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| SOME LESSONS TAKE A LIFETIME TO LEARN by William Howard |
Growing up in a family unit of two parents and five children I was the middle child. My father enlisted in the Navy after graduating high school in 1948. My mother went to a Catholic girls’ grade school, then eventually Marian College. In 1952 Dad would marry the love of his life. Soon after they married they had a son they named Patrick. Patrick passed away at his birth almost immediately. But Mom and Dad were determined to begin a family. Children came into their world in 1954, 1956, 1958, 1960 and 1962. This would be our family. The best thing we had was each other. It’s still the best thing the rest of us have today.
While Dad worked to support us and keep the roof over our heads, Mom stayed at home and dutifully took great care of us children as we entered the world every two or so years. In the days of the early 1960’s I can remember simpler times, barely any television and plenty of a.m. radio. And I do remember both of my parents smoking. In those days smoking advertising was commonplace and there were no second thoughts about the dangers. Everyone smoked on television, in public places, it was everywhere. There was no such thing as “no smoking.” It’s something that everyone did and everyone accepted it. I never picked up the habit, but as most teenagers do (or did back then) I tried it once, had a bad enough experience that I convinced myself that it wasn’t for me. Getting older was a long way off for me then, and today at 48 years old I’m very glad I didn’t keep the habit.
However, heart disease runs in my father’s side of the family, but thanks to advanced medical science much of this disease can be treated if not eliminated. My father was a moderate beer drinker, and would go to his hangout, the Knights of Columbus, where he would fraternize with all of his friends. The K of C was a great hangout where he could enjoy his beer on the bar side, and run back to the family room where the rest of us would eat an occasional supper on a Friday or Saturday night. The best of both worlds for Dad. In 1974 Dad would have the first of his three heart attacks. The heart disease combined with the beer consumption and the smoking began to take its toll. This was a sobering and alarming period that had the family very concerned. By now the two oldest children were already gone from the home, either married or off to college. Dad was told to take it easy, lay off the beer and cigarettes, and relax. While my younger brother and I pursued music playing stuff that neither Mom nor Dad really cared for, they reluctantly let us do it, as long as it didn’t put them out. About a year or two later, and not really cutting back as much on his vices, Dad had another mild heart attack, and I can remember him waking up vomiting and cold sweating. Upon Mom’s persistence he went to the hospital, where it was confirmed. This time Dad took a less strenuous job, which worked fine for awhile. In 1977 he was two days from starting another job that was very easy on him, when, at the K of C, the band my younger brother and I were affiliated with played to a full house of my parents and all the K of C’ers, on Saturday, October 8, 1977. It was an unbelievable time. The next morning when Mom and Dad were attending church Dad had a fatal heart attack and passed away in the arms of a couple of his friends and fellow choir members. I was 19 years old, married now, and was expecting the birth of my son any minute now. This was a tough time for me. It sent my wife into labor. I was going back and forth from the funeral home crying to the hospital celebrating the birth of my son, which Dad never got to see. Cigarettes, alcohol and heart disease don’t mix. Not in 1977. Not today either.
The impact that this sudden and pretty unexpected event had on me meant several things. The first of which was, my father and son never met. One’s death was the other one’s birth. Then I felt for my father’s friends. He was only 48 years old, and his friends were among that age range. I saw the pain on their faces, as well as his own siblings and especially his own mother. I’d never seen my grandmother so heartbroken. Not to mention my mother and brothers and sisters. But I think the most profound effect this had on me was that I felt committed to help take care of my mother since suddenly she had to go on with life without my father. She still had two children left at home to care for. A year after this she decided to move back to Indianapolis, from which she originated, and her siblings lived there also. She began working for Amax Coal Industries, where she would work until her retirement in the mid 1990’s. During most of her adult life she smoked cigarettes. I have no idea how many she went through in a day, but in later years this habit began showing signs of deteriorating her health. I had lived in her house off and on between the relationships I so un-wisely chose to involve myself in. For a few years I could hear her as she would get ready for work. Of course since she had the smoking habit she would naturally smoke during this time. But mornings especially would be rough on her, as she would cough a horrible cough. It sounded like she was coughing up more than phlegm. While I always worried about her, she would always reassure me that she was fine. Deep down I knew she wasn’t. After her retirement she took the trip of a lifetime to Ireland with her sisters. I’ll never forget the joy she got out of that trip. I think it was one of the best things she ever experienced in her 71 years.
