That's a bit of a digress from where I was going with this entry, but hey don't hate me because I digress! lol As I was saying, I was out for drinks with an old friend and there was a lot of discussion about what I want in life. And I didn't have a solid answer. Maybe because I'm at a standstill. I can't go up, I can't go down. I have nowhere to go at the moment. I have no job and that limits any kind of plan I can ever make for a future. But since that day, I have been thinking about that question over and over and over. "What is it that you want?"
This is what I've come up with. I want joy. I want a life lived. I want more than getting by week after week and doing the same things. I want to be happy. I want good sex. I want to create great dishes and eat fine food. I want to laugh and laugh and then laugh some more. I want to listen to great music. I want to take pride in what I'm doing for a living and not just exist in a job. I want to travel and see things I've never seen. I want more great tattoos. I want to give love and get love in return.
Maybe thats a big order to fill, but I don't think it's impossible. Time probably isn't on my side unfortunately. I am 48 years old. Is it too late to live the life I want and think I deserve? Is it too late to start living for me and not everyone else?
Nessun Dorma, "none shall sleep." It was my dad's favorite, when done by Pavarotti. It's one of the things that will always remind me of him in such a good way. He wept whenever he heard it, and now I do as well. He passed away on January 7. I've been wanting to write about him since it happened, but quite frankly I didn't know where to begin, what to say, how to pay tribute. I'm not sure this will end up being a tribute but I hope you can read the love I had for this man despite some very shaky years.
In those shaky years it was very apparent that my dad and I could not relate to each other. He didn't understand me and I didn't understand him. He had good camaraderie with my brothers and my sister because they all loved sports. Me, not so much. I guess maybe I was a little resentful of that, mainly because my mom used to say things like, "learn to like sports and you will have a bond with him." Well why couldn't he learn to love something that I was into and bond with me? It's that stubbornness that I inherited from him I guess. So growing up I really didn't have much of a relationship with my dad. In fact, it wasn't until after I moved out at 21 that I even really remember having many conversations with him. When I came back home to do laundry or visit or have dinner, we talked. Actual conversations. We found common ground. We both loved nature shows. We both dreamed of going to Alaska. He never did, but I hope I get to someday, for both of us. And when I was 30, I got my very first "I love you" from him.
I guess when someone passes away you aren't supposed to talk about the bad times. When my brother spoke at the funeral, he spoke of family vacations, sports, and Saturday morning breakfasts my dad used to make for all of us kids. And those are good memories. But the truth is there are a lot more bad memories than there are good. I'll leave those for another time though, because the fact is he's gone and I miss him. So instead I'll tell you about his last day.
My dad was ill, and he had been for a long time. He had lost a leg to diabetes seven years ago, and while recuperating from that surgery, he had a stroke. The stroke affected his ability to speak clearly. He knew what he was trying to say, but he often was garbled in his speech and no amount of therapy seemed to help. In addition, his amputation was so far up he had difficulty ever walking again even with a prosthetic. He did, with the help of a walker, but it was difficult and he spent a lot of time in and out of rehab. In addition to all this, he had already had atrial fibrillation, or a-fib, an irregular heartbeat, and received a pacemaker/defibrillator several years ago to treat this. So yeah, he wasn't in good shape.
Since I haven't worked in forever and still can't seem to find a job, I was looked to often to help out with him. I was glad to do it, most of the time. My mother could not handle him on her own all the time. We went to many doctors, many hospitals, over the years. It seemed to be never ending. It was frustrating to say the least, most of the time because as years passed he got less and less interested in doing much to help himself. No amount of talking to him, reasoning with him, telling him how it was, didn't help. And it became apparent that he would have to go into a nursing home. My mom fought us on it, but there was really no other way. He was no longer walking at all and at 82, my mother couldn't care for him herself anymore.
