“You’re right, honey. That was stupid of me. She’s nice and I’m glad she’s been a good friend to you, but I like you the way you are. I guess I just got nervous for a minute.”
Kissing his cheek, I stood up to grab my suitcase, but before I could leave, he asked, “Do you remember the first time I took you to the Stations of the Cross? I think you were only five.”
How I remembered. It was in the evening and the church was lit mainly by candlelight. I’m sure I nagged him into letting me come along because I always wanted to go where he went, but since I’d yet to have any true religious training, I found myself confused.
Placing me in a pew in the front, he told me to stay put while he prayed before the fourteens pictures of the agony Christ endured.
“Yes, how could I forget? I couldn’t understand why you were bowing in front of pictures of a half-naked man.”
“I told you to sit there, but you crawled out and stood alongside me the entire time.” He grinned at the memory. “You were so cute. You kept asking me a million questions.”
“Well, you have to admit, the story of a father wanting his son to die for sins other people created was a little scary. I was afraid I might do something to make you really mad and you’d want me to die too.”
Rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, he began to giggle.
“It took a lot of convincing with you. You always had questions when it came to religion. You were like your mother in that way. You know when we first got married, she wasn’t a very good Catholic.”
“Really?” I said, surprised. “You mean she didn’t buy into all the nonsense too?”
“No, I had to do a lot of convincing.”
Smiling, he went quiet for a moment.
“But as the years went by, she found so much solace in her faith.”
In my childhood home, the only acceptable education was parochial, and I suffered all the rules: Skirts had to hit just at the knee, and if there was any question, the nuns sent us down on our knees to be sure the hem dusted the floor. Excessive chattering left me with my favorite solution for any mishap in our home—electrical tape—securely slapped across my mouth. And, if there was even a hint of a chance that you missed Mass over the weekend, you became the nun’s whipping girl or boy as an example of impure behavior.
We were taught not just what to believe, but how to think. Feeling like a butterfly inside a dark box, I rebelled in my college years.
“I bet it made you sad when I stopped going to church when I was at USF.”
He confirmed my assumption with a nod, but said he felt better knowing my rosary still sat next to my bed if I wanted to pray.
“I know that bothered you, Dad, and I’m sorry. But it was the 1970s and everyone was angry in the world. I was so afraid David would be sent off to the Vietnam War. I needed to blame someone for all the world’s troubles, so God became my target.”
“I understand. It’s good to have a questioning mind. It’s the key to powerful thinking.”
Looking at the clock, I realized an hour had passed and I should hit the road. Putting my arms around my father’s neck, I kissed his cheek, and reminded him, “I love you.”
At that moment, Kim walked in smiling. “Hi Jack, how are you today?”
With an equally bright grin, he said to me, “I love you too. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
CHAPTER 20
Learning to Walk Again
Just as quickly as the roller coaster had taken me to the top, it began to speed down toward another obstacle.
“The one thing I want to do before I die is walk to the front door,” Dad proclaimed, as if it were an ordinary request that could easily be bought at Target. “I want to get in the car and take you to the commissary one last time.”
Listening to his desire, my heart sank. My father hadn’t moved his legs in nearly four years.
“Dad, what a great wish to have,” I said, looking into his bright eyes but afraid of how I was going to tell him that this was impossible.
“It’s not just a wish. I know I can do it,” he announced with resolve.
By the imploring look in his Irish eyes, this wasn’t just some daydream of wishful thinking. There was a burning desire deep within his core to maneuver his legs one last time, take me to the Moffett Field Military base, and go shopping at the PX. As a retired naval captain in the Reserves, he still had access to the base. It was an outing we loved to do together in days gone by.
Wanting to change the subject, I tried to divert his attention to the Giants’ season.
“That was some game last night, wasn’t it?” I began. “They just might make it to the World Series again this year.”
“Do you think you and Enemi could help me stand so I could try to take a few steps?”
“Boy, that Tim Lincecum is an incredible pitcher. I wonder how long his tiny body will be able to throw like that.”
“I bet if you stood on one side of me and Enemi on the other, I could do it.”
“I think there’s a game on tonight too.”
As I started to cover up his frail, broken body, Dad grabbed my arm, and stared imploringly, his eyes burning laser rays through me.
“Jackie, please. I know what you’re doing here. You don’t want to talk about this because you don’t think I can do it. I need you to believe in me. I know I can.”
My father was born with dominant genes of optimism and gratitude. Even in the darkest times, he found a way to believe all would be okay. While I sometimes wondered if he lived in a world of denial, rather than facing what was really in front of him, his doctor once told me he actually lived in a world of hope. Maybe that’s why he had outlived everyone.
Bending over to kiss his forehead, I said, “Let me think about how I can make this happen for you.”
“You promise you’ll try?”
“Yes, Dad, I promise.”
An hour later, I was hiking with my friend of over twenty years, Libby. Not only was she a licensed counselor, but she often knew the inner workings of my soul better than I did.
