. . . and That Was My Dad’s Life
Posted: Wednesday, July 14, 2010
by e
Dhammabucha Rocksprings Meditation
I was living in New Zealand and hadn't called my father for quite some time. When I did attempt to reach him, however, the phone was disconnected. He had no friends or relatives to speak of, so I began calling the local hospitals in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. An hour later, one of the hospitals informed me that he had been admitted to a nursing home due to kidney failure and was getting dialysis treatments.
I booked a flight to Pittsburgh with the few funds I had remaining and then bussed up to Johnstown and talked my way into some public housing where Dad used to live, a tiny room on the seventh floor without air conditioning. I was accustomed to heat after living in Thailand, so it was fine, and only two miles from Dad's nursing home. An easy walk to visit him after work every day.
I went through a flurry of jobs, finally saving enough money to buy an old Toyota. The car was a big help because now I could drive over to see Mom once a week instead of spending an entire day working around bus schedules.
My mother was going down hill fast. Before I left for New Zealand, she still recognized people and had a semblance of long-term memory, but now that was all gone. She didn't know me at all when I visited, and only stared ahead into space as if she was in a waking coma. I would talk to her, tell her about dad and the little stories that a son tells his mother, but there were never signs of awareness. She could still feed herself when the nurses brought her tray, but stared straight into the wall the entire time.
I would wheel her outside on nice days, but that didn't matter either, the unrelenting unawareness remained. She had gone through the irritated stage a few years prior, but it was not very pronounced and thankfully short lived. She always had a kind heart, and during her life exhibited only humility and humbleness, always worrying about everybody but herself.
It was hard to see her like this, but she became one of my greatest teachers, reminding me to reach for truth while my mind was still functioning. When it's gone; the search is over for this lifetime.
The dialysis treatments that was keeping Dad alive took its inevitable toll on his heart and lungs. One day, his doctor took me aside and said that the treatments were no longer a viable option, meaning that he would die within a week.
My father loved to see me, his only child's visits being all he had to look forward to now. He always wanted to hear any news about Mom. It was difficult to watch him die.
I vowed to hold both my parents' hands when they drew their last breath no matter the inconvenience to my life, and as things turned out, it was one of the best decisions I had ever made. It was something that's done with no thought of personal advantage, just something that would help another human being feel that he or she was not alone when their time came.
It was Halloween eve and dad was in his last hours, still conscious but having difficulty breathing. The nurses were dressed up in cute costumes, coming around with little baskets of candy in a holiday mood - a marked contrast to the situation Dad and I were facing. But I didn't say anything; this was not their problem.
One of the nurses was dressed in a devil's costume, which I thought was apropos considering what my father had been most of his life, but during the last ten years, after my mom came down with her disease, he had changed.
I had gotten to know his three roommates quite well, but this evening I had the curtains drawn around Dad's bed so they didn't have to watch him die. They had grown fond of my dad during the time he was there, and they understood, well enough, that they would soon be facing what he was facing.
I sat beside my father and held his frail, bony hand; so old and veined with bruised, pasty skin as thin as paper. Surely, my strong body would never come to this.
Death was immanent; all he could manage were shallow gasps as his breathing was now sporadic with long intervals where he didn't breathe at all. This went on for quite a while, and I was surprised when he managed to say something. I could barely hear him whisper, "I wish I could have done a few more good things in my life."
I was mortified, my face lined with anguish as I tried to reconcile my own selfishness; not contacting my parents for years because of my resentment toward my father and the way he treated Mom. I wanted to say that I was sorry, but couldn't find it in my heart to express these simple words.
That was the last thing he said, and with his lungs filling with fluid, he soon drew his last breath. Then I watched an artery beat in his neck for a long time, until it became still as well.
I walked to the nurse's station. They were laughing and having a great time with the residents and I didn't have the heart to bother them. What was the hurry? I waited until one of the nurses acknowledged me and then told her that my dad had passed away. She brushed it off, saying that he will go through periods of feigning death before he actually dies, but when she had time, she'd stop by.
About ten minutes later she came in and checked his vitals. She was surprised to find him deceased but remained business-like as she matter-of-factly asked me to leave for a few minutes while she prepared him for transport to the funeral home.
I looked for something in which to put my dad's belongings, finally borrowing a large garbage bag from an aide. I went to dad's section of the closet in the small, four patient room. His roommate and best friend was lying next to the closet, but wouldn't look at me, just looked off in the opposite direction, with a tear running down his cheek. He liked my dad; maybe he liked me too.
I was emotional as well, and as I put dad's few things in the bag - just some outdated checkered slacks and a few faded shirts with worn collars, I wanted to say something to his friend. I don't think that he had any family; at least nobody ever came to visit him, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just touched his shoulder and walked away.
Only the undertaker and I, along with two graveyard workers and a backhoe were at that small cemetery in the foothills where we laid Dad to rest. Nobody was there to say anything and I wasn't sure what to do, so after the workers lowered the casket, I took a handful of dirt and threw it on the coffin. I don't know why; probably saw it in a movie or something.
. . . and that was my dad's life.
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More commentsCan relate to this as my mother got dementia and ended up in a nursing home. Good factual stuffThank you Heil, it's never easy, a step in that which we call our life experience. What amazes me is people who say that life is a lark. Maybe they haven't lived long enough yet. Best.....e
Welcome back Goshwin. Usually not up this late but had to chase some raccoons out of the shed and thought while I was up I would check emails. Missed you!Best.....e
Seeing this again on Reader's Club- Still think it's a warm and heartfelt story- you're a very caring person- and a good writer!- Thanks- Always- EllaThank you so much Ella. Best to you.
althought its quite sad about your mother. i find the ariticle to be quite moving an interesting, i enjoying reading this article very much so.Thank you so much Mitch. I appreciate that.
I'm moved.. I cried.. I understood.. I've been there.. Thank you.What nice comment. Thank you Misty.Metta.....e
Thanks for sharing this Ray, I am a transplant living far away from my parents and childhood home. This really gave me some things to consider.It's something that you will reflect upon as you get older. Thanks James.To be honest I reflect on it now. I have fond memories of Virginia from childhood but as an adult I don't feel comfortable there. I like the vibe and collective consciousness of California much better. Choosing to live here though keeps me pretty separated from my family. As they watch one of another grow and mature I have been going through those processes pretty much alone. With as much as I have moved in my lifetime I realize it limits the amount of outside feedback I receive.Being married will help with that I suppose. Right now the answer I have come to is as long as I keep the lines of communication open with my family I will be able to be there when they need me. I love my life and where I am and honestly I wouldn't have it any other way.You're on the right track James. As Thomas Wolfe once said, "You can never go home."
Thanks for sharing this Ray. I think this article will help a lot of people, it definitely gave me some things to consider.Our parents, so strong for us when we were growing up, become so vulnerable. Do what you can.
I am sorry to hear about your father's passing. I know that he was grateful that you were present to say your goodbye.Thanks James. I appreciate the kind comment.
Thank you for sharing this deeply personal story. You got past your resentment and became a true gift to your father.Thank you so much Rhonda. Yeah, he was just a common man doing the best he could. What more can we do?
Sad story...wish it contained more info to help one cope with death instead of letting death be exalted as powerful....Do you mean your own personal death?
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