Transition Accomplished

Dearest Rachel –

I won’t argue it; the title smacks of that moment on the battleship with the president addressing the troops after the successful (at the time) of toppling Saddam Hussien and taking over Iraq. In fact, the banner was actually referring to a specific mission that the ship and its crew had been sent to do, and had indeed accomplish perfectly and completely. But the optics of the moment suggested to the viewing public that the war was over; we could declare victory and go home – and of course, that’s not what happened. That tableaux looks oh-so-unfortunate in retrospect, like spiking the ball on the five-yard line.

So, too, it is with calling the moment at home ‘accomplished.’ Just because Dad is home, and reasonably comfortable given his circumstances doesn’t mean that we’re better off now than we were – or even that we’re back to status quo ante. In fact, there could even be a fair amount of debate as to what status quo ante would even look like. Would he be at the table with us, offering grace before our Thursday night meal? Would he be back to actually eating the meal with us, as the four of us gather?

And what of Mom’s preparations? If nothing else, we couldn’t expect her to be able to cook after the chaos of moving Dad into the house over the last thirty hours or so, and the various related visitations from the hospice staff and the hired caregivers – to say nothing of the beginning trickle of well-wishers that come by. Everything is back to where it was before, yes, but nothing is ever going to return to how it was before. To call things “accomplished” grossly misstates the situation.

Even more so in the fact that the ‘transition’ that Dad is… sort of… looking forward to, while clearly underway, still seems surprisingly distant yet. In any event, coming back home, while a great relief in comparison to the hospital or the rehabilitation center (or, heaven forbid, an actual nursing home) is nowhere near the same as heaven itself. For starters, he’s still weak as a kitten, and will probably remain so for the rest of his days here. He still deals with the shortness of breath that has been a concern for some time, and while certain wounds and sores are undergoing the healing process, they continue to pain him as long as he’s here. It’s definitely not heaven here, nor even Eden.

But it is ‘home’ as we all know it, and he is here, and that counts for something. And with yesterday being Thursday, it occurred to me that Daniel and I could join them for a meal like we used to do up until just a little over a month ago; some semblance of what used to be normal before things really began to change.

Of course, as I just said, with the hustle and bustle of the past day or so, Mom can’t – and shouldn’t – be burdened with meal preparation, so I suggested a bit of a blast from the past. To be sure, like so many things that were a part of life growing up, the Cantonese place down Northwest Highway is long gone, as is the old gentleman who commuted to Mount Prospect every day from the south side of Chicago to run the place (although all things considered, with the south side having been the way it is for so long, I can’t say as I ever blamed him from wanting to stay as far as possible from there for as long as possible), but it’s not as if we don’t still have some decent mom-and-pop type Chinese places in the area. Sure, there’s a lot more Japanese and Korean places these days (even a Malaysian place!) nearby, but it’s not as if the old, nostalgic Chinese restaurant has disappeared from our landscape.

In fact, the place that Mom suggested was the one that opened over by our area not even ten years ago. There is still a place in the middle of town that she could have chosen – one that I remember taking my grandmother to, years before you came into the picture – but it seems that she favors Chopstick over Chen’s. That’s fine; it’s easier for us that way.

So that’s what we did; once I got home from the ‘office’ to pick Daniel up, we ordered from the place, picked everything up (and added a mango smoothie for him while there – I’d completely forgotten that they had those on offer) and headed back to the folks’ house for dinner. We were actually back to a way of life that existed before Dad’s crisis of this past month.

Well, sort of. The fact of the matter is, he wasn’t able to join us at the table, for one thing. Oh, he can – and does – sit up in a chair for an extended period of time, but it’s more of an exercise than something he’s actually comfortable doing; being perfectly vertical appears to put pressure on his lungs, and exacerbates the shortness of breath that pains him, so it limits the amount of time he can actually do that. And since he’s home as much for comfort as for care, if he’s not comfortable sitting up, he can stay in his hospital bed. But that leave him in the family room while we eat in the kitchen. Now, to be sure, there’s no wall between the two rooms, so he can hear – and participate in, if he so chooses – the conversation at the table, but it quite clearly isn’t the status quo ante.

But for now, we can’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. And while we have no illusions that the current situation is either perfect or even particular good, it’s still better than leaving him at the care center. He has family here, and the care team, and that’s the best that he could ask for down here.

So the terrestrial transition has essentially been accomplished, and we’ll be spending a few months getting used to it until he make the next and final transition, which could be a long way off yet, or maybe some time this summer. But until then, I appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him, and wish him well, honey, as he’ll be needing it.