(no subject)
Over a year ago, I went on Christmas leave to spend the holiday with my family. And all went well, as it does every Christmas. Except for one oddity.
Usually when I visit Dad always wants to talk to me alone in the kitchen. I know this talk well. It's usually an evaluation, from his perspective, on where I am in life and what I need to be doing. Lovely sitting through that. But this visit, it was different. Dad had known that I wanted to leave the Navy. I was expecting for him to give me all the reasons which I should stay in the military but I got something different. He told me that he didn't care for the military himself and he got out. He told me that life was short and if it didn't make me happy then there was no reason I should stay. It really blew my mind. I mean, that Kitchen Time is normally to address my failures and whatnot. This was something supportive....from a man that I thought would not support my position.
He and my step mom, Emilou, drove me to the airport in Shreveport. Arriving at the terminal, dad had trouble getting out of the car. He was growing gaunt, and just seeing him struggle to get out of a car made something in me well up inside. Emi is good of health so she followed me into the airport. Emotions started to surface and I cried. I knew dad was not doing well. I honestly did not know if that was the last time I would see him.
Airports being airports, my flight got delayed and I ended up staying the night in Detroit. Well, actually, the airport is located in Romulus, MI. I asked the person at the hotel desk if they referred to themselves as Romulans, being the trekie that I am. I was expecting a light hearted smile, but I didn't get that. Apparently, I was not the first to ask.
I was woke in the morning from a call from my brother. Dad had had a stroke. I made it back to Norfolk still wanting to hear updates and whatnot. And I got them...and things seemed fine as they could be. It was not like I could go back to see him, which is what I wanted to do.
In 2009 I was on shore for 78 days out of the 365 days of the year. Getting back in December, I went home again for Christmas to see my father. I knew things would not be the same. He lost the left side of his body and his speech was not quite there. But when I visited, he smiled and I could understand some things. Emi helped me to translate, seeing how she had spent the most time with him.
On April the 5th, I got a call from Emi. "You need to come home now. Dad wants to see you. I asked him if he wanted to talk to you and he said no. When I asked if he wanted to see you he said yes." Dad's vocabulary now can be counted on possibly one hand. So I left.
1000+ miles later, here I am. Dad is gaunt beyond description. He cannot smile anymore. And the only two words I can understand from his mouth are my name and something he says quite a bit. "OK". Before I arrived he had, and has, stopped eating. He has been throwing up his stomach lining and bile, which is black. So I came to visit while he was lucid, which is a guess at that. I held his hand with one hand, placed my other hand on his forehead, and talked. He would try to speak but it was impossible to understand. I could tell that he recognized me. He as happy to see me, and sad as well.
My father has always been so independent. While waiting to go into the Navy I got a job at Chili’s in order to make some money before I was shipped off. I had coupons for entire free meals...good ones at that. But, no, my dad did not want to go...because he was fine with the meals he had at home. Typical dad...he knew what he wanted and stuck with it. He was at his house, on his property, and never wanted to leave. I loved where he was and had no intention of leaving it, except for the occasional run for groceries in the nearest town. It was the land he grown up on, the land that he nurtured with crops, cut his own wood and spit the logs to supply the hearth with warmth for the winter. He used his tractor to cut the weeds later to bail them into hay to feed the cows and to sell the surplus. He lived the land. He never needed anyone, or anything.
Now my dad needs everything. He wears a diaper. He needs help to drink fluids. And he is miserable. As I stood over my dad, I could tell he was happy to see me but sad because I was seeing him this way. The stroke did much damage, but a son can tell when he sees his jaw thrusting forward and tightening that he was upset. He was thirsty so Emi got him his sippie cup. After the first few attempts to allow him to drink with a regular glass, it became apparent that he needed a sippie cup designed for small children. Being in a hospital bed, we raised it up so he could drink. He would grasp at the straw with his mouth as if blindly casting while fishing. And he drank. Not well, but he did his best. Emi started to well up with tears and had to leave the room. So there I was...with sippie cup in hand helping my father to drink. "My how things have changed", I thought. The son now taking care of the one he loves, making sure he does not spill too much.
My father is going to pass soon. And has heartless as it sounds, I hope that it is sooner than later. No one deserves to live this way. Especially not my father, who refused help at every single turn. And he was often right. He was one of those folks that you often see on the Silver Screen...frontiersman, cowboy, etc. And now...
My Mother's death in 2000 has steeled me for what is to come. Why I have had to watch two parents suffer slowly is beyond me. But it is what it is...the Navy taught me that. Still life, at times, sucks.
