Truly Alive
The day after I got to Ohio, my father was released from the hospital. It was clearly too early, and I suspect that the fact that he owes the hospital a significant amount of money (despite the fact that 80% of his bills are paid by Medicare) may have played a role, though I can't be sure. Maybe it's more mundane than that--there is an urgency to turn beds over as quickly as possible, that care is no longer patient-centered, even in one of the best hospitals in the world.
In any case, on the day he was released, he had not yet been able to sit up or go to the bathroom on his own, and he could not climb the five steps he needs to climb in order to get into his apartment. Still, optimistic, we got him into my car, and we dropped my sister off at the airport on the way to his home. He cried as she left--in the two weeks she had been with him, they had gone from intending to celebrate my nephew's fifth birthday at the Cleveland Zoo to spending hours together at the hospital.
On the way home, we called my cousin A's husband L, who we hoped would be at home, to come to the apartment to help my father up the stairs. It was not an easy process, but we managed to get him inside and onto the couch where he is spending all of his time. We helped him to the bathroom, and then L left. I went to get some things that would help him--a raised toilet seat, bars for the bathtub, and new showerhead, a stool for the bathtub--as well as some groceries and some medications for him--saying I would be gone about an hour. S came with me; up to this point, she was holding up quite well, but I didn't think she would yet be able to help him if he needed anything. We left the phone next to him and told him to call me immediately if he needed help; I would remain within 10 minutes of his apartment. Instead, he decided to try to go to the bathroom on his own, and ended up waiting a long time for me to return and help him up.
Since then, things have been going well. He is now able, with a walker, the raised toilet seat and bars, to get to and from the bathroom on his own. He took a shower yesterday almost completely on his own, and was able to change his clothes again, mostly without help. He sleeps much of the day, but he is now also sleeping almost through the night, waking only once or twice. He can sit up on his own now, so I am not needed to help him in the middle of the night as I was at first. The human body's capacity to heal is amazing to me--less than two weeks ago, he had a 10% chance of living, according to the emergency room doctor; today, there is no doubt that within a couple months, he'll be able to live independently again.
I am slowly sorting out challenges related to his finances, too. For one thing, I've convinced him to stave off the bill collectors by paying a small amount toward his growing medical bills (rather than refusing to pay, as he has been doing). He has a point--he owes almost as much as he makes each year, and nobody should have to pay for medical care--and yet, at this time he does have some extra money, and so he should at least contribute to those bills (eventually, he agreed to this argument). Other bills are also getting paid, and he's allowing my sister and me more access to his finances so we can be more help.
And, I have managed to advocate for continued nursing care after I leave at the end of next week; Medicare will pay for this service, which will include washing clothes, heating up meals, and assisting with personal care. This is a relief, and the nurse will begin her visits next week so the transition between my care and hers will be smooth.
My extended family here has been amazing. Each day, after getting some homework done, S has had somewhere to go; she has been hiking, shopping, and to the Greek Festival at the church that was at the center of my spiritual and social life when I was a kid. I have been able to let go of the fact that the people caring for her don't know all the rules--that she came home with Barbie dolls and a tiara on some of these outings, even though she knows better than to buy things that are not age-appropriate, seems minor in the scheme of things. She's getting to know the people in my family, and coming to love them. They are generously spending hours on end with her, despite her immature and sometimes contentious behaviors--and this was a good lesson for me, that maybe there are times when I have to let go of control and know that I can get her back into her routine.
And, she and my father are getting used to each other. Sometimes he doesn't react to the things she says or does--how can someone ignore a giant pile of chairs, with Barbie dolls hanging at strange angles from them--or not laugh when she comes home from the Greek Festival announcing she's met her future Greek husband? But she's coming to accept that he is not as responsive as usual, and she is showing such tenderness toward him, and actually helping when he or I ask her to do something for him. As one of my friends pointed out in an e-mail yesterday, it is too bad she's having to leave her routine and her schooling, but good that she is learning that this is what people who love each other do in times of emergency.
Last night, my aunt and an old friend of my parents' came over and gave S and I a much-needed break. We went to the Greek Festival together. It was a wonderful trip; I saw my mother's best friend for the first time in some 10 years, as well as many old friends of my parents. S got on the dance floor and followed along as best she could, overcoming her fear of Greek dancing without being sure of all the steps. We ate well. The weather was beautiful. S chose a prayer bracelet and Greek Orthodox prayer book as her souvenir; she spent a couple hours looking at it, and doing the prayers, and then asked this morning to go to church.
Strangely, I felt elated--I have all kinds of mixed feelings about the Greek Orthodox Church, of course, but I think connecting to my past this week has affected my feelings toward the church, and my desire to share that old, deep love of the mystery and ritual with S. I also think that growing older has made it easier for me to accept the Church as She is--complex and beautiful and deeply flawed--and I can, for instance, deal with the fact that there is now a volume on same-sex attraction in the church bookstore that says such attractions are natural and show that the person has a calling to live a celibate life. "Look, mom, you're supposed to become a nun!" S joked, a little too loudly, holding up the book. This would have devastated me earlier in my life--and it is still painful, don't get me wrong--but I no longer seem to be affected by strange looks of confusion when I introduce S as my daughter or explain that no, I'm not and have never been married. I don't care that I overheard someone whisper something about what they had heard about me at the festival--and of course, I have the luxury of being far away.
