Dad had some insurance-approved therapy on Thursday. Afterward as he contemplated getting into the bed himself, with only minimal assistance from me, I knew he was rather frustrated with himself and his inability to make his brain work to maneuver himself into the bed.
"It gets on your nerves when you can't get anything done," he said.
"I know, Dad. I know you're doing the best you can."
"You're absolutely right! I'm glad somebody understands," he replied.
Dad's doing the best he can. That day, part of his best was being able to kick off his own shoes. We rejoice in the small victories.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Words from Dad
As I left Dad's bedside on Wednesday, just as he was drifting off to sleep, I heard him say this profound statement, "It breaks my heart to know my kids need me more than I can help them."
Friday, May 8, 2009
"The Good Word on Poppy"
The weather was damp and dreary, a light drizzle fell from the sky. But to me, inside my head, the sun was shining brightly and warmly, not a cloud in the sky. I stood in the parking lot of the nursing care center, holding Carly in my one arm, her umbrella in my other, utterly amazed at what I saw. Dad, with the assistance of the new physical therapist and free of a walker, approached us, walking tentatively with tiny, shuffling steps...but still WALKING nonetheless!! I thought I would never see my father walk again this side of heaven.
We all walked together back to sit on the bench outside the facility. Dad was able to "scoot" over to make room for me to sit. The therapist commented that action was a cognitive challenge, but came naturally to him; he is "caring" for a family member without thinking about it. The skills can be achieved when they are "functionally presented. It's all in the approach" she has said. Having this well-trained and skilled therapist is like a breath of fresh air!
Back inside the building, we sat watching the rain at the patio and Dad was the first to notice a turtle crawling on the floorboards of the deck. "We'll call him, Tom. Tom Turtle," he said. Amazing! Going back to his room, Dad noticed a landmark out the window. I was surprised again at his attentiveness.
A staff member heard him call out to Carly as she ran in the dining room, "Don't get lost Carly, because Poppy will be lost without you." And she said, "He's so
sweet, I want to take him home with me!" Other staff have also
commented about how sweet, kind and talkative Dad is. (I did a
double-take to see if they were joking or not--they were serious! They said, "He's our JOY BUG.")
How can he be so out of it for days at a time and then have such good days?! This disease sure is mysterious! I'm not going to question it, but just be thankful for it!
I took the kids back in two days later because I wanted them to see Poppy in such good spirits. We had a lot of laughs--he certainly can be very entertaining! When TJ asked him about what happened to his arm (he has what looks like some finger-nail scratch marks on his forearm)he didn't know but said, "Maybe I could come up with it, TJ, but my mind is gone."
We all had to chuckle!
My nephew, Jonathan, being the optimist that he is, can find the positive even in adversity. During many dark days, Jonathan always asks his dad, "So, what's the good word on Poppy?" That's a great way to pose the question! I am truly pleased to be able to post this encouraging update--to give a "good word on Poppy!" But may we all learn from Jonathan--to look for the sunshine even when it's raining. That is living out I Thessalonians 5:16-18 "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."
We all walked together back to sit on the bench outside the facility. Dad was able to "scoot" over to make room for me to sit. The therapist commented that action was a cognitive challenge, but came naturally to him; he is "caring" for a family member without thinking about it. The skills can be achieved when they are "functionally presented. It's all in the approach" she has said. Having this well-trained and skilled therapist is like a breath of fresh air!
Back inside the building, we sat watching the rain at the patio and Dad was the first to notice a turtle crawling on the floorboards of the deck. "We'll call him, Tom. Tom Turtle," he said. Amazing! Going back to his room, Dad noticed a landmark out the window. I was surprised again at his attentiveness.
A staff member heard him call out to Carly as she ran in the dining room, "Don't get lost Carly, because Poppy will be lost without you." And she said, "He's so
sweet, I want to take him home with me!" Other staff have also
commented about how sweet, kind and talkative Dad is. (I did a
double-take to see if they were joking or not--they were serious! They said, "He's our JOY BUG.")
How can he be so out of it for days at a time and then have such good days?! This disease sure is mysterious! I'm not going to question it, but just be thankful for it!
I took the kids back in two days later because I wanted them to see Poppy in such good spirits. We had a lot of laughs--he certainly can be very entertaining! When TJ asked him about what happened to his arm (he has what looks like some finger-nail scratch marks on his forearm)he didn't know but said, "Maybe I could come up with it, TJ, but my mind is gone."
We all had to chuckle!
My nephew, Jonathan, being the optimist that he is, can find the positive even in adversity. During many dark days, Jonathan always asks his dad, "So, what's the good word on Poppy?" That's a great way to pose the question! I am truly pleased to be able to post this encouraging update--to give a "good word on Poppy!" But may we all learn from Jonathan--to look for the sunshine even when it's raining. That is living out I Thessalonians 5:16-18 "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."
Monday, April 13, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
What is best for Dad?
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.
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.
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.
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