Not quite sure where I want to start this blog; such a lot has happened over a relatively short space of time that it is difficult to decide what I need to include, what I can discard for being utter drivel and what should never be included if I want to keep my standing and respectability in the community!
I know that I mentioned in my last communication that my father was poorly; sadly he was more than poorly and passed away this last week after a short battle with a mighty illness. Short though the time span was, it dragged dreadfully for my sisters and I, as we struggled to come to terms with the thought of losing him, the perhaps hoped for miracle of him recovering, and just the general wearing down of visits where we had to travel back and forth from the care centre (the new posh name for a nursing home). Everything at times like this takes its toll, and for me it was no exception as I put my life on hold.
I learnt some things over the last few weeks of my father's life. I discovered that due to "Data Protection" my father was just a bed number in hospital (explain that to me if you can!). I found that even though very unwell, my father was still capable of giving us copious lists of things to do, and I found myself in a situation, that although I did not want to be in, I was capable of dealing with instead of falling to pieces. I also noted that, with the best will in the world, some people forget that you are a human being with feelings and need for dignity, even if you are not in a position to tell them so yourself.
Out of all the pain and angst, there were small incidents that made us laugh, some that made us will our father to die peacefully and quickly, and some just plain old daft things happening, alongside seeing and hearing people in obvious distress that almost broke my heart, and I know that it affected my sister too.
Let me tell you a story or two of the people I came across in the nursing home - whoops sorry, I mean the Care Centre - both patients and staff. A few people actually know the centre I am talking about, so I will not divulge even the slightest hint of a right name and use aliases - which gives me free rein to use the most wonderfully outlandish names ever! Firstly there was Jonah, who stalked the corridors in his motorised wheelchair, reminiscent of The Flying Dutchman, damned to spend his days roaming aimlessly in search of someone who would actually stop and chat to him for more than ten seconds. A bit of a ladies man at heart, he used to shake my hand and then kiss it. I thought I was supremely privileged until I saw him doing the same thing to another woman! I told him I was heartbroken, but as he didn't remember giving me the kiss in the first place..... He was very adept in his wheelchair and could spin it around in a very tight turning space, but he did have his moments when he just motored his way past the trolleys and sent them spinning in his wake, or he misjudged the corner and cannoned into the wall - the grazes in the paintwork bearing testament to this. Then there was Ethel. You didn't hear a peep from Ethel until it was time for shift changeover, then her little mousy voice would cry out, "Is there anyone there? Please help me." and on occasion, "I'm frightened." This went on for some length of time until either a carer came or I suspect that she just fell asleep through utter exhaustion. Sad though that was, you could practically set your watch by her!
Alongside Jonah and Ethel there was Jemima. Jemima's trick was to screech out all hours of the day and often into the night too, but with an odd sounding cackle so I was never sure whether she was in pain or not. I deduced that she was just up the corridor from my father; after having wandered the corridors in the middle of the night once myself, I discovered that she was actually down the corridor from him. So much for my hearing! Further down the corridor there was a little sitting room and in there sat a number of ladies, all dressed up but with nowhere to go. Matilda sat like a little sparrow in the corner, her handbag by her side and hair and makeup expertly done, even at nine in the morning. She looked so sweet but one of the other residents whispered to me that she was the boss in that room! She was absolutely lovely to chat to, but sadly her memory was failing and she would repeat herself over and over again. But the carers used to sometimes take her out in a wheelchair for a tour around the gardens and down to the main road. Along that side of the wing, tucked away in the back of beyond resided Martha. Well I think she did because every night she would walk the corridor in search of a cup of tea and bemoaning her fate that she was always being moved rooms! Even I wasn't quite sure where she meant to be! Martha used to be a nurse and on more than one occasion I heard her tell the carers so!
The older generation are a wonderful lot and they can regale us with stories of their youth or upset us with their frailty. I am not sure that I could be a carer - for a start I don't do bodily functions - but it would upset me too much and I would probably never get any work done.
