A Lost Parent, a Lost Job, and a Lost Mind

I come from a family, whom some might describe as mildly crazy, but who have been resilient through the years and, somehow, stuck together.



Eleven days ago, my entire world turned upside down. My dad, at 70, has had several health problems in recent years, but has always been able to get through them.



The Ice

Perhaps I should begin the appropriate chronological version of this entire saga 15 days ago, when we, as Missourians often do, received a tremendous ice storm. Northern Ark and West Plains, Mo area received the brunt of the trouble. It was during this time that the power went out, Mom couldn't make it home, my brother lives in Texas, and I am in Springfield. Dad was at home alone, but certainly not for the first time in his life, though he had no water (wells do not run off of wind anymore), and no telephone (what happened to phones that DID NOT require electricity?). No one was able to make it down the dirt road leading to the house for a few days. During this time, I suspect that Dad performed his usual routine, which is getting up about eleven, letting the dogs out to pee, reading, griping to himself that there was no television or electricity, finding some snacks to eat (no stove), and going back to bed. I might mention here, as a side note, that it was my wise mother who installed a ventless propane fireplace two years ago after Springfield experienced such significant power failures due to a similar storm. Thank goodness we know Dad was warm. And how do we know that? I shall tell you... when we did get to the house, it had been so warm that the frozen rolls stored in the freezer had enlarged to the point of explosion, filling the entire freezer cavity with yeast dough, some dried, that had to be scraped off. ugh.



The beginning of problems

After a few days of seclusion, accompanied with more than a little frustration, I'm sure, Dad started to feel ill. At least, we assume he did. He was able to make a mile-long drive to the local convenient store on Friday morning at about 10:30 am, three days after the dreadful ice storm. No one could understand his words. A terribly confused clerk finally called an ambulance, and he was taken to the hospital. In the ER, I feel that he had less than adequate care and was put on the back burner as a "problem patient" due to his combativeness. Note: he is not usually combative at all. This was due to his acute symptoms, outlined soon.



Mom was finally able to get across the roads at about 3:00 pm, only to find him not home. She began to look for him, and she eventually found his vehicle at the convenient store. After explaining the situation to her, she immediately headed to the hospital. On her way, she phoned me. I was in the middle of a small get-together here in Springfield, but I immediately phoned the hospital, to find a distraught nurse unable to deal with a difficult patient. After re-assuring her, I insisted that they page the physician, because I had some questions I wanted answered.



Hospitals, yuck

Because dad had had several Trans-Ischemic Attacks (mini-strokes) in the past, he was diagnosed with the same and treated for it. Mom arrived, Dad calmed some but was unable to communicate, and I decided to stay in Springfield for the night and travel down the next morning. I will never forgive myself for not jumping in the car and getting on the road that very minute.



The next contact I had was from Mom on Saturday afternoon, explaining that Dad had experienced respiratory distress and they wanted to intubate. I left town as quickly as possible and traveled over 100 miles in 64 minutes. When I arrived at the hospital, it was clear that he was non-responsive, or as others may put it, comatose. From that point on, he never responded to any stimuli again.



Saturday evening, missionaries from the Church and I gave him a blessing. Only one other time in my life had I felt prompted to say that the individual would pass on rather than be healed. Then Sunday evening, when it appeared that he was about to go, I gave him another blessing of comfort, releasing his Spirit from this mortal realm into the hereafter, further blessing him with freedom from pain and cares of the earth, to meet Him who gave him life.



The death

On Sunday, February 1, 2009, with his immediate family gathered at his bedside, he passed on, in the most peaceful manner in which I have ever seen a human die. There were no last gasps for breath, no sudden twitching, seizures or wild behavior. He was simply breathing one second and not the next. We all crowded together at his bedside, touched him and felt as all that was left was his mortal shell.



I had been told to 'stay strong' for the family. Brandon cried. Ashley cried. Mom's sobs seemed to last for days, but I only shed a few tears. Some extended family members have said this is because I did not care for him, that I am sociopathic, or that I am too self-centered. I care not what they say, for they have no idea the anguish I felt and still feel inside.



