Foundation.

Every time I take a potential buyer to look at a house, they always talk about the foundation.  Without fail.  They want to make sure the foundation is solid.

When a sailboat is on a choppy lake, the sails shift with the wind.  They propel the boat ... push it, and make sure it stays afloat.

So since October 9, I've felt like my foundation isn't as sturdy and the wind, taken out of my sails.  I've learned a lot, and now I'm stuck.  Life is a balance of holding on and letting go, after all, and I don't want to let go.  I have no choice, but I don't want to.  Most days I daydream about him more than I live in reality.  I talk to him.  I listen to the voicemails he left me on my phone.  Every day,  I look at the Cabrera triple crown Detroit News article he stuck on my mirror in my bedroom that I'll never take down.  For fucks sake, I won't even delete the nightly reminders for his medication on my phone.  No way in Hell.  Those annoying bells still make me feel connected.  Now if that's not a "what the hell?!!" moment I don't know what is. ...

In the last two months, people have been overly kind, understanding (or tried), compassionate, quick to share empathies, and generous with their ears and shoulders.  I'm appreciative.  But I'm sick of talking about dad's departure.  Sometimes I just want to pretend he's at home, coloring with Drew and that's as far away as he'll ever be.

Can I just say that this Holiday season is horrendous?  I hate it.  It was his favorite time of year.  Every red bow, every Santa hat, every figurine that lights up and plays obnoxious music has pops written all over it.  Dad would buy out Home Depot every year, I swear.  The more lights, the more loud ass bell ringing and carol singing the better.  Christmas at our Parklane house was like Bronner's on steroids.

I was reading this blog on Facebook the other day listing the top things that grieving people don't want to hear.  I uttered a lot of "uh huhs" to myself.  People mean well, they really do.  But dear God, please stop saying "it'll get better" or "he's in a better place."  I have news for you, it'll get better when I decide to let it and I'm not ready for that.  This pain is excruciating but the crying is cleansing and it reminds me of the fact my dad cannot and will not ever be replaced in my life.  There's that  little bit of magic I always talk about.  They don't make 'em like him.  Next in line, there's no better place for my daddy to be than right here with his family.  Indeed.  I just wish I could hug him.  You have no idea, pops.  I just wish I could hug you.

The other night when Drew was practicing reading a bedtime story to me, she said that you told her you were proud of her.  If you did, I'm begging you to stay with her.  Those moments make her beam.  She can't get enough.

As 2016 approaches, I'm quick to say good riddance 2015, you sucked ass.  But I have this feeling of dread that I'm leaving him behind.  Yea I know I'm not, don't say it.  It's a feeling I have.  Please don't correct my feelings.  They're mine.  Every day I power through gets farther away from when he was here.  Seems absurd to be moving in the wrong direction like that.

Today I was moving my kitchen table over so I could fix my rug under it.  I had a flashback of you standing there next to me and mom the last time we did it.  You wanted to help so bad.  But you were confused and just stood there.  I got annoyed and said "dad, watch out!"  You were startled, but you knew you couldn't help with whatever it is we were doing.  So when I went back to that today, I sat next to my rug and broke down into a blubbering mess.  Like the ugly, snotty cry kind of blubbering mess.  DAMNIT, I hate this.

When I remember you, you're 65, healthy, tan, quick, sharp, hilarious; I could go on and on.  I have to really struggle to remember the 85 year old with dementia and I'm grateful for that.  Thank you for being the father you were.  The man you were to my mother.  To your family.  To your friends.  The imprint you left will forever be unmatched.  The man I marry, if I find him, has some shoes to fill.  May be close to impossible.  By the way, since you're in with the big guy now, you can bring my soulmate to me anytime  **wink wink**.

In closing I just want to put into words how lucky I am to have Drew, my mom, my family, and my closest friends.  Without all of them, this would be even more unendurable, if that's possible.  I'm grateful for every shoulder I've cried on (sorry about the makeup) and every ear I've burned up.  I promise to be there for you when you need me.

Because the truth is, it takes a village to help us get through the rough parts. 

We grow from the rough...

... and we learn to live anyway.

         

 

  







  

 

   

So Long.

By so long I mean soooooo long.  Why does it feel like it was so long ago?  Is this me in denial?  I don't even remember the stages of grief and I've googled them like 12 times.  The dreaded words:  my dad passed away 21 days ago.  These have been the longest, most clouded, chaotic 21 days of my life.  Between losing my dad, a million people around all the time, worrying about mom, worrying about Drew, missing my dad madly, airport trips, broken sleep, I am absolutely exhausted.

And I don't think it's hit me.

