Dad’s Seizure

My heart is now filled with the peace of God. Giving and receiving love seems natural, second nature, and even ordinary. This is how I want to live my life and how God wants me to live my life.

Empathy, kindness, and generosity are limitless gifts for both myself and the world. I no longer consider them a weakness. Echoes of a long past Smith’s song reverberating within my consciousness. “It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind”. I have that strength with God’s love, and it’s easier. It’s not always easy, but it’s easier.

My heart softened, as my phone conversations with my parents became more frequent. Speaking with them once every few days, as opposed to every few weeks. There was a newfound joy in our conversations as they witnessed their son’s magnificent metamorphosis.

Their child, who had been so unhappy for most of his adult life. Who worried constantly about the future, was lighthearted and living in peace with the present. Listening to me describe hummingbirds, now that I actually stopped and really looked at these incredible little wonders of nature. In many ways, my eyes and heart are like a child, discovering the world for the first time. I was just rediscovering what I had not seen as an adult.

They again heard my self-assured confidence that was once my voice. Finding comfort in knowing that my painful dance with Jose had ended. They knew while I loved Jose deeply, I would be honoring my Imago Dei, this amazing creature that God created. We’re all amazing creatures. My husband no exception to this amazement.

It’s easy to recognize your unique individuality when you no longer live in fear of anything, including other people’s unhappiness or judgments. They alone need to own their life. They alone need to find the kingdom of peace within themselves. They alone need to find their own path to God.

You should always help and support people because we are all members of God’s family, but you cannot change anyone. You do not have that power. Their change will only happen when they begin their own relationship with God.

Unfortunately, my father’s dementia was causing his health to continue its slow decline with each passing day. While cognizant at times, there were other times when his lucidity was lacking. This is why I will always remember my last genuine conversation with my father before his horrific health event. A conversation that never would have happened before my heart was filled with the love of God. Instead of a lifelong sorrow of regret, I will always carry with me a lifelong, joyful memory of love.

It was Thursday late afternoon, summer firmly in control of the meteorological calendar. I was on the phone with my parents, us sharing the events in our lives since we last spoke. I shared with them my conversation with our neighbor, a middle-aged man with two young children. Everyone seeming younger to me.

We talked as I was raising our flag, the US flag, not a pride flag. While I no longer have unquestionable faith in our government, I consider myself blessed to have been born in the US. Particularly compared to other nations that actively and aggressively persecute individual free thinking and gay people. An uncomfortable fact the world ignores playing soccer in the desert or when using pricey electronic devices created with slave labor.

Our neighbor asked if I was in the military. I told him no, but my father, my two uncles, and my nephew were. Flying the US flag to honor their service which has given me and millions of people the opportunity to live authentically. He told me he was in the Marines, and I thanked him for his service.

I asked him about his new RV trailer and if his family had the opportunity to use it. He told me they were planning a trip, and his young boys were looking forward to it. We chatted a little longer and then went our respective ways.

Once again, introspective about my life in light of my reawakening. I told my parents about my neighborly conversation and it’s reminder of us taking vacations to the west coast. Grade schoolers visiting their maternal grandparents and my mother’s side of the family who lived in Washington state. RV in tow on our Volare station wagon. A vehicle I will always associate with the only real suffering I experienced as a child. Seats that became frigid blocks of ice in the winter and a scorching fry pan in the summer. I still am traumatized when I have to sit on green vinyl.

This annual summer trip would use all my father’s vacation time, understanding now how precious that time was for him. I told my father how much I admired him and what a great role model he has been for me. Knowing I’ve been blessed to have had many great role models in my life. My Dad at the top of the list, along with my mother, of course.

We chuckled and laughed, reminiscing about a past that made me smile. A tangible testament of honoring both my mother and father. A sign of parental priorities well lived. It was nice.

I told my father how much I loved him and told my mother how much I loved her. My father responded, “I love you very much son,” and my mother responded, “I love you very much son.” It was a love fest. It was a conversation unlike any other I had previously with them, and it would be our last conversation together.

A little over twenty-four hours later, my father had a violent seizure, which caused him to break both arms. In speaking with my mother, sister, and brother early Saturday morning, the devastation of this event started to become clear. My mother believing during my father’s seizure, she had lost her lifelong partner of sixty-one years. Yes, sixty-one years.

My father would survive this trauma, but in reality, he didn’t survive. His dementia became far worse, and the man I knew as my father really didn’t exist anymore. Physically, there is a shell of the man who appears as my father. Occasionally, we may even see a flicker of his past self and who he was. But the husband, the father, the friend who we knew had passed.

Dementia is a slow, painful death for its victim and the family. My mother’s ongoing grief is evident with each passing day. Her partner, whom she relied on, is no longer there. Worse, not only is her partner physically ill, but he’s also mentally ill. This is a disease of the brain.

His behavior and personality erratic and out of character for the man we knew. Confusing not only the patient but also those who love the patient. This terrible disease robbing my Dad of all the amazing attributes and generous gifts that made him special. His amazing attributes and generous gifts now living in us and forever living in God.

My heart grieves for my father. With each passing day, he becomes less and less aware of this wrecked reality. Maybe it’s a curse, maybe it’s a blessing; I don’t know anymore because it really doesn’t matter. What I know is God is with him. God will lead him home just as God will lead all of us home if we allow Him.

Like everyone else in my family, I truly miss my Dad. Particularly when I see or do things only he would be interested in hearing about. Like the different types of birds I pay attention including the aluminum birds descending into Vegas. Full of people with a million stories; the airport minutes away from our house.

Sometimes, I look at the moon through our backyard telescope; a crazy and amazing experience on so many levels. Thinking of my father who taught me to keep my feet on the ground and to face whatever was in front of me. Good advice for any human. He also taught me to look up and not miss the wonders of this world. Wonders that are not only in front of me but sometimes above me. Wise advice for any human

I no longer talk with my Dad about our past shared experiences. The things in this life that united us, and the memories we created together. Our pinewood derby cars from Cub Scouts. Teaching me how to ride a bike or use a lawn mower, and his love of Big Band music. Always in the mood to listen to Glenn Miller.

Our father and son camping trips. How he always cried whenever he talked about my first night at home with him and my Mom. Their first child, their first son, finally falling asleep while being held in my father’s arms. My eyes tearful, and my heart swelling with gratitude as I write this story. I miss him very much, but we will meet again in the sweet by and by. I am now certain.

My mother and I talk almost daily, something that never happened before I opened my heart to God. Because my heart is filled with unyielding love, love flows generously from my heart to the hearts of other people. Especially in times of suffering. My mother on her own journey through the valley of darkness, but God is with her. God will light her way; God will accompany her, and God will provide.

Like the unexpected windfall from my Uncle’s estate, which has helped pay for my father’s health expenses. Like all the help my sister, my brother, and my entire family have provided our Mom. Helping her navigate the paperwork and bureaucracy required of our healthcare system before actual medical care begins. It’s overwhelming for anyone grieving, especially overwhelming for an eighty-year-old woman who’s lost her lifelong partner.

Like having a son, she can talk to about her faith and her struggles as she navigates life’s stormy seas. Reminding her she is not alone. Providing her comfort because God has provided people in her life who can comfort her. Life doesn’t get easier as one ages, but no one is alone, even when lost in the woods.

Donald Harold Young