My father.

Dad has glaucoma. Well, he's had it for a while now. I remember when I was finishing my certification he would ask me about the circle of light around the street light or around the moon. I couldn't see it. Turns out it was happening then.

Because of this he almost went blind. One eye really doesn't do much to help his sight by now. The other, the good eye, well, that one became infected last week. He almost went blind again.

When this first happened I was angry, I was furious. My father, who left everything behind in Cuba, who (even though college educated) could not continue his studies here because his studies didn't count, and ended working warehouses and such so that he could support his family, was going blind. What a fracking rotten joke.

This man has pride, real pride, not the silly thing that passes for pride today ... the "I am better than you" bravado that some men have. This man who never let his pride rise above who he was. This man who has a quiet and confident faith that will turn out as it should, this man was going blind. He deserved a good, relaxing and joy filled retirement damn it!

Things did eventually get better. He got eye sight, mostly on one eye, and after cataract surgery he could se better than most. He was a happy man ... he could read his newspapers in peace, he could read his books and watch his TV. You could feel his joy.

My father is quiet, reserved, full of opinions, and full of questions when it comes to this new technology. My father wants to know what happened in the world every day, he reads newspapers from all over the Latin American world. Ask him about what's going on ... go on, ask him ... he will tell you. He never lords his knowledge over you, and he never makes you feel inferior. He knows who he is, and he knows who you are.

My father had a trust and confidence in me that helped me have a trust and confidence in me few could have. He knew what I could do, he knew what I should do, he allowed me the freedom to choose, to make mistakes, to learn by those mistakes and to get up and go on.

I remember when it first hit me how he does things. I was in college. I was talking with dad about school, growing up and he mentioned Colegio San José, in Río Piedras, Puerto Rico. I went there for ninth grade. It was an all boys private school ran by the Holy Cross Brothers.

It was a unique experience to go there. Oh, I got bullied as usual (was used to it by then) but I also made some friends. Anyhow, one thing I did learn about was sex. I never realized how much porn there could be in a Catholic school. Then again, it WAS an all boys school.

So, back to the conversation about school. My father kept going on about the ceremonies there, the rosary we prayed in the courtyard as a school once ... and me, being my usual college arrogant punk, decide to say "yea, but dad, did you know that I found out about porn there? Do you know how much there was?" He looked at me and said "Yeah, I knew you were ready to face that one." And let it go at that.

Shocked? Yup. Surprised? Yup. A better person from the whole ninth grade experience? Absolutely. My father had confidence in me, that I would rise above it all. Wow. Still amazes me today.

Once, when I was a manipulating little punk (I've always been a punk, by the way), he knew I was trying to get him and mom divided on something I wanted. Candy or some other sort of stupid thing. Anyhow, he looked at me in the eyes and quietly informed me that I could never be more important to him than my mom, that she came first. And I understood. He loves me, Oh does he love me. I also understood, mom is the light of his life and I could never get between them.

I told that to a friend once. She said it was horrible. I said it made me so secure in my place, in my life, in my family. It made me feel reassured, confident. I don't know how or why. I can't explain but it just did.

My father is kind of like Yoda to me sometimes. He has a confident faith that all will happen as it should and we'll deal with it then. In retrospective I can see that he was the Ying to my mom's panicky Yang. When mom became distressed about things going bad, about debts, about whatever, dad was there quietly anchoring the ship so things would be fine. If it hadn't been for him, I think we would have fallen apart some days.

Oh, that last one opens up more memories and things. But this is long enough already.

Funny, this was going to be about mom and dad and their relationship right now. Got me sidetracked on dad.

My father.

The man I could only wish I could be.

Eye troubles

About a week os so ago my father got Endophthalmitis. It is an infection IN the eye. He could have easily lost his eye. The first 24 hours were crucial. Eyedrops and antibiotics every hour, continued for 24 hours. Then more of the same after visiting the doctor for an update. Surgery was always an option.

Saving the eye was the key here. Worry about the vision later. Save the eye.

Its been a week of praying, meds, doctor visits . . . crazy. Props go to my sister who has been taking them everywhere for the last week and making sure all was going well.

So I enter into the picture. According to mom, dad is is better spirits now. He seems to be grateful that I am here.

Dad lately gives me these hugs that I can only interpret as "this may be the last hug" hug. I understand. I do.