The carers and nurses in the home were a mixed bag of good, great and just mediocre. Some of them were working as carers as they couldn't get a job in their chosen occupation; and for those I was amazed at just how kind they were. Others were a little less than great; none of them ever did anything "wrong", but they didn't look any further than what needed to be done, or did more than they should. Take for example the not pulling down of my fathers pyjama jacket. It was on and looked perfectly presentable, and my father was dead weight and in discomfort when they moved him, but he was even more uncomfortable simply because they hadn't moved him enough to pull the jacket down at the back to stop it being bunched up around his very bony body. If they did that to my father, how many others were uncomfortable and didn't have anyone visiting at that particular time to help them? They bought in drinks and then left them to go cold because they thought he was asleep when in fact he kept his eyes closed because it was easier for him. I could go on ad-infinitum, but I won't because all in all they did an excellent job and I would recommend the care centre to anyone. But good as they are, there is always room for improvement.
One of the things that I often thought about was the beautiful grounds the care centre was in. Nothing grand or fancy, but there were benches and flower beds and little sun traps and all in all it was nice. But it could have been great with just a little bit of thought. Outside my fathers window was a beautiful Forsythia bush - and it was just coming into flower whilst he was there. It would have looked lovely if only he had been able to see it. And that was the trouble; the bush had been planted between two windows so neither of the clients in the rooms could see it! Honestly, it doesn't take Einstein to work that one out - or does it? The bird feeders were the same, as were the hanging baskets. I am not sure who they did the gardens for, the clients or the clients families.
Having got a phone call in the early hours of the morning to tell me that my father had passed away, I was both happy and sad. I was really happy that he was no longer in pain, and that he went peacefully; not mentioning that as the only church goer in the family, I truly believe that he has gone on to something better, but I was sad, nay even a little cross, that he had died on his own. You see I had spent nearly two weeks camping out in the recliner chair in his room every night, in the belief that if he was to go, I did not want him to die on his own and in the dark. Not very rational, but I wasn't all that rational at the time. However, two days after I made the momentous decision (to me anyway), not to do it any more as I was getting severely sleep deprived, he went and died in the night and alone. I was, and still am, convinced that he did it just to be awkward! However, more than that, many people - the carers and friends - have told me a similar story. Vigils have been kept and then as soon as one steps out for a breath of fresh air or a toilet break, the person slips away. I wonder if people don't want their family or friends to see them go? I wonder if something happens (apart from the obvious) that we might be privy to something that is very sacred and only for the person who is slipping away. I know that is a rather romantic notion and I know that in places like at an accident scene or in an hospital emergency room there really wouldn't be any of that, but if the situation is one that can be managed.... then I do wonder. And I guess that I will have to go on wondering about it because no one is going to be able to give me a definitive answer. I sometimes wish that my mind didn't go off on flights of fancy like that because it can be a little wearing! In fact I still want to know the answer to the question, "If God made me, who made God?". I know that I don't need to know the answer, but I really want to know it all the same! Some things in life aren't meant to have an answer and I guess that dying and all that it entails is one of them. Maybe when I am gone, I will come back and haunt someone and tell them all the answers!
Now that my father is gone and I am an orphan (I know that I am probably too old to be considered an orphan, but is there a name for us that lose parents later in life? Now there's an interesting question.) you would think that it would be simple to arrange everything, from the funeral right down to sorting out his banking. Wrong! I think that the powers that be are experts in creating stress and distress at times when there shouldn't be any. Having discovered just how much it is going to cost to have my father cremated - good job I was sitting down- I was disappointed to find out that although the crematorium has an organ in the chapel, you have to hire it. Can you believe it? No, neither could I. And I am not even going to mention how much it is to hire the organist as well. I did economics at college, so I know all about supply and demand, but really? Talk about holding you to ransom when you are at your weakest. And please don't even get me started on the probate required before any funds can be released! But everything is almost finalised, so hopefully I can sit back a bit and relax knowing that it is all under control......
Having rambled on for far too long I will leave you with this pearl of wisdom:
Don't press the button without checking first! Thought I had just erased my hours of work on this - thank goodness for the "undo" button! Actually, the words of wisdom that I was going to write are these:
Keeping a journal has a twofold purpose. Firstly it allows you to write about the good and the bad, the funny or sad, or the plain and simple things that have happened in your daily life. This is great for future generations to see how you lived and "ticked". Secondly, it is very therapeutic to write down how you are feeling, whether it be an emotional experience or a spiritual one. The best part is that no one ever has to see it until after you are gone - it can be your secret....
Until the next time. Take care....... :)
P.S. Please don't ask why I have white lines on this blog because I simply have no idea! Not sure what I did different this time..... And I am sorry that it is a bit boring with no pictures and stuff. If I was clever..... :)
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