It was Christmas dinner with my brother’s extended family.  He somehow managed to stand next to me while I was chatting away.  I looked at him and nodded.  A moment later, there was a discreet nudge at my knee.  I looked at him again to see if this was really happening.  And it was.  We stood there, our bodies in contact.  No one in the room seemed to notice this PDA.  I decided to raise the stakes and moved my hands slowly up and down his back.  He looked at me and we connected.

He must have sat at the other table during dinner. No one  seemed to notice us, if they did, they were probably too stunned or polite to say anything.  After dinner and while the tables were being cleared, everybody dispersed.  He sat down beside me and lowered his head to my knee, nudging ever closer to my ahem…  His curly hair was soft to touch.  After a few more minutes of this, he went away again.  I was hard  mesmerized.

Dessert was cake and ice cream.  But it had an odd smell.  Then I realized what that smell was.  It was his scent.  I could smell it each time I raised the fork to my mouth.  It was all over my hands and sleeve.  Dog breath.  Stupid dog -  you some breath mints if you’re going to do anything with your mouth.  After I got home, I could smell that dog all over my jeans and shirt.  I stripped off all my clothes and threw it into the washing machine.  From now on, no more PDA with dogs.

I decided to clean my room and then I figured I should clean my condo.  It’s a thankless job and I hate cleaning.  But it’s just to messy.  I got sick of cleaning so I decided to workout instead.  I went to the small gym in my condo.  It was a brief workout.  My muscles trembled, my lungs burned, my head started to spin, my butt started to quiver and my heart started to pump like crazy.  While doing a set of squats, I ripped my boxers.

At the gym, I could see how badly I got out of shape.  I should eat properly too.  Maybe I’ll make some curry chickpeas w/ veggies and brown rice.

Now I’m too tired to shower.  I stink from the sweat.  My arms are too tired to type.  If 20 hot naked Asian guys show up, I would be too tired to do anything.  But if they do show up, maybe I can get them to finish cleaning my condo.

I held his hands and told him what an awesome dad he was.  I thought he moved his fingers a bit.  I watched as his breath grew shallower and slower.  I yelled for my siblings to come to the room.  We watched him take his final breath and said our goodbyes.  Just moments before I thought I could sense my mom but maybe it was my imagination.  He wasn’t in pain or discomfort.  We made sure the there were enough meds.  He had his last rites just hours before.  Our house is just a modest home but to him, it was his castle.  He loved it and died there.

Goodbye dad, I love you.  We’ll miss you.  Give mom a hug from all of us.  I’m happy that you’re with her now and free of the pain and suffering from your illness.

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything.  It’s partly because I don’t really have anything good to write about.

These past few years, the long, dark days of winter have dampened my mood.  I’ve also gotten way out of shape.  When I’m stressed, I tend to eat more.  When I’m at my dad’s place, I snack like crazy.  It doesn’t help that my sister leaves a lot of junk food around.  Dinners there are usually take out food.  No one really has time to cook.  I downloaded a fitness app only to find out how far out of shape I’m in.  I don’t sleep enough.  I know I’ll pay dearly for this.

My dad’s health is declining rapidly.  We used to celebrate minor victories.  He ate well.  He slept well.  He had a bowel movement.  There wasn’t any pain.  It’s hard to find those minor victories now.  I stayed over the other night.  I told my sister to go to bed and she did around 1 AM.  My dad called out frequently when he is asleep – not deep sleep.  I had to keep checking to see if he was really calling out or just talking in his sleep.  He did wake up a couple of times and I gave him some water.  I would hold his hands to give him some assurance and told him to rest and go back to sleep.  I think the hardest part is watching him grimacing in pain when he is being changed.  I finally got to nap for an hour around 4.  My sister woke up a few times to check.  She eventually got up around 5.  It’s like this for her every night.  I left the house just as the rush hour started.  When I got home, I fueled myself with caffeine to get me through the day.   My brother came over later that day with food.

Is this heroic? No.  I’m just doing my bit to help.  I have no idea how previous generations handled all of this.  How do the people living around the poverty line manage with elder care and dementia?

Writing is one of the few things that keep me sane.  I wish I had more time for this.

Dementia has got to be one of the most cruel diseases around.  It’s reduced my dad from a very intelligent & articulate man to one that lashes out (verbally and physically), cries and hard to manage.  It escalates at night turning bedtime into a nightmarish situation.  I don’t understand his mind.  He seems fine during the day and during the night – this other person comes out.   My sister bears the brunt of this.  I’m able to go home and wallow in guilt.

