The Abyss

From his bed this morning at 8:00am he spoke quietly, “Thank you for everything. I love you.” While I cried and hugged him. I told him to be strong and he promised he would.

My dad thinks he’s lost his dignity but I strongly disagree. He may have lost his modesty but not his dignity. In 2 short months my dad has gone from being a gale force wind to only a whisper. He’s lost 60+ pounds. He cannot stand on his own. We lift him to his feet where he locks his knees and somehow manages to stay upright with what seems to be only bones and ligaments and help from a trusty walker. He needs our help with even the most personal things. For a man like my dad, I can’t imagine what that’s like for him. I can‘t imagine what‘s going through his mind.

When we took him from the hospital two weeks ago, we had no idea what we were facing. My sister and I wheeled him out to the car with the naive idea that we could lift him into the car. We tried twice, leaving us the second time with his back on the passenger seat and his butt and legs falling out of the car towards the ground. I held him there precariously hoping and praying he wouldn’t end up on the street. A man walking by saw us and came to help. So completely unprepared, we drove away.

The last two weeks have been hard to handle. I know so many people go through the same things with their parents sooner or later but when it happens it’s such a shock. As one doctor said this week, “They take you to the edge of the abyss and then they snatch you back. Take you to the edge again, dangle you over and then they snatch you back.” He was talking about my dad’s Chemo but the feeling is universal for the caretakers. We slowly unravel trying desperately to make rational decisions and find some sort of footing when everything seems to be crumbling out from underneath us.

I am lucky to have my brother and sister. I cannot imagine doing any of this alone. If we can somehow bind together our strength, time and love, we may find a way to make this work. If we could just hand over that strength, time and love to our dad, we’d be in a much better situation.

He is fighting a very tough battle and as much as we’d like to help him fight, in many ways he’s on his own. Always with thoughts of life and how precarious and precious it is, we stand beside him. I wish for him many more moments of happiness. Fireworks and laughter. Great food. Great Music. Moments of peace, free from pain and concern. I hope that his heart is filled with the love his family has for him. I hope he feels our determination to help him through this horrible time. Be strong. Be positive. We love you and we'll see you soon.