Things at B’s house became more fragile, the longer Dad was sick. The more time that went by the more he wanted me to be his caregiver exclusively. I would be at work and I would receive calls night and day.
Thankfully, I worked for a wonderful family. I…
Things at B’s house became more fragile, the longer Dad was sick. The more time that went by the more he wanted me to be his caregiver exclusively. I would be at work and I would receive calls night and day.
Thankfully, I worked for a wonderful family. I had actually known the kids way back when I was a teen. I had run around with one of the daughters. Even if the call came through the night, I would call my boss and let her know. She would say, “go ahead Terry, run over to him and then come back as soon as possible.” I was running three different lives as caregiver all at once, but I did it. Anytime Dad called, I was there.
By this time the half-sister and Al were completely out of the picture. Al has a routine he follows. It is part of his mentality. As long as he doesn’t have to part from this, he is alright. He went to work. He worked at a linen company and worked from 10am to sometimes 7 or 8pm. It was sort of crappy hours but he didn’t say much. He would come home and eat one of his frozen chicken patties and I don’t know what else. He watched TV and then went to bed at 11pm each and every night.
I would call and check on him but still not allowed to actually go in the family house. It was one of those situations I was forced to look at as a fight or flight. I thought, as long as I know he is alright, I will let things rest, while I take care of my husband and wife team and Dad.
When I would go into B’s house either to play cards with Dad or be his caregiver, I was always met at the back door by her or the dog. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen she would start in on me.
“I am just so damn pissed that I am with a dying man. Do you know what we did when my own husband was dying? We all got a beer and gave him a beer and we would sing around his bed and get drunk.”
I just looked at her in awe. I couldn’t imagine this but of course I was not and still am not a drinker. I have seen the damage alcohol can do to people. Don’t get me wrong, I am not here to criticize, but in my opinion, I want to know the stupid mistakes I make in life.
I never said anything about her remark and let her proceed to belittle me all for the sake of Dad. She would show me the cupboard full of medications and express how Dad was taking up her kitchen space.
She would show me the partial bottles that I needed to call the doctor on or go have refilled. She would show me her refrigerator and tell me how many dollars she spent on Dad just trying to keep in here what he wanted to eat.
She said she was on a limited income and could not afford to give him whatever without the fear of going broke. From then on I would call Dad on my way over and ask what he was in the mood for to eat, then I would go get it.
As he became weaker he always wanted egg-drop soup from the Chinese Restaurant. That got to be about the only thing he would eat, but it was alright. He would have me feed it to him and we chatted and gave each other eyes for words.
B got bolder as time passed by. She would begin to tell me about their sex life. I hate to tell you this, but I wasn’t interested in Dad and her sex life. For heaven’s sakes, this is my father we are talking about.
After while I wasn’t even sure if she was telling the truth, as Dad couldn’t make it up her stair case anymore, and if she did get him there, she pushed him all the way up the stairs. I was just standing by, holding my breath, waiting for him to fall backwards and topple on her and they both would come crashing down, but it never happened.
Then she began to tell me what a disappointment I was to my Dad. I heard things I had never even questioned in my own heart that I had done to hurt him. I knew that I had disappointed him in some ways. We always want more for our kids than we had and maybe I didn’t produce all he wanted, but I loved him and accepted him for all his faults. He was my hero, I had always placed him high on a pedestal. I don’t feel this way any longer after caring for Al.
She would tell me bad things about Al and the sister. She would complain about my Mom. This used to make me royally pissed. She never even knew our Mom. Mom had died seven years prior. I wanted to tell her off so bad but alas, I couldn’t. I wanted her to be out of the picture. How I thought she was so nice and pretty in the beginning is beyond my own imagination, for I now looked at her as the wicked witch of the west.
One time when I was at work she called me around 1am and told me, “your Dad is wet. If you want him dry you better get your ass over here. I am not changing some sick man.”