My dad was a typical Asian father.  He was in charge although we knew mom was the bedrock of the family.  Dad sacrificed a lot and made sure we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs and an education.  When I started to work and gave money back to my parents, it was always to mom.  I pretty well used mom as a buffer.  It wasn’t that I was scared of dad.  It was just the way it was. 

Mom was always the one who would speak to dad.  She understood my father, his way of thinking and knew how to talk to him.  No matter how tired they were, they always made time every night to sit together and chat quietly.  Because dad was older, I always thought he would pass away first.  But that wasn’t the case.  Mom had a lot of illnesses and contracted a vicious form of cancer.  She passed away a few months after.  Dad was shaken to the core.  I didn’t know what to do with him and I never knew how to really talk to him.  But since mom’s passing, our relationship slowly grew.  He can be stubborn and annoying.  But I gradually enjoyed my weekly dinners with him.  He became my “date”.  We went to bookstores.  He would pass by the “Romantic Novels” section and proclaimed loudly that it was “garbage”.  We got a few glares from those faithful readers.  I helped him with his banking.  He never stopped giving me advice. 

When he started to get more and more confused, I started to get worried.  My instincts were to simply gradually bring him back to reality gently rather than act shock or confused.  He got me my first jock strap when I started high school.  I was too embarrassed to buy one myself for gym.  I got him his first adult diaper.  He told me he was too embarrassed about the problem and didn’t know what to do.

Every day at the hospital, I would make sure I hold dad’s hand or stroke it gently.  I joke with him.  He told me he was scared and that he prayed very hard.  He wasn’t sure if his prayers were answered.  He thought his prayers weren’t eloquent.  I told him prayers are prayers and they will be heard.  I keep telling him that we will be here and won’t abandon him. I never knew he prayed.  I never seen him this scared before.  

I don’t know what each day will bring.  Right now he just wants to go home.  So that’s what we’ll work towards.  Maybe the doctors will let him go home.

Mom was indeed the bedrock of the family.  She gave me one last gift when she passed away.  It was an opportunity to know my father a bit better and to see him in a different light. 
Thanks mom. 

It is hard to keep an elderly man hopeful and optimistic in a hospital.  My brother and sister continue our “shifts” so that there’s always someone with dad and to answer any medical questions.  He finally sat up in a chair one day and shuffled 5 steps yesterday. It exhausted him completely.  He can’t stand the hospital food so we have to always bring in food.  There’s so much that can go wrong with a body when it is bedridden.  We cut his food up, feed him and wonder what will happen next.  The staff here are patient when they change him.  We sometimes help when they are short staffed as it needs two people. 

I’m starting to see the flow of routine in the hospital. I know which nurses are better and which attendants are more patient.  I can sense worry and tension with other visitors.  When someone is scared and frustrated, they mask it with angry and sharp words.  You have to see through that.  As much as I’m fascinated with the rhythm and the inner goings of a hospital, I have no desire to stay here longer than necessary.  I have no idea when dad will be released. 

When I picked up some take out food for dad late last night, the restaurant had about 5 tables.  1 large table filled with kids and adults all happy and celebrating loudly.  Another table of 4 had a very quiet birthday dinner.  The singing of Happy Birthday sounded like a whisper.  Another small table with twenty somethings eating quietly but animatedly.  Conversations flowed back and forth.  No one had a smartphone out.  4 young people then walked in, all in black. No one was smiling, they just wanted to quiet their hunger.  They were all twenty somethings and maybe it was their first time dealing with death. 

The manager called me and gave me my food along with best wishes for my dad.  I walked out into the night with a mixture questions, worries, fears and hope.

It’s always interesting going to a hospital.  This time, I was the patient, not my dad.  I took a cab to the hospital and went  Emergency.  It wasn’t busy and I saw the triage nurse within 5 minutes.  He took the usual information down.  I explained the problem and the medication I needed.  He made a few notes and walked me into the emergency room right away.  It was the same thing the last time. 

Within minutes two nurses (one was a good looking Chinese guy), a doctor and a student came in.  One person hooked me up to monitor while another stuck an IV in me.  They explained what they needed to do and what to expect.  I nodded and told them I remembered how it was last time.  They gave me my meds through the IV line and pushed it through.  I spent the next hour or so under observation.  But I know there wasn’t much they were really going to do.

