After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey. I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page. We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog. They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one.
It’s déjà vu all over again … but this time with a twist.
Today is Jacob’s birthday. He would have been 25. I spent many a night with him in the hospital. I slept in the fold out bed in his room. I helped him to the bathroom and I manned the rolling ‘Christmas tree’ (The rolling pole that held all the various instruments that monitored him and his meds. Those instruments were all lit up like a Christmas tree, hence came the derisive name). I would maneuver the ‘tree’ while he relieved himself (he would be so embarrassed for me to divulge that family secret, but what can he do about it now …. except maybe ask God to strike me down with a lightning bolt). There even times when I helped bathe him because he couldn’t allow the IVs to get wet so I would take the removable shower head and hose him down.
Now I find myself celebrating Jacob’s birthday by spending the night in another hospital room. Once again I find myself sleeping in another uncomfortable fold out bed, but this time it is beside my 90 year old father who has suffered a small stroke. I am, once again, helping with a rolling Christmas tree, but this time as dad needs assistance to and from the bathroom.
Yes, I’m having some flashbacks …. and, yes, my dad has flashed me a few times, just as Jacob did. And finding humor in dire times like these is how you survive … otherwise, the tears will overwhelm you.
But such is life for a parent of a chronically ill child or the child of an aging parent. You do what you have to do for them. Not out of obligation, though I owe my father oh so much. Not out of responsibility, though I was blessed to be the father of Jacob.
You spend nights in a hospital. You hold bedside urinals. You push ‘Christmas trees’ up and down halls and into bathrooms. You bathe adult children (and, if needed, a parent). You feed them – from ice chips to potato chips – and anything in between. You watch them suffer … and suffer for them and with them.
You do all these things, not out of obligation, not out of responsibility, not out of guilt – though all of those things apply. No, you do those things because you love them … and they love you.
So today I celebrate Jacob’s birthday and honor his life by spending the day loving my father as he recovers in the hospital.
Happy Birthday, Jacob. I love you and miss you.
Get well soon, Dad. I love you and am so thankful you’re still here to love.
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