I would get up out of bed and make sure my people I was in charge of were alright and then sneak off to the five-mile trip to her house to change him. I would not see her when I arrived. She would leave the back porch light on and the door unlocked. I used to think, why hasn’t someone broke in here and kidnapped the old hag?
After cleaning him up I would race back over to the house I resided in on the weekends. After work ended I would run by Dad’s house and make sure Al’s car was gone. Relieved, I would head home to try to live some sort of life.
This morning Al woke up in an odd mood. He had refused last night’s supper and the night before supper too. This morning he struggled to eat breakfast. He really didn’t want to go to day program. He told me a couple of things. He said he didn’t have his chest pain but he felt odd all over. He also said that he felt like he was fading, that he was dying real soon.
Now you have to know that this bothers me so much when I hear him speak like this. I laughed and said, “You are not dying, you have a long time to go.”
I talked him into going to the day program as I felt it would be best for him. I also called the company and talked to them again about getting Al out of that wheelchair. They leave him sit in that hard old thing all day long. They finally listened and found a nice rocker for him.
The nurse called me about half an hour before Al got home. She said they were going to get him a new chair. I think I know what they are like. It is like a wheelchair but there is a padded chair inside that tilts back almost allowing him to lay down. Hospice said that they hope he will have it by Thursday.
Have you ever been in a position where you knew the news but it isn’t sinking in your brain? Or maybe worse, you are refusing to believe? As the nurse and I chatted I told her about the constant chest pains, the lack of suppers and him not really wanting to go to Day Program. I told her about Al’s remark about him thinking he was in the process of dying today.
She came back with words I didn’t want to hear. She said, “Terry, you and I know that Al is dying. Two doctors have documented it and obviously this is why he is on Hospice. It is very common to lose the appetite at this point and to also want sweets other than healthy foods. The next time he speaks of dying tell him it is alright to go. Tell him that if he wants to see Mom that it is alright; that you will follow along in your own time.”
I choked, I didn’t cry, but I choked. These are words I can not accept, at least not yet, maybe not until it is too late. Do I want to really tell him that it is alright for him to go? To not be afraid of dying? To go see Mom? How can I do this when I love him and want him here with me?
When he came home he was real chatty. This was nice. He had met a staff that put model cars together. From what he said they hit it off right a way and the staff promised to bring in one of the finished models the next time he worked. This made a complete difference in Al’s attitude. I am so thankful I urged him to go.
Al wants to go half-days. He says he just gets too tired. This may happen but not yet. We want to try the new chair first. We decided to have a pizza party, so I popped one in the oven since he felt better and we had pizza and pop for supper. He ate real well. I was watching him as he ate to make sure he didn’t choke and I suddenly noticed every fingernail was a medium gray.
The color never faded during supper. I have seen his nails go to dark gray and then leave before but never stand strong and stay and although he was eating well I was reminded that he is very sick and thought back to the conversation with the Hospice nurse. What if he mentions he wants to go see Mom? I guess I will swallow my pain and tell him it is alright to go.
It wasn’t a cheery day and I needed a good laugh to break the silence in my heart. I went through some magazines until I found a photo and I immediately started cracking up. I was laughing. Laughing over the picture and crying from the knowledge Al is so sick.
I thought to myself, am I going to be a swinging granny in my eighties dressed like this? Lordy, I hope not. I know men go through the change, will I also???? Oh my gosh what is the next chapter of my life going to be like? Here is the pic I cracked up at.
My Wish For Al, My Brother
“I have a little boy…If he is not dead, tell him
the last words of his father were that he must…
“I have a little boy…If he is not dead, tell him
the last words of his father were that he must never go beyond the
Father of Waters, but die in the land of his birth. It is sweet to die
in one’s native land and be buried by the margins of one’s native
stream.”
– Tsali, Cherokee Medicine Man awaiting execution, 1838.
These words are from a Cherokee Indian Medicine Man. As I was reading them I thought of my brother Al. Al did not want to go beyond the familiar waters that he had grown up and lived in.