I feel like a huge drum.  Sounds so weird ... it does to me too but that's the only thing I've been able to think of that represents this hollow.... loud feeling.  It's so empty and so loud.  If you beat a drum, the sound lingers.  Rolls like thunder.  I hate this.  I never knew I could miss someone so much but yet feel so lucky that I had him as my father for 36 years.  The guy was incredible.  Over 200 people at his memorial and I'm still getting cards in the mail.  Leaving an impact on the world around you like that is what everyone strives for, right?  So proud of him. 

Here we go with the roller coaster.  Far from over I'm sure.

I read a story from my mom at the funeral and never wavered.  Although I did almost knock down the podium .. . truly.  There are times that I'm shocked that I can get through a story, a thought without shedding a tear or even having to swallow a lump.  But then there are the times that I can't even speak.  Occasionally I panic and there's about 9 seconds where I think I'll never be able to live without him.  I snap out of it, but those 9 seconds are excruciating.  I'm so sick of tears burning my eyes.  That damn film gets on my contacts and I can't see shit.  I always notice now.  I notice little girls with their dads, I notice red F-250s coming toward me on the road, I notice Marine tattoos, I notice papas with their granddaughters, I notice the absence of Obsession cologne in my every day, I notice that the paper doesn't come to the house anymore and I notice the space that he filled.  The idea of a wedding or seeing wedding pictures of brides with their daddies sends me into a moment for sure.  The emptiness is all consuming.  Every day I laugh out loud and every day I cry really hard.      

How long is this going to hurt?  I know I know, no time limit.  I wish I had a crystal ball.  I can however say this one thing.  That in a way it has brought us together even tighter.  Talk about leaning.  It's beautiful to have my mom and my siblings.  It just is.  No one else knows the empty like they do.  Yikes.

Worrying about Drew a little ... She has barely cried and when I gently asked her why, she said "Because he never left.  He's been right next to me."  I hope it's true.  I really really hope it's true. 

I'll just say that I'm waiting for time to do its job.  Is better even possible?  I keep thinking about all of the things I will miss with him.  Opening Day won't ever feel the same, that's for sure.  The list gets a new addition daily.  I want to also thank my mom for constantly being in all of our faces with a video camera for years.  Because of her, Drew and I will never forget what papa's voice sounded like.

Surely one of my most favorite sounds.

 

 

It's Not Goodbye .10-9-15.

I'm going to admit right now that there has never been a time in my life I can remember that I haven't been completely terrified of this day.  To say out loud, or type, that my dad died is more painful than I ever could have fathomed.  The finality of this is breathtaking.

This week has been the most tragically beautiful string of blurriness and emotions I've ever experienced.  Dad's been unresponsive for the most part since Monday.  A moan, a wince, a furrowed brow, sometimes a grin.  That was it.  So we started to make phone calls.  We called family, we called friends, I texted, I left voicemails, and I was careful not to veer from the same strong script to the ones who answered: 

"Hospice says 24hrs - 7 days.  Come say goodbye."

So for the next two days, friends and family trickled in and out as the family movies played in the background.  We wanted to make sure dad was hearing laughter and love from his favorite people every minute.  There was food constantly being dropped off.  There were 40 pairs of shoes at the door, voices ... so many voices.  Margaret crushing pills every two hours ... did we sponge his mouth?  Dishes clanking because everyone had to eat, although no one felt like it.  The damn coffee pot making its 48th pot of coffee by 2pm.  The hum of the washing machine and the dryer on at all times.  Oh yea the air conditioning too.  That was running.  Hospice said we should keep it cool in the house.. better for his circulation.  These people think of everything.  More friendly chatter:  "He was the most wonderful man," "We are so sorry you are going through this," "He always made me laugh," "Remember that time when ....."   So many memories were laughed about .... tears fell down for sure.  My dad was just that guy.  The guy that was loved by every person he touched.  He never knew a stranger and would give you the shirt off his back.  Yea, that guy.     

Hospice nurses came daily, sometimes more than once, vitals were taken, approximate timelines and stages were a regular topic of conversation.  In these last 4 days, I've learned words like apnea, dysphagia (?), death rattle, DNR order.  I learned how to bathe my dad and change his sheets without moving him from the bed.  I learned that we needed to protect his skin with a rub.  The sheets must be perfectly flat because any little wrinkle or edge might make him uncomfortable.  His heels needed to be floated.  Do you know what that means?  I didn't either.  His heels couldn't touch the bed because they would get sores.  Did you know that hearing is the last sense to go?  That means daddy heard everything .. we all told him it was ok to let go.  We will all be fine.  But he heard us laugh, he heard us remembering.  He heard every voice that stood by his side.  He knows all of his kids and his person, my mama, were there with him and we all had a part in his peaceful passing.  See the tragically beautiful thing there?

