Throughout these months of my father's devastating illness, my mother has maintained a steadfast belief in his recovery. In the days and weeks following the cardiac arrest and the catastrophic ensuing events, my mother remained at this bedside, holding his hand, caring for him, documenting every sign of improvement, celebrating every tiny victory and reminding Dad that he promised they would live together forever. We all prayed for God's healing touch. Every night, Mom begged God to heal him. And to us, she'd state she couldn't live without Dad.
My parents have been married just shy of 50 years. They met at church, when he was a penniless student, and she was starting her nursing career. My parents never really talked much about their courtship when we were young. The story of how my dad took her for a walk to a cafe for their first date where they shared a glass of orange juice (very expensive in post war Korea, my dad always pointed out) varied a little with each re-telling. My mother's family was dead set against the idea of her marrying a student, and only son of a widow when there were more attractive prospects for my mother. My dad persisted though. He was a dreamer and an idealist. So even though he was leaving for Canada on a scholarship, he asked my mother to marry him. As per tradition, he also asked her parents, three times, for my mother's hand in marriage. And was flatly denied three times.
With a plane ticket in his hand, my mom and dad got married, aided by my paternal grandmother. The ceremony was moved up by an hour so my maternal uncles couldn't stop the wedding. Dad got on his plane and the wedding feast with an absent groom was held.
My parents started this marriage separated by an ocean. Mom immigrated to Canada two years later. Dad earned his Master's degree from the University of Windsor, and I was born a few days after the convocation ceremony.
Over the years, they added three more children to their family. My paternal grandmother lived with us, helping to care for us and parent us. Throughout their marriage, my parents were separated by distance. My dad took on teaching positions in St. John's, Halifax, and Korea. We remained in Windsor, and saw Dad when he was visited monthly. Then he decided to answer God's call and studied theology at the University of Toronto. And during his career in ministry, there was more separation when Dad took on a pastoral charge in Vancouver.
Throughout these separations, my parents' marriage remained strong. I have no doubt it was difficult for my mother, raising children whilst working full time as a nurse. My grandmother certainly was an integral part of our lives, caring for us, waking us, walking us to school when mom's shifts prevented her from being present at home.
As difficult as those years must have been, these past 12 weeks have been, understandably, the most trying for mom. Every week, she has had to adjust her visions for the future. In the beginning, it was enough to be grateful Dad was still with us. We believed he would recover and come home in a few weeks. Then we learned about the anoxic brain injury, and worried about paralysis. Mom's expectations adjusted. Life with a wheelchair if he was paralyzed was envisioned. She pictured herself wheeling Dad in autumn to meet his newest grandchild. Then we learned he had lost his eyesight. Dad loved to read. Mom's dreams once again adjusted to take on this challenge.
Dad had a tracheal tube inserted. We adjusted to a future where we wouldn't hear his voice. More heartbreaking was the knowledge that Dad would never sing again.
When it became clear the brain injury affected his ability to swallow and a feeding tube was required, Mom took this in stride, wallowing in her disappointment only briefly. As in many families, our celebrations revolved around big family dinners, late midnight snacks, and relishing a good bottle of wine. It was more important that Dad was still with us. Living out their retirement at home or a condo once again adapted to one in a nursing home or long term care facility.
His spirit and determination to recover remained as steadfast as Mom's. Dad never once complained of, or indicated he was in pain. But the various infections proved too much for Dad's weakened state. The medical doctors counselled on the grim prognosis.
Mom struggled to accept and finally make the decision to pursue palliative care for Dad last week. His wish was to come home. Understandably tormented, there were many many tear filled conversations amongst us. Unfortunately, Dad began to deteriorate before we were able to fulfill his wish. The doctors had warned us three days ago he only had hours to live, but he hung on.
As Dad lays in his hospital bed, his breathing labored, it's becoming evident we don't have much time left with him. His four children and his true love are gathered around his bed. We share our memories of Dad, gently tease each other, laughing and relishing the love. Sometimes I'd think he's hanging on because he wants to be part of the fun.
We gather, and we gently clean him. Wiping off the sticky residue from the various bandages. Massaging lotion into his arms and legs, rubbing his feet. Shaving his face, smoothing cream onto his cheeks. Cleaning his mouth. Adjusting his bedding. Everything. We talk to him. We tell him we love him. We thank him for being the wonderful loving father and grandfather he has been. Though he grew up without a father, he tackled and conquered fatherhood, leaving us with a legacy and big shoes to fulfill as parents ourselves. Even now, we're learning of the special treats he would share with each child separately. I never knew, until a few days ago, that Dad would bring home chocolates for my youngest sister on the sly, and then hide the wrappers at the bottom of the garbage can so no one, including Mom, would be none the wiser.
We cling to him, taking turns to hold his hand, stroke his forehead, gently massage his feet. But his response is only for mom. Only when Mom holds his hands and tell him she loves him, does he turn towards her voice and nods. I can't bear to watch. The love between them is overpowering. Growing up, I hardly ever saw them display affection in public. Rarely did I see them hold hands. But there was never a doubt my parents loved each other with every fiber of their being. It was evident in their actions, their teasing and the sacrifices they made for each other. My mother took up piano a few years ago, long after sacrificing to provide music lessons for all of us. Last year, my dad purchased a grand piano for her. So she could practice on the best.
I don't think Dad is ready to be parted from Mom, his life long partner.
