Well I guess I can transfer myself to this section now. I cared for my wonderful Dad for almost 11 years since my Mum passed away - my Dad did 99% of the caring for my Mum and I popped in from time to time. Actually, with my Mum I should have spent about 90% more of my time not just popping in, but actually trying to help my 84 year old Father care for my bedridden Mum, but I was too self-absorbed and selfish to do that. So at least through the constant beating up of myself that took place after Mum went, I'm fairly ok that I did look after my Dad to the best of my ability. I gave up a well-paid and fulfilling career in the end so that I could devote as much of myself as I could to him. He was selfless, uncomplaining, grateful and I know he felt he was being a burden, but I never, never made him feel that way, I know that. When people told me he was lucky to have me I immediately corrected them and told them that it was ME who was the lucky one to have him. He was 95, partially sighted, had a stoma, had been permanently cathaterised and very limited mobility, but he still lived alone and managed remarkably.
After a fairly rotten 6 months following a hospital stay with a really severe UTI, Dad started to get frailer and frailer and in 12 days he had 4 falls and was eventually admitted to hospital with pneumonia and acute kidney injury. So for almost two weeks I sat and watched the life slowly ebb out of him. With his normal resilience he actually managed to fight off the pneumonia, but his kidneys just couldn't take it all. Last Tuesday afternoon he was transferred to the hospice - which was so much more peaceful and calm for us and for him. 4 hours later he closed his eyes for the last time.
So I feel rootless, heartbroken, distraught and all those other feelings we get when a loved one leaves us. There is only life or death - there's no other options for any of us. He couldn't be alive as he was so ill and even a partial recovery would have been not what he or I would have wanted. So I know he had to go.
I spent so long telling myself of all the things I was going to do when the time came, but none of them seem remotely important, exciting or even interesting now.
How on earth do people who have cared for so long carve out a new life? The thought of it right now seems immensely daunting.
After a fairly rotten 6 months following a hospital stay with a really severe UTI, Dad started to get frailer and frailer and in 12 days he had 4 falls and was eventually admitted to hospital with pneumonia and acute kidney injury. So for almost two weeks I sat and watched the life slowly ebb out of him. With his normal resilience he actually managed to fight off the pneumonia, but his kidneys just couldn't take it all. Last Tuesday afternoon he was transferred to the hospice - which was so much more peaceful and calm for us and for him. 4 hours later he closed his eyes for the last time.
So I feel rootless, heartbroken, distraught and all those other feelings we get when a loved one leaves us. There is only life or death - there's no other options for any of us. He couldn't be alive as he was so ill and even a partial recovery would have been not what he or I would have wanted. So I know he had to go.
I spent so long telling myself of all the things I was going to do when the time came, but none of them seem remotely important, exciting or even interesting now.
How on earth do people who have cared for so long carve out a new life? The thought of it right now seems immensely daunting.
