Tuesday, 4 June 2024
My sister and I used to sit on the rug and listen to my Dad play guitar and sing. With June being Seniors Month and Father’s Day, I wanted to share the story of the time I had to help take care of my dad.
I was 34. He was 66. He had just retired in September from St. Catharines Transit after working there nearly 25 years as a heavy duty mechanic. Boy, he loved his job! You see, my dad loved to teach as much as he loved learning. He would teach the younger mechanics how to work on the older buses, and they’d show him how to work on the newer buses with all the new computer systems and whatnot. Everyone liked him and respected him because he always showed respect first. Everyone knew what to expect from my dad. There were no surprises, unless he was playing a prank on you. He always tried to be as proactive as he could and anticipate what his coworkers would need from him. Then, he’d ask if he could help, rather than just jumping in to help. He knew all too well that that didn't go over well with a lot of people. He just always made himself available and was always friendly about helping everyone.
I had a good relationship with him. He was my hero, my teacher and the best guy to goof around with. His signature “dad” act was putting a 45 record on each ear, tilting the brim of his baseball cap up to the sky and making a goofy face. He had us in stitches with that one every time. He was also serious when he needed to be. We always knew we could talk to him about anything. Then, in 2001 my mom got cancer and died at the age of 49.
After mom died, dad moved on and a year later, he remarried. This second marriage lasted about eight and a half years. During the last five years or so of his marriage, our relationship was strained and it pains me to write this even now: my father lived five minutes away from me in the same city and I hadn’t seen him for five years. When his marriage ended, he called me. He was calling to apologize and begged forgiveness. He wanted to have a meeting with me and my husband to see if we could ever repair the damage that had been done and if so, would we be willing to allow him back into our lives and into our home to live. The hardest thing I ever did was to tell my dad that I needed a few days to think that over. He didn’t hesitate to express his complete understanding and said he would await my response. After three days of deliberation, my husband and I decided that yes, we would love to have dad come and move in with us. This was October 2010. Never did I think that I would be living with my dad again. I must say, it was pretty great.
In November 2010, dad sat me down at the kitchen table. He wanted to give me all the information about his bank accounts, investments etc just in case anything happened to him. He took a white business card out of his wallet and said to me as he slid it across the table, “If anything happens to me, you call this lady right away. Don’t wait. Do it right away.” I nonchalantly said ‘ya ok’. We signed paperwork to make me his power of attorney as well. Now that this was taken care of, we could begin to get to know each other again.
Christmas that year of 2010 was grand. Not in the measurement of happiness as it equates to gifts, because you really can’t measure it that way, but in the way that I had my boys together: my husband, and my dad. Dad was in top form that Christmas. Equally goofing around and sharing special moments with us reminiscing. Really, the best moments were just laying with the dogs watching the same stale Christmas movies. Except that year those movies meant more than ever, because I got to watch them again with dad.
Then came February 2011. The three of us were getting ready to watch a movie around 9pm and dad said he didn’t feel so great. He was going to go to bed. I went to see him in the kitchen and he looked awful. I suggested we go to the hospital. He refused and I strongly suggested he get in the truck and I drive him there or I call an ambulance. I remember dad saying you always have to give people choices. At 3am, the doctor came into the room to tell us he had two heart attacks and that he was recommending dad have a triple bypass surgery, in three days.
After dad’s “quadruple” bypass surgery, things were going sort of ok, I guess. As best they can after such an ordeal. I was there at his pre-op doctor's appointments, I was there in the recovery room. I was there when he had a defibrillator put in because his heart was beating too fast after surgery. I was there when he wasn’t eating because his throat was so cracked red and irritated from the nebulizer treatments the nurses were giving him when he couldn’t breath well. I noticed he had lost 50 lbs in about a week or so. When I asked why this was happening, they said they weren’t sure because according to the nutrition tracking book, he was eating. When I arrived at the hospital that day, he was asleep and his tray hadn’t been touched. Turns out when I asked him why he wasn’t eating he said it was because of his sore throat from the treatments.
I was there the day the doctor had to tell him he likely only had a week to live. Dad had not signed a DNR-Do Not Resuscitate order. Dad wanted the doctors and nurses to do everything they could do to bring him back if something happened. After speaking to the doctor this time, he changed his mind. He signed the DNR. Dad decided to use his last days wisely. He met with a lot of friends and family, including his only grandson who he hadn’t seen in about twelve years.
He made his peace with everyone, including God, with the help of his brother. He had procrastinated about redoing his will. At his request after speaking to the doctor, I called his lawyer and set up an appointment for him to visit dad at the hospital. He arrived a couple days later and dad signed a new will about 2pm that day.
I was stressed more about what I had to do after he passed away than what I had to do during his illness and death. For me, that was the easy part. I helped him with everything, even going to the bathroom sometimes. I fed him, I consoled him, I counseled him, I constantly advocated for him to the hospital staff. They were wonderful and well aware of my duties as power of attorney.
I was there holding his hand when he was actively leaving us. My sister was on the opposite side of the bed, holding his other hand. He looked at me and said “Are you ready for this?” I confidently responded, “yes dad, I’m ready.” With that we said other things we needed to say and the last thing I did for him was just be there. Everything was done, I knew what to do after he was gone and because we settled things ahead of time, I was able to just be there for him, with him. He was able to be at peace and I was able to just be a daughter there with her dad.
Me and my Family :)
