I want to open the door…

Whatever you do, Cancerian, DON’T open the door of that closet that hasn’t been opened in years. DON’T poke your nose into the funny business that has been going on behind the scenes. DON’T peek inside Pandora’s other box, or pick the fruit of temptation off the tree of knowledge, or rush in, like a trusting fool, where angels fear to tread. DON’T do any of these controversial, forbidden things, my dear Crab — unless you want to risk embarking on some enigmatic, elemental, enlightening adventures.

I think the Universe is opening the door for me. It’s been open for awhile but is about to get wide open I’m guessing. I’m treading the path in front of me. One step at a time.

My father had another small stroke last night. He’s had many over the past couple years and while this one was no different and they sent him home, each one does rob him, a little more each time, of his brain power. Memory, speed, computation, that kind of thing is just being taken away. And what is hard is that he knows it. It breaks my heart. Like he did when I was a little girl (and not always so little) I want to protect him, take away the hurt, make it all better. But the only thing I get to do is open my heart as wide as I can and let it all rain down on me. The rain of forgiveness for past wrongs, the rain of sadness for the knowing that this life is temporary, the rain of joy for the time spent with an amazing and wonderful father, the rain of love that it is what he wants the most from me and it’s the one thing I can truly and easily give him.

My brother, who has been in the states this week taking care of administrative red tape flies into town tonight. This is going to stress him out. He feels so powerless over my dad’s health when he’s so far away, living in France. And he wants to control it all. Fun. The next few days are going to be mixed blessings and challenges. And I’m already so tired from my own life’s stress.

Last night I couldn’t get to sleep, just tossed and turned. Not because I was thinking about the stuff that is stressing me out in my own saga because that hasn’t been a problem since I reported everything. I was just so restless, tossing and turning. When my mom called this morning to tell me about the stroke and when it happened I found myself wondering if that was why. Aid cars, emergency room, the whole ball of wax. Just when I was trying to go to sleep. Did I sense it? I believe I did.

I feel so much for both my parents. My mom simply doesn’t know how to communicate with my dad when it’s a difficult topic. She gets all weird and makes it sound accusatory, she walks on eggshells and that upsets him. He’d rather be directly asked. I seem to do better because I will directly ask and when I got dad on the phone this morning, I asked him if he thought it best that I drive (with him of course) to the airport to get my brother. He was very willing for that. Whew. My mom and brother tend to want to lay down the law to my dad, tell him what he can and can not do. I find that my challenge, that I give myself, is to find a way to make it easy for him to hear and for him to make the decision himself. I don’t think it’s manipulative. He knows that this is the long slide and he was very amenable to my help. We even were able to laugh a little.

I love my dad so very much, the only thing I can do is make sure I’m there, love him. I make sure I ask him, when he has another health crisis, how it feels to be going through that. I try to give him every opportunity to talk about it from his POV instead of simply telling him he can’t drive any more or should quit working. Like me, he can get very defiant and resistant. Have a nice day! Don’t tell me what to do! *laugh*

I am my father’s daughter. Every moment is so special right now.

6 thoughts on “I want to open the door…

  1. I am sure your father is proud to have a daughter like you. It is very tough to see a loved one in pain or suffering or seeing the very realness and temporariness of their life. I am in a similar, but unique in its own way, situation with my MIL. I’ll be keeping you and yours in my thoughts, dear!

    Awwwww. fanks. My thoughts are with you and yours too.

  2. How nice that the independence you both have is filled with love. I don’t know about you, but having non-conditional love when I have a strong difference of opinion is a tough challenge! (I’ve gotten better over the years though.)

    I had a cute vision of a crab trying to get through a door with a very small crack, and then it turned up sideways and slid on through…

    *laugh* Works for me! Being a cancer and all… Somehow I can see it too.

  3. Things are tough for you as a pair of people right now… but all that love, respect, trust that you have built up over the years of being father and daughter will stand you in good stead. You sound very similar. Good, this means your dad is a fighter.

    *laugh* We are indeed fighters.

    If what he wants is love, and you’re giving him everything you have, you’re already both winning.

    All the best to you both – my thoughts with you at this specially difficult time.

    thanks you!

  4. Oh Beweaver, make the most of every moment with your father! Mine died last April and I miss him greatly. He was 87 and had been as fit as a flea until the last six months of his life, so he had been lucky. I could see him fading and almost becoming transparent, so there was nothing left unsaid between us.

    That’s really important, to say all the things you need and want to say – and Sod’s Law says that if you do say everything, your dad will keep on going for ages yet, it’s how it always works! I wish you both well and I hope that you’re still worrying about him for many years yet, because it’s better to worry and have him around than the alternative.

    Hugs to you my dear – it’s a hard time, but you are also blessed to have such a wonderful relationship with your dad.

  5. It is so hard to watch our parents age, isn’t it? I think it’s so important to focus on all the things our elders still *can* do as they age, rather than what they are unable to do anymore. It helps them keep that vital spark alive. Why bother living if everyone just wants to wrap you in cotton batting and keep you from life?

    I’m sure your father appreciates that you are not treating him with kid gloves, but rather, supporting his POV through this difficult time. It sounds like you and your father have a wonderful relationship, built on lots of love and respect. What a gift and a blessing. I hope you still have many precious moments left to spend together.

    (PS- thank you for your comment about Claire, and I’m glad to know you found my new blogsite. With all that’s happened this past month, haven’t gotten around to let people know where my new blog is…)

  6. I distinctly remember walking into the ICU room after my fathers’ last surgeries before he died in Jan. of 2001. He sat cross legged on the bed, looking for all the world like he’d go 10 rounds with anyone that cross him. He had literally pulled the stomach tube out of himself, and sat there all crotchety because he didn’t want to have it any more. Of course, he “had’ to have it. And they ‘had’ to put it back in…only this time he had to be awake while they did it.

    I laughed inside, because I understood him. He was tired of the doctors and nurses prodding him. He was tired of my mother’s constant vigilance and nagging about what he should and shouldn’t do.

    I’m so grateful that the last words we shared with each other – on a phone call, a few minutes before he suffered a fatal coronary – were “I love you.”

    I’m feeling so much love emanating from this post…it’s almost overwhelming. Thanks for sharing.

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