nugget emerged last November, a wonderful wriggling, wrinkled version of itself, a new growth on the family tree.

There are few people who fit ever so perfectly into my comfort zone.  My introverted self, my regulated and logical nature requires that I have plenty of space to call my own, and plenty of time to fill that space.  My sons and their spouses are included in those few (hubby’s a given, a keeper, the magnet holding me in my space) and it’s always such an easy-going and comfortable time when they come to visit.

But during a recent visit, there was this edge to me, this pressure behind my eyes, this feeling of tears that could burst forth at any given moment – a strange thing when I was so relaxed and so enjoying the company.

It took words penned by my dear friend for me to realize that it was pure joy ebbing and bubbling beneath my surface.  I was so powerfully moved by this new event, this new growth that it didn’t have a proper slot to fit into my logic, nothing prior to name this, to capture and label this emotion.

pail and leaves

My bucket flows over.

My list is now such a pittance, such a distraction from the wonder of seeing what comes next, what this fabulous little seed of a human brought with her emergence…

Bucket lists are too limiting.  What I want to see before I die, I cannot even begin to fathom.

But the end has suddenly changed course, because not only will parts of me continue through my son after I die, now there will be parts of me to last another generation.  That, my friends, that’s what’s real.