Healing a Midwesterner

A bullet through the skull is a quick way to end the life of a suffering animal but things aren’t as easy when it comes to old people. Not that I think we should kill old people, but after a week of watching my failing father-in-law endure many an indignity I wish there were a more graceful way to exit the world.

Last spring when my favorite goat was slowly wasting away and unable to fight a staph infection it didn’t take long to realize that not only did she suffer but she also endangered the herd. We played God. I didn’t like it, but when the sound of the gun reverberated across our property at least I could be certain the pain was over.

But pain returns again and again in our lives. I panicked when my husband called me from the Midwest.

“Are you ready for a bombshell?”

“No … not really.”

“I’ve convinced my parents to come live with us for a while. In the basement.”

I’d met these parents once. For three days. Five years ago. Now they were older and sicker. Cancer and hip replacements. Bouts of insanity possibly brought on by organs unable to process morphine for pain.

“Okay, I’m not letting your parents sleep in the basement,” I said, imagining them calling up the stairs for water and a crust of bread.

They now have our room and so far so good. We’re all getting along, but it’s so hard to watch people lose their autonomy. Joe is frail. He has cancer and back problems. He needs hearing aids that don’t really work. He has eyes that don’t really see. Yesterday he slipped out of his chair. I heard his wife telling him to get on his knees in hushed tones and wondered what was going on in their room but didn’t feel comfortable asking.  Finally they asked for help. when my son and I entered the room Joe lay on his side.

“Are you okay, Grandpa?” my son asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. Could you do me a favor and help me up?”

We joked about the situation a little uneasily. Later I overheard him talking with my husband.

“I used to love reading. I used to love listening.”

My husband does many things for his father that neither of them would want me to talk about.

Once we went to have our auras read for fun. The woman we paid told me I was a drama queen and creative. No shock there. She told my rigid, military husband that his true calling was healing. I see it now as he kneels before his father to assure him that he’s no burden.

Joe expresses regrets. “No, I wasn’t a good father. I didn’t do shit.”

My husband’s reply is waved off impatiently.

Joe falls asleep every few minutes. His wife of sixty years has been his caretaker for the last ten. After breaking her hip she had to swallow her pride and ask for help. She reassures my husband that every time Joe closes his eyes he’s not dying. But he is. Maybe it’s the Midwest in them all but as a family they hang on. Joe lustily enjoys a piece of blueberry-lemon cheesecake or a salty joke. He has a mischievous smile and bright, soulful eyes in those moments but the moments abruptly come to an end. His jaw goes slack, his eyes go vacant.

My husband drove his parents eighteen hours from Illinois because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. Joe said the drive was the only bit of hope he’d had in years.

My husband hopes he can save his father somehow. He fills the calendar with appointments. He researches medical marijuana. He wants to make his father’s ride easier. He wants to prolong life. I think in the end he may only be able to heal that part of Joe that believes his life was a series of failures. “You’re actually a good son, aren’t you.” Joe says as if it surprises him.

Featured Image: Evangelist Matthew and the Angel by Rembrandt

13 Comments Add yours

  1. LA says:

    Great post. Thank you for sharing

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  2. For me, it is somehow reassuring to know one is not alone in things like this: it’s not a matter of my doing it wrong, it’s just really hard for everyone. All of this is so familiar. Watched my dad fade (Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s), and now taking care of mom, after lots of surgeries and drugs that almost killed her (in my opinion, no one should be given Cipro if they live alone, as the side effects can be so violent). I’m also hearing a lot of that “I used to loved to…” in her case, shopping, but she can’t stand up long enough now. And yet, as hard as it is, it is turning into a really precious time. Losing her won’t be easy, but I won’t have any regrets, because I had this time to do everything I could to ease this passage.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Cynthia,
      Yes. Everything you say is so true. My husband moved away from home when he joined the Navy and never went back. it’s interesting to see what a natural caregiver he is–also fun to see how much he’s like his parents! The good, the bad, the ugly. LOL.

      Only a few weeks ago they were both at death’s door because they hated the nursing home. Now they’re both laughing and joking. Family is so important!!!

      You really are an inspiration–it is nice to know other people are going through the same thing.

      xx
      A

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Poignant and powerful… Sharing.

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    1. Thanks, Bette! We like to seal ourselves from other people’s pain in aging, but I’m (at this moment) feeling grateful for the opportunity to be a part of my in-laws’ lives. Have a wonderful end of the week.

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  4. You’ve just taken my breath away, Adrienne. Such a beautiful and poignant story about your husband and his parents. It’s nearly impossible to watch someone age beyond their ability to care for themselves but it’s a mark of our compassion as human beings to remain by the side of the elderly. You assigned them your bedroom, honoring their dignity. Watching the dying demands the humility to forgive and to ask forgiveness. I think you know what I’ve been through – my experience is parallel to your husband’s and yet each person’s moment is individual. You pay tribute here to your in-laws and to your husband with love that only a deeply spiritual person can grasp. Not talking religion here (though I know you’re religious) but a visceral connection to the universe that is eternal.
    My best wishes to your family for the peace each of you deserves.

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    1. Thanks, Shari. I was really dreading this experience but seeing how patient my husband is with his parents is an interesting development 😉

      I have my shallow moments for sure–like when I wanted to look like Jackie Kennedy at my father’s funeral. LOL.

      Peace back to you!

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Deeply moving and sad. I believe that medical marijuana is definitely worth exploring as it can ease both physical and mental pain.

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    1. Yes, we are definitely hoping it will help though my father-in-law doen’t want to turn into a “pot-head.” LOL

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Bless him, I can understand. The evidence of its efficacy where health and well-being are concerned is building and yet the govt here continue to say it’s dangerous and leads to heavy-duty… blah, blah…rubbish. It will if you have an addictive personality. They only legalised CBD oil at the beginning of the year and that’s not helping me or my nephew who had a horrible crash on his motorbike last year and is in constant pain. I’m sure you get my meaning!

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  7. Thank you for sharing. This was a very sad and poignant piece, but what I took away from it is that you and your husband are both wonderful people ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You are very kind. 😉 It ain’t easy being wonderful though. LOL.

      Liked by 2 people

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