Dad - and the Drenching Downpour that never stops

This is my dad. Handsome devil, eh?

This was his high school senior picture, taken, I believe, in 1948. That was the year he married my lovely mother. She had just turned 16. Those were different times, weren't they?

                    

And here he is again, in 1970, the year I was born.
That's right, you've guessed it! That's me he's holding in his arms - just a tiny version of me. I was less than a month old there. Look at his hands. Aren't they amazing? Those are the hands that will come to cradle me, teach me, protect me and love me throughout my life. I always loved those hands. I practically worshiped those hands. That man was my hero for most of my life.

And that was where my confusion began. I'm still confused.

My dad died one year ago on the 13th of April. I wish I could say that I've never felt such a complete sense of loss, but the truth is that his death just compounded a lifetime of confusion and pain that had come to its peak a few years before, on the day he came to my home, sat down on my couch, and disowned me.

It's complicated, you see.

How do I tell you about it without telling the whole story? Because I don't want to tell the whole story. I'm so tired of the whole story. It has been done to death. Let me simply say that scandals took place, my father refused to believe me, and he decided to cast me out of the family rather than deal with awful truths about his oldest son. His way of resolving the matter was to come to my home and perform some kind of ritualistic exorcism, cutting me out of his family. It finally occurred to me yesterday, I mean it really hit me like lightning out of the clear blue sky, that my father, whom I had always revered and looked to as my spiritual guide and intellectual leader, had literally come to me with the intention of performing some made-up religious rite wherein he would sever his spiritual ties to me, thereby absolving himself of responsibility and onus for me. As I clung to him, weeping against his chest, telling him repeatedly of my love for him, he literally pushed me away from him and shoved me into my husband's arms, stating that I should go to my husband. He told me I belonged with my husband. Then he walked off, got into his car, and drove away. He broke my heart. I meant nothing to him, or so his words and actions indicated. I felt as though I was dead to him. I wanted to die.

Within the next couple of months, as hollow and dead as I felt, I did my best to die. I tried twice to swallow as many pills as I could get my hands on. I was at the bottom of an endless, pit, and I could see no way out. I was underwater, and I was drowning. After twice ending up in the hospital due to my suicide attempts, I finally locked myself away in a mental hospital, in an attempt to save my own life. I knew it was the only way to keep myself from hurting those I loved - my children and my husband. If anything, I wanted to stay alive for them. I may not have had the desire to stay alive for them, but I knew the scars I would have left on them if I had succeeded in taking my life, and I truly didn't want to do that to them.

It worked. I found that my desire to live for my husband and kids was enough to build on. Today I live for myself and for them, and I am happy.

About a year before my dad died, I forced myself to go to my parents and make some sort of reconciliation. The truth was that I missed my mom, and in my parents' advanced age, I knew that it wouldn't be long before they would die. I didn't want my kids to miss out on having their grandparents in their lives. My parents had played major roles in my kids lives previously - we had even lived with them while Darrin went to back to college. We had all been so close, and I knew my kids were lonely and confused. I just couldn't let that continue. So ties were reestablished, with caution.

Then about a week before my dad's death, he had a major heart attack. He was in the hospital for several days. On the day he was released, I went to stay at my parents' house, to help take care of them as he recovered, and my mom had just had foot surgery, so she wasn't particularly mobile either. Shortly after I arrived, I noticed that my dad's ankles were swollen, and my mom pointed out that his eyes were puffy. I suggested that he go back to the hospital. I knew something was wrong. I had a terrible feeling. But my dad didn't want to listen to me. He was in his fluffy bathrobe and wanted to sleep in his own bed. (Besides, he knew better than me, didn't he? It WAS me we were talking about!) He told me he would see how he felt in the morning, after a good night's sleep.

I made my bed on the floor that night. I did not rest well. I kept worrying about his ankles and all that swelling. I just knew it wasn't right, particularly not right after a major heart attack.

