Friday, August 23, 2013

It's Natural to Fight It

Each time I call Mom I ask, "How's it going?"  And she answers, "Slowly."

Darrell mostly sleeps now, hardly eats and doesn't really pee because he isn't drinking.  Last week, mom got up in the morning and called to him, couldn't find him.  The doors were all locked but she finally ventured outside to find him walking the circle drive-way.  "Darrell?" she called.

"Oh thank God!" he exclaimed.  "I didn't know where I was!  I thought I had to go to work; I don't wanna go to work!"

A few days later he was almost shouting and Mom and Dad about how they force him to work and take all his money.  Mom had to call several people & explain to them that if he starts talking about they need to come pick him up because he's living with them because Dave and Sis are such terrible people--it's not true and it's not happening. 

Of course he's a bit out of his mind now and then.  Of course Mom and Dad aren't sending him to work and the only time they ever took money from him was the time he left the water hose running for hours and hours, full blast.  Darrell gave Mom forty dollars and apologized for the water bill.

It's become quite depressing.  More so than usual.  He's stopped eating so he's lost a considerable amout of weight.  His arms appear skinny and the skin is cracked and weathered from years under the sun.  His face droops on one side.  A type of bed sore on his foot has become infected and swollen and reeks of that odd infection smell.  The same scent can be detected when you stand near his face and the cancer forced a drainage from his ear, coupled with large amounts of blood.

His favorite pants, which were once so tight it took two people to button, now hang from his waist.  But his pain is practically managed most of the time which is saying something.  Mom cries because she knows it would better for him to let go, though he's fighting it every minuet.  "But I know the alternative!" she weeps.  "He has no kind of life!"

On the one hand, he is in pain and spends most of his time sleeping or trying to pee, which is not the best life for a person. It's taxing and stressful on everyone that loves him.  On the other hand, once he's gone, he's gone and I think as hard as things are right now on Mom, the alternative may be even harder.

Jesus, if you are there.....
listening....
give us a solution to this mess.

Tell him it's OK to stop fighting.
Tell him to let go.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Changes, Changes

Darrell's become increasingly more confused.  He occassionally will see someone who's been dead for 30 years but lately now and then, he will wander all over the house looking for someone that isn't there.  One morning, after Shawn and I had arrived, mom and I had stepped inside, followed by Darrell.  He started toward the hallway asking, "Did you see him?  That Mexican man...did you see him?"

"You mean Shawn?" Mom asked.  Shawn is hardly Mexican but I could see what Mom was trying to do.  "He's in the garage," she added.  "No, that man!" Darrell said.  "Where is he?"

"Shawn's in the garage, Darrell," she said.  The kitchen door opened and in walked Shawn.  "There he is!  There's Shawn!" Mom exclaimed.  "See?  There is Shawn!"
"Oh," Darrell replied and he was content with that.

One night he decided he wanted to take a bath and stripped down to nothing, not a shred of garments in the middle of the kitchen.  Mom later told me, "He'd just die if he knew!" referring to Darrell's knowledge of the event.  Mom eventually got him into the bathroom and waited outside the door.  She could hear the water running and running and running.  She called to him several times with no answer.  Finally, Darrell unlocked the door and announced, "Nothing ever works right in this house!  Come on, Sis, let's go home!"  The water was up tot he very top of the tub.  A couple minuets more and the bathroom would've flooded.

When I visited the following the Saturday I found the lock and latch on the doorknob to be non-functional.  I warned Shawn that if he used the restroom, he'd have to prop the door stop against the door to keep it shut.  "I'll have a look at it," he said.  "No, I think it's that way for a reason," I replied.

Josh, Darrell's youngest son had stopped by and I think everything was quite a shock to him.  He hadn't been by in 2 or 3 weeks and a lot of changes can occur in that amount of time.   He was taking it pretty hard.  At one point he seemed like he really needed to go outside instantly.  I wasn't sure if I should let him be or follow.  Shawn, also a smoker decided he too needed a cigarette and followed Josh outside.  Shawn had lost his own father several years ago but it was sudden and quick, without suffering and prolonged confusion.

Mom said the next day both Justin, the eldest and Josh had stopped by for about seven hours with wives and kids.  She said one had texted the other and said, "Why don't we give this gift to Dad?"

"I wonder if what I said...." Shawn said to me.  "What?  Did you speak to Josh on Saturday?" I asked.
"Well we didn't say a whole lot.  I just mentioned that they ought to get together to see Darrell.  (Despite Darrell's coherent pleading months ago, along with the pleading of other family members, the two refused to be in the same building together, much less the same city)  He said he hadn't spoken to his brother in two years and I just told him, you know, sometimes you just gotta let that stuff go."

"Even if it's only for a few hours.  Thank you, Shawn."
"I didn't really say much, don't thank me.  It coulda been everybody else telling them to do it that finally made them do it."
"But maybe what you said finally did it."

In any case, they finally got together, in the same room with their father.  I've had a funny feeling for a few days that we are into a period of it being mere days ahead of us.  After our visit last weekend, I wondered if we'd be coming out the following Saturday.