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My life has pretty much sucked the last few months, but no one's had it harder than my dad.
In December, his wife of 45 years was diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. In January, with family hovering and running all around the house trying to help Mom, my sister Lori and I noticed my Dad slurring words and completely unable to complete fine tasks with his hands. We rushed him to the hospital; it turned out he was having a stroke.
By the time he was admitted, he'd lost all ability to speak and could barely stand. Multiple doctors told him that he'd have to be in the hospital a while, and then he'd have to go directly to a rehab facility. He fought and fought to bypass all this, but of course there was no choice.
Imagine that for a moment. The love of his life was in bad shape, nobody knowing how much longer she had to live, and people were telling him that he'd have to spend probably two weeks of Mom's increasingly finite life away from her.
Did I mention that because of her weakened immune system, Mom was under strict orders to stay at home, or only make small trips, and for God's sake don't go anywhere NEAR a bacteria-infested hospital? At this point, I was sleeping in my clothes multiple nights at Healthpark while Lori became Mom's caregiver, and all communication was through the phone.
We did execute a plan whereby we snuck Mom in the hospital, making sure to have her wear a medical mask to protect her from infection and pushing her in a wheelchair to protect her from exertion. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the moment we wheeled Mom into Dad's room. I pushed her next to his bed, they held hands, and both started crying. Heavily. My dad was sobbing. Of course, viewing this caused both my sister and I to start crying as well.
Dad was eventually released to the rehab facility, which was pure hell. I wanted him to go there because there was no way we could help in his rehab at home, but the first time I visited that place I immediately wanted him out. It was also a nursing home, and not the good luxurious kind. It was incredibly depressing. There was always some patient randomly yelling something incomprehensible. It was like prison. I saw my dad in his small uncomfortable bed and he looked broken.
After three days, he thankfully convinced them he was good enough to leave. Upon coming home, he did his best to help take care of her. But, on February 26th, she passed. I don't need to describe the pain involved there.
But I will add, about three days after burying his wife, he got a letter from the State of Florida basically saying they wanted to take his driver's license.
There are an incredible amount of things that need to be done when a spouse dies, of which a lot of require digging through files and records and boxes that haven't been touched in years. Dad had, and still has, so much on his plate while trying to somehow recover from his heartbreak. I still catch him staring at Mom's picture on the entertainment center, his eyes getting all misty.
That's why I'm so proud of him today. On his third attempt, he passed his driver's license course. It was not easy. The "medical" driver test requires you to complete the entire course mistake-free THREE TIMES IN A ROW. Meaning you do everything great, then hey, go do another lap of all the same crap. You managed to do it again? Great, once more!
So technically, he took it nine times. But he got it. And made one more step in his recovery. I love you, Dad.
In December, his wife of 45 years was diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. In January, with family hovering and running all around the house trying to help Mom, my sister Lori and I noticed my Dad slurring words and completely unable to complete fine tasks with his hands. We rushed him to the hospital; it turned out he was having a stroke.
By the time he was admitted, he'd lost all ability to speak and could barely stand. Multiple doctors told him that he'd have to be in the hospital a while, and then he'd have to go directly to a rehab facility. He fought and fought to bypass all this, but of course there was no choice.
Imagine that for a moment. The love of his life was in bad shape, nobody knowing how much longer she had to live, and people were telling him that he'd have to spend probably two weeks of Mom's increasingly finite life away from her.
Did I mention that because of her weakened immune system, Mom was under strict orders to stay at home, or only make small trips, and for God's sake don't go anywhere NEAR a bacteria-infested hospital? At this point, I was sleeping in my clothes multiple nights at Healthpark while Lori became Mom's caregiver, and all communication was through the phone.
We did execute a plan whereby we snuck Mom in the hospital, making sure to have her wear a medical mask to protect her from infection and pushing her in a wheelchair to protect her from exertion. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the moment we wheeled Mom into Dad's room. I pushed her next to his bed, they held hands, and both started crying. Heavily. My dad was sobbing. Of course, viewing this caused both my sister and I to start crying as well.
Dad was eventually released to the rehab facility, which was pure hell. I wanted him to go there because there was no way we could help in his rehab at home, but the first time I visited that place I immediately wanted him out. It was also a nursing home, and not the good luxurious kind. It was incredibly depressing. There was always some patient randomly yelling something incomprehensible. It was like prison. I saw my dad in his small uncomfortable bed and he looked broken.
After three days, he thankfully convinced them he was good enough to leave. Upon coming home, he did his best to help take care of her. But, on February 26th, she passed. I don't need to describe the pain involved there.
But I will add, about three days after burying his wife, he got a letter from the State of Florida basically saying they wanted to take his driver's license.
There are an incredible amount of things that need to be done when a spouse dies, of which a lot of require digging through files and records and boxes that haven't been touched in years. Dad had, and still has, so much on his plate while trying to somehow recover from his heartbreak. I still catch him staring at Mom's picture on the entertainment center, his eyes getting all misty.
That's why I'm so proud of him today. On his third attempt, he passed his driver's license course. It was not easy. The "medical" driver test requires you to complete the entire course mistake-free THREE TIMES IN A ROW. Meaning you do everything great, then hey, go do another lap of all the same crap. You managed to do it again? Great, once more!
So technically, he took it nine times. But he got it. And made one more step in his recovery. I love you, Dad.
Organizer and beneficiary
JOSEPH SIMMONS
Beneficiary