Wednesday, October 29, 2008

AND THROUGH THE DARKNESS, LIGHT WILL EMERGE

I need to write something uplifting, something that is not as down as last few posts. Though the grief and the darkness is paramount in my family's and my lives right now, it isn't good, I think, to wallow in the morass of psychic pain. It is really easy to do that, though. Wallow, I mean.

But...let's think of something good. Every time I come home from my parents' house, down in the dumps, my little furry kids elevate my mood with a well-placed lick or snuggle. They are like four-legged Joy vehicles, their primary purpose being to spread said joy wherever they go.

So, times are tough, of course, but I feel that God gives us what we can handle. No more and no less. We will all come out of this horrible situation as stronger individuals. And my father will come out of this into freedom. Freedom from his earth-bound bag of bones and freedom from his emotional and psychic bondage. What is on the "Other Side"? I haven't a clue. But I believe that there is something, something better than this world of chaos in which we live. At the absolute least, my Dad won't be suffering anymore, and that is good.

I had never imagined that this would be so damned difficult, this letting go, this view of a family member's transition from this world to the next. I thought Hospice was supposed to be a more humane level of care. And, I suppose, its main premise is just that: monitor the pain (the physical pain) and make it so that the dying patient is able to rest comfortably in his or her last days. But, here is the problem: when the patient has lost mobility and the patient's right arm is rendered useless from the tumors compressing his spine and the Parkinson's makes his communication almost nil--yet his mind is still as alert as ever--where in all of that does the word "comfort" apply? Physical pain is but one facet of death. Emotional and psychic pain are just as prominent. And so that is where the feelings of my being handcuffed come into play. Without communication, there is no way that I (we) can alleviate my father's pain. And that? That flat-out sucks donkey ass.

I always believed in Jack Kervorkian's theories and practices, and more so now, when I have the worst--physically paralyzed, waiting and waiting and waiting for the preoccupied Reaper--staring me right in the face. I was too young to really understand my dad's dad's passing from ALS, but I imagine it was something like what Bobby B. is now going through.

And I look up to the heavens and I say, "God, what did my father do to deserve this? Why must it be so slow? Why must it be so humiliating and embarrassing and why must he be reduced to such neotonical physicalities? Can't you expediate the process, Lord?" Yaweh hasn't gotten back to me on that. I can wait. But does my Dad have to, too?

For Daddy B.
my heart rends for you
the skies are dark and cloudy
through this, Light will come

4 comments:

JenBun said...

Don't wallow, but don't be afraid to let it out. To us. For you. That is what we are here for, after all...

Gotta love those furkids.

I agree, that we are never given more than we can handle. It seems hard to remember that some days...

Love your dad and let that help transcend the physical. Love and the hope for more... freedom...

Love to you, Adam, my dear. Love and peace.

I'm here.

Adamity73 said...

Thankee-sai, JenBun. Thankee-sai.

It has gotten to the point where I don't even want to go over there, to my parent's house, anymore. I just don't.

Is that any kind of support? No. But, like I wrote, when I am over there, I feel so fucking helpless. I feel useless. I feel like a big-assed galoob. I can't do shit for my daddy. He lies in his hospital bed, and lies there and lies there and, occasionally, he'll wake up and try to impart some communication to whatever family member may be around him. It turns into this: "Glurk. Gum. Hessefaz. Trebedo." Right. Fucking unintelligible nonsense, which, to my Dad, is far from that. He is trying to say *something*. Something. But...what? I have no idea. It tears my stomach apart trying to discern just what the fuck my Dad is trying to say. So...I give up. I just...give up. There is faaaaaar too much heartache in that room. Far too much.

I want this nonsense, this emasculation, to end. Posthaste. I want my daddy in the skies above instead of sunk into the mattress of a hospital bed. I want him free, you know? I want him to soar above the earth with his wings of gold, I want him to see his "prison" as a point of the past. I want for him the suffering to be a thing of Yesterdays. I want him to zip and zag in the atmosphere and remember the love with which his family showered him. Is that too much to ask?

When will this be over? How can we expediate the process? SHOULD we expediate the process? Or should we stay fast to the seemingly-glacial movements of "passing on"? We are not God.

But, sometimes? Sometimes, I wish I were.

So, that's that. We wait. We watch. We perform inordiantely-insufficient means of making my dad more peaceable. We raise the hospital bed and we lower it. When the death-congestion in his lower throat becomes too unnerving, we slap a Scop patch on his neck--that helps dry up mucus and whatnot, saliva, near his Adam's Apple. My dad's swallowing skillz are a thing of the past.

And we watch. And I, and I am sure the rest of my family agrees, I hope for the Reaper to get off the fucking phone and attend to the business at hand. No one should have to live/die like this.

If he were my dog, I'd have injected him a week ago.

But human beings are special, I gather, because they NEED to go through the debilitating death process on their own. Family members can only sit by and watch. And, yes, that is difficult.

So, anyway....

Go Lions! =0)

Anonymous said...

Adam, I'm so sorry. Nothing I can say to you right now is going to help you cope, you're doing a good job by getting your feelings out at least. Sometimes that's what it takes to deal....that's what I've been doing. I love you and I hope and pray that you stay close to your family and friends and never be afraid to ask for help or someone to talk to.

Adamity73 said...

Thank you, Tesah. I lube you, too. (Typo) =-)

Things'll get better. My God, for my Dad's sake, make it fucking *quicker*!

=)

(I am crying inside. Emoticons shield the truth.)