remembering those not with us
couldent get to sleep, this was keeping my brain running. a little about my dads final years
Recently my brother ave me an old filling cabinet, turns out it still had a drawer of my dads filling in it. So I've been slowly going through everything, it's amazing the weird crap he kept; the packaging to a telephone wall plate from the 70's, still had the balance books from mine and my brothers first savings account(with his handwriting on one balance sheet and ours on another), anything that had a warranty, he had the sales slip, brochures, and maintenace records for it. Everything was labeled, in it place. I dont know what in all this neat and tidy made me think of the last days he was alive. But now I cant get them out of my head.
Darrell H. Sanders Jr., he never told me what the H stood for, my grandma told me at his funeral. Homer.
My father worked for the CDC since as long as i can remember. I think that is why my family moved here from WV, at that time i was 6 months old. Now, my father is not a small man, by any strech of the imagination. One day he ot hurt at work, an office chair broke underneth him, damaged something in his knees, to the point that walking for much longer than couch to bathroom was horribly painful, standing for longer than a minuite might have been worse. Then, a combination of his weight and that he couldent/wouldent exercise led to complications. I think i was about 12-13 the first time he went into the hospital, most of us thought he wasn't making it out of the hospital. blood colts, gaingreen, chronic heart failure, pneumonia, a host of other problems. But he did make it out, spent nearly a year in the hospital or recovery center. Our house at the time was in no was handicap accesebile, so he rented a apartment that was.
I never can think of a time that i saw affection between my parents. I have seen pictures of them when they were younger, and it does really look like the y loved each other. But, for all my memory I think about them living seperate lives under the same roof. the often/occasional fight about money. I know at one point they had shared hobbies. But some time after he had recovered, he was working again, my parents divorced.
Somewhere in the earlier years of my father being ill, but after the divorce i spent some time in ga's delightful mental health system, where i learned that phycaitrist's hear what they want. But, i think I'm better for the experience, it taught me alot about people.
Lots of doctor visits, I only remember driving to them, so i was probably 15. But i;m sure they were an almost constant after the first hospitalization. Around this time I dropped out of high school and got my GED, between 10-11th grades. At some point I moved in with my dad, he wasnt doing so good, was working two or three jobs, and trying to do anything i could to help him around the house.
The year I turned 17, something changed, the yo-yo of the better and worse up and down wasent going up anymore. I became defacto caregiver. That became a nearly fultime job, I looked forward to going to deliver pizzas and wash dishes at my few shifts a week,
One night my father slipped getting out of his chair in the living room, I was home at the time. 911 was called, the ambulance and a fire truck showed up, what it took to get my father in the ambulance was enough pain killers they had to get another drug kiy out of the truck, a tarp, taking the strecher hold downs out of the truck and quite a few firemen. That night i slept the best i had in along time, i could turn off, not listening for something that needed my attention, not worried about finding something the next morning, i slept. I pulled a lunch shift cause i could, i was supposed to go see him, he called asking me to come a few times, i didnt answer.
I had accepted my mortality and the mortality of others during that first year my father was sick. It was not an easy thing to get my brain around. My father was the man who could do anything, not that man on the bed with the tubes, and the machines keeping him alive. Al ive for what to die someother day, next week, next year, next thursday. i thought i had accepted that loss before it happened, i tried to ready myself for the waves of emotion. they never came
Somehow i knew when he passed, you can call it the force for all i care, but i knew. The hospital called and i answered, they said i needed to come in, it was very important. I asked them, did he die, they wouldent tell me. I managedto get to the hospital at the same time as my brother and his now wife. they had him all cleaned up waiting for us to see him, the color of a dead man is very strange. And there he was, never a breath, a laugh a scream would he issue again.