At the time, he was in rehab and they were trying to help him walk. It wasn't going well at all. He had a toe amputated off his remaining foot and since then he didn't want to get up at all. He was in bed, in rehab for 3 months when we got the call saying he was unresponsive. Off we went back to the hospital to meet him in the ER. My mom was beside herself but I have grown accustomed to being solid, the rock, the strong one and I told her that dad has nine lives. And it was true. There had been several times over the years when I thought he was not going to make it. The most recent was Christmas, when he was in the hospital with pneumonia and a staph infection. But he bounced back, just like he always had. I told my mom that when we got to the ER he'd be sitting up in bed and saying, "what took you so long to get here??" And you know, it was almost like that. He was sitting up, he was talking. He was not right, and we could see that, but he was making sense mostly, talking sports with my brother. As the doctors came and went, we were told very little but informed they would be admitting him to ICU. At this time they weren't sure but they thought he may have had a heart attack. Dad was looking tired so mom told him to go to sleep if he wanted to since we didn't know how long it would take to get him into a room. Soon after, he did sleep and we decided to go grab a quick bite to eat, not knowing how long we would be at the hospital.
Things felt different, in retrospect, but at the time, we were feeling it was business as usual. When we got back to the ER, he was still there, still sleeping. And my aunt and uncle (dad's brother) had arrived. The nurse tried to wake him at this point and was unable to. He was still breathing though and the room up in ICU was ready. While they were moving him I went to the ER parking lot and moved my car to the hospital lot. It's winter and cold and I figured it would be a shorter walk when we left the hospital. When I got up to ICU, my family was still in the waiting room but my mom was crying and my aunt was comforting her. What did I miss?? The ICU doctor had come out while the nurses were getting dad settled and he said he saw very little hope for him and there was nothing they could do. Dad had a DNR and all they could do for him was keep him comfortable. Was this really happening? This moment that I had been preparing myself for for years, was it really here? I wasn't prepared at all.
It was about 6 pm, and my brother and I took turns calling my sister and my other brother who live out of state, updating them on what was happening. My sister had called our aunt (dad's sister) to tell her what was going on and then my aunt phoned me and asked me if I thought she should come to the hospital. I told her yes, so she and her husband came.
Now we are waiting. Waiting for him to die and it feels strange. He is unconscious the whole time and unaware of what is happening and that's a blessing. My mom wanted a priest from her church to come and administer Last Rights, so I called and before I could leave a message my sister phoned me. So after talking to her I asked her to call the church back for me and ask a priest to come. She did, and the priest called me not even five minutes later to say he was on his way. He said prayers and anointed him and it was all quite beautiful.
The nurses there were extremely kind and brought us a cart with coffee, sodas, cookies and other snacks. And chairs. ICU rooms don't have chairs for visitors because they don't want visitors to stay in the ICU long. But they brought us, all seven of us, chairs. And we sat, or paced. Cried, and talked. Even had some laughs. For instance, before we got chairs, my uncle broke down crying and sat down on the toilet. It's a toilet in the room, with a big pad over it to make it look like a chair. My mother went to him to comfort him and as she leaned down to hug him, she leaned up against the flusher and WOOSH! She flushed the toilet! Yes, we did all laugh. And it felt good because we were all so wound up and nervous.
Another moment was when the priest left. He was a very young, very handsome priest. And when he left I turned to my mom and I said, "he's young!" She said yes, he was one of the newer priests at her church. I told my family, "we had a name for priests like him when I was in school…. Fr. WhatAWaste!" And we laughed again. You need those moments because staring at my dad and counting how long it is between breaths can drive you mad. So we had those moments, and others as we talked and reminisced and told stories about him. And then, at 10:10 pm, all was silent. He was gone. It took about 6 hours from the time he went to sleep for him to stop breathing. A blessing really. The doctor came in and declared him gone, and we said our goodbyes. Now we had to go home and go about the task of getting on with life. I spent that night with my mom. I just couldn't leave her alone. She lost the man she'd spent 57 years with. It was going to hit her, and hit her hard at some point. So I stayed. Again being the rock. Holding in my tears, holding in my sorrow, so she could have hers. I've been doing it for so long I don't really know how not to.
I miss him. But the truth is, I've missed him for years. He hasn't been the guy I knew for quite some time. He stopped caring about anything. He stopped wanting to do anything. He existed but had very little quality of life these past few years. So I'm glad he's free. And hope wherever he is, he found his joy again. Love you forever dad. xoxo
Suddenly this morning as I was in the shower this old song popped into my mind and I started singing it. Then it dawned on me, this is my life.
