“No, honey. I’m sorry. I should have thought this through better,” I tried to soothe. “I’m sorry for being upset. I know it’s a gross thought that he might die in your room, but this is something I just have to do. I promise to make it up to you.”
Hearing a calming to the convulsions on the other end of the phone, I explained my reasoning.
“Jenni, I love you. I know it feels weird and if he passes that way, you can have my room. But I can’t watch him die in a hospital like your grandmother. I can’t go through it again. Besides, I promised him and I have to see it through.”
CHAPTER 6
Battling the Naysayers
Just when I thought I’d conquered everyone’s fears about what would happen to my home and me if I gave up my life to care for my father, I needed to don my impenetrable shield of armor once more to battle an unsuspected naysayer.
“You can’t be serious!” my gynecologist Patty exclaimed loudly. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself in for.”
I lay naked on the examining table covered by a thin paper blanket, stunned at her outburst.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, sorry that I even mentioned it as I noticed the expression in her eyes that read, You’re crazy! “I’ve got everything ready,” I proclaimed with confidence. “I can do this. Besides, how hard can it be? He’s just an old man who sleeps all day.”
Lifting up my arms, Patty sharply pressed two fingers into my armpit then started aggressively massaging my breasts, looking for lumps. By the narrowing of her blue eyes and her overzealous examination, I could tell I was in for a brutal schooling on self-preservation.
“Jackie, caring for an aging parent is very taxing. You need to put him in a home.”
Frustrated that I was not being supported once again, I picked at the paper sheet covering my belly, feeling both physically and emotionally exposed and wishing I was anywhere but there. Having my entire face pricked with Botox, standing in a long line at the DMV, or going through another hip replacement would be far less torture.
“But that’s the one thing I promised I’d never do. I have to keep my word.”
Lifting up the mutilated paper sheet and placing my feet into stirrups as she opened my legs for a peek inside, she needled her gloved finger in, first to the right, then the left.
“Noticing anything unusual?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
But knowing she now had a captive audience, she continued with her unsolicited advice.
“I’m just saying, you’re not prepared for what’s ahead. I wanted to do it for my parents and just couldn’t. They had live-in help, but it all becomes just too much. There’s a lovely facility in San Jose. I’ll get you their information.”
There it was again, that awful word: facility. Those sterile hospital-like settings for aging people who relied on overworked, underpaid, and often unavailable nurses to help them get dressed, use the bathroom, change sanitary undergarments, and wipe crystalized drool from their faces as they sat in a hallway all day with no one to talk to. A place with medicinal smells, loud noises, grumpy roommates, and boredom—my father’s greatest fear.
Angrily, I kicked my feet out of the loops and sat straight up. Adjusting the crumpled, twisted paper cloth across my lap, I crossed my bare chest with my shivering arms, and declared, “I can do this. I will do this. He’s not going to a nursing home.”
Seeing she’d lost the battle—I can be pretty convincing when I allow my stubborn streak to prevail—Patty put her arms around me as if to say, I’m sorry. Instantly, I started to cry.
“Why is everyone so negative about my decision?” I wept. “It’s not like I won’t have help.”
Blowing my nose into what became the largest Kleenex I’d ever used, I sat stark naked and explained to Patty how all this was going to work. I needed her on my side. Besides, weren’t doctors supposed to want what was best for the patient?
“Look, we’re keeping the caregiver he already has to help for a few hours during the day.”
“I thought you said on your last visit that she was taking advantage of him by allowing a lot of people to stay in his house?”
“I know, but she can move him like no one I’ve ever seen. She needs the job badly, she doesn’t charge much, and I’ll be in and out all day to make sure there aren’t any shenanigans going on. This will be an 8:30 to 4:00 p.m. job for her, going forward. I can easily handle the rest.”
Feeling cold, I took the snotty, ripped coverlet and wrapped myself up again. I wanted out of there. I didn’t need one more person telling me what to do.
