A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
The phone rang just after midnight on August 26th, 2006. The woman on the phone was looking for a number to reach my mother. I knew then - I asked her if my father was okay.
Because of HIPPA she could not tell me - my mother who had memory issues - would not/could not think about the need to include her children as contact people so that the doctors, nurses, hospitals could talk to me about my father (or her). The only reason they had my phone number was I had gotten very good the past year at pleading with the hospitals, doctors, nurses and nursing homes to take my phone number - just in case. I told the woman where my mother was - and again asked if my father was okay, and then she told me, he had died and they wanted to know what to do with the body.
My parents in the last year of their lives had moved to Florida - to an area that they did not know, and where none of their children or grandchildren lived. Unfortunately, my brother thought this was a good idea, helped them purchase a home there - to the concern of some of my other siblings. My mother had just recently been diagnosed with moderate stage Alzheimer's in the past year and it had been suggested no to introduce changes...
Within a week of their move - my father had a massive bleed into the brain, due to coumadin overdose. My father suffering from small strokes for years was put on coumadin, which is a blood thinner. Over past year he had become very forgetful about taking his medication and my mother was helping him remember - not very well. My father was hospitalized for a 1 week and then they returned to their new home. I did not find out that my father was hospitalized until my mother and father had returned to their house after that week.
My fears and nightmares were growing. After having several calls with my siblings on how could we move our parents back to be near their family and grandchildren – unfortunately some of my siblings were not able to see beyond their own needs and did not want to deal with the fragility of their parents' life - so denial worked best with them. They busy reliving there unresolved issues and working angles on just how to exploit this - than looking at the whole picture of how insane it was that my parents were living - where there were no family or friends for a support system for them.
My brother - who thought he was so wonderful on helping my parents buy the house in Florida, kept promising he would go and visit and make sure they were okay. He had also promised my parents that he was going to move to Florida to be near them - that did not happen either.
After waiting 6 weeks and still he made no moves to travel/move - I went to visit. They had very little food in the house. They had gone through the food that was bought by my only sane brother - when they first moved in 6 weeks earlier. My mother did go out driving - against the advice of her doctors - but frequently called AAA for she would run out of gas finding her way. My father was clean shaven all his life had a full beard - not by choice - but he could not shave - the cognition was not there for shaving. My mother had just hired someone to come in and help with caring for my father. She had told the care taker that my father had Alzheimer's - it was insane - my mother pretending that she was fine and my father had Alzheimer's - which she had - but he didn't. Another really sad part was my father had for the past several years difficulty in speaking - so since my mother could speak clearly everyone assumed she was the more competent that he.
I stayed for a week. I had to go out to the store often as an excuse - to scream and cry that this should not be happening. The move had taken much from them – and with little support structure around them – it was not clear how they were going to sustain themselves. I pleaded with my mother that she move back to be closer to family and friends. She told me that she thought that she could not handle another move - she probably was right. Ironically, my mother was a physical therapist that specialized in geriatrics. She often spoke of the 1 year mark of moving the elderly - if you move and elderly person - they will usually die within 1 year - the move is too traumatic. If she had not gotten Alzheimer's this move most likely would have never happened. My father died 1 year almost to the day of the move.
Even though it was after midnight - and I needed to walk. After I called all my siblings - and left incoherent messages for all, I walked through the neighborhood streets - numb – the grief and anger would come later - sad for his loss, my loss, that he had to die alone. I had to keep walking.
Walking - whenever my father wanted to talk with me about important things in my life he would take me for a walk. When I entered puberty - he took me on a walk. He told me there would come a time that once a month when my mother was driving me crazy - I should take an aspirin - and I would feel better. That was my PMS talk (at the time I had no clue about what he was talking about - except that my mother did drive me crazy sometimes - and I really don't think it was always caused by PMS.). He also talked to me about boys - how they needed walk on the outside/street side of the sidewalk, they should open doors for me. All of this was how they would show me respect.
Growing up I adored my father – and knew that he adored me. My father instilled in me a belief that I could do anything. When I was 7, I wanted to be a missionary priest brain surgeon. I am not quite sure - if he totally embraced this goal for his daughter - but he did instill in me to use my gifts to my fullest. He taught me personal responsibility, integrity of my actions, and be responsible for your neighbor and lastly but most important family.
When my father was in his fifties - he decided to return to school to get his doctorate - so that he could teach full time. My father being truly Irish to the core - was a gifted story teller - I loved to hear the same story over and over and never got bored. I have been told he was a gifted teacher - he would hold the room spell bound - and draw and demand the best from his students - and fellow teachers that he mentored. He felt once he taught you - you were always his student - his peers complained about the long line of students/ex-students waiting to see him during his office hours - blocking the hallways. I sometimes wonder if purgatory is on earth - in my father's later years - he had much difficulty speaking/communicating - thus no longer allowing him to teach.
When he passed my brother and I drafted his obituary - what was amazing to me just how little I know about my father's achievements. Thank goodness we had Google - I am quite sure we still missed many of them. I honestly thought I had at least a clue of who he was – but I did not. What is even sadder is, I do not know if I will ever know the depth and the number of people he impacted and touched. I wonder if we truly know each other. It made me a little sad not to know - or discuss with him some of the things that he had done. But as in life - his death underscored the teaching he always tried to instill in me - '... be humble...' and always do your best.
One fun thing I did rediscover was he had a weekly business column in the local news paper on entrepreneurship. I had long forgotten about - my mother had told me about it in passing. I had never read the columns until after he died. Reading them reminded me of our weekly conversations about the business world - and my dreams of starting my own business and the challenges of doing it. His columns - were short and very lucidly written - and I remembered our discussing each challenge he wrote about. I wish I could have asked him - did he write this column before our conversations - or after.
I am sorry this is a bit of a jumble of thoughts - but in the process of putting this diary together - I realized my feelings are still jumbled. This week it will be 3 years since we had the memorial service for him. My emotions, if they were colors – they are no longer the deep colors – but more of pastels – and then at times glow to the deeper colors. What I have noticed through this time – is I do not sleep when the grief gets stirred up. I have had some sleepless nights writing this diary. I am no longer raging, paralyzed, empty, careless about today with my grief - but I am surprised to discover that more pieces of me are still processing my grief than I thought. I find in the past few months I am beginning to do long term planning - something I really was not capable of for quite a while.
Here is a link to all the previous Grieving Room diaries.
Thanks for listening.
Update : Dem in the heart of Texas - just put up as a follow up to last week's tribute diary to exmearden .
For those who wished exmearden well last week - goodwill action diary
Please go take a quick read and take some action!
Thanks!