Care giving isn't about helping someone die with dignity. It's about helping them live with dignity. I woke up this morning with this on my mind, feeling like I'd just found the last piece to life's most complicated puzzle. Geez.
I want dad to enjoy another sunny day 1000 times over, to experience the omnipotence of the ocean, again and again, as if it were the first time, hold his grandchild or great grandchild in his arms once more times a million, to laugh about nothing at all, or just to sit in his living room watching the History Channel, or another episode of Two And A Half Men. I want him to get his strength back so he can take the Amtrak to St. Louis, like he keeps talking about. I want to hear the echo of Andre Rieu throughout the house 'cause dad has the television turned up so loud the windows shake, or listen on the sidelines while he teases Jean about being 60, just to watch her face turn beat red when he goes on and on about how she'll never get a another job 'cause she's old. Gotta love 'em. Besides, it's funnier when he's not talking about me.
It's all about helping him stay with us just one more day, then another, and another. And when you think about it like that, isn't it worth just about every single moment we've gone through together, just to have him still with us? That's an unequivocal yes for me. Because gone is forever, and I detest forever in those terms. It's a long time for a heart to be broken.
Mom and Kenny taught us that.
No comments:
Post a Comment