I awoke with a start. It was still dark. Something was going on. My mom was yelling. I jumped up and ran down the hall to my parents' room. Mom was on the phone. Dad was on the floor. In what was surely less than an eighth of a second I knew what had happened: Dad had had a stroke, and it was very bad. His legs were folded under him. He was sitting up, and his eyes were vacantly looking around the room. I ran to his side and quickly assessed the situation. I knew immediately that he would not recover. He tried to speak: "I wannnn . . . I wannnna . . . I wannn . . ." Nothing more could come from his once eloquent lips. I tried so hard to communicate with him, but he was so frustrated because he couldn't make the words come out, and I clearly wasn't understanding him. I thought he wanted to move from his position, but I knew I shouldn't move him.

Mom was on the phone with 911. The ambulance was on its way. I had to run down the hall and turn on all the lights, open the door. Did that take forever, or was it just 18 seconds? 

That DAMNED FOOL!!! Why wouldn't he let me take him to the hospital last night??? (This is the question that has plagued me for a year now! Will this question rest on my shoulders for the rest of my life? Was this his final cruelty to me, after a lifetime of not accepting me?)

And I was back by his side again, calming him, stroking his hair, holding his hand, trying to pretend that my world wasn't turning upside down all over again, holding back the vomit that kept threatening to come, speaking calmly to my daddy, like he was my child. What did he even comprehend at this point? Was he my 81 year old father, or was he a child now? What was left of his brain? I could see very little in his eyes . . . very little of the man I had so longed for, the man I had spent my life fighting to gain favor with. He was already slipping rapidly away from me. I was losing my opportunity to MAKE him love me and accept me as I was. I had failed. He would never see me for who I really was! The despair and gravity of the moment threatened to swallow me whole.

And there was my mom, the love of her life on the floor beside me, slipping away from her in mortality. What right did I have to such selfish thoughts? All of my own personal regard was stuffed down inside me as the EMTs arrived. There would be plenty of time to wallow in self-pity later. This was not my time.

There was blood. I don't know where it came from. It was evident when the EMTs lifted him to the gurney. It didn't shock me. I guess that was because I was already in shock, already on automatic pilot. We got ready to go to the hospital right after the ambulance left. Mom took awhile. She was definitely in shock. I think we all just knew. I told mom what I knew - I told her Dad had a stroke, and I didn't think it looked very good, but that Darrin's step-dad recovered quite a bit after his "really-bad" stroke, so we should wait and see. Jim, my brother, who had also had a stroke before, drove to the hospital. I didn't cry yet.

In the ER, they didn't give Dad the stroke medicine. I couldn't figure out why. WHY? They said they wanted to put it right into his brain, because of where the stroke was. They tried. They couldn't. Turns out his veins in his neck were very "tortuous", or twisty. They couldn't get to his brain. They couldn't give him the meds that were supposed to break up the clot in his brain. They admitted him to the ICU.

He was very agitated most of the time. He was able to say a few words. He kept saying, very slowly, over and over, "I . . . want . . . to . . . go . . . home". We kept telling him he had to stay and get better first, and then he could go home. He would look frustrated and shake his head. Finally, my mom and I talked it over, and we realized that he wasn't telling us he wanted to go back to the house. He was telling us he was ready to die. After he had been saying it for over a day, he said it again. My mom and my sister were there, and I asked him "Dad, are you telling us that you're ready to die?" He looked right into my eyes and focused really clearly, took a deep breath, smiled and nodded deeply. We all wept. I told him that would be ok. I promised him that I would take care of my mom, and that any time he was ready, he could go home. He took a deep breath, and just sighed so deeply. He was clearly relieved. After that he wasn't agitated anymore. My mom stayed by his side as much as she could. They held hands all the time. When he would fall asleep, his hand would slip from hers, and she would rest. When he woke up, his hand would automatically seek hers out, and she would reach for him. They were married for 63 years. The last thing he said to her was "I love you tons." and she said "I love you tons too."

That night he had another severe stroke. He was not able to speak again after that, and began to rapidly deteriorate.