“I’ve got this covered,” I said boldly, proving I was Wonder Woman. “You’ll see. Besides, he’s ninety-five. How long does he have left?”
An hour later, I pulled into the driveway and stared at my home. It was about to undergo a makeover, but not a cosmetic one with lots of fresh paint and new furniture. Long ago, this structure housed sleeping babies who quickly became toddlers, rambunctious children, nasty teenagers, and, finally, charming adults. Our home was the place where my kids and all their friends came to hang out and where my family gathered for parties and the holidays. On top of it all, it was the only place since my childhood bed-room where I felt safe.
Was my life going to completely change? I contemplated as I sat in my driveway, staring at the blooming cherry tree in front of the living room window. Was I in complete denial? Christ, I felt like I did when I told my family I was marrying Dave. I remembered how no one could see the attraction, especially my mom. After all, he was three years younger, fresh out of college, not Catholic, and a Republican for God’s sake.
Then, remembering how my marriage didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, I became worried the naysayers may be right.
Feeling a tear break loose as it slowly dripped down my cheek, my anxiety suddenly turned into rage.
“Damn you all!” I screamed over the sound of Rachel Platten’s Fight Song on the car radio. “I’m going to show everyone—my brothers, my friends, and my kids!”
Wiping the blackened streaks away from my eyes, I decided no more tears. It was time to celebrate my last moments alone.
Entering the house, I went straight for the refrigerator. A glass of Rombauer Chardonnay always made me feel better, and I was going to enjoy every drop of the liquid gold, maybe the entire bottle. Dad would be here first thing in the morning and there was no turning back.
“Cheers, Dad!” I sang out, raising my glass to the corner where his chair would soon sit. “It’s you and me until the end. We’re going to do this, together.”
The following day, I drove to San Carlos. Passing the oak trees along Highway 280, I was reminded of all the years I’d made this half-hour trek. Looking at the Fitbit on my wrist that measured my footsteps each day, I began to wonder how many miles I had travelled to my parents’ house over the past thirty years. If I added up all the get-togethers, holidays, parties, days of duty to clean their house, errand runs, visits to the various doctor appointments (senior citizens have a lot of those), and emergency trips to the hospital, I was sure my car had traveled across the country and back again at least fifty times.
I can’t believe I won’t be doing this anymore. I sighed. It’s been such a part of my daily routine. I wonder if I’ll miss it.
I thought back to when Michelle had just been born and how the time spent at my family home was fun. I loved watching both my mom and dad as they wrapped her in their arms as thoughts of the births of their own children took them back in time. Babies have a lovely way of not just adding new life to a home, but hope for the future too.
But after my grandmother moved in, Dad had his massive stroke, and Mom’s health faltered in quick succession, the mood shifted south. Just as the short, bitingly cold days of winter bring a heaviness without the extra light, visits to my childhood home became unbearable as I listened to my mother moan, “This house is nothing but gloom and doom.”
Staring through my windshield at my
childhood home, I shook away the memories. Those were awful years. Mom was in such pain, and no matter what I did or how often I showed up, nothing made her happy. But while it was sad to think I was ending a chapter in my life, a new one was about to begin. I was determined to make it a happy ending, no matter how many people told me differently.
Bounding through the front door, I found Dad as I did every day, sitting by the same window my mother loved.
“Hi Dad,” I called, but was quickly caught off guard by the image of him sitting alone, slumped in his chair, eyes closed.
When in the hell did he begin to look so old? I pondered, thinking that he didn’t look that frail the day before.
Unlike my mother, whose age showed on every part of her body from the time she turned fifty, Dad maintained a youthful, handsome Spencer Tracey-like look: square jaw, rugged brow with deep-set lines that became engraved in his forehead from pensive thought over the years, furry caterpillar eyebrows that danced over his blue eyes when he laughed, and a dimple in his cheek that lit up his entire face when he smiled. Now, he was a shriveled shell of the man he used to be.