I've been bringing Drew home at night to sleep in her own bed and go to school the next day .. keeping some normalcy.  What is normalcy, anyway?  Moving on ... So I got the call at 3:23 this morning from Amy.  I said the word fuck to myself as soon as I came to and saw who was on the other end.  Fuck, it's Amy.  "Dad's gone."  She managed to muster through tears.  "Come over."  I shot out of bed in a fog, went and woke Drew, threw on shorts, flip flops in 50 degrees, and drove to mom and dad's in the same fog.  Where the Hell was I on my way to, again?  Oh yea, my parents' ... because my dad just took his last breath.  My dad just took his last breath.  I saw in Drew's eyes she wasn't ready for this to happen yet.  But really, were any of us?  Poor Drew .. I'm her mom.  I'm supposed to be her safe place.  I was a blubbering mess.  So you know what the kid says to me?  Just this:  "Mom I'm happy for papa ... because this was his choice."  Huh.  Drew 1 Mommy 0.  Once again she leaves me speechless.  Thank you for being mine, Drew. 

The 4 minute drive to mom and dad's is over.  I walked in the front door and up the stairs.  That seemed to take forever and everything echoed.  Maybe Amy was joking.  Shit, maybe dad's been joking this whole time.  "Get up, let's go out to eat!" Yea, no ... there he was.  Lifeless.  His face, still warm, obviously needed just one more kiss.  I ran my fingers through his grey hair .. I remember sliding my thumbs across his eyebrows and the way they felt.  Coarse.  And that one freckle he had on his head ... I used to call him Gorbachev.  Will I remember this?  Who knows .. and then I felt every wrinkle around his eyes, every whisker I missed while shaving him.  Oops.  And those ear lobes ... HA!  Those ear lobes.  I joked with him when I was a little girl and told him if I had his ear lobes, I'd pierce them 20 times!  He always just shook his head.  I closed my eyes and in 30 seconds, my 36 years with my dad flashed like an old Polaroid.  It was jolting.  Damn I'm going to miss that guy.

Just then I realized my dad would never dance with me at my wedding.

The funeral directors came to get dad's body.  My sister took Drew to her house next door, mom went to her room, and there I was.  I just had to watch him go; not sure why.  They gently wrapped him and carried him down the stairs.  It was quiet ... so quiet that the only sound I could hear was the buzz of the light bulb.  Is that really even a thing?  Do light bulbs buzz?  I just stared at his empty bed and cried.  As the sun started coming up, the construction traffic across from mom and dad's started.  The day was starting.  How is life around me even going on?  Doesn't everyone know my dad is gone?  Things should cease.  But they don't .... clocks keep ticking, the world keeps spinning.  Days pass by.  Curled up in a ball on the couch alone, I looked up and saw one of my closest friends walking up the stairs toward me.  He didn't say a word, just scooped me up and let me cry.  I remember thinking right then at that moment there was no place I'd rather be.  Thank you for that because I know you're reading this.

Looking over his shoulder with tears rolling onto him and the couch, I realized that for the last week, myself and my family just helped my dad on the longest journey of his life.  The most significant one to date.  Together we gave him a comfortable, loving, peaceful sendoff.  I know he's thankful because I am.  Kudos to my family.  Daddy taught us well.  We are a strong little clique, aren't we?

So now what?  Where do I even go from here?  Believe it or not, helping take care of my dad gave me a purpose.  I had no idea that's what it was, but it was.  Need to know what kind of medications he's on and how much?  I got it.  Need to know his A1C number?  I got it.  Need to know why we need 2 separate appointments at the VA?  Let me explain..  His blood pressure was always low, sugar always runs high, psoriasis on both knees and his left foot.  Sees a podiatrist regularly.  So now do I just get rid of that information engraved on my brain?  Seems absurd to me.

One day at a time is my M.O.  That's the only way.

To daddy, well here we are.  This week has dragged on but gone way too fast.  Does that make sense?  As Aunt Nancy would say, journey well.  I miss you like the worst kind of crazy.  The emptiness I feel is consuming and at times unbearable.  I won't wrap my head around this for some time, I'm sure.  You left an imprint that will forever be unmatched on both myself and my daughter.  I'm not going to say goodbye because that's not what it is.  It is until we meet again.  We will do that.  I promise to help mom heal.  She said last night that she feels like she will have a broken heart for the rest of her life.  You both are so lucky that you had a love like you had.  I won't settle until I find that.  I know that she was your person and you hers.  I promise to help mom heal.