It was at this point I came to the realization that Mom was my main concern and all that I did must be to help her. It was too late to help Dad, but I must support my widowed mother.



It's hard to describe the feelings one has during such an event as this. It was sudden. It was painful. Mostly, however, it felt like something surreal, dreamlike, from which we would awake and feel relief. But the relief never came.



The work planning a funeral is intense.

Mom made it clear that she would not and could not be a part of the whole process. Brandon did not and would not participate in helping, and Dad's other two children, from a previous marriage, lived far away, and were not able to assist. A few things required when planning a funeral:



1. Arranging with funeral directors

2. Picking out a casket

3. Arranging for a beautician to groom and prep the deceased

4. Picking out clothes to wear

5. Calling all the family

6. Choosing, contacting and preparing pallbearers

7. Securing speakers, and when doing so, it must be done in accordance with the beliefs of the deceased, not the beliefs of the family, so I learned.

8. Securing singers

9. Picking hymns

10. Organizing the funeral program

11. Writing an obituary

12. Finding poetry to fit into the memorial brochure

13. Picking a cemetery plot

14. Planning for, organizing and asking others to prepare food for all the family after the interment

15. Ordering casket spray

16. Somehow finding a way to come up with the nearly $8,000. it costs to get through all this madness



When the funeral is over, the loved ones are forced to watch beautiful flowers die, as did Dad, wilt and wither away until they are thrown out back into the garden mess. Thank you cards have to be hand-written to many and thank you notes published in three different newspapers, wherein his obituary was published. Those left must then go through all the deceased's personal items, choosing which to save, which to give away and which to throw away. This, in and of itself, is a daunting task. No one wants to sort through an old man's underwear in the first place, and some things just bring back a flood of memories that cause further emotional breakdown.



Then there is the silence.

When everyone left and it was apparent that Dad's presence was not to be felt, it was an horrible feeling. Even the dog noticed and seemed to look for him. His bed lay empty, his shoes on the floor, the remote still in the place on his nightstand where he left it prior to his death. His clothes in the closet, his smell on his wallet with the money he'd just withdrawn and not yet spent.



At some point, everyone breaks down. For me, it came the day after the funeral. Up until that time, I hadn't cried, except for a few minutes after his passing. But in the midst of all the stress of planning the funeral, contacting family; then writing thank you notes and trying to assist with other various tasks, I felt the weight of it all start to push down upon me. Mom, in her bereavement, took out some anger on me. I cannot blame her, for as difficult as all this had been on me, it was much worse for her, to be sure. But I lost it. I had to leave, go home to Springfield, spend the night, only to return the next day and work it all out.



My job

On Monday, I returned to work. During the first week of January, I was diagnosed with walking pneumonia and had to take three days off. I then took off for the stroke and funeral. No one ever indicated, in writing or verbally, that my job could be in jeopardy. However, when I returned, I was told that the new position I was promised as a sort of communications liason, was not in the budget, I had taken too much time off, and they no longer had a place for me there. Amidst difficulty, we parted on good terms, with the prospect that they may re-consider in 2-3 weeks. This, in my opinion, is doubtful.



A lost mind

I find myself constantly questioning the way I treated Dad. Anyone who knows us is aware that Mom and I were always closer. If it had been her in the hospital Friday night rather than him, I am sure I would have rushed home in the blink of an eye. I never had the chance to tell him how much I really loved him, appreciated him, and forgave him for the bad times. I never told him that I was grateful for all his hard work, his intense love and his abundance of patience, especially with me. The questions keep coming to my mind... What if I had gone down sooner? What if I had questioned his medical care months ago? What if I had insisted on a transfer prior to his weird attack on Saturday? What if... What if... What if... And also the words But only...



The Church

I love the Church with all my heart. I know that our Father in Heaven loves each of His children and is intimately aware of us. I know our Saviour gave his life for us, atoned for our sins, and has provided a way whereby we may return to live with Him and Father again. I have no doubt of these things. I also know that the Church is led by revelation, Apostles and Prophets, who can speak to God and to whom He can respond. I know the Holy Ghost comforts us during these difficult times, and I am so grateful for that. My favorite scripture must be in John 14, wherein the Saviour says "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." I have shared this numerous times with others going through similar trials.