“Dad, are you ready?” I crooned, hoping to sound lighthearted as I touched his arm. “The movers will be here any minute to bring your bed and chair to my house.”
Opening his eyes, he tried to focus on the tree outside the window. As always, little birds were flitting in and out, chasing each other just like his children once did on the lawn below.
“Your mother always loved those birds,” he said wistfully.
“I know, Dad. I love them too.” Sitting on the stool next to him, gently rubbing my hand over the dry skin on his sun-damaged arm, I tried to soothe him. “I have birds at my house too.”
“I don’t want to go.”
Uh-oh! Here we go again.
“My refrigerator is filled with all the ice creams you like, every flavor.”
“I changed my mind.”
“I even made a batch of my famous chocolate cookies you love so much.”
“I’m going to miss this house.”
Feeling my body quiver, I was fearful tears would once again find their way to my tired eyes. Knowing I’d feel the same way when it was my turn to leave my home and memories, I was lost for words.
Maybe this is a mistake. Was I too rash to demand this?
But, knowing that he’d have issues with other caregivers if he stayed, plus the fact I’d have to be there every day to oversee things, I kissed his cheek and gently said, “I know, Dad. I’ll miss this home too, but it’s time. I promise you’ll grow to love it at my house. I’ll take good care of you.”
Looking towards Enemi, I nodded with pleading eyes. Backing up and out of the way, I watched her lift my father with a count of one, two, three, and plop him into his wheelchair. Twirling him about, she turned and headed for the ramp. Quickly, his body shrank and his head became glued to his chest. Dad was withdrawing to his quiet space like he did when things became difficult. With a “do not disturb” sign draped over his presence, it was evident he was praying. He and God had some talking to do.
“You go on ahead,” I called as she loaded him in his car. “I’m right behind you.”
Walking through the house, emotions burned as if I were walking on hot coals, and I broke down.
“I want it back,” I wept out loud, falling to the floor and clutching my knees to my chest. “I want those years when Mom danced through the house singing to show tunes as she cleaned. I want to watch Dad mow the lawn with the Giants game blaring in the background on his transistor radio. I miss hearing my brothers talking all at once and my grandmother telling stories of her time in silent movies. I miss my mom.”
Knowing this was a piece of life long gone, I found myself wishing I could hide under my bed like I did as a child until all this sadness went away.
“Jackie, get a grip,” I heard my consciousness speak. “Look at the bright side. At least you won’t be driving up here on an instant’s notice anymore to take him to the hospital. Doctors and hospital rides will begin and end at your home. There’ll only be one house to keep clean, one refrigerator to fill, and less money spent on gas.”
Giving my emotions a moment to swell and subside, I began to realize how truly tired I’d become after seven years of running back and forth on a daily basis.
I’m sorry, Dad, I prayed. I know this is going to be hard for you. But I just can’t do it anymore. I won’t do it anymore. I’ve lost too much time.
Wiping the deluge away from my face with my sleeve, I looked in the bathroom mirror to make sure mascara wasn’t all over my face. I didn’t want him to know I’d had a breakdown. Taking a deep breath, I stared at the sullen image looking back at me.
“You can do this, Jackie girl. You can do this.”
When I pulled into the driveway a half hour later, Dad and Enemi were waiting patiently in the shade of a looming Redwood tree.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. There was a little accident,” I fibbed. “Let me open the house. The ramp is on the patio.”
Pushing open the gate, I ushered the two of them past the garbage cans and around the corner of my well-manicured garden with white daisies, red American Beauty roses, and impatiens blooming in every color. And, just like at my parents’ home on Windsor Drive, tiny birds sang in the trees as if to say, “Welcome, Jack. This is your new happy place.”
“Won’t this patio be nice to sit on? We can have lunch out here when the weather’s warm.”
With his head still down and eyes glued shut, I wondered if he was asleep.
“Dad, did you hear me?”
