rieved several times in my life. It's generally been after a
loss. This time, it's different. This time it feels like I'm
mourning in advance. Maybe it's better this way?
My father-in-law
is dying. I don't mean in the sense that we are all dying from the moment
of birth. I don't even mean in the sense of having been diagnosed with a
terminal illness. Though both of these are true. I mean he is
actively in the process of dying. His organs have started to shut down.
He is no longer lucid. Essentially, we are waiting for him to
breathe his last.
I'm not very close
with him. Then again, I'm not very close with many people period -
relatives or otherwise. But I was always fond of him. When I met
him 16 years ago, I immediately liked him. I didn't worry about being
judged by him. I was new in my relationship with Alex, and very
self-conscious about how I came across to his mom and sister in particular.
Latinas, let's just say, intimidated me.
But when I met
Henry, he was this short little Central American Indian man with long, black,
wavy hair down half his back. Always smiling. He had a bit of a goofy
demeanor about him. He moved a bit like a little kid that couldn't sit
still. He always seemed happy and excited.
The first conversation
I had with him, he explained to me that in spite of having never formally
adopted Alex and his sister, he always thought of them as his own. He
came into the picture before Alex and Marilena reunited with their mother in
the United States. He and Alex's mom had a son together, Ritchie.
They were still seemingly in love and happily married when I met my
in-laws. Sadly, by the time Alex and I got married four years later, his
parents had split up.
On one of our
visits back to Florida, home base for my in-law clan, Henry insisted on
introducing Alex and Marilena to some buddies of his. I remember staying
in the car and waiting - we were en route somewhere, and I generally get
traumatized by meeting strangers. Henry was practically bursting with energy
and jumping rather than walking as he corralled his two grown kids into the
friends' house.
Over the years,
Marilena moved up closer to us, followed by their mom, and finally Ritchie.
It seemed strange that the issue of Henry's homelessness just sort of
crept into my consciousness as one of those things that is a sad reality but
not really something I could do anything about. A few years ago, Alex and
Marilena split the cost of sending Henry back to their native country of El
Salvador, where he got to visit his mom. He had a falling out with his
brother since I met him, and apparently he wasn't close to his sister either.
Last year, Henry
finally agreed to leave Florida. Alex made the road trip to get him, and
Henry moved in with Marilena. I remember seeing him for the first time in
many years - and having Maya meet him for the first time ever - at a cousin's
baby shower. He was like I remembered him, for the most part, though
clearly much less enthused than before. Perhaps he was ashamed of having
spent a decade living on the streets? Perhaps he was just nervous about
trying to fit back into the family again?
Then Maya turned
one, and Henry was there. In fact, Maya has a cute photo of herself on
Alex's lap, with both her grandfathers - my dad and Henry. Soon after
that, Alex's brother got married - this January, actually. I insisted on
getting a photo of Maya with both her paternal grandparents, even though they
weren't on speaking terms. Thankfully, both agreed. The photo shows
Alex holding Maya, and his mom decked out on one side, while Henry - in the
usual style I remember, stepped up behind Alex and leaned onto his shoulder in
a sort of peak-a-boo pose.
At the wedding
reception, Maya and I sat with Henry for a bit and had one of our awkward yet
friendly conversations. I - trying to speak Spanish yet ever
self-conscious about it, Henry responding in English to ease my stress.
At one point, he told me that he was very sick. He put his index
finger to his lips and shushed as he asked me not to tell his kids. I
didn't really make much out of it. After living on the streets for a
decade, struggling with alcoholism and isolation from family, and the resulting
lack of regular medical care, it was no secret that he needed some medical attention.
Alex had already told me as much. But it seemed that he was talking
about something much more dire. He seemed to have a keen awareness of where he
was on his life's journey.
Soon, Henry was
working again, his son-in-law bought him a car. He got a taste of
normalcy again, it seemed. But none of this lasted very long. A few
months ago, on Marilena's birthday no less, Henry was diagnosed with throat
cancer. Apparently, it had been weeks since he was able to comfortably
eat anything.
At first, the
conversations Alex and I had centered on trying to stay positive.
"Let's not jump to conclusions" we would take turns saying.
Nonetheless, Alex wanted to "prepare for the worst but hope for the
best", as he researched funeral arrangements.