Hebecame very ill with a terrible disease that moves rapidly through your
body. The spirit, the heart, the soul and the body become unfamiliar to
these new changes, and begin to die.
I love Indian stories and tales, I
always have. I read the weather by the Indians through the animals and
now I can still see the story in this quote Tsali stated back in 1838.
Al knows much more than I in some ways. He knows that he is beginning an adventure into unbeatenpaths. This proud Indian says he wanted to die in the land of his
birth. So does Al. For many months Al has claimed many times to not let
me allow him to die in the nursing home.
He never expressed
that the nursing facility was rotten or uncomfortable. But I could tell
from things he said that he wanted to die in his own territory. He has
told me he wants to be surrounded by his coca cola and his vintage cars.
Can
this be what Tsali also has spoken of while he was waiting to die? He
wanted to be in his familiar territory? He also said that it was sweet to die in one’s native land and to be buried in the sweet streams.
I
believe Al will conquer many fears by coming home. He knows he is back in his familiar area. He can rest now and relax more. He knows I love him. He doesn’t usually express this, but I just know.
I have made arrangements for everyone to make the deliveries. His hospital bed, wheelchair and lift chair will
be arriving Thursday afternoon. I had planned for two days to go
grocery shopping but ran out of time. I have no more time, so will be doing it tomorrow.
I have some inner peace because I know that I could make one of his wishes come true; to come home. My goal is to get one smile per day and do whatever I can to help him eat and feel loved. To remain clean and not smell of urine as I so often do now. I promise to change his sheets or bed covers if he soils them immediately instead of hours later.
I promise to be here for him and the biggest accomplishment I hope to achieve is that he knows that whatever his feelings are, sad, depressed,or happy I will listen to his words. I want him to know that I love him
no matter how many messes he makes. I want him to know that when God
calls him he need not be afraid. I want him to know that it is alright
to go home to see Mom and Dad. I want him to know that I love him very
much and that I will miss him so much but will rejoice in his trip to
heaven along with him. I love you bud, you are the best brother ever a
sister could want.
Your sis, Terry
Tsali in spring
Medicine man, by Rinehart, F. A. (Frank A.)
Daily Prompt; Say Your Name
http://dailypost.wordpress.com, DP, Daily Prompt
Write about your first name: Are you named after…
http://dailypost.wordpress.com, DP, Daily Prompt
Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?
Photographers, show us YOU.
For someone who was born without being wanted, my parents spent some time arguing about my name. My real name is Teresa Jane.
My Dad wanted a boy, at least that is what he told me through the years. He changed my nickname to Terry and spelled it like a boy.
My Mother who turned her back on me most of my life, wanted me named after her best girlfriend. I assume her name was Jane. She also thought that she had given birth to someone very special. So she named me Teresa.
Years later at the point I stand on this ground now, I am well-known as Terry. Still many ask me how do you spell it? Terrie, Terri? I always say the same thing. My Daddy wanted a boy so I got spelled like a boy.
Strange that he got his baby boy, and decided he was ashamed of him. He did everything to stay out of this baby boy’s life emotionally. I do know that my Dad was a good man. He had poor ways of being taught how to handle difficult decisions. He basically ignored problems and hoped they would disappear.
When I met my real Mother at 36, I had to wonder why the name she chose for me was such a big deal. She threw me out on the streets the first time I went to visit her. You will never believe the reason why either. I have your curiosity peaked, right? Alright, the truth shall be spoken.
I was almost 2,000 miles a way from my own home. I didn’t know my directions at all. It was Arizona heat. She kicked me out and locked the doors behind me because I drank the last of her Crystal Light Lemonade.
Wow, talk about emotions. I was angry at her for causing me great fear in the dark streets at night. I was crushed that a Mother could do this to her own child. After all through all of our snail mail letters, she professed her undying love for me. During phone calls before we actually met face to face her words were always the same, I miss you and have always loved you so much Terry.