To Drew, you have now experienced your first big loss.  And what a loss it is.  I'm so sorry baby.  Papa loved you with his whole soul.  He still does.  When I told you last night that he is all around us, I wasn't telling a lie.  He will be with us always... protecting, watching, hopefully playing a practical joke or two.  We will get through this my love.

To mom, just breathe.  You have the most awesome guardian angel now.  You were loved in a way that some people are never lucky enough to experience.  That is not much comfort now, but it will bring you peace in time.  I love you and I am here.

I've decided this isn't the end of my blog.  This is and always has been my outlet and I will most definitely need it in the days to come.  I thank every reader of my words for sharing in the journey of my dad.  It was hard, exhausting, lovely, trying, beautiful, and tested every ounce of patience, strength, and will I have.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Rest easy, daddy .. I will miss you every minute for the rest of my life.  So until we meet again ...

 

      



              



       

The H word.

Today, after dad's first night at home from the awful nursing home he was in, it has been decided to call in hospice.  Hospice.  We. are. calling. in. hospice. for. MY. DAD.  I typed that like I said it today.  Like this stuttering, garbled mess of words that just falls out.  I really can't wrap my head around it.  I mean I knew it was coming, but hospice?  I shudder when I hear the h word. 
Always have.

So many times, perhaps thousands in the last couple of months I have asked myself if I asked him enough.  It plays in my head over and over and over.  The record spins, it skips, it spins.  Did I ask him enough.  And will he be here with me.  Will he check on us.  Will he visit Drew.  Will he know we miss him.  Will he watch the milestones.  But most importantly, did I ask him enough.  It's kind of annoying.  I can't do one thing about it, so have you ever panicked because you realize halfway to work you left the curling iron plugged in?  Yea, that.  Did I ask him enough. 
And the silence is deafening.

When I get sad, or angry, or feel helpless, I pull away from everyone and everything.  It's just the way I operate.  I couldn't care less if it's right.  It's my way.  Shit I even pull away from daddy.  I get so fucking mad, like this is his fault.  Ok maybe not his but someone's.  This shit is someone's fucking fault.  The mixed emotions I feel every day are like a really crazy painting.  One with absolutely no object that someone threw together and you think to yourself "Now who the Hell would pay for that?"  Apparently I inherited it for free. 
It's just hanging there.

I have the worst headache today.  My eyes feel like dry wells.  Nothing left to give.  Then tonight when Drew and I walked into mom and dad's and dad was in his chair surrounded by brother Mike, Amy, Mark, mom, and cousin Margaret, I felt that sense of peace again.  Thank God he is home; he can feel our love all over him like the warmest blanket you can find.  The one with the soft fleece on one side.  That's all I want.  Well that's a lie; I want him back but that's not gonna happen so once reality settles in I realize peace and warmth for him is all I want. 

But hold on ... I've had one emotion for 20 seconds so time to switch gears ...

I feel alone.  I'm definitely NOT alone.  I have a million family members I can call at any given moment.  I have friends that love me like crazy and would do anything for me.  I am the center of my child's universe and she is engraved in my soul.  I am definitely NOT alone.  But I always feel that way.  I guess it's because I'm alone with my thoughts.  I can't escape them and I'd love to .. just for a few minutes a day.  Stop thinking about the Disney World trips and how dad would act like a kid again, stop thinking about him taking me on the job sites with all of the boys, stop thinking about his jokes, his laugh, his love for my mom, his ability to command a room, his love for his family, his firm back hand if you were a smart ass, the fact that he never missed one of my basketball games, his generosity, his love for horses, his love for cars, jumping out of bed at the sound of his door knob at the end of the hall ... "I'm up!" ...  every single one of my brothers knows that one!!! It just goes on and on. 
In my heart and my head, this is the end of the greatest era I will ever see.

When something ends, something new begins.  That's what I always hear so that's what I'm gonna go with.  I guess now it's about dad's journey.  I have said a million times that I'm so lucky to have had him. 

WE are so lucky to have had him.

To Drew, as you get older I will constantly remind you to hold memories tight. 
And always remember that with family and love, you are unbreakable.

   

 








 

Indeed.

Here it is.  We are taking mom to Minnesota to see her family because that's where she needs to be.  Dad is in Respite care.  Meaning a "nursing home" with full time care while we are gone.  It's part of his VA benefits.

I'm not sure if I chose not to see the difference in dynamic.  I've mentioned it before, but did I really see it?  The dynamic of this loss we are experiencing.  I mean, he's our dad.  But he's the love of my mom's life.  I realized I can't imagine this.  Heartbroken is a cheap word for what I feel for her.  He was her prince.

