Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Life Goes On

Nothing fun here, folks - move right along...I'm recovering from another 10 hours of driving this past weekend to see my dad.  He managed to fall and break his hip a few weeks ago; but he was sent home from the hospital without surgery because the surgeon thought it might kill him.  So now he is stuck in a hospital bed at home and pretty much what was left of his mind has gone bye-bye.  I brought the 3 oldest with me to see him, hating myself for not getting them up there a month ago when he could understand who they were and could hold a reasonable facsimile of a conversation. 

Too late, too late, too late....

I reserved rooms for us in a decent hotel, knowing that I would need a good night's sleep to drive home.  Especially since I had been up since 3:30 AM the morning we left, because Susie was still sick and tossing and turning at night.  Unfortunately, the other guests on our hotel wing were holding a multi-room bachelor party, complete with running up and down the halls, banging on doors, yelling, slamming doors, etc.  ALL NIGHT.  I don't know how I managed that drive home on Sunday.

But I did, and here I am.  There's no point calling my dad anymore, he can't seem to understand me on the phone.  I had been in the habit of calling and saying hi every day.  So, in a way, it feels like he is dead, even though he obviously he isn't.  I feel guilty, guilty, guilty for feeling as though he isn't really there anymore.  "Dad's doing great - he was really alert this morning and talking!" claims my brother.  But he doesn't remember we visited, and he's talking about things that no longer exist - his defunct accounting business, etc.  He keeps asking to get up out of bed, not understanding that his hip is broken. 

So, yeah, not too much fun.  But I made more peach jam today and signed David up for a lifeguarding course and did my Tuesday drive to Civil Air Patrol.  Life goes on, and maybe that's what feels weirdest of all.

23 comments:

  1. Oh man, I know the words to this song...and I'm sorry, because its a really crappy song. Just know you're doing all that you can do, and even though that won't fix anything, it's still all that you can do.

    I'm sorry especially that it's ten hours away which makes everything ten times worse. But it will eventually end, and life goes on, and you don't have to feel bad that you're living your life until then. Good thing for that VooDoo Princess now, right? Hang in there, honey.

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    1. 5 hours away - 10 round trip. There's no way I could have done more! And, yes, the Voodoo Princess is taking immaculate physical care of him; but, as Anna said upon meeting her, "She's REALLY crazy!"

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  2. Oh, honey. I'm so sorry.

    I don't have the right words, but I can tell you that I'm thinking of you and your family. Also, I am thinking bad, nasty thoughts about those bachelor party losers.

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  3. I'm so sorry. When my grandmother died after some really difficult years with dementia I felt released from having to think of her in that state anymore. Once she died I was free to remember her as she was the person I wanted to remember. But it's so awful for everyone involved when they are there but not there and it's all just a lot of suffering. I sympathize. I truly do.

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  4. I'm so sorry. My grandma just died after a fall that happened in June. The morphine she was on for the first few weeks made her very confused and agitated. After that they intubated and sedated her, so that was more or less the end, but we did have two good afternoons in there, followed by horrible nights.

    I'm just so sorry. You shouldn't feel guilty for feeling any particular way about this. And what Korinthia said is so right -- when your image of your loved one is him being trapped inside himself and suffering, that is brutal. But I am starting to be able to remember my grandma's smile again, and that's a relief.

    I wish this wasn't happening to you.

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  5. Oh SC..this made me cry. I'm so very sorry. You are such a good daughter, and a good mom, and a good PERSON. This must be incredibly stressful for you, not being able to do much to help other than what you are already doing.

    Big hugs to you.

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  6. I am so sorry. The situation just sucks. I have nothing wise to say other than "hang in there"

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  7. I am so sorry for you and your father, but don't feel guilty about anything. And someone needs to open a can whoop-ass on those inconsiderate hotel guests.

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  8. I'm sorry. I know the disjointed weird feeling of life going on and it feeling wrong. I wish I could do something for you. All the love.

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  9. Amy in OhioJuly 31, 2013

    This made me cry, too. Last year was the 10 hour round trip to watch my mom disintegrate, and then another 10 hour round trip after she died. You always wish you did more - guilt is such lousy company, and it never wants to leave you alone. We all do the best we can. Thoughts to you and your dad.

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  10. So very sorry, SC. This is a hard thing to deal with. My thoughts are with you and your Dad.

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  11. I've been where you are right now and can only say that while there's no reason for you to feel it, I understand why you do. Hang in there.

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  12. You already know you're a bad ass, but I nominated you for a Versatile Blogger Award. Go here http://theaveragelifeofasecretmom.com/2013/07/30/i-got-that-lovin-feeling/ to see the details!

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  13. (hugs) I'm so sorry you all have to go through this. I do hope this part passes quickly. Hugs.

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  14. How exhausting - I'm amazed you made peach jam with all that you are dealing with, that would be a major project in my house.
    So sorry - you are in my thoughts.

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  15. I am so sorry. Thoughts are with you and yours. Sometimes, it's the making of the peach jam that keeps things together, I guess.

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  16. Deepest sympathy. No matter what you do or don't do, it never feels like enough. Try to take care of yourself. Hugs.

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  17. It does feel the weirdest. I'm sorry.

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  18. I'm so sorry about your dad. I understand the feeling of "too late, too late". But you are doing everything you can do for him, and that's all you can do. Not much comfort, I know. Thinking of you :-).

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  19. I'm so sorry, SC. Dementia just absolutely sucks.

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  20. I am so, so very sorry.
    I know the guilt, and I know it doesn't help matters.
    Please take some comfort in knowing that you shared who he was with all of us.

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