My dad had no wish to prolong his life artificially. My mom knew his desires. Still it was a very painful decision. We all talked it over as a family when the doctor told us he would continue to have more strokes, and that he would not recover. I was the final hold-out, I guess, still holding on to some desperate hope that my daddy would come around for me. I just didn't want to let go of that hope. In the end, I knew that it was not my decision to make. He had made the decision for me on the night he wouldn't let me take him back to the hospital, the night he went to bed and had that stupid stroke. He took it out of my hands then.

They removed all life support and monitoring from my dad, and friends and family gathered near. It took another couple of days before he finally passed, but his spirit wasn't really there. I spent the majority of my time there, by his side, waiting for him to go. I held his hands, washed his face, brushed his hair. I put lip balm on his parched lips and helped the nurses clear mucous from his lungs. I kissed his beautiful hands - those hands that had carried me, held me, picked me up when I had fallen, those hands that had worked to sustain his family all his life. And I was helpless as a kitten. I could do nothing for him - nothing but sit and wait for the Lord to decide it was time for the end to come.

It was the second most sorrowful parting of my life.

And now, here I am, a year later. I keep thinking this will get easier! Somehow, shouldn't the blow soften, become easier? Shouldn't the fact that my daddy disowned me several years ago cease to be so terribly, terribly painful? Don't you think I would have stopped referring to him as "my daddy"? Why doesn't this broken hearted little girl just grow up? I have a husband who adores me, and three lovely children who think the world of me! Why can't that just be enough???

Why am I still weeping over the father who never approved of me, who died a year ago? Why, when I know I will never gain his favor in this life, is my heart still breaking over all of this? And how do I find a path toward healing?

Somehow I must find a way to dance . . .

Autumn

Feeling calm. That's unexpected for me, and very nice. Don't you just love autumn? The earth is settling in for her long winter nap, getting comfy, soaking in the last of the warm summer sunshine. The wind blows and the trees shake their shoulders, letting their leaves drift down, blanketing the ground at their feet. There is a subtle unrest in the air, an anticipation of things to come - something stirs within us, and something else quiets - undefinable and out of reach. We must be as mother earth, content to settle in and wait the long winter out. Let it come. We will be here, as sure as the passage of time and season. Let it come . . .

The Secret of Life

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm grumpy. I haven't been feeling good, and things could definitely be less complicated in my life right now. I don't want to complain. That isn't really fun, is it? I mean, do you really want to come here and read some random blog where some crazy lady just complains about all the messed up stuff in her life? No? No.

Let's try this:

What a great song. It always makes me happy. It reminds me of the basics. I sing it with my husband in the car as we drive through the canyons, and I remember the simplicity of life and love and forget all the bad stuff.

And a friend shared this with me tonight on Facebook:

“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just like people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.” - Jenkin Lloyd Jones

I have to say, I really, really love this quote right now. I'm mostly just overwhelmed by it.

I don't think I can add much to that. It is perfect in and of itself. It describes exactly how I've been feeling lately.

Oh, another friend shared this on Facebook today, and it is perfect too:

I don't want to say anything here that will diminish this lovely quote. I certainly can't add to it. I can't add to either of the perfect quotes I've used here tonight. I don't know that I've ever come across two quotes that more ideally express my heart's true sentiment in my life. I just love them.

I want so much to help. What I mean to say is that, in my life, I have lived through some hard things, and I have the feeling that the Lord isn't done with me. I believe that his purpose in putting me through those things is that I should share my experience with others, so that I might ease their burden. When I think of my burdens this way it makes my difficult times not-so-difficult. I don't mind it so much, you see? I guess that's why I love this last quote so much. I guess I wouldn't mind so much about all the hard stuff if I could think that one day I might be the slightest bit "beautiful" to the Lord. I'm not particularly graceful. I've always known that. I'm loud and a big klutz. I'm not athletic and I can't dance. My mother-in-law doesn't love me, even though I've made her son very happy through the years. But the thought that I might somehow earn the label "beautiful" . . . that magical and so lofty thing which has seemed so beyond my reach forever . . . "beautiful" . . . well, that would be just lovely, really.

