Many More Bridges to Cross



My Dad and I at my 12th (?) birthday supper.


I`ve come out to Edmonton to say goodbye to my Dad. Last week his sodium levels went through the roof. My Dad was in renal failure and the medical staff felt he was going to die so they thought it was best I come out and spend some time with him before he passes. Dad is in bed hooked up to an IV. He looks like a tiny bird under a blanket. My Dad will never leave this bed. This is where he will die. Turns out these next few days or weeks or months won`t be so much a race against him dying as it will be to see exactly what it is that he is going to die from. It could be pneumonia, or an infection, or renal failure or starvation. We just don`t know. This isn`t what I wanted for my Dad. This isn`t what anyone would want for a loved one. To see them tiny, vulnerable, and so terribly diminished. My father has always enjoyed the lime light, he had no problem sticking out in a crowd and even now during his last few months on earth he is doing things his own way. The doctors and nurses can`t believe my Dad survived renal failure. Apparently, his brain should have swollen up; he should have gone into a seizure and died. But he didn`t. Even his Vascular Dementia has everyone scratching their heads. It is so extremely aggressive. 7 months ago he was walking, talking, joking, laughing, and singing. I mean, we knew Dad had Alzheimer but this disease has taken him from us so fast that everyone is in shock. It is as if he went off a cliff.
I am sitting beside my Dad`s bed as I write this. His TV is on the Turner Classic Movie channel….Gunfight at the OK Corral with Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas as Doc Holliday is on. My Dad and I used to watch that movie all the time when I was younger. I love watching movies with my Dad. Old movies are a passion we both share. It was always something just for him and me. Even when I didn`t have time I would make time to watch movies with my Dad. I have lived in and out of Edmonton many times over the past 25 years and every time I came into town it was understood that Dad and I would be doing a movie and a burger at Red Robins. My dad always said that if he didn`t fall asleep and if he didn`t look at his watch he considered it a good movie. He especially loved the action films….anything with a high dead body count. My Dad`s eyes would get so bright and shiny when he watched movies. I would look at his profile when we were in the darkened theatre together and I would fall in love with him all over again. So childlike, so simple in his delight at watching the action unfold. Movies, to him, were like a ride….up, down, all around. When I got older I discovered foreign films. I`ll never forget the time I brought my Dad to The Princess Theatre to watch our first and last art house film together. The Last Emperor. It was a fantastic movie; it won all sorts of Academy Awards that year…very lush, beautifully filmed. Just when it got to the most important part of the movie and everyone was enthralled, a noise like a thousand chainsaws let loose…..I looked over and there was my Dad, his bag of popcorn tipped all over his lap, his head bent right back, his mouth wide open…..snoring like he hadn`t slept in 10 years. I whispered his name really loud and elbowed him awake….he snorted and swung his head around saying "what, what….is the movie over….lets go for a beer." The whole theatre, including the movie snobs, laughed aloud.
My Dad just woke up for a bit. I put a hot cloth and some cream on his face and then got him to drink a few ounces of thickened liquid. He isn`t eating solid foods any more. His only nutrients come from Ensure or Boost but it is too sweet and he makes funny faces. I tried to get him to have some soup the other day. He only took 2 spoonfuls. I told him that if he didn`t eat he would get sick and die. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes and said "I know." I died a little inside.
Dad is tired today. The nursing staff just came in and turned him. A pillow supports his bent legs. There is also a folded bed sheet placed between his knees to prevent any sore spots from developing. His skin is very delicate, like tissue paper. All his muscle mass is gone. All of it. He looks like a skeleton. His false teeth are too big for his mouth now and since he is not taking any solid food it is safer to leave his teeth out. Because of that his tongue hangs out of his mouth a bit when he is sleeping. He takes deep breaths when he sleeps. I love him so much.
This is one of those days that leaves me feeling so helpless. For the past 3 days my Dad had been alert and engaged. When I got here for the first time on Saturday I asked him how he was and if he was comfortable. He looked at me with his toothless grin and said `Everything is perfect just the way it is`. He even called me by my name. Today he is fast asleep. So weak that he can`t even lift his arm. I look at my Dad and I see the future and there is nothing pretty about it. We spoke to one of his doctors last night, trying to get some idea of how things are going to play out. No one can tell us anything because no one can predict what is going to happen. All we know is that the doctor told us we have many more bridges to cross. All we know is that Buzz will soon be dead. Every fibre of my being wants my father to stay strong until the dementia takes him completely. I do not want him to die from something like pneumonia or an infection. For the first time in this horrible disease, I want my father to fade away peacefully. He has been ripped from us so aggressively, please God….just let him have some peace.
My horoscope today says "We can't change what has happened, but we must now move ahead with a renewed sense of purpose." I am going to do that. My sense of purpose is to make sure my Dad knows that I love him more than anything and that there is nowhere else I would rather be than right beside him. I wish I could be beside him every day until he dies. I do not ever want to let go of his hand. I really do not want to cross any more bridges, but for him I will.