But, in any case, I was moved by S's interest in the church, and her willingness to put aside her vehement atheism to read about the religion in which I was raised. The actual liturgy was hard for her, though--too long, too much ritual that she did not understand, despite my best attempts to explain as much as possible before and during. Still, I was glad we went (the first time we've left my father alone for more than an hour--which went well), and glad to see more old friends there. Ultimately, I don't think she'll choose to be baptized, and I am, of course, OK with this. Still, I'm glad she got to see where my spiritual roots are, and glad she'll be wearing a prayer bracelet and reading the calming rituals of the hours every day, at least for a little while.
As for me, my souvenir was a book of sayings about the Desert fathers and mothers. I don't know why I purchased it; I've always regarded these early Christian hermits with some interest, but also with a lot of resistance. The activist in me can't believe that their ascetic lives affected anyone; they did not believe in serving the larger society, but only in being present, in their caves, to God. But, people visited them, wanting to hear their perspective on life--and when I opened the book randomly to a section called "Detachment," I realized how much I have struggled all my life with my many attachments--to what people think of me, to the idea of achievement or praise, to memories as I want to remember them (not necessarily how they happened), to anger and rage. I bought the book without really thinking through the decision. I am beginning to read it, and already I can see that I was meant to do so.
One key prayer of these men and women was, "We entreat you, make us truly alive." Sometimes I feel only tangentially connected to my own life, and I struggle always with wanting to feel grounded, real, whole. Their sayings, so far, seem to me to be one path toward that goal--and words that can be used in my own life, which is, of course, immersed in the things and the institutions of the "real world." And perhaps that is exactly these spiritual people's gift--they had the time and space to come to a wisdom that others who would not make a choice like theirs could use.
One of the fathers answered the question, "what good work should I be doing?" in this way: "Are not all actions equal? Scripture says that Abraham was hospitable, and God was with him. David was humble, and God was with him. Elias loved interior peace, and God was with him. So, do whatever you see that your soul desires according to God, and guard your heart."
Is it possible that loving God and doing good are meant to fulfill our deepest desires rather than to force us to sacrifice those desires? Is it possible that if we are centered and able to recognize what we most deeply desire, we will automatically be able to fulfill what we are meant to do for the world? It seems too simple--but also totally liberating, and true. For now, I will keep reading.
In any case, on the day he was released, he had not yet been able to sit up or go to the bathroom on his own, and he could not climb the five steps he needs to climb in order to get into his apartment. Still, optimistic, we got him into my car, and we dropped my sister off at the airport on the way to his home. He cried as she left--in the two weeks she had been with him, they had gone from intending to celebrate my nephew's fifth birthday at the Cleveland Zoo to spending hours together at the hospital.
On the way home, we called my cousin A's husband L, who we hoped would be at home, to come to the apartment to help my father up the stairs. It was not an easy process, but we managed to get him inside and onto the couch where he is spending all of his time. We helped him to the bathroom, and then L left. I went to get some things that would help him--a raised toilet seat, bars for the bathtub, and new showerhead, a stool for the bathtub--as well as some groceries and some medications for him--saying I would be gone about an hour. S came with me; up to this point, she was holding up quite well, but I didn't think she would yet be able to help him if he needed anything. We left the phone next to him and told him to call me immediately if he needed help; I would remain within 10 minutes of his apartment. Instead, he decided to try to go to the bathroom on his own, and ended up waiting a long time for me to return and help him up.
Since then, things have been going well. He is now able, with a walker, the raised toilet seat and bars, to get to and from the bathroom on his own. He took a shower yesterday almost completely on his own, and was able to change his clothes again, mostly without help. He sleeps much of the day, but he is now also sleeping almost through the night, waking only once or twice. He can sit up on his own now, so I am not needed to help him in the middle of the night as I was at first. The human body's capacity to heal is amazing to me--less than two weeks ago, he had a 10% chance of living, according to the emergency room doctor; today, there is no doubt that within a couple months, he'll be able to live independently again.
I am slowly sorting out challenges related to his finances, too. For one thing, I've convinced him to stave off the bill collectors by paying a small amount toward his growing medical bills (rather than refusing to pay, as he has been doing). He has a point--he owes almost as much as he makes each year, and nobody should have to pay for medical care--and yet, at this time he does have some extra money, and so he should at least contribute to those bills (eventually, he agreed to this argument). Other bills are also getting paid, and he's allowing my sister and me more access to his finances so we can be more help.
And, I have managed to advocate for continued nursing care after I leave at the end of next week; Medicare will pay for this service, which will include washing clothes, heating up meals, and assisting with personal care. This is a relief, and the nurse will begin her visits next week so the transition between my care and hers will be smooth.