So, what is this? You toss me out on my rear end to fend for myself? I ended up flagging down a fire truck and in short story, I was returned back to my home safe and sound.
You would think that would have cured me with the I know my Mother loves me.
But it didn’t. It took four more trips so many miles a way from home before I finally got it. Not all parents want to be parents. Some parents still live in the infant stages in their mind. My Mother saw me as that two-year old or younger.
When she saw me face to face and I was all grown up, something snapped inside of her. She later told me the guilt of what she had done to Al and me was just too overwhelming.
Yes, I would have to agree. Passing my tiny body around to strange men so you can make some money is pretty sick old woman. What else did you to Al and me that I don’t know about? You sure do carry a huge amount of guilt.
So wow, she and Dad exchanged all those words about what to name me and here I sat with a real Mom who never wanted me, and a wonderful Step-Mom who cared about me the best that she could, since I was not her own.
Al’s name must have caused no problems. He is the seventh in line and now the last to carry his full name. A piece of cake, and yet he was shoved a way. You would think to honor him with a name carried through generations of family men, you would want to show this little boy off!
So what is in a name? For me, I take now the names my grandkids and kids call me. My good friends and their pet names. Because this is what matters today. Who I am, how I fit in to others lives. Who gives a hoot what my parents named me and Al, it didn’t matter at the time.
Her children were reading the obituary through teary eyes. Reading it once, twice and three times. It was the night before the funeral. The viewings had been tiring. Many visitors and family members stopped in to pay their respects. Hugs and tears, plus many stories were shared among everyone the past two days.
The day of the funeral came. Her three children were sitting in the front seat. Mom would be so proud if she could see all three of her children sitting side by side. Sharing tears and hands. Her close friends sat next to the children, comforting them in their time of grief.
Her one friend stood up and spoke about Terry. She told of how many years they had been friends. How they helped each other out in good times and bad. They spent many hours on the phone with each other chatting the time a way. She told about a story where Terry was scared to death by the horse that ran in the middle of the night.
This was written for the Daily Post
Another friend from Illinois came to the funeral also. She had not been friends long enough to get to meet Terry’s children so she stepped up to introduce herself; while on her way to the pulpit. She spoke about how she and her own mama shared many moments together while each of their own family members shared an illness. Tears in the crowd were flowing after this friend sat down.
Her three children were the last to stand. Together they held hands, and they told about wonderful memories their mom had left them. Times when they made Christmas cookies and threw icing in each others hair. Times when we went to the state park and had cook outs and went hiking. The big Christmas pile of gifts all for them. Mom was always letting us have parties and sleep overs. Mom was always trying to build memories for us kids, and now we know why.
When the kids went back and sat down, the minister stood up to the pulpit and said some kind words. He took the obituary pamphlet and read it aloud to everyone.
Terry J. Shepherd
Born April 21,1954
Died December 10, 2012
Parents;
Mr. and Mrs. Miller, both deceased
One half-sister, where abouts unknown
One brother, living age 56
Terry was a kind lady who thought of others often before her own needs. She had been called by God to care for the ill and elderly. She worked with geriatrics, mentally challenged and dementia patients.
She cared for her father while he was ill, and after his passing she continued the family care by watching over her brother who is now living in a facility. Terry took it very hard when she had to place him. I believe this is what took her life. A broken heart. The loss of her parents, her children moving in their own direction, and the placement of her brother was just too much for her heart to handle.
Terry also owned her own business for some time. She re-finished antique furniture. She also had a great passion for writing and had her first book written and was in the process of being published. I believe she had started on her second book at the time of her death.
She loved antiques and costume jewelry, Christmas trees. She studied black history and was involved deeply with the release of slaves.
We will always remember Terry for what she gave. She had little but she gave much. May we all say a prayer, that she is now smiling and sitting joyously beside Jesus.
We shall miss you Terry
Who I am 