So, it's a new year. I wonder how it will be different from the previous? Time will tell.
I have not posted in months, mostly because there has been nothing to post. The gentle decline of the father continues. The annoyance with the brother waxes and wanes. There is very little to tell.
However (yes, a tiny however) my dad's youngest brother and his wife, both nurses, came for a visit. They wanted to see the old guy while they could and they wanted to check in with me and my brother. They had some suggestions which my brother dismissed out of hand. That was not unexpected. But, they also said that, based on their experience, they thought that the old guy had a few months left at best.
If you've ever been a caregiver for a dying person, you might have observed a change in the way their eyes appear. They have a look that I would describe as a growing distance, or an absence, or a turning inward. They are no longer concerned with the mundane world around them and are looking, perhaps, beyond the veil.
I remember this with my mother. My father noted it at the time and said to me, 'She's leaving us. She's no longer there.'
I'm seeing it now with my dad. He is becoming less responsive to conversation. He does not care about food - if you offer him a choice of two things he often won't respond at all. Instead, I'll just make him his usual lunch and if he wants to eat it he can. He is sleeping more and refusing to get out of bed some days. Sometimes I will look up from my book to find him staring at me. But, he's not really looking at me. I wonder if he is seeing my mom, instead. Or if he's seeing anything in the waking world at all. I'll ask him if I can get him anything and he will say, 'What? No, nothing.' Then he will look away, close his eyes and drift back to sleep.
I think my dad is preparing for the journey. I hope it is a calm transition and a joyful release of the physical.
Happy New Year.
4 comments:
Wishing you peace and love as you make this next transition. It is never simple.
I’m am now two years into my life as a portlander and loving it more and more. Glad you checked in.
Yes, I know what you mean. I saw the same look in my Mom's eyes, and is often a feature of advancing dementia. Her ability or even desire to communicate decreased as she became more and more withdrawn into her own little world. She would forget that I was there, sitting in her armchair while she was in bed watching TV, and she'd startle when I said something. You are a saint for caring for your father so that he can stay in his own home rather than a nursing home. I wish him, you and your brother well, and I also hope your father's transition is peaceful and easy.
Oh, E. My heart goes out to you. I am always on the other side of your computer (or phone) if you want to talk or rant or escape for a bit. Your father is lucky to have you on this journey.
"We are all just walking each other home." - Ram Dass
May peace be with you.
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