“I wasn’t prepared for what all this was going to entail,” I grumbled. “It’s hard enough just tending to the day-to-day shit, and I don’t mean that just figuratively.”
Feeling the lovely summer air tickle my hair and the sun’s warmth caress my shoulders, I was happy for the momentary reprieve. Nature had a way of giving me hope.
“I wish there was a training manual for caring for your parents. I’m sure there must be, but I think I’m too deep in the process now for one to do any good. I’ve had to learn what to do for him by the seat of my fat pants.”
Stopping under a tree for some shade, Libby said encouragingly, “You’re doing a great job. Stop being so hard on yourself.”
“No, I’m not. If I were doing a great job, I wouldn’t be hating my life right now. Everywhere I look I’m reminded of how much things have changed.”
“Like what?”
“The house has been destroyed by his wheelchair. Every time Enemi or I move him someplace, another chunk gets knocked off a wall. The floor is covered in scratches, and the house smells. God, how it smells,” I answered curtly, kicking at the dirt under my feet. “I throw his diapers out the minute he’s changed, but it’s like a musty, yeasty smell has been painted into the walls. Like gas that won’t waft away.”
As Libby put her arms around me, I burst into tears. “I’m beginning to hate it all again. I hate Enemi in my house every day. I hate that my brothers are so far away. I hate him for getting old. I hate me for hating.”
Libby let me wail. For what felt like an hour, she lovingly patted my back until the heaving sobs turned into whimpers. Hearing a calm return to my breathing, she held me at arms-length, looked deep into my eyes, and instructed, “Maybe you can find something that will take his mind off of how his life is. What do you think would be a fun thing for him?”
“Funny you should say that. He wants to learn to walk again.”
Her big brown eyes widened in surprise. “That’s it!” Libby exclaimed. “Just find a way to help him believe he can walk again.”
“How in the hell do I do that?”
Her eyes watched the clouds drifting overhead as she thought for a moment. “Well, he hasn’t exercised in years, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The first step to any physical activity is using the muscles. Maybe you could get a physical therapist to come to the house?”
Realizing at this point in his life it was more about the effort than the end result, I went home with a plan.
“Hi, Dad!” I called entering the family room. As always, he was in his natural position with his eyes closed, hand resting on his cheek as he relived some far away memory. “If you want to walk again, what you need to get your muscles strong is a physical therapist. I’m going to make a few calls.”
Opening his eyes, he beamed and nodded. “When can we start?”
Kissing his cheek, I wondered where in the hell I could find a physical therapist who would work for free? The miser in my father hated paying for services, and this Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was bare of any discretionary funds. But I knew there had to be a way. Then, the perfect solution came to me.
“Jenny, I’ve got an idea that might help both of us,” I said excitedly, bumping into my friend later that day at the YMCA.
Jenny Nappo was a physical therapist taking time off to raise her two beautiful little girls, Taylor and Courtenay. Knowing I might be able to barter something with her, like the use of my cabin in Tahoe anytime her family wanted to use it, I said, “Dad says he wants to walk again. There’s no way that will ever happen, but he has so little to look forward to that I thought it might lift his spirits just to try.”
After I explained the situation about his crippled nature but determined constitution, she paused at first. “Jackie, how often does he want to be worked with?”
“It can be whatever you’re able to give. I’ll play with the girls while you do it so you don’t have to make arrangements for them.”
“How about on Thursdays at 11:30 a.m.? The kids are in summer school. Will that work?”
I was ecstatic.
Two days later, Jenny arrived with her endearing disposition and what Dad thought were strong Irish genes.
“Hi Jack.” She beamed as I introduced the two of them. “I hear you want to walk. Well then, let’s get you strong so it can happen.”
She recited all the equipment she’d need: 2 lb. weights, exercise bands, and his walker. I immediately went to gather the tools of the trade so they could get started.
At first, there was no standing, let alone trying to walk. His legs had not just gone to sleep, they’d atrophied. There was work to be done to wake up the dead muscles and cells traversing through his mangled frame.
Weeks trickled by as she showed him the proper technique of doing bicep curls, side raises, and an over-head press with his functioning hand. The other side of his body just sat and watched.
“That’s great, Jack!” Jenny cheered. “You’re up to twenty repetitions.”
While he did numerous leg extensions with his good leg, it was torture watching him try to get the damaged one even an inch off the ground. Finally, after a month, Jenny asked, “How would you like to try to stand today?”
Smiling, he glowed as if he’d just been asked to dance by the prettiest girl in the room. But there was no way he’d be able to stand on his own.
With Enemi and Jenny flanking his sides, they held his walker in front of him for security while keeping his recliner close behind.
“Okay, Jack,” Jenny cheered. “Are you ready to try?”
He nodded with determination.
The two women grabbed the utility belt around his midsection and, with a count of one-two-three, he shot up with momentum. His good hand held on to the walker while they kept him erect. Then, they began pushing the wheels of the walker and kicking his bad leg forward.
“Great, Jack! You took three steps,” Jenny exclaimed.
