I don’t even know how to start this story. Is it even a story or a cry for help, I don’t know. I had the wonderful birthday party for Al. I ignored the fact that he didn’t stay too much out with his company. I ignored the fact that he spent most of his time in his room lying on his bed. The smiles that he wore at his party, I wonder why they can not be worn at all times, or at least more often. Sunday, I talked about a peace here in our house, but is it a peace, or is it a mixed hell of swirling thoughts of death, fear, and anxieties, all having brought nothing but a doom that lay heavily inside these walls. Is it quiet, because I don’t know the right words to say any longer. I have no more simple answers to buy time with. When am I going to get real about this situation. When two people can not speak for fear of watching tears fall, or needing to say they wish for death, how much noise could there be. Today, being Monday, I had nothing really planned, except staying home and reading bloggers stories. The caregiver came here to shower him, and as soon as they got behind the closed-door, Al let loose with his tears. He talks of his fears of dying. He can see the weakness his body is going through. Can I lie to him and tell him that this is not true? Is he a fool and will not know I am lying to him? Yes, he knows his legs grow weaker. He sees that to use a fork or a spoon, is a very hard task. After his shower was over, and the caregiver had gone, I decided he needed to get out of the house. I told him we would go out to eat for lunch. He got his shoes on and he came out with no smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, or if he didn’t want to go, he said nothing, or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. He told me he has nothing to live for. This used to make me so mad when people would say foolish things. We have so much to live for, don’t be ridiculous! Now, that it is my brother saying it, I know he truly feels this way. In his eyes, the things that he enjoyed the most, have been taken from him by his illness. I said silly things, that sound off the wall, as if I was talking to some young child, trying to get a smile out of him, but it didn’t work. We went to the restaurant, and he struggled to get in the chair. We were there for about forty-five minutes while he tried to eat his sandwich and fries, the slowness of movement, mixed in with tears. I should have stayed home. Why did I take him out. I thought I was doing him good, but maybe not. I see what is happening and I don’t want it to. Depression. It has been coming for a couple of weeks I think. I helped him stand up when it was time to go. He wanted to finish his drink, but today he struggled with his straw, so I helped him. Al is almost a foot taller than me, and in just that short moment of finishing the last liquid from the glass, he had gotten down to my height, from his weakness and legs buckling. I told him to stand up straight, buddy boy. I laughed and made a joke that I didn’t want to have to pick him up off of the floor. That went over like a limp noodle. The tears started flowing harder. I am going to die, i can feel it inside of me. This is what he told me from my so-called funny little joke. I don’t want to say anything anymore. I don’t want to hurt him anymore. I want to just shut my mouth, but the silence coming from both of us is overwhelming, and I can’t follow through. I sat thinking in the car on the way home, what can I do or say. How can I stop this. Suddenly, I threw out THE question. Do you want me to call the minister. He said nothing, but shook his head up and down. I think I wanted him to say no. I wanted him to say he was going to be fine, this was just a passing moment. Don’t call, but he said yes. I love this minister, but my whole thinking shifts when I think of a minister coming to my home. I went through this with Dad also. Memories I don’t like to be reminded of. When we got home, I placed the call. In less than an hour the minister was here and anointed him and also the room. I don’t know the words that were said. I did not want to go back into the room, as I felt this was a private moment between minister, Al, and God. When all was over, the minister and I spoke for a few moments and then I bid a goodbye. I have now called the doctor as I fear the depression could take him over the Parkinson’s and dementia, the heart problems or mental handicaps. The minister prayed for Al’s guardian angel to stay near him. I have checked on him before starting to write this, and all lights are off. He is lying on his bed still awake. Please God, please guardian angel, take good care of him.
a day unlike no other