Death of a parent

I know the drill too well. The patient lands in the hospital, recovers, something else goes wrong and he lands in the hospital again.
Dad has been in and out three times in a week and now they have him at a rehab center. Ugh! Its a nice way to say nursing home.

I always said nursing homes aren't gateway to Hell but you could see the front door from there.
but this blog isn't about nursing homes, its about death.

My dad and I were never close. It sucks, it isn't that he was abusive or drunk. He never drank, and i am sure he did his best with a daughter he had no clue how to raise. His mom was closed off and cold. The oldest of three brothers, dad had no real experience with how to deal with women.
He wasn't real affectionate, when I told him a hug a day was vital to mental health, he would respond with "maybe you'll get two tomorrow."
He never said where the source of the hugs would come from.

He was critical, real critical. I was already insecure and unsure of myself, add this to a birth defect that kept me alienated from my peers, and constant criticism was a devastation to me.
I went to work once and opened up to a co worker about him.
she said "It sounds like he's always knocking you. It's hard to like someone who's always knocking you."

I hate to sound like a whiner, but talking to him was like being on a job interview. I always called to wish him a happy birthday or father's day at times when he wasn't home so I could just leave a message. I tired to be closer, but the personalities just didn't mesh.

As he got older, and he was showing signs of dementia, we got along better.
I joked with my hubby and son about it.
We laugh, but they both know what I'm really saying.

We talked while he was in the hospital.
I am conveniently located out of state, so I can stay safely on the phone.
He told me he loves me, and he was really supportive of my family and our future endeavors.
Now I know how sick he really is.

Mom tells me he cries, he hates being helpless and feeling worthless.
I know the feeling.
I've called mom several times and we talk. He could on a few more years this way, but I hope death is merciful. He will die soon with dignity rather than be bed bound and sick. He is confused at times and he describes the lunch room at the home to be "creepy".
He sits next to people who say nothing for 45 minutes.

They have nothing to say. the train is about to make its last stop and they need to review their lives and get right with God, before its time to disembark.

I am calling mom a lot, as I want to support her.
Dad I hope will go to Heaven soon. I don't mean to sound harsh, but the reality is, mom is over 80 herself, and she can't care for him.

For me, I will treasure the last conversation we had. Dad was the loving father I always wanted.

The women who shape us

We try to remember none of us are perfect. We try to give those around us the benefit of the doubt, and we try not to shout WTF when someone says something so mind boggling that logical thought is blown.

Porsche is trying to raise a lady, a high class lady, not a tramp. The problem is her standards are a bit Victorian and it seems natural inclinations play no part in her attitudes.
I was 12 when i went to my brother's ball game. A really cute guy was near the water fountain and I just wanted a closer look, so I took a drink.

OMG
You would think I was offering blow jobs for a quarter. Porsche went nuts.
I was labeled a whore and told everyone saw me "chasing after" this boy.
By this time I wore a 34 B, it wasn't like dudes weren't gawking at my chest; yet, I never heard any of them get the verbal beat down.

Moving on to 8Th grade. I was vengeful, and I still say the sucker had it coming.
For months I was taunted at school. I went to the office crying, only to be told to ignore it or worse, "maybe they like you."
Perhaps the teaching that abuse equals like is what lands a person on Dysfunction Junction.
Well I had had enough.
I put my poison pen to paper.

Love letters, each more scorching than the last, made their way into the tormentor's locker.
Always anonymous and always read to his friends.
It was almost too easy.
He got a letter a day for a month before I finally signed it with a boy's name.
LOL

He called me crying.
The twerp even tried the guilt card. "I know a good Christian like you would never do that."
Bitch please.
Ten years later, he still refused to talk to me.

The down side was when I was caught reading one of the letters to my BFF over the phone.
YIKES
Evil genius is never appreciated in its own time.

The day I realized the paragon of virtue that is Porsche had a character flaw was during the LA riots. Rodney King was beaten by police and it was video taped.
Porsche was livid over the rioting and couldn't understand why people were giving the boys in blue a hard time. Don't they sacrifice for the good of the community.

I tried to explain "Porsche, did you see the video?"
In a perfect "Edith Bunker" tone she responded:
"Oh! I saw that...Why'd they quit hitting him."

The phone was silent. I was dumbfounded.
"I guess their arms got tired, Porsche."

I laugh at this now, but seriously, I 'm thinking scoping out a cute guy at the water fountain might be the lesser of these offenses.