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Memory #7

June 8, 2012

Living RoomI was thinking of the time my Dad was in the hospital very ill. I had returned home for a few days to visit him. Among other things, he had a broken leg. He already had arthritis so with a broken leg, he could not walk. When I was at the house where my parents lived before he returned home from the hospital, my Mother and brother plus some other family members were there. They were preparing to move Dad’s hospital bed out of the living room into my old bedroom. I am bit understand not wanting a hospital bed in the living room but that was a bad time for Dad. Dad liked being in the living room where he could watch television, see out the windows and be available to see anyone who might stop by the house. Putting him in that back bedroom, especially without consulting him, was a mistake in my opinion and I voiced that opinion to the family. I did not want to see my Dad stuffed in the back of the house cut off from life all by himself. I thought putting him in that back bedroom would kill him.

Everyone got really angry at me. I have always been a better advocate for the people I love than for myself. I didn’t care if they got mad. I was worried about my Dad and I fought hard for him. I eventually lost the argument of course. The hospital bed got moved to the back bedroom. My Mother never said a word during any of this. She just sat at the table with a very satisfied grin on her face. She had won, again, as usual. She is the one who wanted my Dad and the hospital bed out of the living room. My brother was just doing her bidding.

There are times when I hate being right. My Dad was dead within a couple of weeks. I think his spirit was broken. He was dehydrated and that didn’t help. The dehydration led to his kidney’s shutting down and that was the end for him. Your guess is as good as mine as mine as to how he became so dehydrated. My parents lived alone and my Dad could not walk.

I wish I had quit my job and returned to the area so I could have been with my Dad. My brother called me when Dad was back in the hospital and it was clear he was not going to make it. I rode a bus for 12 hours to get there. My Dad was still alert and awake when I arrived, but barely. He saw me and he asked me if I was okay. I nodded. He smiled at me and he did not speak again. He had waited on me to return. His last words were to me and of concern for me.

I really loved my Dad and I miss him more than I can express.

  1. Dammit. I am so sorry.

  2. Thank you. My Dad really was a wonderful, kind man. I appreciate your words.

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