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.
