There is a walker, a commode, and a wheelchair sitting in my living room. And I am not sure how I feel about it.
Actually, I do….
I am TERRIFIED for the day we have to use them. (Right now he can still use a walker to get to the restroom…..)
I am OCD, I am tidy, I am squeamish….this is not what I signed up for, is it? I am afraid I will vomit or pass out. I am afraid I won’t be physically strong enough to pick up, help up, or support a dizzy spell. I don’t know if I can do it. And I am trying not to guess what is to come.
Tonight was crazy, more than crazy, is there a word for more than crazy?
I seriously had no less than 25 phone calls in a several hour time frame. And not one at a time in a tidy fashion, literally 3 at a time, all beeping in on each other to the point of the person saying, “What, I can’t hear you, you keep beeping out.”
A simple 30 minutes supper, took over 2 1/2 hours to prepare because of the interruptions. Destiny kept getting put off for homework time, because I simply could not sit down to help her, or quiz her on History notes. So finally after 10:30 pm, my sweet little 8:15 bed-timer crawled to bed, so weary.
My feet are aching tonight. I suppose it’s because I haven’t sat down until now, or relaxed as I sat today. I don’t mind, I don’t want to be a complainer, it’s all VERY worth it…..I just simply had no idea how much work this would be.
The Hospice Will Cover It vs. No, The Insurance Will Cover It.
The Home Care Nurse Answer vs. The Hospice Nurse Answer.
You get a bed. You don’t get a bed.
We will pay for it. You will pay for it.
We have a bill here for equipment, WHO IS GOING TO PAY FOR IT? My head is SPINNING.
But in the end, it was worth it. I have a wonderful, clean, well working, hospital bed in my living room where the couch was, praise God!
I shed no tears as we hauled the couch out, as my living room became a bedroom, for I am thankful for the man who rests comfortably on it.
The opportunity to serve him, and care for him in the name of love, makes the lack of “pretty” seem trivial.
I love how Sophie loves him, she insists on napping with him all day long. She knows our Papa is special.
The Hospice nurse is saying days to weeks, but when I talk to Papa, or hear him laughing with the kids, or crying with guests that stop by that mean so much to him, I can’t help but to think she is so very wrong. Hope that she is VERY wrong!!!!
Mentally, he is the same Papa as always, but the bone weary, thin body of his, is showing signs of quitting.
They drained 5 liters off of him on Tuesday, and he is already filling back up.
I can only imagine the turmoil he is in, being betrayed by his own body. I tell him to welcome those tears he hates so much. They aren’t a sign of weakness, but a sign of processing grief. That is healthy, I welcome his tears, kind words from a tender heart, one that used to be too shy and quiet to share.
I have a strict “Never Cry Alone” Rule, so I always allow my own to fall, letting them spill down my face and drip on to my shirt as we visit. I want him to know he is not alone in this.
He will live here until the last days, then we will transfer to Hospice House. We decided so many machines, nurses, and people coming and going late into the night to say their goodbyes, would overwhelm our children, make dogs bark, and generally be difficult to manage. His home is too small for this option. The Hospice House is beautiful, just a short drive into town. They took such good care of my Grandpa in his final days, we know they will do the same for Papa should we come to this point.
I have been through hard things in my life. The death of 4 babies I was in love with in utero. The death of my marriage as I knew it. The death and passing of several loved ones to illness and cancer in recent years.
Dale has not been without sorrow in his life, his parents divorce, our marriage struggles. He is so strong, so brave. Taking the lead, meeting with lawyers, filling out paperwork, taking time off work to run his Dad to all sorts of appointments, asking the hard questions, pushing for the answers that don’t want to come, from a man who has been on his own for decades.
Yes, he is brave and strong during the day, but I can see the weariness in his shoulders, and the tears in his eyes. And when the day is drawing to a close and another day looms? He holds me close with shaking arms, and I stroke his face, wiping away his tears as I pray over him for strength and peace that surpasses understanding.
This is a road we have never traveled before. Watching someone lose a fight they gave their ALL to, in our home, before our very eyes.
So what can I do, but joyfully help to meet my loved ones daily needs, making the obnoxious amount of phone calls it takes to get help, and finally, at the end of a weary day, sitting down to spill my mixed emotions. Splaying them all over this computer screen for all to see.
Maybe when I re-read this, I will find my answers. See my heart, make some sense of it all….
Or maybe I will just see Jesus…….
Asking me to serve my Father in law with pride until he goes home.
Read the rest of Papa’s journey here: