Unhappy Anniversaries

Everyone knows about 9/11/01. Everyone wants to remind us of 9/11/12 today, too, although they seem more interested in talking about Hillary Clinton than honoring the dead.

9/11/12 is also the day my father died. Here we are in Homosassa, Florida. My father liked this restaurant because he could watch the water and the cavorting monkeys on the little island nearby. There were so many little pleasures he found in life.

Seven years later, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop--my mother's health is fading. I think a lot about death and dying these days. Despite his overflowing optimism, Dad had these thoughts, too. Starting in the 1990s, he mailed 'Open in the Event of My Death' envelopes to me, which he periodically updated. During his final illness, he had me open the most recent one so we could review the contents. He'd provided a list of people to notify, actions to take, and a personal message to the church congregation, which I read aloud at the memorial.

How I wish I had another envelope to prepare me now.

TGI 2013, and TG I Have Friends

Anyone who's dealt with me knows I love to talk. I like to give opinions, tell stories, and supply a generous amount of humor to conversations. There are only two times I don't. One is when I'm too busy, the other is when things have gone drastically wrong in my life.

2011 was one of the happiest, and busiest, years of my life. 2012 was the saddest.

My father's first visit to the hospital happened during my appearance at the Kentucky Book Fair in November 2011. I joked with the authors beside me that he was trying to weasel out of a heart cath, so he couldn't be that bad off.

At Christmas, it was clear that he was in trouble. He was physically miserable and unable to do much more than watch television. Gwen and I asked then if he needed us to move down to Florida to help out. He refused, saying he wasn't 'there' yet.

On February 26th, he arrived.

He collapsed at his computer, and Mother called 911. He spent the next month in the hospital, while Gwen and I gave quick notice at our jobs and packed up the house. We wouldn't have made it without the help of Gwen's family. They helped us pack, made repairs on the house, and took turns on the drive to Florida. They were truly wonderful.

We arrived to a mess. My parents' house, and their way of living, required severe adjustments. Dad was wheelchair bound, so we had the local handyman over to put in ramps. He also converted the enclosed bath into a walk-in so Dad could use a bench.

Most of the bill-paying and medication ordering had been done online by my father. We strongly suspect that he had a mini-stroke when he collapsed, because when he came home he was no longer able to use his computer. Gwen and I took those over, and now they are done mostly on paper so my mother can participate.

His health continued to decline, which you may have gathered from the obit I posted earlier this year. In many ways, his death was a mercy. It was a hard way to die, and I am grateful to Hospice for making it as comfortable as possible.

I didn't post much here, but I did share the harrowing experience with my friends on Facebook. So many of them offered their support and encouragement during the bad times, I could not name them all. During the final week in the hospice facility, several were posting cute kitten and puppy pictures nonstop on my wall because it was my only relief from the emotional blast furnace.

A number of arrangements and filings had to be made, and we're still making bureaucratic adjustments nearly four months later. Enough space has been opened up, though, to see our future, and we don't have one. Gwen has a part-time job, and I don't know if I have a real post-holiday job with Macy's yet. We have no savings left and no health insurance.

I'm still looking forward to 2013, though... because I'm damned glad 2012 is over.

Ennui and Thanatos

The last few months have been very difficult ones. My father's health has continued to decline. He was hospitalized again earlier this month, and Hospice is now helping us care for him. The doctors say there is little more they can throw at his various ailments.

The disintegration of his body is echoed by the disintegration of my psyche. I had a job where I was liked, a house, a novel to sell, friends I could visit in person, and an extended writing community I enjoyed. I sold the house, moved away from my job and friends, and have been unemployed until this week. Today, I began a temp job that lasts for a couple of weeks. Employment has been long-desired by me and, I hope, will lend me a little sanity along with the ability to pay down debts.

Television dramas about dying family members are usually sentimental and depict families tearfully coming together and ironing out their differences. It's not like that in my experience; my parents still shout at each other daily over items that mostly have no consequence while the elephant languishes in the corner. We don't go out much. We watch a lot of television, prepare food, pick things up around my bedridden father, and make small talk.

We are sitting around waiting for Dad to die.

I need to redo the bio on my Web page. I only wish I knew who I am now. My days are filled with Murder She Wrote episodes on Netflix, arranging my father's medications, calling the hospice people, interacting online with Dad's friends, and - most recently - working on his burial arrangements.

My online writing friends think I should have plenty of time to write. Unfortunately, writing is something I have to work the nerve up to do under the best of circumstances. Right now, even thinking about working on fiction makes me want to cry. My words have scattered to the far winds and I wonder if they will ever blow home, rolling like the sea foam does across the causeway.

I'm reading, but not always easily. My concentration varies with Dad's condition. His health varies from day to day, as do his moods. Some days, he is the father I love. Other days, he is bitter, fussy, angry, and fearful. I have at least one book I want to review, but once again words fail me.

The only writing work I'm doing, in fact, is typing up his memoirs. He has designed many Bible lessons but has only rarely attempted expository writing. His writing still reflects his desire to teach, but some of the content is more personal. I'd often suggested he try his hand at writing a book on religion; this may be as close as he comes.

The new job gives me something real, fresh to talk about with him, a new avenue of small talk that helps diverts us both from the truth: we are waiting for death.

Where the Hell Did I Go?

It's been a long damned time since my last post.... because a lot has happened since, and it hasn't been good.

My father, who has sarcoidosis and pulmonary hypertension, collapsed at the end of February. The EMTs were able to stabilize and transport him to the hospital, but he will need care for the rest of his life. My mother, who has arthritis of the spine and diabetes, was unable to do this on her own.

Instead of them going to assisted care (more likely a nursing home for my father's needs), Gwen Mayo and I quit our jobs and moved to Tarpon Springs, Florida. Yes, we had a mortgage. Yes, we had years of payments left on the car we purchased in October of last year. Yes, we owe money for other stuff. But move we did. It beat leaving my mother alone and destitute after my father passes (I hope the latter will be delayed with our assistance).

We were fortunate to receive assistance, in the form of both cash and labor, from our coworkers and friends. My stepdaughter has taken over the house so the grandsons will have a place to live when they're ready for college (that day is approaching faster than I thought possible). Dad is out of the hospital and appears to be on the mend, albeit at reduced capability.

I hope to get some type of income soon. It will need to be part-time, at least during this stage of my father's recovery. Will I ever write again? Composing this blog, I hope, is a positive step.

Right now, all my brain wants to do is scream. Even after being here for three weeks.

---