Dearest Rachel –
It’s not yet four in the morning; while, being Friday, I have every intention in my mind to head out and exercise, I’m not ready to do so. And it’s not just because the facility won’t be open for an hour an a half, or that I’m dealing with the usual squabbles between my body and mind (in fact, I’m not sure that my body is aware that my brain is awake yet at the moment in order to register a complaint). No, this moment of pitch darkness has me contending with a rare bout of existential angst, as I fear the day to come.
Mind you, this isn’t about today itself, as such, although I’ve no doubt that, once my body catches up with my mind, it’s not going to be happy about its plans for the morning, especially once it looks outside and realizes what time of day it is, and what that means (since any other day wouldn’t see me up and out of the bedroom until the sun is up at the very least, regardless of the season). It may be that I’ll be able to brute force my way back below two-twenty-five, and I’ll accomplish that achievement I’ve set for myself regarding gym time spent during the month, but my body doesn’t get the benefit of those little dopamine hits as much as the mind does, so it’s understandably resentful.
No, this is more about a day in the less distant future than I’d like to admit.
Last weekend, the folks were struck by head colds that essentially kept them away from church, their only form of public appearance these days – well, at least for Dad; Mom is still able to get about, but with his condition, she’s afraid to leave him on his own for any great length of time. Although she was hit a bit harder by the cold itself than he was, ending up bedridden for a day or so, she’s recovered enough that she could be considered to be back to her old self. Not so much with Dad. He may have been able to get himself back and forth between the bedroom and the family room, but he’s been weakened considerably by the effects of the cold, and he’s not bouncing back. On the contrary, he seems to be getting weaker by the day. It’s complicated by the fact that the new nutrition he’s been given to feed himself with has proven to be rather… binding… leaving him dealing with an additional complication, one you used to be familiar with, especially when you were under stress (particularly in terms of deadlines and travel, rendering the latter that much less pleasant that it should have been. But that’s neither here nor there, if you’ll pardon the expression).
Over the course of a little less than a week, he’s transformed from an admittedly elderly version of the father figure I grew up with, to a husk of a man. When he lies in his bed, especially when he sleeps, he looks eerily like his father did in his coffin a little more than forty years ago. I know I’ve commented about how I’ve been losing someone close every other year, but he really looks like he’s about to let go. And in fairness, the fact that he’s had nearly five extra years after his bout with sepsis – especially at his age – is extraordinary, and the fact that he’s outlived his father and brothers by some distance is more than enough indication that his time is just about up, but to see the change happen so quickly is astonishing. This is a day that I’m suddenly finding myself in fear of, since it’s looking to be so much closer than I thought it would be.
It doesn’t help that, if it doesn’t happen in the next couple months, it might happen while I’m gone. I’ve been assured by Mom that I ought to not worry about that, and maintain my schedule at this point, but I don’t know if she’s ready to deal with this, either. I ought to be there in order to offer assistance. I’ve been told I’ve already been “more help that [I] know,” but if things don’t improve soon, things are going to be moving to a whole new level. In some ways, I don’t doubt that she can handle them – she’s fully functional herself, now that the cold has subsided, and unlike your mom, can handle things pretty well on her own, and it’s not as if she hasn’t been braced for this over the past few years – but it’s still a sea change in life; I could tell her.
Moreover, as I watch her do her best to take care of Dad’s needs, I find myself staring at a day in my own future that will never come. If I should be struck with something debilitating, like my Dad had, there will be no one to catch me and get me where I need to be to ameliorate it. Nor would there be anyone to tend to me if it turns out to be something long-term. I suppose I can only hope that whatever takes me, does so quickly, because there will be no one to help me if it’s prolonged.
I know I’m once again staring at the axe in the rafters, honey. The things that I fear may well never come to pass – much like your fear of losing your mind like your mother. But it’s hard to see these things and realize what we’re about to face, and that it’s not as far off as we’ve subconsciously been telling ourselves. Can Dad make it to next year – maybe even beyond, such that he keeps in line with the biennial schedule? Sure, but we have to prepare for the possibility that he won’t. Does Megumi exist, and will she be willing to stay by my side “when I’m sixty-four,” as the song goes?
Possibly, but I have to plan for the likelihood that she doesn’t, or won’t. It’s not safe to assume a theoretical better case than I currently have. Likewise, we have to brace for what may come with Dad, as well; as I’m writing this, Mom is telling me that, since she can’t get him into the car to take him to the hospital (as prescribed by Lars), she’s summoning an ambulance.
Keep an eye on him, honey, and wish him luck. He – and all of us – are going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 