We are looking into nursing homes.  Permanent ones.  Like "he won't live with mom anymore" permanent.  Today was the first day I walked into their house without him there.  It felt painfully hollow and I was dismal and bitter all at once.  His barren chair with the blanket me and Drew had made for him draped over the back.  His water bottle.  That damn water bottle we push on him every day that he fights us on.  I smiled a little.  But then the emptiness was all consuming.  The floor he walks on, the doors he touches, the forks he eats with, the clothes he wears.  All there.  The ticking of a clock I can't see.  The only noise.  And he's not there.  It's so quiet, it feels loud.  I wondered at that very moment where the real daddy really is.  Is he really in the nursing home, understanding but not able to communicate it, or is he really gone?  Is he lonely?  Does he know I love and miss him so much I have a physical pain in my chest?

The finality of this stage has hit me so hard today.  It is indeed over.  When I say over, it is watching my dad with my daughter, able to hold a conversation.  It is watching my dad love my mom from across the room, writing her love letters that she'll find later.  It is driving up to the house and seeing him in the driveway, watering plants or mowing the lawn.  It is watching a baseball game and hearing him rattle off stats and reminisce about taking the kids to Tiger Stadium.  It is asking him questions about his childhood and getting the answers that I can pass on to Drew.

It is indeed over.

Did I ask him enough questions about his life, his opinion on white bread vs wheat?  1950's vs 1960's cars?  Oh wait!  I just remembered he was an amazing painter of cars ... I do know that Candy Apple Red was his favorite color to paint, but why?  Have I taken enough pictures?  Most importantly, has he always known he's all I could ask for in a father and does he still, somewhere in there, know that?  Does he know that he was my mom's knight in shining armor, and the first hero Drew ever knew?

What I wish for now is peace for the most outstanding woman I've ever had the benefit of knowing.  She's my mother.  And there isn't any word in the English language that can describe not only what she's done for him, but what she must feel.  What the Hell must she feel?!?  Someone very close to me explained this dynamic.  He said, regarding my siblings and I losing our father that we love him because he's our father and he's all we know.  The first man we ever loved.  Regarding my mother losing her mate, she CHOSE to love him.  And who she CHOSE is now gone.  She is certainly mourning the only man she has loved with her whole heart and soul.  For me, his explanation was profound.  Of course.  They CHOSE each other.  My dad took care of my mom through her brain aneurysm, my mom took care of my dad through 2 heart attacks and triple bypass surgery.  But those things had lights at the end of the seemingly endless tunnels.

Not this time.  It is indeed over.

So I'm going to keep my head up.  That's what I do.  I'm going to continue to keep my ears and eyes open, soaking up the experiences and living like I only have today.  The moments of defeat come; of course they do.  But they're fleeting.  Not only does my mother need me to stand strong, but a very sweet little girl with the oldest soul I know needs me too.  Drew's eyes when we talk about papa bring me to my knees.  She loves him fiercely.  While I appreciate that she will be stronger for this experience and just having known my daddy, I can't help but want to shelter her from what is to come.

To dad, my God if there were any words for me to say to you, I'd say them now.  But I can't find them.  I miss you.  What a fighter you are.  Wherever you go, you will really never leave me.

That's all I got.

   

Heavy.

And so it continues.  This disease is unfair, it's a thief, it steals everything.  It's plain ugly.  We lost uncle George this week.  He was my dad's brother who also had dementia.  We didn't even tell dad because really, what is the point?  He can't comprehend things like that anymore.  His bubble gets smaller and smaller each day.  Even each minute maybe ... I'm so mad.

I have to say that the VA has been great.  Dad was a Drill Sergeant in the Marines in the Korean War ...  so now he reaps the benefits.  All benefits except being able to live without confusion from this bastard of a disease.  The VA pays for a nurse that comes to mom and dad's house 3 days a week for 3 hours.  She's sweet and loves hanging with my dad.  But you know what?  3 days a week for 3 hours isn't enough.  Would it be enough for a 2 year old?  Nope.  So the request for more time has been placed.  This shit is insane.  And I'm so mad.

This is going so fucking fast.  Hold on a minute.  Can I just breathe real quick?  Because for the last 6 years I haven't been breathing I don't think.  I'm not sure though.  We just go through these motions.  Trained robots if you will.  Some days I walk through a fog.  The fog protects me I guess.  Because you can't see my face or even have a clue what I'm feeling.  I smile all the time.  And I crack jokes. Those jokes get me through.  And when dad's having a clear moment, he laughs at my jokes.  You would think he just handed me a winning lottery ticket, but let's face it.  I live for the flickers of   lucid.

