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Precious Lord, Lead Me Home

TORONTO (September 24, 2008) -- Time is growing short for my beloved Daddy.  I spent four days with the folks, kind of -- and things are tense and still, waiting for St. Michael to appear at the foot of the bed and carry him home to Jesus.  I arrived Friday afternoon and my sister Carol and Mama met me at the train station and we went right to Francis House, the hospice where Daddy is being cared for now.  He was in bed, as he has been most of the time this month, but greeted me with a smile and sounded quite like himself.  His pastor had been to visit, as he comes every Friday and when called at other times, and a volunteer had been reading to him about D-Day from a book a granddaughter had brought him.  We stayed a little while, til another sister arrived to sit with him until he went to sleep, and he tired quickly as he tried to keep up his old self for the company.  Donna and I sat up til 3:00 a.m. talking, as we had not seen one another for a long time and there was a lot of catching up to do, about family things and about what we call Subjects.  It was just like old times.
Saturday morning my sister Donna dropped us off at Francis House and went on to fill up the car with gas (and visit a yard sale where she picked up a Scrabble set).  Daddy was tired, but welcomed us and we chatted of this and that, particularly of Patton which I had brought along because he wanted to watch it and nobody had been able to find it for him.  (Daddy and I like manly movies; my sisters and Mama do not.  So perhaps they did not look as hard as thy could.)  Daddy asked if we could go into the Great Room and watch it, and the resident nurse made it happen.  Daddy was transported to a comfortable chair with the wheelchair and oxygen tank nearby but tucked back out of sight, and Donna and I kept him company while Mama went back to his room to watch the NA$CAR race and call my youngest sister to chat.  Daddy dozed off a couple of times for a few minutes, but he was very interested in the movie and after Reel 1 he went back to his room to have a good supper and soon was asleep, so we went on home.  Donna and I played Scrabble and Mama went to her room to read.  We were just getting ready for bed when Mama had an Episode.  Although it was often the case that she had crippling anxiety attacks, she had  few other symptoms that alarmed Donna (who is a nurse) and the upshot of the matter was a 911 call, an ambulance, and another 3:30 a.m. trudge home through the dark as Mama was admitted for the night.  Next morning I phoned the family and gave them the word, and cautioned everyone not to mention it to Daddy but just to tell him she was not feeling well.  We carried Mama her clothes, glasses, reading material, and teeth; and we went on to the birthday party of our youngest great-nephew who was just turning 1.  The house was crowded with guests of every age and we stayed a couple of hours and enjoyed the babies and a good dinner and birthday cake, then went off to Francis House to see Daddy, who was very tired and weak; he slept most of the time we were there as we watched a football game and  NA$CAR race and kept him company when he was awake.  Mama had to stay another night in the hospital and was more worried about not being with Daddy than about whatever might be wrong with her.  Sundays are not good days to try to get hold of your doctor.  We stayed til Daddy was asleep and then went home and ate dinner and went to bed.
 
Monday was my day to go home and Donna had to go to work.  Mama was released from the hospital with an appointmnt for next month to have an angiogram and Carol and her husband took me to the train station and then picked her up to take her to Francis House.
 
Last night I got a call that the hospice people think it will not be long now.  Daddy was sleepy and somnulant all day, until Donnas son and brought the new one-year-old baby to visit and when he sat down on Daddys bed, Mama said, he suddenly came to life and the two buddies had a great little visit.  Babies take you the way they find you; all he knew was that this was his Granddad who loved him and he happily exchanged waves and chattered in his own language just to make everyone smile.
 
I am waiting day by day to see if I can go to Road Atlanta next week; everyone says not to cancel and to wait and see.  We are perched on the cusp now.  Nothing to do but stand watch and wait for St. Michael to arrive and take Daddy home.  It is a hard vigil.  I almost hope I can go to the race because there I will be with my friends and here in Kanukistan I am alone with my thoughts.
 
And meanwhile I am keeping my lamp trimmed and filled with oil.  Waiting..
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Reviewing the Situation

September 7, 2008 -- I have been very, very busy at my second job (motorsport journalism) since Daddy went into Hospice care; we had three race weekends in a row. (You can read about that at www.rfmsports.com )  So I have not updated my blog in awhile.  To add to the fun, it was thought that I had developed serious heart trouble and this week I had an angiogram which is no day at the beach, let me assure you. It is considered a minor procedure by some.  I suspect these are the same people who think they can race a Formula One car that has only three wheels. Anyway, here is an update for those who may be reading along.
It has been a month now and everyone in our family is slowly settling into the routine.  Daddy loathes the Hospice although he admits they treat him as if he were Howard Hughes.  It is not home, and he sulks in his room although he can leave it whenever he wants to; he needs only ring his bell and ask to be conveyed anywhere within that he wishes to go.  Someone visits him every day -- daughters, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, Mama and all.  In fact, Mama had a birthday party there with masses of family and Daddy too.  But it is not home, and he is just confused enough to believe that he has been left there until he dies.  Periodically he rages at people about this.  Then he forgets he has done it.
 
Mama is slowly coming back to her old self, resting up and realizing that she is not going to be abandoned to pick up the cross alone.   It is an instinct with her by now to believe that she has to do it all herself; for so long she has tried to do it all, like me, because there was nobody else.  She still believes that any minute she is about to be flung out into the street, although we tell her every time that none of us will allow this to happen, and indeed we are working to make sure that it does not.  Mama is part of a world in which people did for themselves or did without.  Because when she was young, children were property of their parents and the parents could demand that they turn over everything they earned until they were 21 (or forever if they were girls), she is determined that we will never turn over our money to her, even if we want to.  We quote from the Bible to prove to her that this is our duty as well as our pleasure, and sometimes it reassures her for awhile.
 
Through it all, the Sisters and volunteers at Francis House do everything possible to make life easy and pleasant for the family and for Daddy.  They are saints and angels, and I bless them and all those like them who deal with these situations everywhere, every day.  And although we would like to drop everything and assist them, life has to go on.  We are none of us young anymore, and we have our own medical conditions, our jobs (and younger people waiting eagerly to point out -- when they can spare the time from making phone calls to the nanny or the daycare -- that we are not doing our *fair share*) and when you are covering your third race in three weeks and writing your opinions of behaviour trackside and on the track and trying to get good information about penalties, its hard to see the e-mail pop up about the latest crisis back home and not feel as if you would rather be anybody else.  But you pick up your cross and trudge on because that is what you have to do.
 
Life goes on for us.  We shall perservere.  People do.
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