(no subject)
My dad.
I dont really know what to say.
I grew up in Alaska. When I was really young I really didnt know him. He was a mechanic on the pipelines and work 6 weeks out of every 8. I remember him being home sometimes, but mostly just my sister and my mom. My brother was born when I was 5ish. I remember that. When I was 7ish we moved to an island off the coast of Kodiak. My "family" owned part of it. That really mean nothing. It meant like 14 people I was vaguely related to mortgaged what they owned and cashed in their life insurance and scraped together any money they could to purchase a random portion of a random island in the middle of nowhere Alaska. My family moved out there when I was six or seven and for a few years we lived there. I was home schooled. The family made money by having people charter out packages of hunting and fishing trips to people from outside.
Then after a few years we moved to California. Its not as random as it sounds. My father was born in Ca, and still had a lot of family here. Man was it a culture shock though. Going from an island where there were like 10 people, no cars, no markets, no malls, to LA California in middle school.
For a while I wanted to die. It was just to hard, to much, to different. We were made fun of so much. Other kids made our life hell. I remember once someone threw a coke can filled with water at my sister in a bathroom stall. She had a concussion. No reason, just because we were different.
Then I got used to it. For a little while it was ok. Then my parents decided it wasent working. and they divorced. Before that however there was way drama. Not coming home when they said they would. Not picking us up from school when their said they would. Finally my mother left, my dad honestly thought she would come back. She didnt.
So I was raised by my dad. Went to college, my twin and I. First people in our entire family to go. Graduated and got a masters. I am the only person in my whole family with a higher degree.
So now what so what? My dad was a mechanic and a biker. At one time I hear he was a hells angel. I actually never knew that, I guess he told my husband when he asked for my dads blessing to propose.
All I knew was that my dad was so cool. He rode a motorcycle. He was part of a cycle club. He talked about drinking and drugs. He taught me to change a tire, my own oil, threw a punch, and even though he didnt understand it bragged to everyone he knew that I was getting a masters degree in counseling, even if he said ucsd, instead of sdsu.
Hes really not perfect. I have loaned him more money than I can keep track of. He is petty, self centered and childish.
But I love him so very much.
A few years ago he had a stroke. He had had diabetes for many years, that he just igoroed. It begged him to take care of himeslf, and he just didnt take it seriously. It got to the point where he was unable to really work (though he wouldnt admit this) and I was paying his rent.
The first stroke was ok, not great, but he could functioun. The second stroke was different.
I will alwasy remember it. He had it on my 29th birthday. I drove to LA to be with him. Aft first the hospital said it was no big deal. He seemed ok. He was joking and laughing. And then it went downhill.
Now that I know about strokes, I understand thats what happens. The initial blockage happens, but the real damage occurs later. So there I was in the emergency ward of the Long Beach VA, waiting on my 29th birthday, while my father deteriorated. At one point the doctors told me to be prepared because he was essentially brain dead. They told me he might wake up, but that the stroke had affected the "understanding" portion of his brain and that he wound never really communicate again.
...they were wrong. He slowly got better. He started talking again, and understanding. He became himself again, sorta. I no longer live in the LA area, and I was driving up a few times a month to see him. I remeber in the begining, trying to be there with him when he cursed me. He callled me a fuking whore...
I know it wasent him. He didnt really understand. But it still hurts.
He spent 9+ months in the VA home, getting intensive care and rehab. He was doing pretty well all things considered when he left.
We knew he would never walk again, he would never ride his motorcycle again. He would never again be the man who was bigger than life in my memories, but he was alive. He was alive and could be there part of our lives, and he could have a good life, if not be what he was.
Fast forward to now, about a year later. We had been exploring him discharging from the VA to a board and care. That is essentially a bording house where you pay a certain amount and they take care of your rent, and other things depending on where you live. The one we were looking atg would have laundry, meals, rent, physical therapy, social outings, and all sorts of other things. It was a really good thing, and he could afford it.
Next thing I know I hear he has decided to discharge to my aunts house instead.
WTF? She has MS and cant provide him the level of care he could get at the board and care, but she convinced him to save his money and go there. It was a terribel idea, but he was capable of making hiw own decisions, so I dont get a say, despite the fact that I took on 25K of debt to pay his rent for 3 years and screwed up a promotion because I neended to be there for him.
