"How long, oh Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?"So lamented the prophet Habakkuk, and various other biblical writers. I'm sure it echoes through not just a few old souls yet today.
We visited my parents this weekend (Friday evening through Sunday morning). While it was a nice relaxing time, it wasn't especially joyful.
There was no agenda on this visit. It was just Jane and myself. Sure, we moved my mom's computer out of the living room into an upstairs bedroom, and got some of her fall decor switched over to Christmas, but we mostly just felt the need to 'be there.' They will have to spend Thanksgiving alone again this year, and we didn't have anything keeping us from not being there this weekend.
It was probably the worst we've seen my dad though. Physically and mentally. He can't get out of a chair by himself, and can't move much when he does. Most of his time is spent in bed.
Friday night wasn't too terrible. He was in his recliner asking the same questions he's always asked - "How's the weather?" "Are you busy at work?" "Where do you live now?" - and he asked them over and over and over again. He slept most of the day Saturday while I watched football and my mom and Jane went shopping. Saturday night he started in talking nonsense again, like he does from time to time. It seemed worse than it's been in awhile though.
Sunday morning he finally made it to the kitchen. He looked like hell. At one point the four of us were sitting there, and he asked my mom, "Where's your mom?" She thought he was talking about his mom, and she explained to him that she had died, as well as his brother Harold. He responded, "Ruth Ann and Harold are dead?" Oh boy.
My mom acted like she didn't hear it, but I sensed a crack in her voice. I don't know if she's heard it before, but it was the first time I have been around when he didn't seem to know who SHE was! That's not good.
Jane said she heard him mumble to himself at one point, "I just wish I would die."
How long, oh Lord?... How long?...
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As we got ready to leave later Sunday morning, it was really probably the most compassion I've ever felt for my dad. He's been a jerk to me for much of my life. I think probably in the same way I am to certain people. It's not that he meant to be, he simply couldn't help it. Now it's barely him any longer. I feel for him. I wish he would die. Not to be gone, but for his sake... and my mom's.
I don't know how she does it. Not that she doesn't have faults of her own, but my mom is a saint! She could use a break. She could use some relief. I wish there was something someone could do to ease the burden on her. Like she would even let them.
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So, it was not a fun trip home. I'm glad we went though. It was relaxing for the two of us, at least.
I'm not looking forward to Christmas (or whenever we gather there to celebrate it). My mom thinks all of us can get together at her house - our kids, spouses, and grandkids, and my sister and her boys. I gave up counting on my sister for anything a long time ago. I'd be okay if that was the extent of the drama though. Hopefully it's not something else.
Growing up and growing old. Life is funny like that. It's not bad... but it certainly is different.
How long, oh Lord...
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