But as quickly as his smile had appeared, it dissolved as exhaustion reared its ugly head.
“I need to sit down,” he sputtered, his body teetering. Grabbing the chair, Jenny pulled it behind him and Dad plopped down.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “That was fabulous.”
Shaking his head, he uttered in discouragement, “But I want to get to the door.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. This was your first time and look what you did!”
It was true he managed to move about five inches, but at this rate, it would take him all year to get halfway there. Maybe a year he didn’t have left on his calendar.
Despite the encouragement and love from Jenny, Enemi, and myself, the scowl on his face showed he was obviously disheartened.
“That was terrible. I want to go to bed.”
My heart crumbled as I felt saddened to think there’d be nothing in his final years that brought him any joy.
“Okay, Dad. We can try again another time.”
Taking him to his room, despite the fact it was only noon, Enemi got him ready for bed. He proceeded to sleep for the next two days.
“I’m sorry, Jenny,” I apologized as I walked her to her car. “I totally understand if you want to stop coming. He can get a little grumpy sometimes.”
“Jackie, I adore your dad. Let’s keep doing this. He did well,” she reassured me as she rubbed my arm for comfort. “Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to take even one step. I’ll be back next week.”
Hugging her goodbye, I went back into the house, stood at the door to his room, and watched him nap. How I wished I could make things better for him. It seemed no matter what I tried: the books on tape, headphones attached to the TV so he could hear his Mass, or extra sweet treats were only Band-Aids healing the wounds of aging. Just a temporary solution. I wished that life had treated him better and that my mom was still here. She wasn’t supposed to die first. I wasn’t supposed to be in this predicament of giving up my life to take care of him.
A couple of days later, I prepared myself for the silence that would follow when he finally woke up. Whenever Dad felt truly defeated, he’d fall into a funk that took days to climb out of.
Finally, the sleeping prince awakened.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, in a welcoming tone as I entered his bedroom. “Would you like to listen to your music before Enemi gets here?”
Turning his face towards me, I was surprised to see his face actually beaming.
“Can Jenny come today?”
Shocked at his happy mood, I asked, “Do you want to try to walk again?”
He nodded and I pulled up a chair to sit beside him.
“Dad, she needs to take care of her kids today.”
“I know, but I’d love to see her again. She doesn’t have to work with me. Just visit.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“I love hearing about her kids and her husband. She’s such a sweet girl. Do you know she’s from Canada? I’ve never known anyone from there before. But the best part is that she’s Irish too!”
“You like having someone to talk to. I must get pretty boring all the time,” I asked, gently rubbing the morning stubble on his cheeks.
Looking back out the window, he hesitated before answering. Then, with a voice filled with loneliness, he answered, “I miss your mother.”
Tears burning my eyes, I agreed. “Yes, I know. I miss her too.”
And so it was. For the next couple of months, Jenny came with her fresh face full of love for him, and he for her. While there was some exercising going on, for the most part it was just talking. Dad was relearning the art of conversation, something that had died in him with my mother’s passing.
It’s been said that when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I’d been searching for the reason why my father was still alive. After all, everything had been stripped away and I
couldn’t see the value in just lying around all day with nothing to do.
But as I watched him come alive in those weeks with Jenny, I came to fully understand that the gift he was blessed with was hope. Hope ends fear. Hope brings courage. Hope is love, and love can make anything possible, even walking again. How I longed to be just like him, sharing his hope.
CHAPTER 21
Changing of the Guard
Fatigue is something we all feel from time to time. But caregiver fatigue is different. It’s like plugging your cell phone in all night only to find the battery is still dead in the morning. No amount of sleep can recharge the individual.
God! She’s out like a light again.
“Enemi,” I called, shaking her shoulder. “Enemi, wake up.”
Lifting her head, she slowly opened her eyes.
“Why don’t you go out for some fresh air? I’m here to read Dad his mail. I will be here for about an hour.”
Looking up with tired eyes, she stared at me for a moment with a glazed expression as if she were struggling to comprehend what I’d just said. Cobwebs tend to multiply in the brain when not exercised regularly. And, just like a sow bug rolled up into a ball in a child’s hand, she slowly uncurled her body to muster all her strength to stand up.
“Thank you, Jackie. That’s a good idea. I could use a walk. I’m really tired today.”
“I know these days must be long for you. It’s beautiful outside.”
Finding my father in the family room, I thought about how things had declined. Enemi used to be so attentive, ready to take on any job when it came to his care. Now, she was that adorable dwarf Sleepy, always droopy-eyed and ready to fall asleep at any given moment, only this Snow White was losing her patience.
“Hi, Dad. I have your mail,” I announced. “Are you ready?”
“Where’s Enemi?” he asked.
“I told her to take a walk. Why?”
“I feel like she goes missing the minute she puts me in this chair. I call her, but she doesn’t answer.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Things were apparently slipping through the cracks more than I thought. He’d never complained about her whereabouts before.
The Promise I Kept Page 17