I hate it.

I do.

As I've mentioned before, their mortality reflects on my mortality which drives me crazy. Never been a fan of death. Not even when young. The finality of it all would hit me, heart rate would go up, and I'd have to walk around the house in the middle of the night to calm down or get it out of my mind.

Anyway, we went to the doctor today. As we are driving, mom is wondering why I'm not using the GPS in my phone.

"Where's your british girl?"

The accent on my GPS is a female that I can only describe as a Marilyn Monroe type.

"I know where I'm going"

OK, first the news. Dad is doing fine, everything seems to be working out. The infection is coming down. He still "sees" floaties in his eyes ... like submarines, he calls them ... but much better. Now the meds come down to every three hours.

His left eye has compensated to the point that he can actually see better out of that eye. His right eye, is improving.

Smiles all around.

Today's funny comes courtesy of dad, who manages to see very little.

On our way to the next stop, some eye glass place, mom thought we were lost. "Marilyn" was taking us, she knew.

Mom starts the funny: "This doesn't seem right"

Me, "What do you mean?"

Mom, "I don't remember this"

Dad, "Yes, this is right, it looks right"

Picture dad, in the back seat, eyes closed, when he says that.

Its a regular sitcom around here.

Its hard to adjust to coming every so often to take care or visit or hang out or go shopping, to what my sister does ... every day. She's quite the saint for that in my eyes.

This one's for you sis.

Enjoy your time off.

Love ya.

Conversational fun

We went shopping today.

Look around here. Look around there.

The fun began when I had my GPS on my iPhone on so I could find the stores.

Let me get you started by letting you know, the voice that I have on my GPS app is female and British. Lovely voice. I think it goes back to my crush on Mary Poppins.

But that's a whole other therapy.

At times there was no sound.

Dad: "She's awful quiet"
Me: "Its a GPS app dad. Not a conversation one"
Dad: "Would be nice if she played some music"
Me: (Smart ass as always) "Would you like her to ask you about your day, the weather, your grandchildren?"
Dad: "Just saying, some music would be good"
GPS: "At the next juncture turn right"
Dad: "Welcome back"

Yes, I did roll my eyes.

One little known fact about mom is that when she gets nervous, for whatever reason, she tends to talk.

And talk.

A lot.

Nervous talk.

Mom: "Does she know where we are going?"
Me: "Yes, I told it where I wanted to go"
Mom: "Seems awful far"
Me: "Trust the technology"
Mom: "That sign said Tulsa. You sure we aren't going to Tulsa"
Me: "Is there a Macy's in Tulsa?"
Mom: "I don't know"
Me: "Relax"
Mom: "It just seems far"

When we finally got to where we had been headed all along. Well, it just suddenly became amazing, and what a great thing and how wonderful that we can do this.

Yeah, I rolled my eyes.

The rest of the day, and it seemed like a long day, went off, well, somewhat acceptably.

Shopping has always been an experience with mom. Specially if I find something I want but it may not be the right shade of some color or another that may or may not look good on me or whatever.

You'd think I would know to keep my mouth shut.

Yeah . . . not so much.

And, as always, some things that just seem to happen...
Dad: "How can I get that service?"
Me: "Its an app dad. Its on my iPhone"
Dad: "Can I get it for mine?"
Me: "Why?"
remember, dad doesn't drive, mom doesn't drive and the old lady that drives them doesn't pay attention half the time...even when she drives...SPECIALLY when she drives.

Yup, eye rolling...yup.

On the way back this one really made me laugh.

Dad: "Been to New Orleans since the hurricane?"
Me: "Wouldn't I have told you if I did go?"
Dad: "Oh, just wondering"

Yeah, I rolled my eyes.

Honestly.

Its just weird sometimes.

But that's a whole other therapy.

More old age "achaques"

Today we took dad to the emergency room. X rays showed Pneumonia. He ran out of inhaler, not that he even realized it because he kept using the empty case. So the doctor prescribed some meds and some inhaler like device to help him clear out his lungs. He also has swimmer's ear. Hell if I know how he got it.

Mom seems to be doing well. Nothing major with her, just slower than usual, and her knees hurt and she gets tired easily . . . achaques strike again.

