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Remembering: February 18th, 2009
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Having moved into Dad's house, I tried to find a routine. Dad was still an early riser then, but his motivation to get up and go depended on how he felt. By this point, he was taking Methadone twice a day. Funny story about that. When the Hospice nurse first explained his pain management, I expressed concern over the addictive nature of Methadone. The nurse stopped writing, and glared at me to see if I was serious. I looked from her to Dad, clearly missing the joke, and found a smile on Dad's face. I guess when your dying addictions don't really matter. I made orange juice for Dad that morning. My Dad being the man he was, had an amazing Beville juicer. He laughed as I got the hang of the machine and patiently waited while I pressed orange after orange. When I make juice now, I find a smile sneak across my face.
This was also the day I saw through my Dad's mask. He had been wearing his brave face for weeks, but he finally became too tired to hide his illness anymore. A dying body is a sad thing to witness. I saw the first sign of that with his confusion. It started with him asking the same question a few times a day, usually about the time. It was like he felt the seconds slipping away but he never knew where they went. It was only subtle at this point so I just answered his question like he had never asked it before.
The hardest part about living with Dad again wasn't his super high standards of cleanliness, although that was difficult. It was knowing that this would only make things that much harder when he was gone. But I tried not to think about it too much. Instead, I reveled in every smile, complied with every request and helped my Dad make his house a home.
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