When I was ten and my parents told me they were getting a divorce, the first thing I said, when I emerged from my tears of grief, was that I would need two hair brushes. I split my time evenly between my two homes and I had two of just about everything, including two sets of loving parents. It seems the universe decided now is a good moment to remind me of that time of my life because now I have a matched set of fathers in hospice as they are dying from cancer. This feels too absurd to be true, and yet it is true. The news and rapid downhill progressions happened within weeks of each other and we were processing this during our Christmas visits which needed to be flexible and adaptable. We knew that those visits were most likely the last time Sarah, Amy, and Carl would see my dad and stepfather.
My dad is the person Sarah and Amy call Granddad. Yes, THE Granddad whose picture Sarah carries in her purse and holds while she does things like the Turkey Trot. I was terrified about how hard this would hit Sarah, but instead she has surprised me with her equanimity. I’m guessing she may have more tears at some point, but mainly she has told me that she is sorry he is dying. She makes a heart with her hands, blows kisses, and tells me how much she loves him, just as she has been doing for the past three years when her attachment to him became so focused. She has also sent her prayers and love to Pop-Pop.
My stepfather is the person Sarah and Amy call Pop-Pop. His diagnosis is more recent but the prognosis for each man is not long. My dad’s death is probably more imminent but one never knows exactly how these things will go.
Sarah may remember some of her great grandparents but she wasn’t particularly attached to them. Amy doesn’t remember her great grandparents much but she fully knows what is on the horizon. I know she has her own grief about it, but she and Sarah always rushed to give me love and hugs when they saw that I was sad about the situation. It breaks my heart when I think about how different Christmas next year will be.
I felt like my brain was short circuiting a bit as we did our Christmas visits with two dying family members. I feel extremely blessed that we had those visits at all even if the time for the girls with their grandfathers was brief. Their time with Grammy and Mom-Mom was also not what it usually is because both of my mothers are in full caretaker mode, essentially becoming nurses when that was never the career they wanted.
I wish I could be in three places at once. I want to be with my dad, and I am. I intend to be with him until the end. I want to be there to help my mom take care of my stepfather, and I want to be at home with Carl and Sarah and Amy. I know this is a big deal to have me gone for an unknown period of time. Carl has been and continues to be an immense support for me, whether through offering a shoulder or taking care of everything at home.
I feel cared for by friends and family who have sent love, prayers, offers of help, and the invitation to call at any time. Carl’s family has offered any help that we need at all, which is especially important on the home front. When Carl’s dad, who the girls call Grandpa, asked what he could do to help, my main thought was “just keep being vibrant and healthy and be around my girls so they remember a grandfather can be that way.” I had a couple days at home with the girls while Carl was away for work, but before he returned I felt like I needed to get back to my dad. Grandpa and Anna covered everything with the girls outside of school and I had more family help available if backup was needed.
This time to be with my dad at the end of his life feels sacred and I an honored to be here for it. We have had moments of love and connection which would not have been possible if I wasn’t here in person.
It is a strange emotional space to simultaneously know my heart is about to break into smithereens and to also wish that moment would come swiftly because my dad and stepfather don’t want to be doing this part of their journeys. This ending for my dad is hard and painful even with hospice care. When the pain situation changes daily, all anyone can do is play catchup. Just when I think we must be at rock bottom it seems there is farther down to go.
Yesterday morning my stepmom, brother, uncle, and I all thought my dad’s death was imminent. We sat around the bed sniffling and saying we loved him and it was okay to go. Every time he would wake up he asked why it was taking so long. Then a hospice nurse came to assess the situation and informed us he probably has a few day or a week left. So here we made him think he was on the brink of death when he really wasn’t. That’s why we need professionals.
May you find the sacred spaces in the heartbreak because your heart is so full of love.
Leave a Reply