Blech!

I'm feeling quite yucky. I'll try tomorrow. Forgive me?

Palmolive! You're soaking in it!

Last night was a rough night. I have 3 kids. You know how it is when kids get barfy. Not good. On a scale of 1-10 of rough nights with barfy kids, this one was probably a 7 - and only that good because my son is 11, and I finally just got so exhausted that I decided he was old enough to be independent. I let him fly solo. I let him leave the nest and worship the porcelain god all by his lonesome. It was quite a night. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It all began with this:



I grew up in a family where we would get sick in the bathroom, do our business on our own, and then go give a report to mom. I never went to get my mom first, to have her come hang out with me while I lost my lunch. It honestly just never occurred to me that I might have comfort and companionship during my wretched moment of need on the bathroom floor.

When I got married, a whole new world of nurturing and compassion opened up to me! I turned out to be the sickest of morning sick pregnant women in the world. It extended not only into 24-hour mode, but drew itself out through all nine months of pregnancy. My sweet husband stood by my side, stroking my hair and holding my head when I was too weak to hold my head up any longer. He even cleaned up after me when I missed. He was my hero. I had never known such kindness and tenderness in my entire life. I honestly had never known that such true service and pure love existed before I knew my husband. He showed me how to love, and that love became a part of my own life.

And then came our beautiful children. I was not prepared. I don't know how anyone can be, but I can honestly say that I was clueless. I had babysitting experience, and loads of nieces and nephews, but I had no little brothers and sisters. I had no real practical application and no handbook. I was making it up as I went along. I felt very incompetent. However, I had one thing in my favor - I had this amazing husband, and all that really incredible love he had taught me. He was really patient and sweet, and I was learning so much from him. I was really good at changing diapers and things like that. And when it came to waking up with a screaming baby in the middle of the night and being patient about it, he had that part down. Between us, we made a pretty good team.

Over the years, we've learned what we've needed from one another. He's a professional when it comes to diaper changing, far from his very-first-diaper-change-ever, on the day our first daughter was born. And I've actually learned patience and the ability to not want to scream at the children in the middle of the night when they're sick!

After much ado about background, that brings me back to the beginning of my story: Palmolive!

So, I had just settled in for a nice, deep sleep - a sleep well aided by medication (because that is the only way I sleep well), when I sensed a presence at my bedside. My "mom-senses" were tingling. This is something akin to "spidey-senses", but it really is just a super-power given only to mothers. All mothers who read this will know exactly what I'm talking about. Men who are in-touch with their soft side will get it too. So, "mom-senses" tingling, I rolled over to see my beatiful son, looking not so happy. I have no idea what he said. I had drug-induced brain fog. But the "mom-senses" understood - there was imminent barf. Middle-of-the-Night Super-Mom sprang into automatic action. Good thing.

Now, Middle-of-the-Night Super-Mom can do things that I simply can NOT. I am Ruth. I am disabled. I have a super rare and bizarre, obscure and freaky brain disease called pseudo-tumor cerebri (which means, literally "It's NOT a tumor!!!" Yeah, really - "false brain tumor") I just have too much cerebrospinal fluid, so it squeeeeeezes my brain, which hurts all the time and makes me stumble around a bunch. I run into walls. I'm a regular comedy act. Ha ha. Invite me to parties. I'm here all week - try the veal!

So, back to the story (I digress alot, eh?) - Middle-of-the-Night Super-Mom got up and ran to the bathroom with beautiful Jared. He squatted over the toilet, and proceeded to do what you would expect him to do. My job, since I learned to be a loving and compassionate mom from my sweet husband, is to stroke my son's hair and rub his back, giving him comfort during this time of horrendous distress. So that was what I proceeded to do. And I continued to do it . . . HOWEVER . . . I became increasingly alarmed as I watched something very wrong take place. My beautiful, beautiful son - my perfect child, my baby boy, my youngest offspring began to produce effluent the exact color of . . . WHAT WAS THAT???

My mind was reeling . . .