Flash forward to now, about a year and a half later. I am a terrible child I have been avoiding seeing him. I have spent so much of my adult life caring for him, I have just been so tired, I have been avoiding him. But I know that irrisponsible, and I do love him so I went to see him finally.
I was shocked. Since his stroke he has been confined to a wheel chair. That was hard enough because in my memory he has always been the big burly biker mechanic.
But he has gotten so skinny. His hair and beard are complely white. His legs are so skinny and his skin is so brused.
He is hard to understand now because of his stroke and how weak he has gotten. Some of this I was prepared for, since it happene since his stroke, but it has gotten so much worse just in the last few months.
When I saw him he was so glad to see me. It really brough home for me how sad he is. How lonely. He was always so strong, but not any more.
He told me that he is planning a celebration of life party. Because he doesnt plan to be here much longer. He told me that he actually tried to kill himself by wrapping the belt that holds him into his chair on the lift on his bed to create a noose but he couldnt quite do it.
What I do I do? I am so sad. I cant really blame him on the one hand. He cant walk, he cant really talk, he will never ride again, he always hurts, he cant sleep. He will never be the man he was...
How can I be upset with that? What could I aruge with? I cant give him back his legs, his body, his sense of self. He cant even see, the diabeties made his sigh all effected and he has double vision when he can see, which makes him sick and nausous. Most of the time he only opens one eys if that.
What do I do. I cant aruge with him. I cant blame him for wanting to die. He doesnt really have anything to live for.
...Except for me and my sister.
And I realised that
How can I aruge with him? But I love him. He is my daddy. He is the man who taught me to tie my shoes, the one who taught me to use a compas, taught me how to clean a fish. And the man who never made me do it after that because he knew how gross I thought it was.
He is the person who helped me open my first bank account and write my first check. He is the man who tried to help me do my homework, even when he didnt understand it.
He is the man who laughed me thorugh my first broken heart, and the man who stood up next to me and walked me down the isle the day I married the only other man I will ever love.
How do you say goodbye to someone who isnt dead, but has decided to give up? How do I let him go, when I cant blame him for wanting it to be over but when all I want to do is beg him to keep trying. Because I am selfish and I am just not ready to have my daddy die.
I dont really know what to say.
I grew up in Alaska. When I was really young I really didnt know him. He was a mechanic on the pipelines and work 6 weeks out of every 8. I remember him being home sometimes, but mostly just my sister and my mom. My brother was born when I was 5ish. I remember that. When I was 7ish we moved to an island off the coast of Kodiak. My "family" owned part of it. That really mean nothing. It meant like 14 people I was vaguely related to mortgaged what they owned and cashed in their life insurance and scraped together any money they could to purchase a random portion of a random island in the middle of nowhere Alaska. My family moved out there when I was six or seven and for a few years we lived there. I was home schooled. The family made money by having people charter out packages of hunting and fishing trips to people from outside.
Then after a few years we moved to California. Its not as random as it sounds. My father was born in Ca, and still had a lot of family here. Man was it a culture shock though. Going from an island where there were like 10 people, no cars, no markets, no malls, to LA California in middle school.
For a while I wanted to die. It was just to hard, to much, to different. We were made fun of so much. Other kids made our life hell. I remember once someone threw a coke can filled with water at my sister in a bathroom stall. She had a concussion. No reason, just because we were different.
Then I got used to it. For a little while it was ok. Then my parents decided it wasent working. and they divorced. Before that however there was way drama. Not coming home when they said they would. Not picking us up from school when their said they would. Finally my mother left, my dad honestly thought she would come back. She didnt.
So I was raised by my dad. Went to college, my twin and I. First people in our entire family to go. Graduated and got a masters. I am the only person in my whole family with a higher degree.
So now what so what? My dad was a mechanic and a biker. At one time I hear he was a hells angel. I actually never knew that, I guess he told my husband when he asked for my dads blessing to propose.
All I knew was that my dad was so cool. He rode a motorcycle. He was part of a cycle club. He talked about drinking and drugs. He taught me to change a tire, my own oil, threw a punch, and even though he didnt understand it bragged to everyone he knew that I was getting a masters degree in counseling, even if he said ucsd, instead of sdsu.
Hes really not perfect. I have loaned him more money than I can keep track of. He is petty, self centered and childish.
But I love him so very much.
