Today, the first day of November was a seminal day in the care of my father as some issues came up that are certain to enlarge ... the 4th Symphony of Brahms has just concluded on WDAV which I am listening to on my iPhone as I type on my iPad, I feel like an iPerson as I use my favorite browser by the one and only Google, Chrome, but enough said, now to the business of recording an important day, as best I can, because the events are already fading because I could not get to the computer due to dad's fatigue. He just needed to rest.
He awoke early and decided to shave before his bath, which is unusual, especially if he hasn't brought up his kettle of steaming water from the kitchen for his shave. He has been bothered by the inefficiency of his shaving razors to get a close shave, but he had a good one today as he readied for his bath. He's so frail and thin as he holds onto the bars -- thankfully well secured into the walls of the bathroom (cost a good deal of money but it was money well spent) and safely gets into the bath. I head downstairs to make my coffee and begin a day of binge eating that secured numerous calories and probable additional weight for me. But I was so hungry ... probably taking my mind off things.
I am doing letter writing like it's no business and today I wrote my most important letter, one to my father which I posted. It was short but powerful, I felt, as I mentioned his hero but imperfect status in my life and that when I shed tears during the playing of Wagner's final scene in his final Ring Cycle opera, Gotademerrung, where Brunhillda immolates herself, and how his exposure to this great, timeless music was the reason for my emotion. Unfortunately, space and time did not allow me to expand and thus it was a task that did not vex my patience and I was able to get it done.
I am posting a lot on Facebook and put up three photos today. One of Dancer, seen above, taken indoors due to the windy/rainy weather outside (it was overcast today) and she needed a break, well I had to continually pet her and thought why not grab a frame; a second one of grandfather holding granddaughter at Christmas time a generation ago; and the pic of me as a toddler at the wooden gate on the street (can never remember the long Dutch name) in The Hague, which appears to be unchanged in a recent Google street view of the same wooden gate.
Today I worried about leaving to do an errand at the bank -- drove to the Greenville branch and spoke with Kwaku Boetang, who suggested that I keep my account, put some money into it so that I could keep using my checks (had an overdrawn charge because I'd removed all the money and transferred it to dad's account after getting my new debit card which is tied to his account now and not mine ... the check from UUSMC had not cleared and as a result, I incurred a $35 non-refundable charge for the insufficient funds -- WF did cover the check, thankfully). On the drive back through the wealthy rural area around A. I. du Pont High School on its narrow but lovely road, the colors of autumn were just lovely, so wished that dad could have been with me. Will he ever make the trip to Greenville to the bank and then Oliver's ever again?
At home, mom is doing OK. She is wearing that knee brace that I bought yesterday at Walmart and it appears to be giving her some support and she likes it. She started an audio book today when the Stams came for another one of their amazing visits. Today Marli brought homemade pea soup, which we devoured in 3 servings ... dad ate, at least some with some Holland rusk as he watched his favorite news program, the PBS NewsHour now hosted by Gwen Ifill and Judy Woodruff as Jim Lehrer has retired to writing his novels and perhaps working in the background -- all must move on.
An alarming incident this evening happened after I mentioned dad's insulin as he walked up, so gingerly, the steps to the second floor landing and he said to get it from the refrigerator (Lantus) and the syringe on the table. I did and brought them to him. It was a mistake. He shakily withdrew the insulin (thought he was going to stick himself with the needle) and then tried to stick the needle into his abdominal area and could not locate a place. He was all over the place and missed the first time and frustrated tried again. This time successfully. But could he have given himself a double dose of insulin, a good way to go into hypoglycemia and sudden death. I just don't know. I go by what he tells me and he is defiant about giving himself his own shot. This is where we need to look at Hospice and getting a trained nurse in her to give him his insulin. We have the appointment on Monday with Delaware Hospice ... it can't come soon enough, our meeting with Drew.
So much can happen in a day ... this one was unseasonably, perhaps in record territory, warm. My walk of 1.76 miles, thanks to DigiFit, which annoyingly interjects the stats on walking 1 mile while I was talking to Linda Lucero, who lost her husband and called in hospice at the end for a period of 4 months, about the upcoming concert of the U of Delaware resident quartet, Serafin, which has UUSMC member Larry Stomberg as its cellist. He is on the music faculty at U of D and teaches cello as an assistant professor. He played the music during the last service at Church, wonderfully and illustratively. He has such a calm, demure, teaching sensibility with such fine, artistic hands. (Listening to the Trout Quintet by Schubert as I type now at 3:47 a.m. on this 2nd day of November, less than 5 hours from meeting with Bob & Alice at George's on Washington Pike, our first meeting since my return to Delaware over a month ago -- can it be that long, YES, it can. This has been the most involved, meaningful month of my life. Thank goodness I have felt connected and not mired in my trough of recent despair. What has changed I know not and care not to know, I only hope that this connectedness not only continues but flourishes and expands. It is wonderfully alive and fresh way to approach life, as my father's moves into its closing chapter, and it is my sincere hope that he is not in pain, either physically or spiritually, toward this transition (my word for death or the great beyond).
So, so much to describe in a day, but I did find a birthday card and remembered that Joyce's 58th, I think, is in early November. I wrote it out, a short note because that's all I can manage or I don't write, and I got mom to write a note with my fountain pen and later, after the insulin incident, even got dad to sign his name. He did not see the worth in it, but I think that Joyce will after I ran an arrow to his scribble and wrote that this was her Uncle Rudy's signature. (It's nice to have the post office box across the street ... something I never took advantage of throughout my growing up days ... AND I brought in the mail and dad did not open it for maybe the first time with his signature letter opener at the kitchen table after getting and pulling the trash can over to his side. It is a sign of the change that will occur. It will pull at the heart strings as I move around this house and the memories all flood in and the smells, like that of his jackets in the living room closet. It is smell not unlike that of his father that emanated from Doug's old room, especially a drawer with his personal items. And I remember the look on his face in death and I have seen the precursor of that face in my father, without his teeth, lying in his bed, which we made carefully together. He is very picky about making his bed and making sure that I teach him about hospital corners.
But today, overall, was sobering. Dad said it later in the day when he expressed his belief that the end was in sight. He is hurting so. He so needs sleep and his staying in bed today, all day, indicates that he is bone tired and weak. As I follow him up the steps, I agonize as he weakly raises each leg to the next step then perilously takes the last step and is far too close to the edge as he stands up. So far he has fallen at the first or last steps backward or forward to the carpeted floor to startle and not injure, so far. How long this will be is only conjecture but a major fall might be a major event if we don't get him moved to Doug's room on the second floor. I need help. I would make a plea to the almighty now but I don't believe, so I will reach out to people like Linda Lucero who have experienced the death of a loved one or Dr. Stephen Grubbs who have worked, for years, with hospice. Need to reach out. That's where establishing a relationship and union with my new Church, UUSMC, will be critical. I need to make that step and join the congregation this week.
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