Good-Bye

Pa has been to see us twice this year. He is so feeble it makes me feel sad to look at him, and I feel each time I tell him good-bye I shall never see him again. - Frances, January 1891

It’s that time of year again. For me, mid-March is always a bit tough. I wanted to post something last week, but I just couldn’t think of anything to say. There is plenty going on in the world, and in my life, but March 16 always leaves me lacking a voice. Luckily, I came across this post from Frances about her father.

Last week marked the 11th year since my Dad passed away. I try to spend time remembering fun memories and experiences we shared. But inevitably, I remember the difficult parts of his final years. His lack of mobility and loss of vision. His fading memories and labored speech. The way his body failed him a bit more every day. That was the hard part, and it was my reality for a good bit of time. Frances seemed to experience something similar - each time she saw her father, she thought it would be the last.

Maybe this ‘anniversary’ was particularly hard because I’m heading back into a caretaker role (Mama). Maybe it was hard because I am writing about my Grandmother’s experience being pregnant with him. Maybe it’s just hard. And that’s ok.

The thing about grief is it never really goes away. If you haven’t heard the ‘ball in a box’ concept of grief, do a quick search. I’m not sure where it originated, but I’ll summarize. Basically, your grief is a ball bouncing around in a box. When the ball touches the side of the box, that represents a feeling of grief (sadness, anger…whatever). At first, the ball is really large so it touches the sides all the time. Gradually, the ball gets smaller, so it touches the sides less and less. But the ball never goes away, and you can never really predict when your grief will return. Rather than fighting it or trying to ‘get over it,’ you are allowed to just feel your feelings, whenever they occur.

To anyone experiencing grief, whether your ball is tiny or enormous, try to be gentle with yourself. Take some time. Take a break. Take a walk. Take a nap. Do whatever you can to be kind to yourself.

He Is So Feeble

Well here again have I arrived at another birth-day.  The come around only too fast.  Why I'll soon be an old woman.  I am looking for Annie + the Dr. on the 17th - their first visit since they were married.  Pa came over when Annie was married, he is so feeble.  I fear he will not live long - but we all pray that the good Lord will spare him to us yet many years longer.  - Frances, February 1892

Frances has arrived at her 28th birthday, and already she feels like an old woman!  Twenty eight seems so young, even to me as a still-young person in my 30s!  How many times do we tell ourselves we are 'too old'?  We have so much to handle in our lives - sometimes, it does seem like the years start slipping away.  Frances is excited to see her sister, Annie, and her new brother-in-law.  Remembering their recent wedding, she thinks back to how her father looked - feeble, frail.  So often it is the burden of adult children to worry about their aging parents.  It is painful, and often overwhelming, to watch a loved one move through the last years of their lives.  It can certainly make you feel older than you are.

I Don't Want Him To Be Scared

Trying to keep my regular life going.  Worked today, went to the gym, practiced 1 hour.

But Daddy is dying.

All that work and planning for Assisted Living facilities, budget, disability, social security.  Now the cancer is back.  And here are the options:

1 - no treatment - die soon

2 - methotrexate into spine - 3-4 months

3 - port into his brain to do smaller doses of methotrexate - 3-4 months

I just want him to talk about it.  I'm scared he won't be ready for death.  But he has never dealt with the reality of his body.  I don't want him to be scared.  I don't want him to be alone.  He's in denial or maintaining hope.  I want someone to tell me how to deal with this.  I'm angry.  I get angry at people.  And I'm angry with God.  It's not fair.

Look at me, trying to tell a dying man how to feel about death.  I just don't want him to be scared.  to be afraid until the very end.  - Miranda, July 2007 

I had just turned 26.  This was my dad's third round of cancer.  Tumors on his adrenal glands were treated with chemotherapy.  The metastasized brain tumors brought rounds of radiation.  During all those treatments, I was handling his finances - making sure bills were paid, etc.  My brother, sister, and I were looking at facilities for my dad, because he could barely walk and was becoming increasingly blind.  I learned all about different chemo drugs, ports, radiation masks - information I wish I never had to learn.  I wish that no one had to learn about that.  I was trying to live my life, just like anyone else, but I was also a caretaker.  Emotions came in waves, or all at once.  Reading (and writing) this makes me cry.  I don't really remember much from that time in my life.  Grief is a funny thing.  The things I remember are the simple ones, like a stranger holding the door for me at a store.  You never really know what someone else is going through.  Patience and kindness can sometimes do more for someone than we will ever know.