I’m really sorry to hear about your mother, Evan. I know what you’re going through. All you can do is power through it, brother. Tunnel vision…stay the course. Be there for her when she needs you and do your best to hold everything together, no matter how tired or frustrated you may get with the situations that surround this circumstance.
I think this is a very unique idea for a contest and one that is felt very deeply among many of us. For me this comes at a unique time, as the anniversary of the events I’m about to explain is around this time. All of this took place over the course of a little over a year and the combined events ultimate changed me and my life for the better. I apologize in advance for the length.
Let me first say that I am very close with my father (like you with your mother). When I was 4, my father and I were involved in a car accident that should have killed us both (almost did). While my father and I were always close, that event solidified our relationship for life. He has always been my father, but he has also always been my very best friend.
In 2012, my mother decided that she was going to go to New York where her parents live for an undetermined amount of time. She broke this news to us the day before leaving. At the time, her and I worked together at the same restaurant and as it turns out, everyone there had more information than I did. After being gone for a few weeks, she told my father and I that she wasn’t coming back and that she wanted a divorce. As anyone would be, my father was devastated and shocked, which was difficult to watch. Not long after that, I managed to rekindle a relationship with the girl of my dreams. I’ve loved her since I was 18 (at this point I was 24 years old). Mind you, love is not a word or emotion I take lightly…if I say it, I mean it fully. Turns out, she had felt the same way the entire time, but the timing just wasn’t right to her until then. We spent many years apart, but she was always the one, no matter who else entered my life.
When I was 13, my Grandfather on my father’s side was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and given 6 months to live…but he was a career Marine and wasn’t about to take any of that shit. However, in January of 2013 it was soon to be time. The one request he had was to “not die in a hospital”. He had no fear of death, he simply wanted to be comfortable. My Grandmother, however, was unwilling to check him out of the hospital…so I left my father and girlfriend behind and checked him out of the hospital myself and told him I would be there until this was finished. When I got there, my Grandmother had the flu. Having not had a flu shot, I spent most of my time wearing a doctor’s mask hoping to avoid catching it. So I took care of both of my Grandparents, which included cooking and cleaning, as one would expect.
The first few days were pretty good, but when my Grandfather took a turn, it was a hard turn. Part of congestive heart failure is that the sack around the heart fills with fluid. This eventually makes it very difficult to remain conscious and as gross as this will sound, ultimately the liquid has no place to go, so it exits the body via the path of least resistance. In this case, that was his legs. Underneath his easy chair (which was the only place he was comfortable) pools of body fluid would form. Little pockets of fluid formed around his calves under the first couple layers of skin and those would eventually open up and leak as well. it was bad. After almost 48 hours of not being able to sleep, I decided I need the aid of Hospice to continue taking care of my Grandfather. The arrangement with Hospice was that they would come over to the house a few times a week for a few hours at a time, to help me do the things I couldn’t do on my own (even if that was just sleep). At this point I should mention that my Grandfather was a very hard man and had a rough childhood. Compliments were rare from him (that was just the gruff exterior of this old Marine). The morning that hospice would arrive, I told him that I was going to lay down (he was conscious for a little while), and said to me; “You’re everything I could have ever imagined”, meaning that I grew up to be a man he was proud of. That meant more than I can explain.
I finally laid down as hospice arrived, desperate for sleep. While trying to sleep, I heard my Grandmother in the other room “crying” to the hospice worker, explaining how she “just can’t do it” and that she just “can’t take care of him” (even though I was there taking care of him, not her). I came out to inspect the situation, but because she was his spouse, I was powerless and they took him to hospice. I was promised that they were going to clean him up, drain his fluid and bring him home. Instead, he remained in hospice and I never saw him coherent again. I stayed a few more days, much of that time in hospice with my Grandfather who was already very much down the Morphine Rabbit Hole. Before leaving, I read a letter to my Grandfather from my Father (who was unable to leave to see him) and thanked my Grandfather for the amazing memories and lessons he had bestowed upon me. I returned home (roughly 3 hours driving distance) feeling defeated, betrayed and broken…
My Grandfather passed away a few days later. Weeks after, my Grandmother called to inform me that I did nothing while I was there. She called me a liar to my father, to me and to anyone who would listen. She claimed that I did not take care of her or my Grandfather, nor did I cook, clean, run errands, etc. She also informed us that my father would be written out of the will.
I kept my shit together the best I could. A new storm soon brewed, though. In April of 2013 my father had been passing out for no apparent reason. A visit to the doctor made us aware that he was in need of an emergency blood transfusion. We went to the hospital to have that done and in the process of searching for the bleeding, they discovered he had anal cancer. My best friend, father and hero, now the victim of cancer. I quit my job in anticipation of helping him through treatment and thanked my lucky stars for having a supportive girlfriend to help ME through it as well. Deep down though, I crumbling and handling the onslaught of life happenings rather poorly. I became distant and closed off. My temper was short and I often just wanted to be left alone. I became ignorant to other things happening around me, including her feelings, and she wasn’t able to handle it anymore. About a month before my father’s treatments were over, the girl I had every intention of marrying left and I couldn’t even really blame her. I had become someone not worth loving. At this point I felt truly broken and autopilot was the only thing that kept me together.
I lost all motivation and began taking rather poor care of myself. I lost about 35lbs in a week and a half and realized I would be in trouble if I didn’t change something. I started going to the gym again, hoping that the exertion would alleviate my sadness and frustrations. That was the first major turning point that genuinely saved my life. I began looking for a house which was filled with more than it’s fair share of ups, downs and heartaches but ultimately ended up well (for the most part, haha). My father finished his treatments and things seemed to go well. I started turning my life back around even though it felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain…I just kept pushing. Through anger, fears and sadness, kept pushing.
Two things caused a couple of brief setbacks emotionally. One of which was that my ex had gotten pregnant with the guy that she started dating a month after leaving me. The second was a certified letter from my Grandmother. Enclosed were pictures of my Grandfather’s belongings in someone else’s possession, attached to a letter that said some incredibly mean spirited things, among them was that my father (her son), deserved to get cancer. Stay the course…stay the course…
I recognized the kind of person I used to be and the person that I had become in the midst of the life storm. I’d become someone I never wanted to be and never intend to be again. It took lots of hard work, constant effort and soul searching to become the kind of human being I felt like I could be a little proud of again and I’m still not done.
Fast forward a few years; So far so good on the checkups for my father (you have to have regular checkups for 5 years without relapse in order to be considered cancer free). I’ve been lazy lately, but I’ve accomplished a lot which has propelled my life forward. Even though my ex and I have taken two very different paths in life now, the child that she gave birth to is actually my favorite human on the planet. I’m fortunate enough to have her a couple of days out of the week and she’s the most amazing little person I’ve ever known. I really don’t care much for kids, but I would adopt her without a second thought. And as much impact as the shitstorm of life I went through had on me, she has had every bit as much. Her mother and I will never be together again, but I would literally kill for that child.
Believe it or not, this WAS condensed, haha. It’s been nice seeing everyone share their stories, too. I’ve enjoyed this thread.
Hang in there, Evan.