My extended family here has been amazing. Each day, after getting some homework done, S has had somewhere to go; she has been hiking, shopping, and to the Greek Festival at the church that was at the center of my spiritual and social life when I was a kid. I have been able to let go of the fact that the people caring for her don't know all the rules--that she came home with Barbie dolls and a tiara on some of these outings, even though she knows better than to buy things that are not age-appropriate, seems minor in the scheme of things. She's getting to know the people in my family, and coming to love them. They are generously spending hours on end with her, despite her immature and sometimes contentious behaviors--and this was a good lesson for me, that maybe there are times when I have to let go of control and know that I can get her back into her routine.
And, she and my father are getting used to each other. Sometimes he doesn't react to the things she says or does--how can someone ignore a giant pile of chairs, with Barbie dolls hanging at strange angles from them--or not laugh when she comes home from the Greek Festival announcing she's met her future Greek husband? But she's coming to accept that he is not as responsive as usual, and she is showing such tenderness toward him, and actually helping when he or I ask her to do something for him. As one of my friends pointed out in an e-mail yesterday, it is too bad she's having to leave her routine and her schooling, but good that she is learning that this is what people who love each other do in times of emergency.
Last night, my aunt and an old friend of my parents' came over and gave S and I a much-needed break. We went to the Greek Festival together. It was a wonderful trip; I saw my mother's best friend for the first time in some 10 years, as well as many old friends of my parents. S got on the dance floor and followed along as best she could, overcoming her fear of Greek dancing without being sure of all the steps. We ate well. The weather was beautiful. S chose a prayer bracelet and Greek Orthodox prayer book as her souvenir; she spent a couple hours looking at it, and doing the prayers, and then asked this morning to go to church.
Strangely, I felt elated--I have all kinds of mixed feelings about the Greek Orthodox Church, of course, but I think connecting to my past this week has affected my feelings toward the church, and my desire to share that old, deep love of the mystery and ritual with S. I also think that growing older has made it easier for me to accept the Church as She is--complex and beautiful and deeply flawed--and I can, for instance, deal with the fact that there is now a volume on same-sex attraction in the church bookstore that says such attractions are natural and show that the person has a calling to live a celibate life. "Look, mom, you're supposed to become a nun!" S joked, a little too loudly, holding up the book. This would have devastated me earlier in my life--and it is still painful, don't get me wrong--but I no longer seem to be affected by strange looks of confusion when I introduce S as my daughter or explain that no, I'm not and have never been married. I don't care that I overheard someone whisper something about what they had heard about me at the festival--and of course, I have the luxury of being far away.
But, in any case, I was moved by S's interest in the church, and her willingness to put aside her vehement atheism to read about the religion in which I was raised. The actual liturgy was hard for her, though--too long, too much ritual that she did not understand, despite my best attempts to explain as much as possible before and during. Still, I was glad we went (the first time we've left my father alone for more than an hour--which went well), and glad to see more old friends there. Ultimately, I don't think she'll choose to be baptized, and I am, of course, OK with this. Still, I'm glad she got to see where my spiritual roots are, and glad she'll be wearing a prayer bracelet and reading the calming rituals of the hours every day, at least for a little while.
As for me, my souvenir was a book of sayings about the Desert fathers and mothers. I don't know why I purchased it; I've always regarded these early Christian hermits with some interest, but also with a lot of resistance. The activist in me can't believe that their ascetic lives affected anyone; they did not believe in serving the larger society, but only in being present, in their caves, to God. But, people visited them, wanting to hear their perspective on life--and when I opened the book randomly to a section called "Detachment," I realized how much I have struggled all my life with my many attachments--to what people think of me, to the idea of achievement or praise, to memories as I want to remember them (not necessarily how they happened), to anger and rage. I bought the book without really thinking through the decision. I am beginning to read it, and already I can see that I was meant to do so.
One key prayer of these men and women was, "We entreat you, make us truly alive." Sometimes I feel only tangentially connected to my own life, and I struggle always with wanting to feel grounded, real, whole. Their sayings, so far, seem to me to be one path toward that goal--and words that can be used in my own life, which is, of course, immersed in the things and the institutions of the "real world." And perhaps that is exactly these spiritual people's gift--they had the time and space to come to a wisdom that others who would not make a choice like theirs could use.
One of the fathers answered the question, "what good work should I be doing?" in this way: "Are not all actions equal? Scripture says that Abraham was hospitable, and God was with him. David was humble, and God was with him. Elias loved interior peace, and God was with him. So, do whatever you see that your soul desires according to God, and guard your heart."
Is it possible that loving God and doing good are meant to fulfill our deepest desires rather than to force us to sacrifice those desires? Is it possible that if we are centered and able to recognize what we most deeply desire, we will automatically be able to fulfill what we are meant to do for the world? It seems too simple--but also totally liberating, and true. For now, I will keep reading.
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