Having met with Hospice last week and learning about the program and how caring the representative was my parents had been thinking about if it was time. My sister called last night after taking mom and dad to his cardiologist. She told me he had decided to enter the hospice program and had his internal defibrillator turned off. It was a brief call both of us trying to be positive and upbeat. He is Eighty-eight and in the fourth stage of both congestive heart and kidney failure. It may be time but I’m not ready.
My father is an Episcopal Minister. He taught me to love god not fear him. He also taught me through the Torah and Quran that there were more similarities among the religions than differences. He showed me there is often more than one right answer or solution and to not always accept when I was told there was only one way. He taught me through many times of being caught making trouble that it’s always best to be honest and admit your mistakes and take responsibility. Through a dozen or more foster siblings I saw that everyone made some mistake and sometimes those mistakes affected more than themselves. I learned how to cut and stack wood from him, how to build everything from shelves to sheds. How to care for an animal and how to reach out to others when they are angry or lost. I learned that humor could sometimes open people who were hurting and closing themselves off and how to hide my own pain behind humor. From him I developed a quick wit often with a touch too much satire. Frequently my mother and wife tell me (in exasperated voices) that this apple fell far too close to the tree. Much of what I am today is simply a compilation of lessons learned from my father. He is teaching me still in making the decision to enter hospice not when he has exhausted every experimental treatment and is days away from death, but when it’s been made clear that his heart and kidney failure(s) have reached the stage where replacement and dialysis are the only things that will help. He is afraid but still calm and worries about my mom. I am distraught and shaken and completely out of jokes. It could be anywhere from one to six months according to hospice and they will be there to provide comfort at every stage. I am flying out to see him next week and he will try to teach me how to say goodbye. It’s a lesson I am not sure I’m ready to learn but will always be thankful that I have the opportunity when many don’t.
I know, no deep thoughts on the politics of the day or witty remarks in another diary. Today it’s simply catharsis for me and trying to focus. I should apologize but instead I thank you for reading.