We have been forced to ask the hard question now for quite a while--what is best for Dad? It is an continual giving up our own personal desires on behalf of Dad's best interests. I have come to realize that at Dad's current state of mind, it is too confusing for me to visit him without bringing Mom along. He seems to associate with seeing me that Mom should be present, too. And as for visits with my children, it is a catch-22; he seems bothered with me if I don't bring all three along, but when we all come to see him, he quickly tires of their "child-like" behavior in his small and confined room.
It is becoming increasingly difficult to leave him. He gets very insistent on going along when we prepare to leave. He told me on Sunday that he wanted to head to Pikeville--it would only be 120 miles. It is very rare to leave him in a peaceful state where he is content be "left behind."
I must repeat to myself over and over-- this is what is best for Dad right now. It is out of my hands. But Dad is never out of the hands of the Almighty God. I can rest in that truth.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
True Love
In a culture that epitomizes youth with true love, I am struck again and again with the reality that true love between a husband and wife; deep, enduring, committed love that lasts, comes only after many years of facing life together. That realization hit me again yesterday as I watched my parents. Dad is unable to do much for himself, let alone care for Mom in any tangible way, yet she affectionately and tenderly greets him with, “How are you today, my love?” He vacillates between tenderness toward her and irritability at her. The rapid mood swings are part of the disease. One minute he will clench his teeth and shout angrily at her, often when he doesn’t understand some instruction, and the next minute he will be asking to kiss her on the cheek. It doesn’t seem to phase her; she calmly accepts it in stride as part of the horrid illness. She is one of the most gentle and patient individuals I have ever met.
Less than a month ago, the nursing home hosted a Valentine’s Day Dinner for residents and their spouses. The small dining room held less than a dozen round tables bedecked with red tablecloths, vases of fresh flowers and long-stemmed goblets. Each couple dined together as the piano played romantic songs from yesteryear. Dad was a mess that day. He needed help feeding himself. He couldn’t get the fork from his plate to his mouth and back down again without her hand guiding his arm. He set his glass awkwardly on the edge of his plate as Mom grabbed it to set it aright and keep from spilling the remaining beverage. He didn’t speak more than a few sentences the entire time.
Looking around, I saw residents in various stages of decline and ill health; I could hardly keep my emotions in check. What I observed was “fleshing out” the marriage vows of “til death do us part.” One resident’s husband had delivered a dozen red roses to his bride. The husband was wearing a 3-piece suit for this “date” with his wife who was too ill to even communicate with him. And on his face, he wore a contented smile as he maneuvered her wheelchair back to her room. These couples were just happy to be together. As I pushed Dad’s wheelchair back to his wing, my tears flowed as he reached for Mom who was walking beside his wheelchair and they moved hand in hand down the hallway.
On a recent day, I sat silent as I observed their interaction:
Dear Dad, in his state of confusion, quietly held Mom’s hand and asked her directly, “Where are you living at now, honey?”
“At home,” was the reply.
After a few seconds, Dad inquired, “And where is home?”
I watched her eyes as she paused and studied at the face of her beloved, her home had been wherever he was for so many years; location didn’t matter. What was she to say? She gave an address, “Near White Horse.”
That simple answer satisfied him, but broke my heart. Does that mean that their lifetime of shared memories is gone from his mind? He doesn’t know where his home is, but he knows that he feels at home--safe, secure and loved--with her. That’s all that matters.
Less than a month ago, the nursing home hosted a Valentine’s Day Dinner for residents and their spouses. The small dining room held less than a dozen round tables bedecked with red tablecloths, vases of fresh flowers and long-stemmed goblets. Each couple dined together as the piano played romantic songs from yesteryear. Dad was a mess that day. He needed help feeding himself. He couldn’t get the fork from his plate to his mouth and back down again without her hand guiding his arm. He set his glass awkwardly on the edge of his plate as Mom grabbed it to set it aright and keep from spilling the remaining beverage. He didn’t speak more than a few sentences the entire time.
Looking around, I saw residents in various stages of decline and ill health; I could hardly keep my emotions in check. What I observed was “fleshing out” the marriage vows of “til death do us part.” One resident’s husband had delivered a dozen red roses to his bride. The husband was wearing a 3-piece suit for this “date” with his wife who was too ill to even communicate with him. And on his face, he wore a contented smile as he maneuvered her wheelchair back to her room. These couples were just happy to be together. As I pushed Dad’s wheelchair back to his wing, my tears flowed as he reached for Mom who was walking beside his wheelchair and they moved hand in hand down the hallway.
On a recent day, I sat silent as I observed their interaction:
Dear Dad, in his state of confusion, quietly held Mom’s hand and asked her directly, “Where are you living at now, honey?”
“At home,” was the reply.
After a few seconds, Dad inquired, “And where is home?”
I watched her eyes as she paused and studied at the face of her beloved, her home had been wherever he was for so many years; location didn’t matter. What was she to say? She gave an address, “Near White Horse.”
That simple answer satisfied him, but broke my heart. Does that mean that their lifetime of shared memories is gone from his mind? He doesn’t know where his home is, but he knows that he feels at home--safe, secure and loved--with her. That’s all that matters.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"Through It All"
I am stunned. We had "all-but" an acceptance for Dad in a facility with a higher level of care; a long drive for Mom but close to the boys. Then comes the news, Dad's application has been denied. Yet again. And still we wait. And pray. The assets are quickly depleting. God is yet on his throne. How quickly we forget God sees the big picture! God doesn't need money to care for Dad (or Mom, either, for that matter).
With tears, we prayed together as a family on Sunday--Mom, her children and spouses for God's clear leading, that he would close doors and guide and direct us in this process. It was a sweet time, especially when Larry prayed about us all standing together around the throne of heaven someday, beside Dad who will be healed and whole!
So can we rejoice in a closed door? Absolutely! It means God is working, guiding and directing--we asked Him to!
Do I forget the One who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth? (Isaiah 51) He is MY God! Praise Him.
"Through it all, through it all, I've learned to trust in Jesus, I've learned to trust in God. Through it all, through it all, I've learned to depend upon his Word."
With tears, we prayed together as a family on Sunday--Mom, her children and spouses for God's clear leading, that he would close doors and guide and direct us in this process. It was a sweet time, especially when Larry prayed about us all standing together around the throne of heaven someday, beside Dad who will be healed and whole!
So can we rejoice in a closed door? Absolutely! It means God is working, guiding and directing--we asked Him to!
Do I forget the One who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth? (Isaiah 51) He is MY God! Praise Him.
"Through it all, through it all, I've learned to trust in Jesus, I've learned to trust in God. Through it all, through it all, I've learned to depend upon his Word."
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