It’s all too much to bear…
I’m feeling so sad and so overwhelmed.
Dad came home from the hospital today. He wanted to see the boys, so we came over with them. When they came in, kind of tentatively, I think they were relieved to see him in the usual Grandpa’s chair, wrapped in a blanket, as Grandpa usually is. They went down to say hello. And Grandpa gave his usual loving greetings to them.
The hospice nurse arrived, and we herded the boys upstairs so they didn’t have to hear that whole conversation.
They were both obsessed with the latest Captain Underpants books that we picked up at the library on our way over, so they were engrossed in their books, which was good.
It’s just so heartbreaking. He is back to being himself. But his body is failing him. Specifically, his kidneys. And now they are telling us that they attribute the kidney failure to the years of heavy Ibuprofen use to manage his pain from rheumatoid arthritis. Which he took on doctor’s orders. WTF? Why didn’t they mention this as a possible complication? I don’t even want to go there.
Deep breath.
Anyway, it turns out one of his kidneys is non-functioning, and the other is at 30%. No option for dialysis or transplant. So that’s it. He’s home and hospice care is about keeping him comfortable until he dies.
Until he dies.
And here are the words I simply am unable to use with the boys right now. They know that Grandpa is sick. They know that his kidneys don’t work (not sure if they know exactly what that means, but…). They know that he now has wheelchair and will be sleeping downstairs at his house now.
“Will it be like that for the rest of his life?” Zander asks.
“Or until he gets better?” Zevan asks.
“Well, it doesn’t look like he is going to get better. Right now, we just want Grandpa to be comfortable.”
“He’s not going to get better?” Zevan wonders. Zander looks contemplative.
And that’s pretty much it for that conversation, which was before we went to visit him.
Tonight, at bedtime, I asked them if they had any questions about Grandpa.
Zander asked, “Is Grandpa more comfortable?”
“Oh yes, I think he is very glad to be at home and sleep in his own house.”
“Oh, that’s good then.”
Zevan didn’t have a question.
And I’m still wondering what’s appropriate to tell them. I want to be honest with them, but I don’t want them to be scared. How can I do that when *I’m* scared? I haven’t even cried in front of them about it. I’m not ready to answer their questions yet.
It was hard when Logan died. Not long after that, Zevan thought I died, when I went away on a trip.
Then more recently when Bart died, and the boys were witness to it.
At this point, we don’t even know how long it will be before the kidney failure causes Dad’s death. And, let me tell you, I’m still reeling over the matter-of-factness of it during the discussion with the hospice nurse.
I just have no idea how to do this. I want to be honest and natural about it to them, but this is really my first death, too – to someone this close to me. So I’m just trying to figure it all out.
This first week, there is a plan to have someone staying the night with mom and dad while they get settled into their routine.
Then, I plan to come over a few times a week to keep mom company and also stay with dad so she can run her errands and get a break.
Mom helped me through my hardest time with the boys – and literally saved my sanity. I only hope I can provide her the same kind of support now. We had a brief talk today about Dad, and I asked her how she was holding up. She said she was just trying to understand everything.
And with Doug, I’ve asked him how he is doing with everything. And he just told me how he dislikes the whole “medical thing.” I think he must still be taking it all in. The finality of it is so hard to grasp. We’ve been through so many ups and downs this week, it’s dizzying and impossible to know what to believe.
So that’s where we are now. We’ll just take each day as it comes, I guess.
