Listen Yall: Call Me Crazy.

Today was the day. I cracked. I broke.

My dad has taken several major steps in declining since this past Friday, February 12th.

Friday: He fell out of bed trying to get up to go to the bathroom. Trevor and I had to pick him up and get him cleaned up. He got out of bed that day but slept in his chair for most of it. He ate some dinner that night but it was a little more difficult than normal to get to bed, but we got him there.

Saturday: The day he didn’t get out of bed for the first time since he had been at our home. He was still able to talk a little bit but had no interest in eating and he slept most of the day. When he was awake, his gaze was fixated toward the ground.

Sunday: He stayed in bed again. He talked less and had a spoonful of pudding to try to get some medication down. Although he talked less, he was still able to give verbal yes’s and no’s.

Monday: Today. The hardest day yet. When I got up to check on my Dad this morning, I gave him a few drops of water to wet his mouth. When a person is on hospice and has entered the phase that is closer to crossing over, they have no interest in eating because their metabolism slows way down. They also cannot drink anymore because they cannot swallow. They could choke which can cause them to aspirate. He coughed a little and started to throw up. I screamed for Trevor. He came running and had to flip my Dad onto his side so he wouldn’t aspirate. I couldn’t flip him on my own because he is unable to help by moving on his own and he is heavy. He is 6’ tall and weighs around 160lbs. Anyway, my poor Dad yall. Projectile vomiting, my husband is flipping him over onto his side, I am running around the kitchen in my bathrobe trying to figure out what I can use to catch it. By the time I got back in there he was finished, but now I had to clean him up. I don’t mean to be too graphic, but this blog is all about laying out the unfiltered reality of life. Yall, the smell of vomit gets me anyway but this was different. I don’t know how to describe it without grossing everyone out so I will spare you that description.

I am pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before, but my mother-in-law is a nurse with thirty years of hospice experience. After this morning's events, Trevor and I thought it was best to call her and ask if she would come and stay with us until my Dad passes. She said from the beginning she would and we thought that it was time. She arrived before too long and assessed my Dad. There are signs she knows to look for to figure out if the time is near or not. He continued to get closer to that throughout the day. One thing hospice patients do when they get closer is fixate their eyes at something above them. Usually it is a loved one they know who went before them, sometimes it is God’s angels. Today I saw my Dad’s eyes fixated above him for a long time. Every so often he would reach his arm up like he was trying to grab someone’s hand. I’d like to believe with all my heart, that he was reaching for my Mom.

Yall, this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out: My Dad’s cancer diagnosis was inevitable. Even if my Mom hadn’t gotten Covid and gone before him, he still would have been diagnosed with a Stage 4 Glioblastoma. I want to believe that, because my Mom was such a strong lady, she went before him and it was part of God’s plan. She had told me in the past, before Covid, that she was ready to go. I choose to believe that God brought my Mom home before my Dad so that his transition would be easier. So that he won’t be afraid to leave us behind. So that he can look forward to Heaven and being reunited with my Mom. So that he can be excited to meet his Creator. Call me crazy, but that is my heart. That is my opinion. That is my belief. If it isn’t for you, that’s okay, but it gives me comfort.

This is hard on everyone in this house, but guess what? If we had taken the easy way out and put my Dad in an inpatient hospice facility, we wouldn’t be getting this time with him. If we put my Grandparents in a home (which has been suggested to me) we wouldn’t be getting this time with him. He is being taken such amazing care of, better than any facility can provide, and I can sleep well at night knowing I took care of my Dad in his final days. I can sleep well at night knowing my grandparent’s, his parent’s, are getting precious time with him.

I am emotionally drained. I all but locked myself in my room today and shut down. Tomorrow I pray that God gives me the strength to keep going.

That’s all I’ve got in me for this post.

Stay True,

Hails