What was wrong with him???

Had an alien taken root within my darling boy, gestating in his innards until this very moment when it was ripe and ready to emerge and take over the world? Surely not! I had seen too many of those stupid movies in Jr. High.

I am  the queen of the medical world. I knew I could figure this out. Think! Think! Think! Be reasonable! Bile is NOT this color! Copper? Something about copper??? Does Wilson's Disease do anything like this??? Of course not! Don't be stupid! Oh, you wouldn't believe all the things that went through my mind in a heartbeat. I handed him some tissue to wipe his mouth . . . WHAT IS THAT COLOR???

He was done for a minute. Darrin was there, and I had to use the other bathroom for a quick break. As I sat there, a sudden thought occurred to me: PALMOLIVE DISH LIQUID!!! BINGO! That was the exact color of Jared's vomit!!! Exactly how or why, I could not imagine, but that was it! Now, I have to say that the very identification of the color pleased me, because I had a name for it. I'm weird that way, I admit. But in the same instant I became completely dizzy. Why on earth was my son throwing up something the color of Palmolive??? I immediately began running down the list of everything in my kitchen to see if there was anything possible that could be that color. There just wasn't. I was back to freaking out.

My moment of privacy had passed. I had to return to the real world, where anything could be awaiting me. Who knew what other dishsoap colored disasters might be taking place in my absence? So I put on my calm face, and walked out into the living room, where daddy and son were snuggling. Jared wanted a drink of water. I calmly walked into the kitchen and got him a drink, then calmly walked back to the living room and calmly began to interview him. "Now, Jared," I said calmly - almost placidly, serenely, "I need for you to really think about this. Just be calm." (See how I calmly slipped that in?) "I need for you to think about everything you've eaten tonight. Is there anything at all, not that I'm worried, but anything at all that might have turned your vomit that great color of green???" Smile calmly. Blink. Blink. Blink.

His response: "No . . . I can't think of anything, Mom. Really."

Silence. Blink. Blink. Smile.

"Oh, I did eat a blue and a yellow cupcake . . ."

I'm sorry, did I breathe recently? I can't recall. Blink. Blink. Smile. Sharp inhale . . . aaaaand . . . "OHHHHHH!!!! And blue and yellow make GREEEEN!!!!!" See how clever Middle-of-the-Night Super-Mom is??? What brain disease??? Sharp as ever, this one! I even know which colors make what!

I should be on CSI.

So, poor Jared barfed something like every 5 minutes for the next hour or two, then slowed down a tiny bit for the rest of the night. The Palmolive gave out within the first half hour, but after the mystery was solved it really lost its charm. Now I just keep thinking about those commercials with "Madge" from the early '70s. Good old Madge . . .

Brave Jared - I know he's 11, but he's still my baby. Isn't that just the way it works? Do our kids ever stop being our kids?

And my sweet Darrin was so nauseated he had to take medication and stay in bed most of the night, bless his heart. Cancer is his demon right now. He really just is the best daddy in the world. He used to be the middle-of-the-night super hero around here. I guess his cancer has really made me step up and be better at being the mom of the house. I honestly can't say it has made me love my family any better or any more. They are my treasure. They are my life. Darrin's cancer has made me hold my family closer, though. I'm not happy or grateful for this trial. I can't pretend to be. But in the middle of the night, when I'm holding my sweet son and counting my blessings, I am grateful for the lessons I'm learning. I'm glad I'm holding my loved ones closer and that my faith is stronger.

Now it's time for a nap.

Hola!

So, this is the day I decided to start my blog. It isn't the first blog I've started. I'm a quitter, you see. But I'm also a starter, so I'm the best of both worlds. I don't know that you'd say I'm actually a "glass-half-full" kind of gal, but whatever. I'm a "whatever" sort of gal, I guess!

