I Cried Today....

I used to be quite the cryer. I'd cry at movies, commercials, when I was happy, when I was mad-you name it-I probably cried about it. I don't cry very much anymore. The older I get, the more I realize most of what I used to cry about just isn't worth it. But I cried today....

Last December 4th my father passed away. He was 83 years old. He'd taken a fall the previous spring and then things just started going downhill from there. He developed Dementia/Alzheimers. What a terrible, terrible disease. Words really can't describe it. Dad and I hadn't been close in years and years. I hadn't even seen him in 7 years. Then my brothers and step-mother called me that Spring to tell me he was sick and that I might want to break the silence that had come to exist between us. I started to call 2 or 3 times a week then. Mostly because I thought it was the right thing to do. Even though my mother had died when I was fourteen, she'd raised me right and I knew it was the right thing to do. I also wanted to be supportive for my brothers- 2 of the 4 of them had stayed close to Dad-and I knew they wanted me to call him to ease his mind. I also wanted to set a good example for my daughters. So I guess I really didn't call just for Dad. I did it for selfish reasons too. Anyway, I'd call. Sometimes he'd know it was me. Sometimes he wouldn't. Didn't matter to me-I'd still talk to him. About the things we did when I was a little girl~and so spoiled because I was the youngest of 5 kids~and the only girl. Things that happened after my mom died. Just anything that I thought might make him remember me. He'd usually end up remembering-or at least acting like he did. My step-mother said he'd seem better-less agitated after I called. I sent lots of pictures of me as a child, of my girls, anything that I thought might cheer him up. I'd always ask my step-mother if I needed to come out (back home). She'd say, it's up to you, he'll be ok, come when you can.....

I ended up going that September. Dad was absolutely pitiful. My brothers had warned me-but it was still a shock. I spent 4 days there. Dad was in a wheelchair, hooked up to a catheter, wouldn't eat, still at home. He'd lost 40 pounds in 3 months. I could pick him up by myself. Not something I'd ever imagined doing. He was so happy to see me. I felt like a piece of shit for not going sooner. For not seeing him until it was too late. Until he was in a wheelchair and sometimes not knowing his own name-much less mine. What a bitch I'd been all those years-holding a grudge that I couldn't even remember who started. Wasted years I'd never get back...

I went to his tiny house in the barrio everyday for those four days. He cried and cried and cried when I told him it was me. He had my picture up on the wall in his living room-the one somebody had taken of me in the courtroom--laughing with a co-worker. Yeah, I was right up there next to the Virgin de Guadelupe and a picture I'd never seen before of him and his dad- takenwhen he was a child. Dad would cry and cry. He said he was crying because he was so happy I was there... Sometimes while I was sitting with him, he'd just babble about nonsense non-stop. Sometimes he'd speak Spanish for hours non-stop. Before he got sick, he almost never spoke Spanish to me. He'd talk about when he was a child and his parents came to the U.S. from Mexico. How he was the only one of his 11 brothers and sisters born in the U.S. How his "white" neighbor had taught him how to speak English. How he'd been in Vietnam and there were rivers of blood everywhere..... Dad wasn't in Vietnam. He didn't even go to WWII...it was the Dementia talking.

I knew something had to be done. My step-mother was taking care of him alone. She couldn't keep on that way. He wouldn't sleep or let her sleep. She was "on duty" 24/7 with a person who had basically lost his mind and couldn't even pee by himself. I made some calls before I left to set the ball in motion for him to go to a nursing home. I told him I'd be back for Thanksgiving.

Dad never went to a nursing home. He went straight to a hospice the week after I was there. My brothers visited with him frequently and told me it was such a nice place. The nurses liked Dad and he was well cared for and seemed so much better there where he could get constant care. He'd even flirt with the nurses sometimes. A glimmer of his old self. He'd been quite the ladies man in his day. He'd always ask my brothers to take him home when they were leaving, but we all knew he was better off there.

I did go back for Thanksgiving. But not to see Dad. I went to spend the holiday with one of my brothers who lives 4 hours from the city Dad lived in. I was only going to be there 4 days. I was tired from the trip and didn't want to drive the 4 hours. Dad was doing good-relatively speaking and I figured I'd be back for Christmas. I 'd have a nice long visit with him then. That's me: selfish again.....

My brothers called me the Friday after Thanksgiving. Dad had taken a sudden turn for the worse . I'd just gotten back the previous Saturday and had missed my last chance to see him... to be there for my brothers...

Sweet Man was on a trip with some of his students and wouldn't be back until the next day. I couldn't get a flight out of here. The nearest major airport is 2 hours away. My brothers said to wait for Sweet Man. Dad wouldn't make it until I could get there anyway...... all four of them, their wives and my step-mom were all there. It would be ok. No it wouldn't. Not for me. I was a selfish bitch where my Dad was concerned and I can never take it back.

Dad died December 4th, 2004. I stayed on the phone with my brothers off and on all that day and night until he died. One of my brothers said Dad was peaceful. My brother had combed his hair for him one last time while he was slipping away because Dad always liked to "look sharp" (one of his favorite sayings). My poor brother was sobbing while he was telling me this.... and I was sitting here in my comfortable, suburban house. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE! My hands are shaking right now. I'm remembering how DESTROYED my brothers were that Dad was dying.... and I wasn't there for them...

Sweet Man and I left for home and Dad's funeral December 5th. Dad's funeral was going to be Thursday. My girls couldn't go. Too short notice, couldn't take leave from their jobs on such short notice, the distance, etc...... I alternated between crying and arguing with them on my cell phone the entire trip. We said horrible things to each other on the phone. I WANTED them there. I didn't care how they pulled it off. JUST BE THERE FOR ME!!! I NEED YOU THERE!!! I'VE BEEN THERE FOR YOU FOR EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO YOU IN YOUR LIVES!!! THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I'VE ASKED YOU TO BE THERE FOR ME!!! They couldn't come and I was PISSED!!! Selfish again, I know.

So I cried today.... I think I'll probably cry every year on December 4th for a lot of reasons. Nothing I can change.... and that's probably why I'm crying right now.