I Could Be Happy
by
Altered Images
I would like to climb high in a tree I could be happy, i could be happy Or go to Skye on my holiday I could be happy, i could be happy Maybe swim a mile down the Nile I could be happy, i could be happy All of these things i do All of these things i do To get away from you Get away, run away, far away, how do i? Get away, run away, far away, how do i Escape from you?
I've had to go through this my whole adult life. The idea by others that I don't have a life because either I'm not married, or I don't have kids, or I don't have a job. Well here's a newsflash, I have a fucking life!!! I have a pretty full life in fact. I'm so tired of that mentality I could just scream. I guess because right now, this minute, it is happening again.
I don't get a say in what time holidays are celebrated because before I was married, I was single and had no life. Now it's because I don't have kids and have no life. My plans, my life, they are never considered when family plans are made. And now it's because I don't have a job.
If you're a regular reader to this blog, you probably know that my father is ill. He is not going to get better but he could make things easier on himself if he actually did the things the doctors suggested. He doesn't. When people ask me if he's given up, I tend to say yes. He has a very poor quality of life which consists of sleeping, eating occasionally, sitting in chair and watching Bonanza reruns or sports, and going to doctors.
Most of his care falls on my mother, and then me. My mother needs someone to help her get him to appointments. He is a lot to deal with and she is 82 years old. He has lost one leg, wears a prosthetic and uses a walker or wheelchair. He is now facing losing part of his good leg, so there are a lot of doctors and tests and appointments. It's endless, tiring, stressful.
Herein lies the issue. Because I don't have a job, it is automatically assumed that I am available to go to these appointments with my mother. I have 3 siblings, but 2 of them live out of state. So ideally and logically, these appointments should be split between my brother and I. I am even willing to take on more because I don't work. But my brother seems to think that I should do everything. And when I ask him to do something, he has 100 excuses why he can't. In fact, he does nothing in regards to helping out with my father. Nothing. Last year my mom asked me to take her to Chicago for her aunt's 90th birthday party. Bro never even offered to come check on OUR father. And when asked, it was the same thing occurred, more excuses. Mom had to hire people to come in and check on him, make him meals, etc.
Yesterday was the first of what is going to be many appointments trying to safe dad's leg. This appointment was 6 hours long. About 4 hours longer than I had anticipated. Anything I had planned for that day was void. When we were leaving that appointment we were told that he will need another next week, and basically to plan on a long visit then too. Yesterday's appointment was extremely emotionally taxing. I'm glad I can be there to support them, but I shouldn't have to do everything all the time. When I got home yesterday I was spent. Physically drained, emotionally overwrought and truly not in the best of moods. So I poured myself a glass of wine and went to go relax. I promptly missed the coaster and the wine went flying. poured on me, all over the rug, and the glass shattered on the coffee table. And it was red. It's at this point that I sat there in a puddle of wine and cried and cried. It was all too much.
I am not an only child. I have a life. I am trying to find a job. I do job searches every single day. I apply for jobs almost every day. I am having trouble with my marriage. It's all so emotionally draining and I need for someone (ahem.... my brother), to take some of the burden off me. And he won't. He just won't. And it's not fair. Yesterday I told him he needs to go to some of these appointments and that I can't do it all the time. His reply was, "you can do it easier than I can!" So there it is. I don't have a job, therefore I have no life and this is what... my obligation?
What happens when I finally do get a job? True I've been looking for a year and half. But eventually I do expect to get a job. Then what? My mom acts the martyr. While she does understand that we need my brother to step up, if I ever say I can't do it, she will either cancel the appointment he needs or she will say something absurd like they'll just take a cab to the appointment. But its not just about driving. It's about going into the exam room with them and listening, taking notes, asking questions. My mom does none of that. She is of a generation that blindly accepts whatever the doctors say. You cannot be that way in this day and age. I have told her endlessly that she needs to be an advocate but you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. And here's the clincher... bro's wife is a nurse. If they went to some of these appointments with them, they would know much better what questions to ask. As it is, when I do go to appointments, he asks me a million questions and did I ask this, did I ask that. It's all so fucking annoying and stressful.
How do you get through to people who don't want to listen, don't to step up and do what they should, and then act like it is someone elses (i.e., mine) obligation?
