The Last Goodbye

I don't even know if it was the "last goodbye", but it was a good-bye.

Our case worker Cleo came by today (at my request) to check on my Dad and to see how he was doing.  Cleo's a person I would want to go have a drink with.  She'd probably do something crazy.  And then we would both exchange numbers and promise to hang out again soon.  But we probably wouldn't.  And that would be it.

But Cleo as our case worker with someone who has vital information to help us through the process of my father's hospice and eventual passing is not helpful.  I hate it when it seems like people don't know what they're doing, even when they might have SOME important information.  But if it seems to be that you don't have expertise, then I immediately shut off.  You're not really worth my time.  I don't mean to paint a picture of Cleo as an incompetent, but for my personal needs, she doesn't provide any sort of comfort or real information.

However, she did say something today that was helpful.  She mentioned that sometimes a patient might be holding on because he's worried about the family.  My Mother also mentioned that my Godmother's husband went into serious convulsions before he died.  We kind of concluded that it might be good to have the "it's okay to let go" conversation with him before it gets to that place.  It felt like maybe her husband didn't feel like he could go so he was holding on for dear life, kind of like white knuckling it. And we don't want that to happen to my Dad.  We want him to be as comfortable as possible.

Elyzabeth, our nurse, came to see him yesterday.  She told my Mother that he looked good.  My Mother gave her a perplexed look.  "Good?"  Then Elyzabeth explained that he looked like he was comfortable and that makes the transition easier.  It could mean that he wouldn't suffer as much.  And that is something we want.  We want to make sure that he has an easy time of it.

So today I went in to change his diaper.  I cleaned him up and then I took the opportunity to read to him.  I have been reading Jane Fonda's memoir, "My Life So Far" to prepare for this pilot I'm writing.  And one of the chapters is called "Closure" and it details what she did when she knew her father was dying.  What she said.  What she wishes she had said.  It was all incredibly moving and oddly close to my personal experience with my Dad.  I even went back and watched "On Golden Pond" after I read her account of her experience with the film.  Henry Fonda was a father who was distant and never gave her the approval she had craved for her entire life up until then.  I felt a connection to her story.

So in an effort to both give myself the courage to talk to my Dad about letting go and to present someone else's story so my Dad wouldn't feel confronted, I decided I would read this chapter to him.  I read the whole thing to him and then I started speaking to him.

I told him that I was proud to be his son.
I told him that even though he didn't think he had taught me things, he had.
I told him that my Mother and Brother would be okay.
I told him that I knew that he only pushed me to help reveal the potential he knew was just below the surface.
I told him that I was starting to finally realize that potential.
I promised him that I would start living my potential.
I told him a bunch of other things that were heartfelt, sincere, well articulated and wonderful.  None of those things I can remember now.
I told him I loved him.
I told him it was okay for him to go.

My voice was teetering on the edge of breaking and losing it.  But I kept going.  I let myself sit in that.  I let my voice rest in that.

I am sorry my Dad won't live to see all of the things he knows I'm capable of.  But I'm glad he was alive to see me overcome the bullies, go to college, find my voice, come out of the closet, go to graduate school, and start living my dreams.  The other stuff is material and surface and the world's idea of success.  I do wish he could see that, but...

I also told him that his gift to me was to help me realize and fulfill that potential by making his transition.  I remember that now.

A friend of mine told me a year and a half ago after my breakup that sometimes a Son holds back from realizing his full potential because he doesn't want to outshine his Father.  I think that is true.  I don't think that's the entirety of the reason I haven't done the things I know I'm capable of or that I haven't had the outward success that I'm working towards.  But I do think I have held back to protect my Father's pride.  That seems so fucked up.  But I always wanted to make my Dad proud and I guess somewhere I thought what would make him the proudest was protecting his Pride.

I told him that I wouldn't accomplish the things I'm going to accomplish to make him proud, but I know that it would. 

I don't think I got that right, by the way.  But I do think that's how strong my desire to please has been.  It's a powerful force.  Now I can save that energy for myself.

Thanks, Dad.  Love you.  Hope it's not too long now, for your sake.

I also told him that I would think about him whenever I ate.  My curiosity of food, my wonderment of it, my appreciation of it comes from him.

I told him that I'd think about him whenever I ate pate and crackers.
Whenever I tried something new I was excited by.
Whenever my Brother and I ate something together and shared that experience.
I told him how close Chris and I are and that our love of food comes from him and has brought us close.
I told him that I was sorry that he had been abused by his Mother and that that affected his life so deeply.

I told him a lot.  I'm glad I was able to before he dies.

The other thing that Cleo said was that maybe I could share my stories with other people, to help them through something I had experienced.  I took that as reinforcement that I should write these experiences down.