Silence.
“Dad?”
He held out his arm as if to say, “Cut it out.” I stopped haranguing him and opened the door.
He’d be okay, I consoled myself. Just wait till he sees how much I spoil him. He’ll wonder why he didn’t move in sooner.
Once inside, Enemi wheeled him into his new bedroom.
“What do you think?”
Knowing he loved yellow and that his eyesight was fading, I had it painted it the most obnoxious, bright neon shade of butter.
“Dad? What do you think?” I asked again, hoping to get him out of his funk.
Finally opening his eyes, he lifted his head and looked around. Making a long, drawn out sigh, his acceptance was emerging. There was no turning back; he knew he had to make the best of things.
“I like the yellow. It makes the room cheery.”
“I’m glad you like it. Where do you want me to put your bed?”
His eyes went directly to the window that looked out onto a lovely maple tree, thick with emerald green leaves just beginning to uncurl and, once again, birds of various species darting in and out.
“Right there.” He pointed. “I want to be able to look outside.”
“Okay. Now let’s look at where your recliner will go.”
Grabbing the handles of his wheelchair, I thought it best that I start learning how to drive his mode of transportation. Enemi always held the keys, but she wouldn’t be there 24/7. Backing him up, we got through the door, but when I turned him around, the footrest rammed the corner of the wall, taking out a chunk of painted drywall.
“Oops, sorry, Dad. Are you okay?” I feigned worry but felt annoyed that this might be just the first of many tragedies to my Benjamin Moore-painted walls.
Nodding, he waved it off as if swatting a fly. “Don’t worry honey. She hit the walls all the time at home too. It just takes practice.”
I’m going to have to be a lot more careful with my driving, or there’ll be nothing left of my house.
Making it into the family room, I stood behind him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pointed to the large picture window.
“And that’s where your chair will sit. Won’t it be great?” I heralded, happy with my decision. “You can look out the window, have fresh air anytime you want, plus be right in front of the TV for all your games.”
“I don’t like
watching games.”
This man adored his Giants and 49ers.
“Don’t be silly. You love your teams.”
“No, not anymore. Just turn on channel 229.”
Scratching my head, I had no idea what could be so interesting on such an obscure station. Plus, I wasn’t sure my TV would go back that far.
“What’s on 229?”
“It’s the Catholic channel. I want to go to Mass every day and say my rosary.”
Being a man who never missed a day going to Mass, Dad found he could attend it by watching the service on TV. Maybe it wasn’t as meaningful as kneeling in a pew, head bowed, as the priest conducted the sacrament, but it would do just the same.
Suddenly, the movers arrived.
“Great! Here comes your chair. We can get you settled while I fix up your bed.”
Once the chair was put in place, Enemi yanked him out of his wheelchair and dumped him in it.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked before grabbing the sheets and blankets.
Shaking his head, he retreated again into his dark, quiet space for prayer. With his one good hand resting on his cheek, elbow firmly planted on the armrest, Dad went into seclusion and would remain there for the next five hours. Covering him with a blanket my mother had crocheted long ago, hoping that would make him feel a bit like home, I kissed him once again.
Okay, God! Please give me the strength, courage, and know-how to do this right!
CHAPTER 7
The Reality of Care
As our first day together wore on, quiet and uneventful, I found my thoughts cheering, See, I can do this! Caring for an old soul was no problem when all they did was sleep.
Standing in the doorway, watching his bowed head, closed eyes, and index finger resting just to the side of his nose—I smiled. Other than new surroundings, his life would be reminiscent of days recently gone by: prayerful, contemplative, and sedentary. The only break in his deep concentration would come when I asked if I could get him anything.
At 4:00 p.m., Enemi prepared for her departure, and my role as the gatekeeper was about to begin. Unfortunately, little did I realize that my duties as Florence Nightingale would entail more than delivering medications and fixing a Band-Aid or two.
The Promise I Kept Page 6