My Dad's Journey: A Long Week Later

It's now been a week since my dad was transferred from the hospital to the sub-acute section of the rehab center/nursing home. He has settled into a routine of anxiety and depression. He is unhappy, uncomfortable and unfortunately for him...more lucid than he has been in a while.

Yesterday, he developed a blood clot in his leg. Apparently between his limited mobility and his medical condition, the blood clot situation will continue to be an ongoing concern. You think to yourself, "Is it wrong to hope that a blood clot will offer a quick end to his life?" As opposed to seeing him slowly and painfully slip away. Life is never black or white, but when dealing with illness and quality of life, the gray areas grow larger every day.

Just as there was one day in the hospital where he and I enjoyed a private time with a few smiles and a few short stories, I was lucky to have another since he has been in his new home. But that was several days ago. Since then, his mind has cleared and his speech improved, but this has caused him to be more depressed. Being aware of what is happening to your body is not necessarily a good thing.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. Today mom & dad were married 64 years. That number is unfathomable to me. We got together at his bed today to celebrate the day.

Everyone in the room, including my father was acutely aware there would not be a 65th anniversary.

Life is not fair, we all know that. Why, when our bodies are the most fragile, are we saddled with the most pain and the loss of all dignity. Watching a man who six months ago could read a medical journal, work on countless Sudoku puzzles and tell you the ERA of every pitcher on his beloved St. Louis Cardinals...not be able to comprehend the up and down buttons to raise or lower the bed...is truly heartbreaking.

As the gray areas of the codes we live by, swirl around us...your hopes for the man you adore change with every visit.  You desperately want him to get better, you know that's not realistic.

So instead, you hope for comfort. For him and for me.

Love you Pops.

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