...a little respite from the grief of losing my dad. I asked the Universe for a little break before the next life-changing thing shoots down from the heavens. And I got it. Yesterday, I closed my father's estate, officially. A sigh of relief, some tears, a rest.
This morning we are awakened by a phone call to get to GB as quickly as possible; my father-in-law was on a respirator and his vital signs were very low. Once we got "The Call" (you all know and fear this call), we jumped into action, packing quickly, including funeral clothes, extra underwear and meds, scooped up the kitties and boarded them and were on the six hour drive. At one point in the drive, we get another call from a sister-in-law: "We think we're going to pull him off the respirator, and he might not make it. Do you want us to wait for you to get here?" K and I both thought back to the exact moment in my father's war with death--his anguish, agitation, disorientation.--and K felt it better to let his siblings do what they thought was best. Van was off the respirator. And no call. And no call. Three hours left to the drive, and no call. We were afraid we wouldn't make it before he passed away. We talked about it a little bit, and what that would mean to K.
We arrived to the hospital and found my father-in-law's room. There he was, looking like he'd been to hell and back, but awake. Off the respirator; just getting a little help with nasal canula (sp). We had made it, and the look of relief on K's face was so beautiful. We spent this afternoon listening to Van talk nonsense all day "Where's the paint? We have to paint the church?" Some times he was laughing at something he hadn't said, but perhaps seen or heard in his head. He hasn't had much to drink --more than a sip or two of water, and no food. My mother-in-law needs a warrior to step in, but I don't know if should be me. If she asks I am all hers. If she doesn't ask, I may try to feed Karl the questions....Being through this so recently has brought back some of the fear, the memories...but it also brings back the warrior I was for my father. Van, my father-in-law deserves a warrior too.
All of Karl's many siblings are doing their own things right now; two are at the hospital, we're here, in a hotel around the corner; two other siblings are at their homes, sleeping in their beds; my mother-in-law is also home, I hope sleeping soundly in her bed. Two siblings are out having a drink, to talk.
There was talk of "shifts" today to be with Van; my family did this with my father, so that he'd have someone with him all the time. That time was sacred, reverent. Van's room is loud, with lots of people talking over him as he grows more confused and agitated. They want to keep his spirits up, the want to respond to him, even to his nonsense. But it's loud. This man is already on his journey; "Elle a la mer; nous au tombeau"....
It doesn't help that I don't really know what kind of care he's getting. This I will clear up in the morning. Is it palliative care? Are we talking about a hospice setting here in the hospital? Is your plan to release him to a hospice if all you are giving him is O2? What exactly is his diagnosis? Why is the nursing staff so slow to respond to requests? What exactly is the outcome? Are we waiting for his death? Are we waiting for him to stabilize so he can go to a nursing facility? His wife has utter, almost blind, faith in the doctor. You don't question the doctor. Oh, boy. If I can sneak in a meeting with someone tomorrow, I will. Maybe it's only selfish, but I'm uncomfortable with so little knowledge. And I want the best care possible for my wonderful father-in-law. And I want his family to have all the details and ask all the questions they want. If I can facilitate this, I would be honored. It's a lesson learned that I am ready to pass on. Peace, Van. Sleep well, and if the angels open a door, go with them.
About Me
- Catherine
- In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.
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