Usually when I visit Dad always wants to talk to me alone in the kitchen. I know this talk well. It's usually an evaluation, from his perspective, on where I am in life and what I need to be doing. Lovely sitting through that. But this visit, it was different. Dad had known that I wanted to leave the Navy. I was expecting for him to give me all the reasons which I should stay in the military but I got something different. He told me that he didn't care for the military himself and he got out. He told me that life was short and if it didn't make me happy then there was no reason I should stay. It really blew my mind. I mean, that Kitchen Time is normally to address my failures and whatnot. This was something supportive....from a man that I thought would not support my position.
He and my step mom, Emilou, drove me to the airport in Shreveport. Arriving at the terminal, dad had trouble getting out of the car. He was growing gaunt, and just seeing him struggle to get out of a car made something in me well up inside. Emi is good of health so she followed me into the airport. Emotions started to surface and I cried. I knew dad was not doing well. I honestly did not know if that was the last time I would see him.
Airports being airports, my flight got delayed and I ended up staying the night in Detroit. Well, actually, the airport is located in Romulus, MI. I asked the person at the hotel desk if they referred to themselves as Romulans, being the trekie that I am. I was expecting a light hearted smile, but I didn't get that. Apparently, I was not the first to ask.
I was woke in the morning from a call from my brother. Dad had had a stroke. I made it back to Norfolk still wanting to hear updates and whatnot. And I got them...and things seemed fine as they could be. It was not like I could go back to see him, which is what I wanted to do.
In 2009 I was on shore for 78 days out of the 365 days of the year. Getting back in December, I went home again for Christmas to see my father. I knew things would not be the same. He lost the left side of his body and his speech was not quite there. But when I visited, he smiled and I could understand some things. Emi helped me to translate, seeing how she had spent the most time with him.
On April the 5th, I got a call from Emi. "You need to come home now. Dad wants to see you. I asked him if he wanted to talk to you and he said no. When I asked if he wanted to see you he said yes." Dad's vocabulary now can be counted on possibly one hand. So I left.
1000+ miles later, here I am. Dad is gaunt beyond description. He cannot smile anymore. And the only two words I can understand from his mouth are my name and something he says quite a bit. "OK". Before I arrived he had, and has, stopped eating. He has been throwing up his stomach lining and bile, which is black. So I came to visit while he was lucid, which is a guess at that. I held his hand with one hand, placed my other hand on his forehead, and talked. He would try to speak but it was impossible to understand. I could tell that he recognized me. He as happy to see me, and sad as well.
My father has always been so independent. While waiting to go into the Navy I got a job at Chili’s in order to make some money before I was shipped off. I had coupons for entire free meals...good ones at that. But, no, my dad did not want to go...because he was fine with the meals he had at home. Typical dad...he knew what he wanted and stuck with it. He was at his house, on his property, and never wanted to leave. I loved where he was and had no intention of leaving it, except for the occasional run for groceries in the nearest town. It was the land he grown up on, the land that he nurtured with crops, cut his own wood and spit the logs to supply the hearth with warmth for the winter. He used his tractor to cut the weeds later to bail them into hay to feed the cows and to sell the surplus. He lived the land. He never needed anyone, or anything.
Now my dad needs everything. He wears a diaper. He needs help to drink fluids. And he is miserable. As I stood over my dad, I could tell he was happy to see me but sad because I was seeing him this way. The stroke did much damage, but a son can tell when he sees his jaw thrusting forward and tightening that he was upset. He was thirsty so Emi got him his sippie cup. After the first few attempts to allow him to drink with a regular glass, it became apparent that he needed a sippie cup designed for small children. Being in a hospital bed, we raised it up so he could drink. He would grasp at the straw with his mouth as if blindly casting while fishing. And he drank. Not well, but he did his best. Emi started to well up with tears and had to leave the room. So there I was...with sippie cup in hand helping my father to drink. "My how things have changed", I thought. The son now taking care of the one he loves, making sure he does not spill too much.
My father is going to pass soon. And has heartless as it sounds, I hope that it is sooner than later. No one deserves to live this way. Especially not my father, who refused help at every single turn. And he was often right. He was one of those folks that you often see on the Silver Screen...frontiersman, cowboy, etc. And now...
My Mother's death in 2000 has steeled me for what is to come. Why I have had to watch two parents suffer slowly is beyond me. But it is what it is...the Navy taught me that. Still life, at times, sucks.