In 1997 Mom had been advised through visits with her doctor that she was at the beginning stages of emphysema. In typical Mom fashion, she remained optimistic, confident and reassuring to others. The doctor had explained to her a procedure that would involve surgically removing some of or all of, the troubled areas, but Mom decided that it would be too invasive, not to mention wipe her out financially and physically. But the doctor’s order of stop smoking, live longer rang loud and clear. So after all those years Mom had to try to kick the habit. Since she was retired she began a crocheting hobby, and was a loyal People’s Court and Judge Judy viewer. Law and Order was also a favorite. Meanwhile my brothers, sisters and I went about living our lives, but always continued to look after Mom. For awhile she was still driving herself around and living an otherwise normal life. In 1999 Mom’s health was slowing her down physically, but not her spirit. She was involved in physical therapy for pulmonary patients at Community East Hospital. However, it was short lived, because it actually wore her out instead of make her stronger. I can remember running into her there one time while I was doing a courier run for my company. She was on her way out and looked absolutely drained. I offered to go fetch her car and she was relieved. I could see she wasn’t enjoying physical therapy, and she had a hard time admitting it. Remember she was optimistic and strong willed. Not long after this, on New Years Eve I believe, she had a dramatic shortness of breath episode. One of her sisters was visiting, and paramedics were called. Upon giving her oxygen, she regained her breath and settled down. This was the beginning of the end. For a couple of months it was debated whether or not she should be placed on oxygen. It took only one more breath shortness episode when it was decided to place her on oxygen. This time the doctor said the emphysema had advanced significantly. I swore I had walked into her house a couple of times to the smell of a freshly lit cigarette that had been extinguished. It’s as if she was watching out the window for someone to show up. It was a pretty sad feeling to see the addiction have such a hold on her. Especially after it took years ravaging her health. Back in the day everyone did it; this was the time to pay for it.
At any rate Mom began her dependency on oxygen, which of course weakened her physically, but mentally she still had all her capacities. She also still had that lightning fast backhand she used to keep us all in line! Mom would enter the hospital with complications a few times during these few years, and they'd "fix her up" as best they could and released her to us. During these years my brothers and sisters and I were reinforcing our family unity. We kept Mom busy with whatever she wanted to or could, do. We never thought twice about taking her anywhere possible. My older sister began devoting her own life to the well being and care of Mom, and she continued balancing her career during the week and driving up to Indianapolis from southern Indiana on practically every weekend. She was also taking over Mom’s finances, doctor scheduling, and she eventually became power of attorney. Soon Mom became accustomed to using a wheelchair with one of us doing the honors of pushing her. She continued to hold her head up high and proud, despite the visible tolls this was taking on her. She continued to gain the respect of others, and anyone who came in contact with her became positively affected by her mere presence. Meanwhile we were all hurting inside because we were forced to watch her deteriorate slowly right before our eyes. Only it took four years. The doctor told her back in 1999 she had six months to live. As much as she understood her fate, as did we, we did what anyone would do. We made her life as comfortable and enjoyable as possible. She actually loved being taken to places like Lowes to shop for ceiling fans and other things for her home. She spent her later years investing into her house to make it nice for herself and whomever after she was gone. I happen to be the one who’s enjoying what she put into the house. I can’t go a single day without realizing what she put into where I live. There’s never a day that goes by without thinking about her several times. She never lost her desire to go shopping, and I got to take her out to pick out what would be the final Christmas tree she would ever enjoy. Aside from being cooped up when it got too cold, she spent quite a few weekends out and about, anywhere from Walmart to downtown restaurants. In fact between her friends and relatives she’d often get worn out. Her spirit and drive never waned; just her physical abilities.
In the final months of her life she slowed down, as one would expect the awful disease of emphysema would do to a person. She had been in and out of hospice programs about three times. But again, her determination and fighting spirit prolonged her life while beating incredible odds. She flat refused to let go, and this went on until the very end. But what an experience caring for her was for the rest of us. We learned quite a bit about what to expect as time progressed. We continually supported one another while juggling our own lives and jobs simultaneously. We grew incredibly close to one another, especially when it was imminent. We all had broken hearts in this. Mom called us in to her room a few times towards the end to once again reassure us. I think she was getting good looks at us. She gave each one of us the chance to let her know how she did as our mother. I'd never had such a tough time trying to put something into words, because words couldn't express how I felt. I still can't do it. But I can still feel it. Thinking back on it now is both painful and surreal. By that time she was suffering, and we just wanted it to be over for her sake. It was cruel to witness the end despite everyone's insecure smiles and optimism. Half the time we never wanted to let go, yet the other half we begged for her to be taken. Mom had incredible dignity and we respected that up to the last minute. In fact we still do. We also granted her wish and let her live out her life among her family as opposed to a facility elsewhere. Something about being home makes it a warmer environment. It makes the experience much easier yet less 'clinical,' and once again, it reinforces family bonding. It's a peaceful time in peoples' lives.
The most important things in life involve love and family. Life is too incomplete to live without one or the other. If parents raise their children in a home filled with love, values and morals, the children will pass them along. I came from a generation where the parents remained married and in the home. While my father was taken at a young age, it taught me to help take care of my mother along with my siblings, literally up until the day of her entering Heaven. If I could offer any advice here, I would suggest that people continuously remain positive, upbeat, optimistic, and offer comfort. The most important thing is to be there for the person. Share the care duties with relatives, friends, etc. And try to continue with life as normal as possible for the sick one. They’re looking for normalcy, just keep it that way for them. Never let it take a toll on you. It can wear you down and actually cause stress among family, which is normal. But afterwards you’ll quickly realize there’s no better support group than each other.
(story submitted by William Howard) |
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