A few years ago he had a stroke. He had had diabetes for many years, that he just igoroed. It begged him to take care of himeslf, and he just didnt take it seriously. It got to the point where he was unable to really work (though he wouldnt admit this) and I was paying his rent.
The first stroke was ok, not great, but he could functioun. The second stroke was different.
I will alwasy remember it. He had it on my 29th birthday. I drove to LA to be with him. Aft first the hospital said it was no big deal. He seemed ok. He was joking and laughing. And then it went downhill.
Now that I know about strokes, I understand thats what happens. The initial blockage happens, but the real damage occurs later. So there I was in the emergency ward of the Long Beach VA, waiting on my 29th birthday, while my father deteriorated. At one point the doctors told me to be prepared because he was essentially brain dead. They told me he might wake up, but that the stroke had affected the "understanding" portion of his brain and that he wound never really communicate again.
...they were wrong. He slowly got better. He started talking again, and understanding. He became himself again, sorta. I no longer live in the LA area, and I was driving up a few times a month to see him. I remeber in the begining, trying to be there with him when he cursed me. He callled me a fuking whore...
I know it wasent him. He didnt really understand. But it still hurts.
He spent 9+ months in the VA home, getting intensive care and rehab. He was doing pretty well all things considered when he left.
We knew he would never walk again, he would never ride his motorcycle again. He would never again be the man who was bigger than life in my memories, but he was alive. He was alive and could be there part of our lives, and he could have a good life, if not be what he was.
Fast forward to now, about a year later. We had been exploring him discharging from the VA to a board and care. That is essentially a bording house where you pay a certain amount and they take care of your rent, and other things depending on where you live. The one we were looking atg would have laundry, meals, rent, physical therapy, social outings, and all sorts of other things. It was a really good thing, and he could afford it.
Next thing I know I hear he has decided to discharge to my aunts house instead.
WTF? She has MS and cant provide him the level of care he could get at the board and care, but she convinced him to save his money and go there. It was a terribel idea, but he was capable of making hiw own decisions, so I dont get a say, despite the fact that I took on 25K of debt to pay his rent for 3 years and screwed up a promotion because I neended to be there for him.
Flash forward to now, about a year and a half later. I am a terrible child I have been avoiding seeing him. I have spent so much of my adult life caring for him, I have just been so tired, I have been avoiding him. But I know that irrisponsible, and I do love him so I went to see him finally.
I was shocked. Since his stroke he has been confined to a wheel chair. That was hard enough because in my memory he has always been the big burly biker mechanic.
But he has gotten so skinny. His hair and beard are complely white. His legs are so skinny and his skin is so brused.
He is hard to understand now because of his stroke and how weak he has gotten. Some of this I was prepared for, since it happene since his stroke, but it has gotten so much worse just in the last few months.
When I saw him he was so glad to see me. It really brough home for me how sad he is. How lonely. He was always so strong, but not any more.
He told me that he is planning a celebration of life party. Because he doesnt plan to be here much longer. He told me that he actually tried to kill himself by wrapping the belt that holds him into his chair on the lift on his bed to create a noose but he couldnt quite do it.
What I do I do? I am so sad. I cant really blame him on the one hand. He cant walk, he cant really talk, he will never ride again, he always hurts, he cant sleep. He will never be the man he was...
How can I be upset with that? What could I aruge with? I cant give him back his legs, his body, his sense of self. He cant even see, the diabeties made his sigh all effected and he has double vision when he can see, which makes him sick and nausous. Most of the time he only opens one eys if that.
What do I do. I cant aruge with him. I cant blame him for wanting to die. He doesnt really have anything to live for.
...Except for me and my sister.
And I realised that
How can I aruge with him? But I love him. He is my daddy. He is the man who taught me to tie my shoes, the one who taught me to use a compas, taught me how to clean a fish. And the man who never made me do it after that because he knew how gross I thought it was.
He is the person who helped me open my first bank account and write my first check. He is the man who tried to help me do my homework, even when he didnt understand it.
He is the man who laughed me thorugh my first broken heart, and the man who stood up next to me and walked me down the isle the day I married the only other man I will ever love.
How do you say goodbye to someone who isnt dead, but has decided to give up? How do I let him go, when I cant blame him for wanting it to be over but when all I want to do is beg him to keep trying. Because I am selfish and I am just not ready to have my daddy die.