Thursday, me, mom and Drew came to Minnesota for July 4th.  It's the first time we have left dad together for as long as I can remember.  I think Drew was 2.  My brother Chris came to stay with him for 5 days, but wouldn't you know, he left after the first night and left everything to my sister.  Wow.  Welcome to our world.  This is our dad now.  Fucking deal with it.  My brothers need to see the reality because I think that when dad is physically gone, they'll have regrets if they don't.  To be completely honest, I don't give two shits about that.  Play the hand.  That man right there is our dad.  After learning about the medications, the routine, the meals, the Sundowners.  Chris looked at me and said "this is so hard to see dad like this."  Ugh.  That's something I want to scream in people's faces all the time.  "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE?"  No.  Of course they don't.  Just like I don't know what's going on in anyone else's hand they were dealt.  I get it.  And I don't give a shit.

Have you ever let go of a balloon and watched it soar?  You can't do a damn thing about it.  It's gone.  You won't see that balloon ever again.  That's the best analogy I can think of for this.  I read something that said life is a delicate balance of holding on and letting go.  It's true.  It really is.

I used to be reluctant to let anyone know just how bad it really was.  "How is your dad?"  "He's doing well, thanks."  Yea those explanations aren't even in my realm of thinking.  "He's plugging along" even seems a far stretch.  It is here.  The reality that is.  That we can't do this alone.  The family has continuously proven they are not going to step up.   Unfuckingbelievable.  But I promise not to waste my energy on it.  But really, I'm done with all of them.  So working through the guilt of that and the thought of daddy knowing of his wavering reality is almost too much to bare. 

Now the questions from little lady come more frequently and she helps soften the harshness for her papa.  She tells him it's ok to be confused, she stands in front of him to block the accident he just had, she holds his hand and tells him to "think slower."  Not sure what I did to deserve her but she's here for so many more reasons than I could've ever imagined.

I always end my blogs with either a note to dad, Drew, and mom or something I'm grateful for.  Because believe it or not, sometimes this thing is hard to get through and it takes me days at times.

Exhausting.

So here goes.. 

Daddy, I don't know where we go from here and I wish I had answers.  At least some.  I promise you will always feel me with you in no matter what capacity.  I'm sorry.  And as always I miss you.

Mom, I'm here of course and would never dream of going anywhere.  I'm pretty good at being a pillar I think.  Feel free to lean.  I know you need me and I need you.

Drewy, since this blog was created for you, really, I'll just say this.  I want you to soak up everything you can from this experience.  Maybe not now because you're so little, but as you read when you're older, you will see that strength, courage, grace, and love will deem you unbreakable through the toughest of battles.  

Without those things kid, we all have nothing.

6A

He's been given a label.  That label is 6a.  7 means needing full time care.  Like a newborn.  I hate labels and this one makes it real.  Even more unbearable if that is possible.  We went to the VA last week, did the long walk down the hall, the check in, the doctors, the questions, the clicking of pens, beeping of machines, blank stares, more annoying doctor chatter, tears.  Mom talked to the social worker.  And so came 6a.  Who would've ever thought you could hate a number/letter combination with such passion?  The hate is tangible.  

Every day is just us moving forward, mostly without a plan and for me mostly without feeling.
Just. Keep. Going.  The most I let myself feel, which is almost nil, is right here on these pages.  This blog is my outlet.  But I can tell you this; I've never felt more conflicted in all of my life.  Sometimes I can't breathe.  I feel sad, I feel lucky, I feel terrified, I feel angry, I feel angst, missing the first man I ever looked up to.  Missing him when he's sitting right next to me.  Missing the strong Marine that once chased me around the house and out the front door because I swore at my mom.  All 7 of us had a healthy fear of my dad.  What he said went and that was it.  And this I know; that we will lose him twice.  The first time has been for the last 10 years.  Ouch it hurts.  And when he goes, am I supposed to feel relief?!?  Because I can't watch him in this pain anymore.  Not physical pain of course, but those weathered lids get red rims and tears form and it brings me to my knees.  No shit.  This isn't fucking fair.