So I spent the time pondering and observing.  I watched patients getting hauled in.  One person didn’t speak English that well and came in by ambulance from a nursing home.  When the nurse tried to put an IV into him, he let loose a torrent of Italian swear words.  Another patient started to cough really bad.  A nurse came in to help clear a lot of mucus.  They closed the curtain so I couldn’t really see.  But they all wore masks and gowns before entering.  In the bed right in front of me, a woman had what I overheard was a gallstone or kidney stone.  There were 2 women who must have stayed up all night with that patient.  They both had very rumpled dresses and tired eyes.

The brief bed rest was an opportunity again for life to tell me something.  You become aware of your mortality when you sit in a hospital bed.  I started wondering what I did with my bucket list.  I mean, this wasn’t a life threatening incident and I wasn’t close to death.  But it’s still the emergency room. I wanted a note book to jot down my thoughts.  But there were just questions.  What’s worse, I was stuck in the quiet section of the ER.  The elderly man was now sleeping.  The coughing guy was quiet.  Another woman who came in with her husband was resting.  Everyone was quiet.  It was too much for me to handle. 

This was almost 3 weeks ago.  It seems so far away now. 

I’ve been getting updates from my cousin sporadically.  My aunt is still in ICU and my cousin isn’t able to get out that often to send emails.  Today’s email wasn’t encouraging with just a glimmer of good news.  Every email seems to be a roller coaster of emotions.  If she gets better, she starts chemo immediately.  All of this is opening up memories of my mom’s last few weeks in the hospitals.  These are memories that I’ve buried and sealed.  But now they are coming back.  I had to catch myself several times today just to stop the emotions.  What’s also eerie is timing, my mom went into the hospital almost to the exact day 8 years ago. 

Between this, my dad and work – maybe life is trying to tell me that I need to pay more attention to living. 

“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”  George Bernard Shaw

I took a walk after work to get some air.  I thought the walk would brighten my mood a bit but it didn’t.   I dropped a letter in the mailbox.  Everyone on the street seemed to have a specific place to go.  The restaurants were slowly filling up.  The sport bar was getting busy for tonight’s hockey game.  I did a bit of window shopping, looking at eye glasses, clothes, shoes and food.  I notice a lot more Asian guys in my neighbourhood now… young, good looking and stylish.  One walked past me and I could smell his Gatsby hair gel.  But my mind wasn’t on eye candies tonight. 

I went to the park and sat down on a bench.  The air was getting cool but still comfortable.  I thought about work.  I took out my camera and felt sad that I haven’t played with it for some time.  I debated going to a coffee shop to read.  But I already have insomnia and even the smell of coffee will keep me up.  I looked at a group of women exercising in the park. Maybe I should join them and get in shape.  The evening air started to get a bit colder.  Should I pick up some food, drop in for a quick bite or should I cook?  I past a few restaurants.  I didn’t feel like spending any money tonight.  I decided to go home instead.

On my way, I past by the mailbox again.  The letter I dropped off was for the renewal of my dad’s lawn care service.  He got very worked up on the weekend about the dandelions and the length of the grass.  There was some dandelions but it wasn’t the end of the world.  When I got home on Sunday, I found the renewal form from the lawncare people in my dad’s pile of letters that I keep for him.  I called them on Monday and left a message.  They called back and said they are already booked for the summer but will squeeze my dad in because he is a previous customer.  I called my dad to let him know.  He sounded pleased.  The next day my sister emailed me.  Dad is very agitated about the lawn.  My dad kept trying to phone me but I was in meetings.  I called him back.  “The dandelions have now covered the front lawn.  Can they send someone over now to pluck them out?”  I called the lawn service back again.  No they don’t pick out dandelions.  But I added the service for fertilizing and weed control.  I called my dad back today. He sounded stressed out.  “When will they show up? The grass is very long!”  I told him they are trying to squeeze him in as they are booked up for the summer already.  “What do you mean squeeze me in?  When will they do that?”  I told him not to worry but they will show up.  He grumbled and muttered something.

So this is my dad’s world.  Instead of worrying about his health, his swollen feet or his hygiene, he worries about the front lawn.  Deep sigh.  I went back to my condo, cooked some scrambled eggs for dinner and went back to work.  Maybe I’ll feel useful.