In the last two years I have watched my father go from being the strong, independent guy, with a tremendous sense of humor, to a helpless individual who is not quite sure what is happening around him. This change came slowly in many ways, but overnight in others. In some respects there are still glimpses of the man I call my Daddy, but at other times I know he is gone forever. The grieving process has begun for me because I already know he is mostly lost.
So who was my Dad? Born June 27, 1920, he was one of the best looking men of his time. Strong, medium height, thin build, great posture and a handsome smile. He was the epitome of the professional salesman of the 1950s. My dad could sell his products, office equipment, to anyone. He was gentle, soft-spoken, polite and respectful every moment of his life. He was the man others came to when they had a problem with a customer or client. He was the man everyone everywhere called friend. My dad was well known and well respected in the industry, in Omaha and across the country. He could walk into places like Standard Duplicating Machines in Boston, All Makes or Emarines locally, and walk out with anything he needed, on his signature; because his word was his bond, and everyone knew that.
Then his daughter, my sister, was diagnosed with kidney disease in the late 1960s and his baby girl was going into renal failure. The shock was huge but he dealt with it, as he dealt with everything: he prayed and he kept going, knowing that God had a plan and he could do nothing more than work that plan as best he could. Dad was the rock, our strength. Joann, my sister, was the baby girl whom he adored. He and Joann spent many years being best friends and she could do no wrong in his eyes. When the diagnosis came, it rocked his world. The safety of his family was in jeopardy. His mother died just a few months after the diagnosis and he was thrown for a loop, but he kept on going. The answer to his prayers came with the discovery of organ transplantation. My brother gave my sister a kidney on my mother's birthday in 1970. My sister was safe for an as-yet-undetermined-period-of-time. Dad's prayers were answered and he was grateful. That is who this man is and has been for the better part of 90+ years - grateful for all the blessings and wonders of life - grateful for every day to live with "positive thinking" and to thank the good Lord for everything we have in life, because without Him we have nothing. It is not to be considered that while his two children were recovering from the transplant, someone broke into our home and stole my mother's purse off the counter in the kitchen. This purse contained a number of things which could never be replaced, but thieves don't care about anyone but themselves. I still hope someday they find out what it is like to be victimized the way they victimized others. My father never experienced that type of wish for revenge. He just said, "well, they must have needed it more than we did, that's all".
Here we are with this same wonderful, strong-willed, man who can take on the world for his family. This is the man who is now battling cancer in his brain and in his lung, and God-only-knows where else it has spread. He is 91, 5'7" tall, weighs a mere 140 pounds. He is mostly blind, somewhat deaf and has lost his ability to reason. Not his ability to think, only to reason. He can understand that he can not make sense of things. I think it is worse that he can't reason but can think because he knows what he is missing, but knows he can't figure out what to do to stop it from happening.
This is the beginning of the end. This is where it is up to me to keep him out of a Warehouse of the Living Dead, as he has referred to nursing homes for many years. This is where his daughter steps in and says it will not happen, if I can help it. It is where this daughter says, "No, Pop, we will do this for you. No matter how hard you make it for us, we will love you the way you would love us in the same situation." Because no matter how tough it got for my dad during those years, he never turned his back on his family for one minute. I won't turn mine on him. Because Love Means Never Having to Say "I Won't."
This journey will be complete with tears, frustration, anger, fits of rage where I just want to throw in the towel, and Jeff, my partner, husband, best friend, and lover helps me to stay sane. There will be moments when Jeff and I are at each others throats and I won't be as loving towards him as I should, but it will be at those moments when Jeff and I will still turn to each other and reach out for the love we know the other holds. These moments are the reason Jeff and I will survive no matter how difficult it is, because we have that bond that is deeper than just love. It is knowing that no matter what happens there is true love and support an arm's length away. When I put out my arms, Jeff will hold me until the stress or pain is manageable, no matter how long that takes. I will support him while he deals with this because it is more difficult being the son-in-law than it is being the daughter in this situation. He doesn't have the same level of obligation. He took this on by choice and it makes me more proud to have him as my husband, knowing that he will do this for me, at the expense of so much of his life.