Someone recently insinuated to me that I'm selfish. In fact the words used were, "it's all about you." And when it was said I laughed. Then I thought about it. Then I was filled with self doubt for a little while. Then I questioned everything. And then, then... I sat back and laughed uproariously until there were tears streaming down my face.
Selfish. I may be be a lot of things, but selfish isn't one of them. Although it is true that I am actually trying to think more about myself, what I want and how to get it. Is that selfish? I guess it could be looked at that way although the comment wasn't prompted by these things. At any rate, I did laugh it off and I will continue to laugh it off. Because it's not true. And the person who said it can go fuck himself.
Over the past couple of years, I've realized that I have put myself and what I want on the back burner in order to do whatever needs to be done for other people. Whether it be the man, the parents, or friends. I guess that's not necessarily a bad thing but when you lose yourself in the process it does become a problem. And now that my eyes are open to it, I want to change it. And by changing it, I have ended up alienating some people. Why? Because they want to continue to have the Lalia they know, the one that will accommodate them and their needs and not the Lalia who realized she's a badass chick who needs to embrace the badass and enjoy her freakin life! I haven't enjoyed my life for so many years. Which is not to say I haven't have times of enjoyment, I have. But have I truly enjoyed my life? No. And I'm not getting any younger so if not now, when? So if you don't like it, fuck you. Be as supportive as I've been of you or get the fuck out of my life.
It frustrates me that I cannot find a job. I try not to think about it in terms of... "if I get a job, everything will be better." I don't know that to be true but I do know that getting a job will give me a better feeling of independence and self sufficience. And at this point, that is something I desperately need. I hate that I can't make things happen faster. I've been looking for a job for over a year. I know this isn't unusual these days and people who have worked steadily have trouble finding work. I haven't been in the work force for about 12 years so that makes it even more difficult. But I will find a job. It's just moving too damn slow and patience is not a quality I possess.
All I can do is continue to try. Send out resumes, make contacts, and enjoy life being a badass. And that's what I intend to do!
I'm always surprised when I see how fast time has gone by and how long it has been since I have written. I feel like I just wrote the previous blog a few weeks ago and it's actually been months. The fact is, things in my life kind of suck right now. Eh, not even kind of. They do suck. Really really badly and I don't want to turn this blog into a big bitch fest or whine fest or woe is me fest so I just don't write at all. Maybe that should change now that I've had a sort of epiphany I'll tell you about in a bit.
My dad is still sick and struggling. I'm struggling with my future and where it will lead. I still haven't found a job. I've been randomly breaking out in hives from all the stress. And on top of all that, I've been sick as a dog this week myself.... bad bad sore throat. Seriously the most painful sore throat I've ever had. I'll never forget when I was 14 years old, I had to have my tonsils out. The big selling point that doctors and parents used to get their kids more at ease with having this surgery was that you will never have another sore throat again.
Biggest lie ever. Granted, I have a lot less of them since I had the surgery but I do still get them. And this pain took me to see my doctor yesterday. She jabbed that swab on a stick down my already aching throat to give me a strep test. I don't know how you react when someone jabs a stick down your throat but I almost hit her! I felt so bad. It really was an instinct/reflex. And after all that it turns out I don't even have strep. In fact, before she jabbed me she was looking in my throat and said she didn't think it was strep because it seemed the infection was further down my throat. And then she looked in again and said, "hmm your uvula is kind of swollen."
My uvula!? In case you don't know, the uvula is that little thing hanging in the back of your throat despite the fact that it sounds like a part of the female anatomy. But I was thinking something else and I kept my cool until I got my prescription for antibiotics and left the office. As I was walking to my car I started to giggle. And by the time I got the car I was laughing my ass off and my uvula was not liking it! I couldn't help it. How do you hear the word uvula and not think....
The whole way home I was muttering to myself, "I don't know Babs" and giggling to myself. And it is here where I had my sort of epiphany. There are things in my life right now that truly and strongly suck. But through it all I am always able to find some humor in the situation I'm in and I can still laugh through the pain both physical and emotional. That's pretty cool.
So while I drink yet another cup of hot tea and honey and moan about my aching uvula, I'm going to laugh!
