Friday, December 2nd

Thursday was an emotionally draining day, leaving me in an emotional hangover Friday. I overslept, showered, and was up just in time to see dad's hospice nurse, about 11:30 or so. She is an angel for sure. She came Thursday with a balloon and a hug for my dad to celebrate his birthday.

My Aunt Sela, dad's younger sister, called to wish him a happy birthday. I handed him the phone, told him who it was, and he proceeded to say, "Hello, witch!" Mom and I both turned and looked at each other quizically. Apparently my Grandma, his mother, got on the phone because we hear him say, "Hello, mother of witches!" I mouth, "what is he talking about" to my mother who shrugs in shared disbelief. Pretty soon he is getting irritated becaues he can't hear. I look to see if his hearing aids are in, they are, however, the phone receiver is on his cheek and the mouth piece is by his neck. I rush over and pull the phone up as he's saying, "hello? hello?" then "that's better, I can hear you now, must be the connection."

He was very happy about all of his cards, messages, phone calls, gifts, etc. He got worn out pretty fast. He had to use the bathroom and has been insistant about using the real bathroom, so he has to walk through three rooms to get there. I stand up and walk behind him just to make sure if he becomes unsteady, someone is there to catch him. He sees me coming and starts singing, "Goin to the party, and I'm gonna get snookered", to the tune of Chapel of Love. I shake my head and laugh.

He went to bed only to get up shortly after and come into the living room with a puzzled look on his face. "What's wrong, dad?" I ask. He looks around and says he heard his mother talking and didn't want to miss seeing her. "Is she outside?" dad asks. You can not act like what he is saying is strange or he gets frustrated, you must play along. "No, she went home, remember? I will look outside and make sure though." I open the front door and peek around the porch. He looks around the entry way and waves his hand dismissively and retreats back to his bedroom.

Back to Friday...Deb, his nurse, has washed his hair and is setting up his pill box. Dad, mom, and I are in the living room chatting. I compliment his clean, combed hair and he smiles. The last time it was crazy looking, I gently combed his hair with my hand to put it in place and he started flapping his arms around at my hands and himself. He reminded me of a monkey I saw at the zoo one time that didn't like when my brother jumped at it and it went crazy rubbing its hands all over its body like it was trying to get ants off.

Pretty soon, Tasha, my parents lab/shepard mix comes in. She has been very concerned with my dad, as she was more "his dog". Her food bowl is set by the foot of his chair and she eats when he sits there. He just got this soft expression and called her to him. My mom and I didn't speak, just watched as he started lowering himself out of the chair and sort of falls on all fours, lowering himself to the ground. Immediately she comes and sniffs his face as he begins rubbing her thick fur. He pushes her down so she is laying side by side with him and she makes these low pitched growling noises, her tail wagging with content. There is a short lived connection, the boy and his dog, until Angel, the mother of Tasha, comes in the room with a disapproving look in her eye. Tasha hesitantly gets up and walks away. "Thanks a lot, Angel," my dad says and painstakingly gets back into his chair. We were all impressed that he did it without help!

That seems to be a trend, too. Each day is different. One day he sleeps the entire time, the next he is able to amble around, and the next day his cognitive function seems restored. He has tried to watch Conan the Barbarian at least four times in the last few days. He falls asleep or forgets that he's watched it, and it just seems to be playing continuously in the living room, until mom turns the tv off.

Dad wanted to get on the laptop and pay some bills, figure out some financial stuff he'd been thinking about. My mom told me to make sure he was monitored when he did that. My dad's head perks up, "what about a turd?" "Monitored," my mom repeats slowly. I could see the twinkle in his eye, "A monoturd..that is one turd..unlike a duoturd, that's two turds." I look at him seriously and say, "Dad you are full of shit!" We all had a giggle.

I did get the laptop set up for him as he scrounged up some papers. He was banging a calculator around muttering, "Damn kids, playing with my stuff." I look over, as it was a new calculator, and pushed the on button for him. No more was said.

I didn't "monitor" him, but I observed as he stared very intently at the computer working through whatever was in his head. A little while later, he packed up the papers and said everything was done, that my mom was doing a good job at the finances, he just needed her to keep better track of receipts. I figure this was his way of expressing that he is still responsible and doing his job as well as giving my mom credit, not too much because he is still needed.

Later that afternoon, he was sitting in his recliner watching tv (thankfully not Conan the Barbarian this time), and just said he felt peaceful. He had a cup of coffee and these chocolate covered acai and blueberry treats his friend had sent him. He said they were just so good and again he just felt peaceful. I was peaceful just watching and listening to him. About an hour later he said he was having horrible pain on his right side, right about where his tumor laden liver is located. My poor mother was taking a nap as I know she is physically and mentally exhausted. I had to wake her up to ask which pill to give him. I found it, he took it, and she was able to sleep awhile longer.

It is sad, heartbreaking, and sometimes hilariously funny the things my dad says. Usually it is while he is asleep and wakes up asking or telling us some bizarre things. I'm sure it has a lot to do with the morphine. Here are some examples:

*Mom heard him talking in his "bedroom". He had his hand by his ear like his cell phone was in his hand (thankfully it was not) and was demanding to know where his pizza was. He had ordered it ages ago and he wanted it now!

*He told me that my mom was yelling at him all night about the contractors coming this week to do work on the house. Oh, and that she was crying about missing Michael. (??) She denied all of it.

*Dad said there are things in the room that try to pull him off the bed and he can hear them talking all the time.

*Alice (my parents friendly ghost) has visited several times! Apparently she rubs his back, taps on his shoulder, or just glides by to say hello. Now this one hits home for me, because as crazy as I may sound, I have seen her with my own eyes. When my parents first bought their house, my son, neice, and I were sitting at the dining room table eating popsicles. It was a typical muggy, hot early summer day in Kansas. All of a sudden I saw something in the living room that caught my eye. Following my gaze, Adam and Amanda saw just what I did. It was a full body apparition of a very short woman. She was like a white cloud with distinct human features. She walked from the entry way through the CLOSED door of what is now dads "bedroom". We just sat there staring at eachother, our popsicles melting down our hands. A few minutes later, my mom and ex-sister in law walk in the house and we went running to them telling them what had just happened.

Interesting sidenote: my parents house was built at the turn of the 20th century on an old cemetary! Of course they didn't know that then, their nosy daughter did some research and found this out while my dad was gone on TDY. My mother was less than pleased at this discovery. I got to go home, she had to live here. There are many Alice stories, they may need their own blog. :)