I waited for the anger the pain the feeling of remorse and they never came, it hasent been till almost this past year that i have missed my father. Dont get me wrong, he was a real asshole sometimes, whippings, yelling, put my head through a plaster wall once
LIfe is learning, my father tought me more about life and how/how not to live it, than anything else could. the elat years of his life thought me more about myself than I have learned since. Little memoeries here and there still teach me about life
I know full well that I might have some of the order of things out of wack, my memory is not my strength this i know
Recently my brother ave me an old filling cabinet, turns out it still had a drawer of my dads filling in it. So I've been slowly going through everything, it's amazing the weird crap he kept; the packaging to a telephone wall plate from the 70's, still had the balance books from mine and my brothers first savings account(with his handwriting on one balance sheet and ours on another), anything that had a warranty, he had the sales slip, brochures, and maintenace records for it. Everything was labeled, in it place. I dont know what in all this neat and tidy made me think of the last days he was alive. But now I cant get them out of my head.
Darrell H. Sanders Jr., he never told me what the H stood for, my grandma told me at his funeral. Homer.
My father worked for the CDC since as long as i can remember. I think that is why my family moved here from WV, at that time i was 6 months old. Now, my father is not a small man, by any strech of the imagination. One day he ot hurt at work, an office chair broke underneth him, damaged something in his knees, to the point that walking for much longer than couch to bathroom was horribly painful, standing for longer than a minuite might have been worse. Then, a combination of his weight and that he couldent/wouldent exercise led to complications. I think i was about 12-13 the first time he went into the hospital, most of us thought he wasn't making it out of the hospital. blood colts, gaingreen, chronic heart failure, pneumonia, a host of other problems. But he did make it out, spent nearly a year in the hospital or recovery center. Our house at the time was in no was handicap accesebile, so he rented a apartment that was.
I never can think of a time that i saw affection between my parents. I have seen pictures of them when they were younger, and it does really look like the y loved each other. But, for all my memory I think about them living seperate lives under the same roof. the often/occasional fight about money. I know at one point they had shared hobbies. But some time after he had recovered, he was working again, my parents divorced.
Somewhere in the earlier years of my father being ill, but after the divorce i spent some time in ga's delightful mental health system, where i learned that phycaitrist's hear what they want. But, i think I'm better for the experience, it taught me alot about people.
Lots of doctor visits, I only remember driving to them, so i was probably 15. But i;m sure they were an almost constant after the first hospitalization. Around this time I dropped out of high school and got my GED, between 10-11th grades. At some point I moved in with my dad, he wasnt doing so good, was working two or three jobs, and trying to do anything i could to help him around the house.
The year I turned 17, something changed, the yo-yo of the better and worse up and down wasent going up anymore. I became defacto caregiver. That became a nearly fultime job, I looked forward to going to deliver pizzas and wash dishes at my few shifts a week,
One night my father slipped getting out of his chair in the living room, I was home at the time. 911 was called, the ambulance and a fire truck showed up, what it took to get my father in the ambulance was enough pain killers they had to get another drug kiy out of the truck, a tarp, taking the strecher hold downs out of the truck and quite a few firemen. That night i slept the best i had in along time, i could turn off, not listening for something that needed my attention, not worried about finding something the next morning, i slept. I pulled a lunch shift cause i could, i was supposed to go see him, he called asking me to come a few times, i didnt answer.
I had accepted my mortality and the mortality of others during that first year my father was sick. It was not an easy thing to get my brain around. My father was the man who could do anything, not that man on the bed with the tubes, and the machines keeping him alive. Al ive for what to die someother day, next week, next year, next thursday. i thought i had accepted that loss before it happened, i tried to ready myself for the waves of emotion. they never came
Somehow i knew when he passed, you can call it the force for all i care, but i knew. The hospital called and i answered, they said i needed to come in, it was very important. I asked them, did he die, they wouldent tell me. I managedto get to the hospital at the same time as my brother and his now wife. they had him all cleaned up waiting for us to see him, the color of a dead man is very strange. And there he was, never a breath, a laugh a scream would he issue again.
I waited for the anger the pain the feeling of remorse and they never came, it hasent been till almost this past year that i have missed my father. Dont get me wrong, he was a real asshole sometimes, whippings, yelling, put my head through a plaster wall once
LIfe is learning, my father tought me more about life and how/how not to live it, than anything else could. the elat years of his life thought me more about myself than I have learned since. Little memoeries here and there still teach me about life
I know full well that I might have some of the order of things out of wack, my memory is not my strength this i know