Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Rock On

Happy Easter.
Around here, instead of easter eggs and chocolates, I give my kids the male equivalent to spring dresses and easter bonnets... this year they are getting Rock Band for the Box called X.

Actually, I gave it to them tonight. And they are playing right now. Right now, the two of my children who are not on a mountain, are both in the same room, playing virtual instruments, together. It. Is. A. Beautiful. Thing.

One is on the drums. The other one is on the guitar. They're both too embarassed to do vocals. They're hoping that Clint will give the mic a try when he gets home.

I am not allowed to take pictures. (Which isn't a problem; it's been so long since I've used my camera, I can't remember where I put it. It's not here or there, the two places I usually park it. Hopefully when I fully get out of this funk I'm in, it will reappear.) So, no photos of this delightful scene. You'll just have to trust me when I say it's endearing. A Norman Rockwell moment.

Just now, looking at these Norman Rockwell images, has me thinking about getting old. Well, actually, the guy sharing the room at the Surrey Resort with my dad had me thinking about 'old' earlier this week. He is old. Really old. Like, in his nineties, old. Maybe, if he's all wet, he's 70 pounds total. He's tiny and frail and decent and mentally asute and kind and respectful and so very pathetic looking. The other day, my sister tells me, the nurse helped him to the washroom and said she'd be right back. One and a half hours later Jul realized he was still in there, so she called the nurse back. He is not a complainer, and I've heard him apologize every time he asks for help.

His daughter (easily in her 60's) dropped by to visit him this week. He apologized to her that he was unable to look after 'mom' anymore. "I tried to do it as long as I could, but I just can't do it anymore," he said sadly.

His daughter assured him that she was going to looked after. Apparently she was somewhere else in the hospital and then she was going to be placed in a long term extended care facility.
"I guess they're going to put me in one too? I just can't do this anymore..." He seemed OK with it, but still sad.

"Yeah, dad. You did so good looking after mom for so many years. Now there will be someone around to look after you. The best part, they're going to place you in the same facility. You won't be in the same room of course, but you'll still be able to see her..."

It was such a hard conversation to overhear. This tiny man has looked after his wife, with love and dedication for years. (I like to think she was his first wife and they'd been married for 75 years, but who knows?) And I surmized that she needed 'care' beyond typical husband duties. Did he have to dress her? Bathe her? Feed her? Help her get into bed? Was she blind - did he describe the colours of the world to her? Was she deaf - did he interpret the sounds of the day to her? Was she mentally incapacitated - did he explain the ways of the world to her? Was her heart failing - did he need to be her strength?

This tiny man, who needs help to sit up on the edge of his bed, and who takes up to two hours to cut and eat the meat that is served to him each evening, bows his head and prays to God, thanking Him for His bountiful blessings before starting his meal... this tiny man loved his wife.

And that got me thinking about spouses. And how, in the end, after the giggly thrill of the chase and the big, fat, greek wedding, and the first fixer-upper, totally cute house and all the sweet smelling babies, after all that, what you really want in a spouse, is someone who is still around when you're wearing diapers. Someone who says, "This is no big deal. I still love you."

And the flip side of that, I guess, is being that spouse.

Oh, Clint's home. He's on the guitar now. Him and Drew are doing a Nirvana song. Try to imagine how cute they are.

Three things I'm thankful for:
1. I did not throw up. Well, I haven't eaten in 36 hours, so I guess I didn't really have anything to upchuck. But all my frantic hand-cleaning and total house bleaching, and intake of vitamins and water helped me escape the virus. Or maybe as soon as publish this, I will be bent over the toilet.

2. My dad is going home? Yes, it looks like the man of steel escaped the jaws of death again for the million umpteenth time and if things continue to improve (Jule and mom took him for a few walks today) he might be allowed to go home. His doctor is amazed. Again.

3. Friday is Good Friday. My very favoritest day of the year. He died for me. And you.


Cool verse. From Psalms 18 somewhere:
God wrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to His eyes.

And this one too: (Psalms 19)
God's glory in on tour in the skies.


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