Of course, the entire family was worrying and scurrying around trying to fix Daddy. I didn't want him to make his transition yet, either. But I knew the decision was his. I waited with him as he made up his mind. I will never forget the day he got a card from his church. It had a cute little dog on the front, and the message inside was quite simple-"HEAL!" As I stood beside his bed laughing at the card, my father looked at me and said, "I am healing." I was stunned. I had never heard my father say anything like that before. I knew when he said it that my father understood a lot I'd never given him credit for, and I was connected to him on a level I'd not recognized until then.
After eight weeks in bed, Daddy was unable to walk even with a walker. He decided to go to a convalescent center for physical therapy. For three months he went to the gym for up to six hours a day. He arrived at the gym before the therapists got there in the morning and did his exercises on his own on the weekends when no one was there. He told jokes and entertained the staff and the residents. He was filled with more life than I had ever seen in him.
Daddy has been home for eight months now. The day we brought him home was one of so much joy and relief. We all realized that had he decided differently we wouldn't have him with us at all. He is still going through his process-aren't we all??? He has come to accept that he will always need a walker to get around, and he's probably never going to use those water skis again. I learn a lot just watching him move through his everyday life. Although the colon cancer is gone, he is in pain 24/7 from arthritis. Some nights he only sleeps for an hour or two before the pain gets him up. Yet even on those days when he's in the most pain and has had no sleep, he greets me each morning by saying, "I'm just so glad to be here."
Scottish medium, healer, and author, Rosemary Altea, shares the story of two Jewish gentlemen who appeared to her during one of her mediumship evenings. They were brothers who had died at the hands of the Nazis in the gas chambers. One might think these two who had died untimely and cruel deaths would share a message of hatred and anger. Instead they told the audience of the joy they'd known. They wanted us to understand that life is never a punishment, even when things are difficult and we can't see our way out. They said all life is a precious gift and reminded us to live each day with joy and love.
I learned last night that a friend of mine took her own life. She was a gifted healer, highly intelligent and quite accomplished in her field. Like my father, she dealt with arthritic pain on a daily basis. And she battled a lot of demons. I can remember the sadness as I watched this beautiful woman lose her will to live. She will remain in the hearts of all of those to whom she gave healing, and I hope that her very tortured soul will eventually find peace. She affected many people in a positive way while she was here, and perhaps even the way she chose to leave will be a lesson to some. There is no judgment for the choices she made. I only wish she, too, could have seen the gift that her life was to herself as well as others. I wish she could have started each day as my father does, saying, "I'm just so glad to be here."
Regardless of the challenges we are facing day in and day out, each of us has been given this sacred gift of life. Our difficulties are not punishment-just things to experience and move through. When I feel discouraged, frustrated and like I can't possibly take one more step, I look at my father and say, "I'm just so glad to be here!"
Blessings!
It is late. I am tired and sore from a day of working so hard to accomplish all the things I want done. But something told me I needed to read Martha's writing. So, I did.
ReplyDeleteOn March 14, 2007, my father underwent open heart surgery to replace his aortic valve. This day changed our lives. Changed for so many reasons, but mostly because nothing was ever the same since that day. My dad awoke from the surgery: confused. And he has never become unconfused. His diagnosis is chronic dementia.
Now, we have discovered who we all are. And that has not been a pretty picture. But, for the most part, it is a beautiful painting of life. Not a picture; not anything to be captured through a lens. It is only painted with strokes from the heart.
Because of whatever reason, I am my father's main caregiver. I am lucky, in that he is a delightful person whom I have always deeply loved even though he is far from the ideal dad. (I have had to get him out of jail and I committed him once.)
Anyway, for a day like today, I was tired when I went to give him his medicine. I was selfish and felt put upon and often feel an overwhelming since of responsiblity in my own little world, so I was unkind. I yelled at him. He cried. I am sorry. We sat together for a while. We always get over these times. We love each other a lot. And always have. He is blessed because he will not remember my unkindness; I, however, feel it forever. It is another brush stoke from the heart on our life's painting.
I am sorry to have confessed all this to you; but your writing brought it all together for me tonight: I am glad we are here. I am glad my dad is here. There remains much to learn and love. Thank you.
And I am so very grateful that you shared that here, Caren. Caring for elderly parents is sometimes even more challenging that caring for our children-at least that's my experience now that I'm doing it, too. Regardless of the times when we get frustrated and impatient, we and our parents are all taking the walk together. And that can't help but be one of life's greatest blessings. Love & blessings to you.
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