Dad just doesn't seem to be paying attention to what's going on. He has been having a hard time breathing but kept saying he was fine, just fine. He doesn't want to face it. He seems to think that he'll get better soon.

I keep seeing them and I keep seeing me.

Me in some years but me.

Me in the future.

Still me.

Their house has spots that are clean and perfect and some that have some sort of life growing on it (like the bathroom windows).

Yeah, got that at my place. Hey! Don't judge. I am opening my soul here.

I wonder just how much of these "achaques" (see an earlier post on this) can be prevented . . . how much is inevitable . . . and how much is just part and parcel of old age.

Its hard to see those formerly strong people that guided your life, and helped you along, and even punished you, getting older and frailer.

Its hard to see the strong dad who was up for anything and working hard at all he did become a small old man who emotionally hugs you every time he sees you.

Its hard to see a strong willed mom who is still working hard at what she loves (teaching) and who presented you with so much extras in your life, become an old woman who can't stop saying your name because she is so grateful to have you around.

Part of me feels comfort.

Part of me feels sadness.

Part of me is just grateful to have them in my life this long.

No point to this. Merely sharing. Merely contributing some thoughts.

Share yours with me, will ya?

I'm tired

I came up over the Easter weekend, limited time, but I made sure to fly since the train would have eaten up a lot of valuable and possible family time.

Just once . . . just once . . . I would like a weekend or a visit without having to run errands, or pay a bill, or renew some license for the car. I joked about being Tim the tool man Taylor, but I am that and more.

The water filter is wrong. See, they don't tighten it up, so it leaks. So they need to get rid of it. Besides, I'm told, it needs a new filter. No, I explain, we got a new one in it last time I was here.

Well, we just need to get rid of this one and get another one that works.

Hell, I'll take this one back with me! I fracking bought it.

Then . . .

Today, after Service, I find out that we need to renew the license plate tags because they have expired. Why couldn't they do it earlier? Well, the proof of insurance just came in. No, the proof of insurance starts next month, this month's you have had. Dad doesn't read the dates.

So, why not ask their daughter, who lives ten minutes away, for help. Oh, she's too busy. Michael is too busy. She doesn't have the car.

Honestly, I am tired of having everything wait for me to get here so it can get done.

I am not the savior.
I am not the rescuer.
I am not The One.

I want a weekend just visiting and enjoying, not traveling, covering, buying, renewing, fixing, repairing . . . and other such ings.

Is this what getting old is all about? Parents who are so needy they don't see they have other options? Do they not see what's going on?

If it weren't for the fact that my sister and I talk quite a bit and catch up and tell each other what's happened with mom and dad, I think that it would be different. I don't think mom realizes it but she has been playing favorites for a while now.

Its pissing me off.

Yeah, I'm venting, I'm bitching . . . get over it.

So they lend the car to a friend, someone they know. A car that is NOT in their name, they gave it to me, but they lend it away. They called before someone else needed it, but not this time.

Did they check to see if they had insurance? I wonder.

Did they check to see if MY insurance covered it? No.

Did they explain how the alarm works? Doubtful.

So their friend's wife goes somewhere. The car alarm goes off.

What did she do? She had he alarm ripped off. Its sitting in the back seat of the car right now.

What good is it now? A car alarm that doesn't make noise?

Help.

I'm stuck in loony-ville.

The windmills of my mind

According to the Catholic Church, a child enters the age of reason at age seven. They now know right from wrong, are aware of what they do, and know what they do. Therefore, what better time to introduce the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

If that age is correct, and I have no reason to doubt it in any way, then I have been tilling at changing my mother for the past forty five years. Or at least I have been aware of this for forty five years.

I have quite the Quixotic challenge here. She refuses to change, I refuse to leave her alone. And so the dance goes on.

Allow me to elaborate. Today, for example, we were going to get some food for dinner. Why? Because mom was tired of the food we had. I jumped on my trusty but dilapidated steed and challenged the windmill.

We have plenty of food at home. Its silly to buy more when we have so much. (They had to take out the vegetable drawer from the fridge so they could add more food)

But I am tired of that food.

I read into that statement . . . “But I want you to have something else to eat. I know you like chicken strips. Let’s get some.”

I think I found the mistake. I am trying to interpret her statements. Give me some credit here, I have only been doing THAT for about oh . . . forty five years. I am a lousy interpreter, in case you were wondering.