I have talked to so many people about my dad.  I've compared stories, symptoms, and every person that has dealt with Alzheimer's or dementia has a relatable story.  Sometimes when I tell someone who doesn't understand the disease, I get the "well at least it's not cancer or something."  I think earlier in the progression I even uttered those words.  I don't feel that way anymore.  This is horrendous; it's actually physically painful to watch my dad fade away a day at a time.  And even more agonizing when there's a moment of clarity for him and he knows he doesn't know.  Does that make sense?  My days with him are spent grabbing onto moments.  Not hours.  Moments.  And I can't help but feel robbed.  My best friend explained it perfectly to me the other day as I'm crying in her ear, telling her I don't know how to feel.  Her words "the essence of Bernie is a strong, unwavering presence, and now he's a shadow of that.  It's your turn to be strong and unwavering for him."
So true.  And so hard.

Our family meeting this Friday was just the 7 siblings and how we can all help mom with what she needs for dad.  The first sentence mom mustered through tears was "I can't even believe we're here talking about this."  It was a moment, for me, that was like a swift kick in the stomach ... and I wanted to stop right there and just say "ok let's just sweep this under that right there rug."  lol not gonna happen.  So for about a half hour my 5 brothers, my sister, my mom and I all sat, passed out information about Alzheimer's care and talked about our dad.  We laughed really hard, we cried, we asked questions.  What's in store?  We don't know.  How long do we have?  We don't know.  What should we do?  We don't know.  It was pretty tell all .. **enter sarcasm here.**  I mean how do you even talk about this?  I'm just going to have a conversation with daddy, tell him I'm not ready to lose one more piece of him, I want him back and it'll be fine.  Someone pinch me.

This little lady of ours is the oldest soul I know.  I say that all the time.  Papa is Drew's favorite guy.  The other day I picked her up from school and I made the mistake of calling dad and telling him I had to go show a house, then pick up Drew and we'd be over.  First of all he usually comes with me to pick up Drew and I know (I was thinking as I was relaying my plans to him) you can't tell him too many things at once; it throws him off.  He can't grasp more than one thing at a time.  So I pick Drew up and call dad on the way over there.  He's on my SYNC in my car so Drew can hear him.  He says he's somewhere else.  At a restaurant.  I said "how did you get there?"  He said "I'm still trying to figure it out!"  Then he said he was at a donut shop.  At that point I knew he wasn't at a donut shop but Drew was convinced.  She was sobbing in the back seat and begging me to go find her papa at the donut shop he said he was at .. she just knew he "took a break at the donut shop!"  Of course I got home and he was there ... 100% confident we were at the restaurant.  He was sitting in his own living room.  Drew was so relieved to see him and asked him "why did you think you were at the donut shop?  Do you want some donuts, papa?"  Although he chuckled, through it I saw his heartache.  And so did she.  She looked at him sweetly, put her little hand on his and told him it was ok because everyone gets confused.

I'm exhausted.  And I'm worried about my exhausted mom.  To say she is amazing sounds too cheap. I know she's tired and I know she hurts.  It's another facet of this.  My mom.  I can't begin to understand what she sees.  This is our dad.  This is the love of her life.  Doesn't anyone have a magic wand laying around?  I could really use it.

To dad, I miss you.  I love you and what you've given me in 35 years is irreplaceable.  What you've given Drew in 5 will forever be unmatched.

To mom, I love you.  I can't pretend to know what you feel but I am here. Always. And we will be ok.

To Drew, thank you for choosing me.  I can't promise to be here for the rest of your life, but I will love you with everything I have for the rest of mine.


There is a song that I love and a line of that song struck a chord with me:

"May you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift."

Indeed.

       

    

          

The Appointment

A few weeks ago, mom and I took dad to the VA for his first "Geri Pack" appt.  His primary doctor there said that since he is 84, he should now be seen by the geriatric doctors.  They are very knowledgeable when it comes to the elderly.  Ugh.  The "elderly."  My dad isn't elderly.

Anywho, we get to the VA; mom drops dad and I off at the door and we start the arduous trek down the never ending hallway.  Every time we walk these halls, dad and I are arm in arm.  We slowly saunter.  I know he sees what I see here and maybe for a minute he thinks what I think.  I see so many men and women, some old, some young, some with canes, wheelchairs, missing limbs, long beards, cloudy eyes.  Some with family, and some without a soul, all alone.  These men and women all have that one thing in common.  They've given their lives.  They all carry with them experiences I could never fathom.  Their branches displayed on their hats, t shirts, vests with medals.  Proud mostly, and some sad.  If I'm lucky enough to look one of them in the eye, I always nod.  Small, but what else can I do to say thank you from the bottom of my heart in a 2 second walk by?  From the time I start the walk until we end where we check in at the Purple Team, the lump in my throat just lingers.

Berns gets called in.  By this time, mom has parked the car and made her own trek.  I wonder what she thinks as she walks with a purpose toward us.  Mom always has her game face on.  Always.

