I didn’t see my father much this week. I went to visit him with my sons February 12^th. We had a really nice visit. Things almost felt normal. We sat on the back deck together and told stories we remembered about my father’s mother. She was a lot like Raymond’s mother in Everybody Loves Raymond, though she hated that comparison. It was a really good day. Then, my father took off all of this past week to camp out with his friends. They have an annual campout on property that adjoins my parents’ property.

I talked to my father on the phone a few times this week, but hadn’t seen him since Sunday. I guess because Sunday was such a good day and because I hadn’t seen him this week felt almost normal. I didn’t cry about things. I was able to talk to people about my dad without crying, even the tough stuff like the fact that my mother had told me hospice gave them something to make him go peacefully when its time. All of it was just facts. I was feeling pretty stable and thinking I finally hit a point where I could have it under control. I felt like I was reaching the point I could really be tactful about the situation.

If I back up just a bit, I did have another small breakdown on February 12^th before going to my parents’ house and having that great visit. I was supposed to lead the spiritual segment for the women’s group at church. I wanted to have us say a prayer I had found about grief. I started crying as we were going through that. The ladies were all very kind and encouraging, but I still hated that I couldn’t be more composed. It also felt like I was being a bit selfish making the spiritual segment all about me and what I was going through.

Anyway, I felt like I had been tactful this week and really kept things together and been the controlled person I wanted to be through all of this. Then today we went to visit my father. He was not having a good day. My brother and his family were staying there for the weekend. My brother had been down at the camp out with my father and his friends. My father looked miserable when he came in from the campout, shortly after I got there with my two youngest boys. I asked my brother how my father was doing and my brother said, “he seems like he’s doing fine. I’m sure he’s not super comfortable, but he seems to be having a good time.” I just don’t see how that’s possible, given the way he seemed when we were there. I suspect my brother is still in denial and wanting to believe things are better than they are.

I mentioned something about work to my father, but could tell he wasn’t in a mood to talk about it so I left it alone. Other than that, we didn’t really talk. One of his friends stopped by and I visited with him for a bit while my father dosed off in his recliner. At one point my mother mentioned something about how August would be their 38^th wedding anniversary and my eight-year-old chimed in with, “Isn’t Grandpa supposed to die before then?” My mother handled that fairly well and I’m not sure my father heard it, but it felt like an awkward moment.

Then, my eight-year-old pressured my brother and I into playing National Parks Monopoly with him. We had already played an entire monopoly game earlier today at my in-laws, but my eight-year-old enjoyed it so much he wanted to play again. While we were playing my father went to lay down and then ended up running a bath. Apparently baths are one of the most comforting things for him now. I asked my mother if we should leave. She said my father would be going to bed soon and it would be nice if the house was quiet. I wasn’t offended by that at all. I had spent a lot of time yelling at my eight-year-old to come play his turn at monopoly (he was wanting to run off and play with the younger kids in between turns). So, I knew we had been a bit rowdier than normal, and I really just want my father to be comfortable.

When we leave my parents house, there is a couple miles where I don’t have cell phone service. While I was in that spot I guess my father called and left me a voicemail. When I got signal again I listened to it. My father was crying as he apologized for not spending more time with me. The voicemail played through my car speakers so the boys were asking me why he was crying. I called him back and apologized for not saying goodbye. I told him I could tell he wasn’t feeling well and I just wanted him to be able to relax and rest. We had a fairly nice conversation. He was emotional at first and seemed angry that he didn’t have more energy. We talked a bit and he calmed down toward the end and we had a nice conversation. I’m trying to be strong while not seeming cold. It seems like a difficult balance and I’m not sure how I’m doing.

I kept it together, came home, told my husband about everything and watched TV for a couple hours. When it came time to go to sleep though, I was a mess. I just kept thinking about listening to my father cry. I hate how much he is suffering in all of this. I know it’s so hard for him to feel weak. He has always been the strong one who helped the rest of us through everything. I’m sure it’s an awful feeling for him to be becoming increasingly weaker.

I’m sure leaving without saying goodbye wasn’t very tactful of me. He was in the bath tub though and I didn’t want to disturb him. I also think part of me wouldn’t want to see him in the bath tub. Obviously, there’s an awkwardness about seeing your parents naked, but more than that I don’t think I want to see how frail his body has become. My mother has described it to me and I’m sure it would be really upsetting to see him so skinny. He has been at least a bit overweight as long as I’ve known him, but still healthy and strong. To see him so frail is really tough. I’m sure that is selfish of me. I’ll try to do better if I’m ever in that situation again.

In summary, after keeping it together for the better part of a week I was once again humbled by the reminder that grief is not linear and there will continually be upsetting things happening.