A short side track here . . . I’ve been battling a sore throat and cough all day. OK, back to the game.

I bravely stood my ground and said that I make food on Sundays that I eat the rest of the week. Being single I can do that. Well, I have to do that. Hard to cook for one me.

The windmill responded by throwing a bag of potato chips onto the cart and saying that “The salt is good for your sore throat.”

Nice one mom. Nice one.

I made up my mind then. I would go and buy me a nice bottle of whiskey and make a hot toddy for my throat tonight. Better tasting that potato chips.

Its hard to change an eighty one year old’s mind. Specially when they think you are making such a huge sacrifice by merely showing up. Between you, me and Sancho Panza here . . . its not. I love riding the train and I look forward to getting away. Maybe not for this long, but I do.

I don’t know if it is a sacrifice. I don’t see it as such. To me a sacrifice is hard, difficult, tough . . . something like a Herculean task.

Yeah, like changing my mother’s mind.

Sacrifice to me is what I will be doing when I get back to the ATX. I am changing my whole diet. Going vegetarian for about two weeks and then adding WAY more veggies and fruits into my diet.

That’s a sacrifice. A needed and possible sacrifice.

But a sacrifice.

On a rather interesting note, my windmill just came to check to see if I had fallen asleep with the lights on.

What’s the big deal?

Its not good for you.

Like her falling asleep on the couch in the living room with the TV on is good for her.

See what I deal with? See my task? See my windmill?

I also see the fact that I have been tending at this windmill for quite a while now.

Dad’s another story.

He sleeps.

A lot.

Today I caught him waking up and saying mom’s nickname for him . . . “Manolín.”

I don’t know what to do about him.

He does laundry but never cleans the lint catcher. It was like padding by the time I took it out. You could have used it in clothing.

He sits next to me while I am checking out my Facebook admiring the use of my fingers when I click on this or that.

He manages to press the wrong button on their computer and away goes all the information in the computer. All of mom’s work, all the emails, email accounts, etc.

Gone. With the wind. With the windmill.

He tried to read the book I gave him and he seems to be able to do so. I tell him he needs new glasses. He knows it. That’s about the extent of it.

He just sits and watches. Doesn’t do a thing.

He doesn’t say anything to mom.

He just allows her to go through all she has to go through.

He just lets her be.

Wow.

I have a pretty wise dad.

Patience, people . . . for the Lord is laughing.

God has a sense of humor. No really. Look around. Look in the mirror. Look at what happens to you.

His funniest bit is when you ask Him for something and he puts you in situations where you will have to use whatever you asked for. Kind of like when you ask your boss for more money, and he makes you work more. Not quite what I wanted but, I get it.

Case in point: patience. If you ask for patience, He will create some interesting circumstances around you.

Walmart, haven for patience.
Elderly parents, creators of situations for patience.
Me? I felt like a frustrated innocent bystander.

Let's start with Dad deciding he likes those little electrical carts. He can walk OK. His knees give him some trouble. Just yesterday he was Speedy Gonzalez all over the supermarket. Today he is on the electrical scooter. Mom laughs it off. I'm wearing flip flops and can only imagine the possibilities.

So we are trying out a new recipe. Calls for rice. Mom gets Uncle Ben's (that's the instant stuff). Me: "Its supposed to be regular rice." Mom: "That IS our regular rice."

Commence eye rolling. I can hear God giggle.

Scene: walking by the seafood section. Me: "Catfish. That's my next challenge. I want to learn to cook it and not fry it." Dad: "Don't like it. Its farmed." Me: "Lots of fish are farmed now. Too much demand." Mom: "Its like having artificial children."

God just snorted. Heard it? I did.

Dad: "I don't like what they add to farmed fish." (Actually, I don't either. I'll buy it wild caught when I can). Me: "Mom just bought some chicken. Do you know what they add to chicken." Mom gives me her usual sad eyed look. Dad: "Yeah, but that chicken is for you."

Out loud laugh now.

I know this is funny. And if it didn't happen to me, I would think it is hilarious. Sometimes, I just feel frustrated. I don't want to be a rock that will gather moss and stay the way it is no matter what. I want to be able to adapt and change.

Only, I'm a bit afraid to ask for that.

Did you hear that? I heard a giggle.