I had lunch with him that day, then left shortly after my mom arrived.
A few hours later my truck was stolen and my little world fell apart.
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of this week have been filled with appointments and details surrounding the thefts, so I wasn't able to get out to the Lodge.
I went tonight.
And Oh My Goodness.
A three day break is all it takes to forget how hard these visits are.
Three days of dealing with things, even things as 'hard' as a stolen truck, laptop and jewelry is nothing, NOTHING compared to three hours of dealing with a dad who is not content. Three days of sleeping on a twin mattress that does not have memory foam, in a room that does not have curtains or closet space is painless compared to having a dad cry out to you as you're leaving, "Please, take me with you." (In German, with his arms outstretched.) Three days of living out of a poorly packed suitcase (Hello? What was I thinking? I emptied the dryer into my suitcase on Sunday afternoon and hoped that would be good enough. Monday morning, my wardrobe choices were: 7 pairs of underwear, 3 bras, 1 towel sheet, 2 bath towels, 1 face towel, 2 pajama shorts, a tank top, and a pair of white capris) is a piece of cake compared to explaining to a dad that we're not going to church tonight, even though you did put his black shoes on him.
When I arrived this afternoon, I couldn't find him. He had wheeled himself into another neighbourhood (ward) across the hall. I assisted him in the eating of brown mush, then we went cruising. Up and down hallways on every floor so that he could look into every room. ("They should have music in their rooms" he observed. Some areas where just too quiet for him.) In and out the doors leading to the back patio so that he could press the "Automatic Door Opener" button. Back and forth on the main floor so that he could watch the shuffleboard competition and keep an eye on the cats.
By 7 pm, I thought he might be ready to settle in for the evening. I reclined his wheelchair, scootched my chair up right beside his, and settled in to watch Ben Hur (for the 10,000th time) with him. "What time have we got?" he asked.
"It's about 7 pm," I answered.
"We should get ready for church," he said in German.
"Oh, that's not today," I explained. "That's on a different day."
"Where are my black shoes?" he asked, again in German.
"Over there. It's nighttime. The nurse will put them on tomorrow."
"Where are my shoes?"
"There're right here. We'll put them on tomorrow. It's almost time for bed."
"Where are my shoes. I need them for church."
"See, I'll put your shoes here. Tomorrow morning, after you sleep, the nurse will put them on your feet."
He tries to get out of his chair.
"What're you doing, dad?"
"I need my shoes. For church."
I put his very swollen feet into his new velcro shoes.
"There you go, dad. Oh, here's the nurse with your medicine."
"She took all my clothes off. She put me in the bath. I was nude."
"Well, that's the best way to have a bath, in the nude."
He looked at me closely. "IN THE NUDE."
"Yeah, we all take baths in the nude. It's how it's done."
As the care aid was giving him his meds, I used the opportunity to say goodbye.
"I have to go dad, but I'll see you tomorrow. And mom will be here tomorrow too."
"Where are you going?"
"I have to get some file folders. And I'm meeting Drew. I haven't seen much of him this week. Hopefully, I can have some supper with him. OK? I love you."
"Take me with you."
"I can't dad. It's almost bedtime. Mom will be here tomorrow. And probably Julie too. I'll see you later."
"TAKE ME WITH YOU," this time in German.
"Oh dad, I can't today. I have to do some running around. I'll see you later. I promise."
And then he stretched out both his arms and cried, "Please TAKE ME WITH YOU" in German.
My heart is breaking.
All the other stuff that's been happening in my life, is fixable.
I will get another job. I will buy another vehicle. Another laptop has been ordered. I've made my peace about two years of lost photos. I will eventually have another home. The sense of being violated will dissipate over time.
But I can't fix this.
I can't help him feel better about his living situation.
I can't repair his brain.
I can't. I can't. I can't.
"Dear God.
Oh, this is hard. I don't know what to do.
I pray Your will be done. Whatever this is all about, I pray in the powerful name of Jesus, that Your purposes would be accomplished and Your name lifted high.
God I pray specifically that Your spirit of peace would fill my dad's heart and mind. That he would settle in and find contentment in his surroundings. I pray that he would be able to rest at night. I pray that tonight he would sleep. SLEEP for 8 - 10 hours. I pray that every single day that he is in that facility, that he would feel safe, cared for, not lonely, and loved. I pray that the dad we know, the Pete you created, the man who married my mom, would be filled with You. That You would do mighty things through him.
God, I pray that dad would remember who You are. And that he would trust in You, and Your very great love for him.
I pray that Your spirit of Comfort would settle on my mom. That she would find joy in this season, and that she would hear Your voice and know that You are saying, "Well done, faithful servant."
God, I pray for Drew who is living in Langley. It feels awful being separated from him during this final week of his grade 12 year. I pray You would watch him and keep him safe. I entrust him to Your care."
Amen.
1. 'posed to be sunny tomorrow.
2. Homemade chicken noodle soup.
3. Subway sammiches with Drew.
4. Dad's truck passed aircare and is insurable. Keep an eye open for me, I'll be the one in the red pick up.
5. God hears our prayers and answers them. ALWAYS.
Shalom,
1 comment:
I am praying that prayer with you and I am praying for you!
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