It's gonna be a long day.

As we're sitting there, watching the nurse take dad's vitals as usual, this visit already feels different.  There's a crowd of people bustling around, beeping, clicking of pens ... mindless chatter from the nurses .. "How do you feel today, sirrrrrrrr?"  If you can imagine how someone talks to a 3 year old in a Halloween costume .. like that "Awww, you're so CUTE!"  thing that drives me crazy.  The man is 84.  He has been here longer than you have; show some respect.  Stop talking to him like he's a child.  You're dumb.  Yep, that's where my head was that morning.  Everyone was dumb.

Pops shoots me a look from his chair .. it's the look I get every once in awhile, like "is this right?  Am I doing the right thing?"  And whether we're at home or out somewhere, I get that look from him and return the instinctive nod immediately.  It's unsettling to know he might not know what's going on at any given moment.

My mind was starting to wander ... I mean, I'm sitting next to my mom.  My rock.  Me hers.  And together we are looking across the room at this man that has been the glue that holds it all together.  He's always been strong, bold, active, positive, intimidating ... and I loved that.  I loved that my friends would say "Woah ... I wouldn't want to be on his bad side!"  So now, really, the roles are reversed.  Every single role you can imagine is absolutely reversed.  We are dad's rocks.  And we are forced to be each other's.  Our whole family leans on our whole family, if that makes sense.  At the same time this experience has been horrifying and unbearable, it's beautiful how we lean.  Does that make sense?  It does to me.

So now the vitals are done.  It's time for this annoying (It's just the way I feel; Believe me, I know she's doing her job) lady to start drilling.  And drilling.  So first she asks my amazing father to draw the face of a clock.  Blank stare.  The one I always talk about that I hate.  He had no idea what she meant.  She then told him to write a sentence.  He had no clue.  She rattled off some words and wanted him to repeat them to her.  Nothing.  "Name the kind of animals on this page", etc.  I felt like I was in Drew's classroom.  That was the level we were at here.  I wanted to stand up and scream to the top of my lungs at daddy.  I wanted to shout "DAD!!!!  YOU KNOW THIS!!!!  DRAW A FUCKING CLOCK!  A SENTENCE!  ANY SENTENCE!  THOSE ARE HORSES!!!  OMG THOSE ARE FUCKING HORSES!!!!  THE WORDS SHE SAID WERE "SHOE, TELEPHONE, AND NEWSPAPER!  NOW HURRY UP AND TELL HER WHAT I KNOW YOU KNOW SO WE CAN FUCKING LEAVE AND PRETEND THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN!"  Nothing.  The yearning to yell was almost too much to take.  It was like being in a really bad dream and you can't wake up.  I mean the worst dream you could ever imagine.  When I was young, I remember always having this dream that I was floating away in a hot air balloon and I couldn't get down.  That's it.  That's this feeling.  Panic.  This man, the only hero I've had for my whole life slips away a little each day.  And I am helpless.  I can't do a fucking thing.

That day was exhausting.  Mom cried.  I cried.  Dad was quiet.  Really quiet and there were several instances where I glanced over and saw the red rims of his weathered eye lids.  Dammit.  I don't think I've ever wished that bad for my childhood to come back, just for a minute.  I want to talk to my dad so bad.  I miss him immensely.

It's unbearable at times.

I always bounce back.  I really do.  I consider this a gift.  Maybe it's denial.  I'm not sure what it is, but I always bounce back.  I have to be strong for mom, Amy, and everyone else because sometimes they're not.  Sometimes it's just too much.  It's funny they say men are supposed to be made of steel, or whatever they say.  Not true.  My brothers aren't handling this well.  In fact, some of them aren't handling it at all and they won't talk about it.  I don't say anything except "I'm here" and take the occasional irate phone call about something irrelevant.  That's how they deal.  And I'm glad I can be here for them.

I'm glad that when I need it, they're here for me.  But I rarely venture down that dark road.  Not doing it.

We go to Florida in a couple weeks and like last year, we're stopping to see uncle Jimmy and all of my cousins in South Carolina.  I'm so grateful.  I'm so grateful that at any given time, there are about 100 family members I can call for comfort, an old pops story, advice, or just a laugh.  We need that these days.  Dad needs us and we need us.

Drew said something the other day that, as usual, made me smile.  She asked me why papa gets confused sometimes.  I said "honey, life is a cycle ...." lol I really started with that.  Like she's gonna get it.  So then as I'm laughing to myself and the absurdity she says, "he's so special, mom, isn't he?"

Yes.  My 5 year old gets it.

That right there, Drew, is the most special man I have ever met.