My Dad and I were very close. I was the typical Daddy's Girl. My Mom, as my Sister and I saw it favored my Brother. Looking back now and after having a Son and a Daughter myself, I realize she probably didn't favor my brother but was nicer to him because he was nicer than us girls...which is how it is in my house. So, I clung to my Dad. My favorite line growing up was..."I'm going to tell my Dad".
I could tell my Dad practically anything and in his eyes I was perfect. When I met HIM my dad typically liked him but then one day my Dad asked HIM to help him clean the pool. I was thinking this was a good thing until he told my Dad..."Why, I don't swim in it". That was when my dad told me he wasn't allowed to come over anymore. I was 21 and pregnant and ived with my parents and here is my Dad telling me that my baby daddy could not come over.
I was in love and so I moved out to somewhere my boyfriend would be allowed..our own apartment. It was good and my Dad came around eventually and things went back to normal. Then I had my baby. A little boy. Though my Dad helped raise my Brother, he never had a son of his own, so when I had my litle boy, my Dad was in heaven, that was his boy!
My Dad had a way of talking to me that made me feel safe. Whenever I was sad he would tell me it would be okay and whoever was making me sad or upset, my dad liked to say..."Eff em!" Somehow that always made me feel better, and it still does. After my Mom and Dad divorced we became even closer. Me and the kids were over at his house all the time. We would have family fun night and play games like twister and aggravation. We would cook and watch movies and the kids loved him.
He ended up on disability after he had a heart attack and he had to rent a room from someone he considered a good friend. Then he got really sick. He was in the hospital for three months in 2005. I was prepared to have him die there in his hospital room. All his organs were failing him and I could touch his skin and my fingerprints would stay there like memory foam. I would go home and cry and be sad each time I left my dad there. Eventually things got better for him in the hospital and he stayed in a part of the hospital that was like a rehabilatation section until they could go home and the doctors felt comfortable to let them go home. I don't think that his doctors ever felt comfortable letting him leave, but he did.
He did not want to be there in the hospital for his birthday, so he requested to leave. I was worried about him. He lived in a back room with not much help. His supposed friend he lived with offered more help and signed up in a County program to get paid to take care of him. She actually became mean to my dad. She would bring him breakfast that consisted of a piece of pan dulce and something to drink. Everything else, he was pretty much on his own. I shopped for him for things he could put in his microwave and my Uncle and Aunt would help as much as they could as well. I washed my Dad's clothes and here was this lady lying and getting paid. This hurt me and my Dad was not happy.
As his Daughter, I moved him out. Yes, I could have moved him out and into my house and I sometimes feel bad I didn't. My house was small though and I knew that would not be good for him. I found him a little apartment that was close to my work and home. My plan was to have my husband sign up for the program to get paid as he was out of work. I thought this would be a good bonding thing and everyone agreed. I would be with my dad on the weekends and in the evenings and even go on my lunch hours and my Husband would be there with him through the day...this was going to work.
In my next blog I will tell you about his first four days in the apartment and the last four days of my dad's life.
No comments:
Post a Comment