I have alot to talk about, and I really want to share it. There's an abnormal amount of stuff going on in my life, and I don't know whether it is normal or not. I think maybe you would say that it is somewhat abnormal in abnormal proportions, all at once. It really is a crazy life right now. I'm learning a ton. That's why I really just thought I would share it. You know - just throw it out there and see if anyone was interested. The internet is huge, and I don't know that anyone will ever even click on this page. It's ok with me if no one ever reads this. If no one does, then this will be my own private little place to come and spill my guts. That's perfectly acceptable. I've never been a journal writer. I guess that's what this would end up being. And if anyone decides to read along, that would be fun too. I don't know that I have any particular goal in mind,  other than to just share with the universe all the stuff that's in my head regarding the abnormal amount of stuff that's been hurtling my way through space and time these days. Because as Bill Waters once said "The days are just packed!" (Gold star on your forehead if you know what that's a reference to! And no, I'm not going to send you a gold star.)

The main event in my life right now is my husband's cancer. See, Darrin came into my life nearly 20 years ago, and he is my everything. In June he was diagnosed with lymphoma. It happened right there in the emergency room, as simple as that. "Darrin, you have lymphoma." Me (In a very stern and stupid voice): "NO!" Well, what did I think that would accomplish? Would the CT scan change at my command??? Would the doctor cower in fear and change his mind? Thoughtlessness prevails in moments of panic for me. And then came the tears. Nothing else mattered. I knew that lymphoma was cancer. Stupid, stupid cancer. I had never known my father-in-law because of cancer. My husband had grown up without his daddy because of cancer. Cancer is a bad word. Cancer is the F-bomb of the medical world. Cancer is just bad, bad, bad. Cancer, cancer go away. Never ever come to stay. I hate it. I've always hated it. I'm afraid of it. When I think of cancer, immediately an image of the grim reaper with his hollow face and creepy sickle pops into my head. All of that was just immediately in my head in the solitary heartbeat that passed as the doctor pronounced my sweet love's fate there in the emergency room on that June day.

And everything has been chaos since.

Oh, it isn't that it wasn't chaos before. Don't get me wrong. Where I go, storms seem to precede me! They anticipate my coming and build up pressure in preparation for my arrival. The mere fact of my presence is the only element necessary to bring about the first lovely drops of rain.

And isn't rain lovely?

It must be, because it rains in abundance everywhere I go! I'm learning to enjoy the journey, and the scenery while I travel. There is a popular phrase these days that goes something like this:

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain."

I know, we've all heard it - to the point of it becoming a bit trite. But I still like it. Mostly I like it because it has become a kind of mantra for me. It isn't just the cancer. There's much, much more. So much more that when I try to laugh it off, sometimes it sounds a little bit like hysterical, demented laughter. But that's ok. I'm dancing.

And when I dance, I'm a ballerina. Ok, not a ballerina in REAL life, but a ballerina in my mind. And I'm amazingly graceful. Because I might as well go all the way, and make it a lovely delusion!

Several months ago they remodeled our local Walmart. In the process of shuffling shelves and making a general confusing mess of things, we found at one point a giant void of everything, right in the middle of what had once been the home improvement section. It was me, my hubby, my three kids and a couple of their friends. There we were, in a huge open space of tile, smack dab in the middle of Walmart! "What's it for?", one of the kids asked. "Well, isn't it obvious?" I responded. "It's for twirling!" I then abandoned my basket, grabbed one of the kids' hands, ran out into the center of the bald spot, and began to twirl with reckless abandon, arms spread wide. Soon, all the kids were twirling along with us, for no reason at all. My husband finally gave in and joined us. Before long, several other families that happened by were there with us, just twirling and giggling. Twirling and giggling in Walmart! What a sight to behold! Adults in their 40's, teenagers, young children, anyone who could or would . . . unabashedly just making complete fools of themselves, all for the sake of I-don't-know-what. Twirling? Joy?

And then we all collected our wits a bit, and chuckled, and walked away, cheeks flushed. I have no idea who those people were! What lunatics, twirling like that in the middle of Walmart! Imagine such a thing! (And what a time it was!)

Memories. I think maybe it might be all about the memories we make. My kids still talk about that one. And so does my husband.