Father

 

How many times have I imaged this call over the last 20 years, how will I feel, so far away. How will it be traveling for 16 hours? Arriving exhausted? Dealing with the funeral arrangements? Facing my mom and her grief?  Thank you adrenaline! 

 

When it came, I knew, 

I had not slept well in the night. Nevertheless, time changes, reality changes, another universe opens up when death happens. 

 

My father has died.

He had been suffering from Dementia for about 5 years, but in the last couple of month it has become to much for my mom and he had to be transferred into a full time care facility,  a unit for people with Alzheimer and Dementia. When visiting the unit, I told myself, he didn't know anymore where he was, to comfort myself.

Yes, he could no longer express himself, but was he aggressive because of it? I don't know, and I don't want to go down this road, to slippery, to dangerous for my mental health. 

 

After visiting the Alzheimer/Dementia unit, I felt deep pain and fear, I needed to get out, walk in the soft rain. Wanting to walk fast, breath hard, feel, I am still living. Walk and forget the woman holding on to me with her panic, while walking up and down the corridor. 

 

Breathing air, fresh air, 

defying aging,

walking fast, see I can still  

arrogant

however, I was already an hour older,

every second aging me

the unit a memory 

I am bound to forget.

 

The corridor, white, up and down, like ghosts, the people walk. My Dad, his spirit still sticks to these walls. 

Another man is in the room my Dad occupied, he doesn't look good, how long will he still have to suffer?

 

 When I was in Germany, my care was with my mom, making sure she is alright and are able to continue on. She is, she always was a survivor, what strength.

 

 

  

Photo of Mom when she was around 22 years of age.

Watercolour monotype print 5"x4" Mom

A Call Home to Sing Happy Birthday!

Today is my mom's birthday! 88 years old, well done mom!

She is looking after my father, who has a diagnosis of dementia. A couple of years ago, we reacted to an incident with my father's health and moved my parents out of their home of over 40 years into assistant living. Not an easy task for them.

My mom, who as always relayed on my dad is choosing to look after my dad on her own. A survivor! Having survived a 3 year labour camp in Russia when she was only 17 years old, burring her father while in the camp, and coming home to Hungary where her mother had been deported to Germany. Fending for herself to follow her mom after the war to Germany. Yes, she is a survivor! 

Today, Mary and I called and we were singing full of joy "Happy Birthday!" to her. She did not know who I was. It didn't click. We were talking, I felt her brain trying to put me somewhere. I asked again, if she knew who I was, "not really", she said. I felt like a stranger invading a private party. So, we said our goodbyes, with the promise that I will call next Saturday again, as usual. 

Let it be a day of  celebration, for the people we have in our lives, so we will not forget them so quickly!