Now I know that the Lord uses his servants, common men and women, to accomplish his works here on the earth. The Bishop from West Plains was so helpful prior to Dad's death. He came to see us, visited with us and gave us comfort. A couple of great friends came to the hospital. After his passing, we heard not a word from a Ward representative in West Plains. I was baptized there just over ten years ago, then Mom, then Brandon. Further, I left from there on the mission, and I returned there also. Some of those, with whom I was the most close during those times, did not send a card, an email, a text message, make a phone call, send flowers, or even send condolensces through another.



I did not expect that the whole world would come running to rescue us or help, but I did expect a kind word from a few. Surprisingly, those from whom I least expected it, did express their thoughts and feelings. A friend of mine drove all the way down from Springfield to offer support, and she had never even met my Dad. A counsellor in the Bishopric from Springfield sent a card. These were indeed welcomed surprises.



Despite these, I would be remiss if I did not point out a few feelings I have about this whole situation. I feel that, even if feelings were hurt at one time or another, during a time as difficult as this, one could express support. If an individual possesses the "true love of Christ," does it not make sense that he/she would want to reach out and help relieve some of the pain? Or is their own vanity and refusal to forgive preventing them from blessing my life and theirs? I cannot believe that there was not one representative from the local West Plains Ward who attended the funeral or came to the house. There were no calls from a home teacher, visiting teacher, an Elders Quorum rep, a Relief Society rep, a Ward Mission Leader. I had been talking to Mom all week about getting back into Church. I am sure that a visit from one of these individuals would have been welcomed and appreciated and perhaps prompted her to try to start attending again. How sad, disappointed and hurt I am for the neglect of the individual(s) upon whom shoulders this small burden lied.



As for the Church support here in Springfield in my own Ward... I hesitate to express my true feelings, but I see no point in holding back now. I had several text messages, which were appreciated, indicating feelings of love and support. I did not expect cards. I hardly know anyone between 18 and 30 that sends cards. I received a lot of offers in the form of "if there is anything I can do, please just let me know." I've decided this is a cop-out. Perhaps the individual had good intentions but never actually expected a request for assistance, for each and every time I have mentioned something that would be helpful to me, I have received a response such as "I wish I could, but I'm too busy." Or "Maybe I can do that next week." Or "Oh, I'm sorry. I can't."



I am going to say, unequivocally, that there is no sense in offering something that cannot be provided. It is pointless. It ends up leading to more hurt and disappointment than if the offer had not been made initially. One would not offer to loan another $10,000. if he did not have it. Therefore, I say think before you speak or text or email or whatever. Perhaps I am being too harsh, and there is no doubt I have probably done the same in the past, but I have learned so much from this experience that I will never do it again.



Also, I wish to state that there is a vast difference in saying "Is there anything I can do?" and "What can I do?" The first implies that I have to request something. The second implies that the person is available and willing and will be at the doorstep as fast as possible. During all of this, while driving the 800+ miles I have in the last 10 days, I happened to hear the song "You find out who your friends are." I was impressed to know who my true friends are and those who are only acquaintances.



Since I have been home, a total of 3 days, I have had two visitors, none of which came as a Church, whether it be Ward or Stake, representative. Maybe it seems that I am making TOO big a deal of the whole situation. But when I considered that, I also realized that the vast majority of people do not lose a parent until they are much older than me. My father lost his father at 65. I think that this kind of loss at my age, or perhaps at any age, is immensely difficult to get through.



I think I should also say again that I do not expect support or whatever, but it is appreciated when it's received. I know that I can make it through this on my own, not discounting the vast comfort I have felt from the Spirit, but the help from true friends is also appreciated more than words can adequately express.



For those who have been supportive, I express my love for you and for your kindness.



For my lengthiness, I apologize. Obviously, I had a lot on on my mind.