I Bear Witness

July 3, 2009

A List

Filed under: Family — Tags: , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 10:37 pm

Chloe playing with a friend on a sunny day.

Chloe playing with a friend on a sunny day.


“The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost.” ~Arthur Schopenhauer

“The earth laughs in flowers.” ~ee cummings

Because my father is dead:
I have a newfound intolerance for bullshit. I notice the weeds in our garden. I don’t read as much, but I study more. I loathe loathsome people more fervently.
I don’t sweep our hardwood floor enough. I now believe the dishes can wait. I take my dog to the beach and talk to strangers for hours, but I won’t call any dear friends. I pepper sentences with profanity.
I call my newly widowed mother and listen to her pain. I am writing a short story that involves about my ex-husband’s tiny penis (nods to Anne Lamott for her brilliant penis idea).
I listen to Moby.
I ache with the loss of his good nature and wonder where did it go? I weep often, but always alone. I don’t share this pain with anyone except a friend in Ohio. She’s a poet, so there you go.
I leave our bedroom a mess. I don’t fold laundry. I still can’t find a job, but I’m attending college, so I’ve evened the score. I long for a lemon tree. I stopped respecting one brother, but I can’t tell you which one in case lurkers lurk. If so, I’ll be sure to say, “You? You thought I meant you? No, not at all! Why would you think such a thing?” so obviously I haven’t lost my passive/aggressive edge.
That’s not bound to change.
There’s more but this is all I can stand for today.

May 19, 2009

Monday

Filed under: Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease (CJD) — Tags: , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 9:22 am

I’m flanked by dogs: two little ones on either end of the couch, while I sit in the middle by the window. I’m watching the rain. Chloe, our Shiloh Shepherd lays by the kitchen door. They always nap after breakfast.
This is a typically quiet time. Jim sleeps late because he works late. Even though I go to bed as late as him, I can’t sleep in. Someone has to feed the hungry dogs, and since I’m not working, that “someone” is me. It’s a good thing I like quiet time because I get a lot of it. Jim gets up at 10:00 am (or so) and leaves for work by 1:30 pm. I’m alone for the rest of the day and night.

I have a lot of homework today.

Mom says she can’t bear to visit Dad today. “His skin looks waxy,” she explained. She says he was better yesterday than the day before. It’s guilt she feels, although she won’t say those exact words. His mornings were always fine. He spent every morning outside watering plants, enjoying the breeze, pulling weeds or sweeping eucalyptus leaves off the front walk. The afternoons were bad most of the time. He saw things, grew angry, wanted to know what Mom had done with his wife.

Because his afternoons were so bad, he’s lost his mornings outdoors. Now he lays in a bed wasted on drugs, barely awake. Mom knows she didn’t have a choice but imagine! I can’t.

The kind hospice workers give him a personality that doesn’t belong to him. “He was a little fussy last afternoon,” the nurse explains to me. “Fussy” isn’t a word for dad. She doesn’t know him but now he’s something akin to a plant that she will take care of until the plant dies. “I didn’t water him yesterday,” I imagine her to say. “I’ll dust his leaves tomorrow.”

Mom says she’s going to take her Prozac and hide in her house today.

“I can’t see him like that,” she says.

Sunday

Filed under: Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease (CJD), Family, Garden Things — Tags: , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 9:01 am

It was a bright, beautiful, warm and inviting wonderful day! I’m not able to sleep more than four hours a night. I wake up before dawn with a knot in my gut. “Is this a dream?” I wonder. “Is my Dad dying or is this a nightmare?” Every morning, early, I ask these two questions and the answer wakes me right the hell up. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s really dying. Thoughts swirl through my consciousness. My throat dries up and anxiety grips my chest. It’s better to get out of bed then, so I let the dogs outside, and sit on the couch with the laptop.
It’s quiet in the morning unless our neighbor’s dogs are in his back yard. If they’re outside, we have barking. Lots of barking. In that case, I let the dogs back in. I feed them and settle back into the couch. No matter what I do, I’m aware of my Dad.

He can’t swallow anymore.

I bought pansies today. I bought nasturtiums, and Japanese blood grass too. Lime green leafed salvia. I aim to clean up the patio tomorrow, to pretty it up, make it make me smile. Folly.

My mom is full of grief. “I’ve known him since we were sixteen,” she says. She thinks she might travel some. “Maybe I’ll meet another old lady to travel with,” she says. I offer to travel anywhere with her.

“Really? You’d want to be with me?” she asked. She sounds surprised.

“You’re on!” she replies when I say, “Sure!”

She gave his recliner away today.

Jim and I had breakfast with two dear friends. We ate outdoors underneath Japanese maples, east of the apple tree. It was nice. Then I drove my husband to work, poor man. I came back later that day to bring Chloe. She barked at both of them and pooped on their lawn. Twice.

The doctor says Dad has days, or hours. My sister-in-law prayed with him and he said, “Good night Ralph.” That’s his name.

So I know he knows he’s dying. I wonder if I’ll know when he goes? I hope so.

February 25, 2009

Longer Shadows

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 8:54 am

Our dog gains almost four pounds a week, can you imagine? She’s a beautiful girl, full of mischief and smart enough so that I have to keep her brain busy. Busy-brained dogs don’t chew up good shoes and that’s important.

In order to keep our valuables intact, I take Chloe the ever-enlarging dog to the dog park on the Edmonds shore. It was windy today. It was cold and windy, very windy. A storm was passing. The low pressure blew through central Puget Sound with abandon. I zipped up my all weather coat and stuffed my hands into deep pockets; settled onto a log to watch the fast-moving clouds.
Chloe has made friends on the beach: Luna, the white German Shepherd, June the Blue Heeler, an Icelandic Shepherd (I’ve forgotten her name), and a half-dozen drooling boxers, a baby pugle, a no-legged long-haired Corgie, and too many black labs to count. The labs and retrievers will swim in icy water to retrieve anything, but the shepherds wisely bark at the ball from the shore. Heelers snap and growl. Pugs have no fear and a whole lot of love.

I can’t get enough of the dogs! I learn something new about their society every time I sit on the beach watching them interact.

Today was a sad day in our family (my human family, not the society of dogs – I switched tracks on you, dear diary). My daughter, my brother, my mother, and my sister-in-law feel the heavy weight of losing someone slowly, cruelly. The doctor’s diagnosis wasn’t good. I don’t want and don’t have time to write about it now because I have to leave in ten minutes to pick Jim up from work.
I stood on the shore watching the sun sink into the fleeing clouds. We’re closing in on spring and the long golden shadows of evening time are my proof. Long shadows, deep blue water capped in foamy white, wind and rain and dramatic entrances of the sun put perspective into the loss. The dogs ran and barked, rolled into each other during mock battles while throwing joy into the cold windy air.
This is all I have time for tonight. Dogs, drool, windy salted air and evening time. Loss, as if time rolls up into itself like the inner curl of a particularly strong Pacific storm. I don’t even know what I’m writing about but here it is. Bah.

January 19, 2009

Puppy Update

Filed under: Chatter — Tags: , , — BabushkaBlue @ 4:52 pm
Two weeks ago they were the same size.

Two weeks ago they were the same size.

Jim and I are positive that if we sat very still while Chloe slept, we could see her grow with our own eyes. Look at her growth! Two weeks ago she was roughly the same size of Jeckle, our fuzzy Chinese Crested boy (six years old and not so thrilled to have a new dog in the house).

Today she is double her brother’s size and no, he’s still not very excited to have a new dog in the house, but they did take a nap together today, so hope hasn’t left the Skoor house.

Our “little” Shiloh Shepherd girl – who is only 11 weeks old – is a fantastic dog. She’s smart, funny, loving and very easy to live with. Our breeder told us that they are amazing creatures, intuitive and hungry to please, but I had no idea! We are going to be so happy to watch her grow (and grow and grow) into a regal creature. In the meanwhile, I enjoy burying my face into her soft puppy fur.

Chloe is twice as big as she was two weeks ago!

Chloe is twice as big as she was two weeks ago!

 

 


January 17, 2009

Dad, Love, Loss, Lewy Body Dementia, and Puppy

Filed under: Family — Tags: , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 6:55 pm

 

This is Chloe. She's 11-weeks old.

This is Chloe. She's 11-weeks old.

Husband and I took a road trip for Christmas. We began the trip late on an icy cold Friday night in Seattle. After icy and snow-covered roads, a break-down (ignition coil, which meant a two-day delay), big scary trucks on mountain passes, and too much fast food, we made it to our destination: Chula Vista CA.

It’s been ten years since we spent Christmas with my parents. Dad isn’t “right” anymore. The doctor’s said it was probably Alzheimer’s but after exhausting research, I’m convinced he has Lewy Body Dementia, which is like Alzheimer’s but with Parkinson-like symptoms, off and on memory problems, and horrible hallucinations.

Mom will take the information I printed to the doctor. She said she’ll shake the papers at him and ask him to read. LBD is very similar to Alzheimer’s except that some of the anti-psychotic medication the doctors might (and have tried to) prescribe for hallucinations can make the disease worse, much worse, and I don’t want that to happen.

My dad is convinced he has two wives and that his wife of over 50 years – my mother – is his “lesser” wife. She’s the mean woman who won’t help him get better.

“Why won’t she let me see a doctor?” he asks. He’s convinced she’s trying to ruin his life, that she’s not helping him when she clearly could, that for some reason, somehow, she’s making these things happen to him. 

My brother tried to explain that Lewy Body Dementia isn’t curable. “Fix it,” dad said right before he broke down in tears. I don’t think he understands completely. Something in his spirit can’t accept what’s happening to him and I think the hope (even though it’s probably misplaced) helps. 

I’ve never seen my father cry. I don’t belong to an emotional family (and my understatement makes me snort, but I don’t have the energy to explain).

Dad has been my north star forever and I’m not taking this slow loss well. I guess it’s fair to say that I’m taking it better than he is, though. I get to watch his decline but he lives within it, and he knows he’s losing his mind. He’s not that old – only seventy-three. I think that’s far too young, especially for him, my always upbeat, friendly, and hard-working dad.

Next Saturday I’m flying back home to spend a couple of days with Mom and Dad. That’s all I’ve got today. I suppose this little essay is my simple explanation (to you, all of my lovely friends) about why I’ve been so quiet.

And let me add that there’s a wonderful website written by a family who lost their mother to Lewy Body Dementia that I highly recommend. Knowledge helps us walk through difficult situations and this website is full of information. http://www.lewybodyjournal.org

So. Then. Art, art supplies, books on art and creativity, music, beautiful blue sky, sweet puppy, kind husband and wonderful friends. That’s the rest of my life. My kids are too busy living their own hectic lives and I’ll never get my fill of conversation with them, so I move on and build other things: coffee with friends and strangers, researching stuff on the Internet, cleaning up after the pup.

Did you see that pup? Look at those eyes. She’s a Shiloh Shepherd, one of the most magnificent kinds of dogs in all of the world. She’s so smart. She’s going to be as big as a small horse. I am doomed.

 

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