It didn't take
long - maybe a week, maybe two - to find out that Henry's cancer had spread.
First to his back, then to his brain. He had his first chemo
therapy by then, so we kept thinking that as long as there's treatment, there's
hope. But once the cancer spread to his brain, we had to face the reality
of Henry's situation being terminal.
We didn't know how
much time he had. It could be six months, maybe more, maybe less. I
remember asking Alex to remind me when Henry's birthday was. When he said
it was April, my thoughts rushed around trying to figure out if he might live
to his next birthday or not. Part of me hoped so, yet part of me was
doubtful.
Marilena took on
full responsibility for caring for him. He of course quit working and
driving. The first time we visited after his diagnosis, when we came in and he
approached the door to greet us, I was struck with how much he had changed.
He had lost a lot of weight, and it showed very drastically in his face.
He wasn't oblivious to it either. Seeing Maya's resistance in
greeting him, he noted that it must be because he's so skinny in the face, that
she doesn't recognize him.
I knew Alex would
be back and forth between our state and where his dad was living, taking his
turn escorting him to doctor visits. But I didn't anticipate many more
visits for myself and Maya. I saw that visit as a goodbye visit, although
we would actually see him several more times.
I managed to get a
photo of Henry with just his two granddaughters. There was a kickboxing
bag on the patio, so I hid behind it and held Maya sitting on top. Then
her cousin and Henry stood next to it. He wore a hat hiding a big bump on
the top of his head. It wasn't clear to me if this was a visible sign of
the brain cancer, or something else entirely.
Shortly before we
left, I reheated Maya's mac-n-cheese to feed her on the way back. Henry
followed me into the kitchen, asking what I was making. Having forgotten
that he hasn't eaten over a month by this time, I just brushed it off as
nothing much. But he persisted, looking around my shoulder to see for himself.
I told him macaroni, and then realized what Alex later told me - that he
was living vicariously through us by his interest in what we ate.
I knew that every
time I asked Alex where he learned to be so kind, so laid-back, so flexible, so
generous, he would always say "my dad". Now that it became
increasingly clear that Henry's time on earth was limited, I thought this was
something he should know. I was terrified of broaching the subject
myself. It was already an emotional topic, the circumstances of it were dire,
and I wanted to relay the information in Spanish. As Henry walked me and
Maya out that day, when we were getting ready to go home, I got a burst of
courage and I started.
I stopped once or
twice to collect myself, as Henry patiently waited for me to get to my point.
He may have teared up a little, but it was clear that he had made peace
with the fact that his time was coming to an end. He smiled, pointing and
looking up to heaven, referencing God, and said that he's ready. I said
that I didn't know if Alex had every shared this with him or not, but that I
wanted to make sure he knew what a role model he had been for him. His
facial expression when I said this told me that I had done the right thing in
braving through.
I quickly
commented on his earring, which I hadn't noticed before. He had just
gotten his long hair cut, in anticipation of going bald from chemo, and gave it
to his son Ritchie. So I also tried to show Maya his short hair, trying
to point out how Abuelo may look different than she remembers him but he's
still the same Abuelo.
I suggested that
on his next visit to see his dad, Alex would tell Henry himself what I had told
him. He did, and he later texted me that his dad just lit up upon hearing
it. I'm sure hearing it from his own son was much more meaningful than
hearing it second-hand from his daughter-in-law. Now he had heard it
twice, so I was confident that he knew he had made a positive impact on the
world. Not that he doubted that. I don't know, I don't think so.
After all, he seemed at peace. But when I put myself in his shoes,
I thought that this was exactly the kind of reassurance I would have liked and
needed to hear.
The next time we
visited, Henry not only looked weaker but seemed to be weaker. Henry only
got up to go use the restroom. To do so, he needed to turn off and unhook
his feeding tube. Alex helped him so that it would stop leaking. He spent
most of the time of our visit on the sofa, watching Univision. He and his
ex-wife (my mother-in-law) had recently made some sort of peace. He
agreed to let her care for him, which was a big step. Earlier, he only
consented to speaking to her on the phone. He must have not wanted her to
see him in his frail condition. Yet here they were, in the same room,
exchanging normal friendly conversation. She looked at the show he was
watching and asked if he preferred it to the other Spanish-language channel,
Telemundo. He said yes, that there were only telenovelas (soap operas) on
the other channel. Perhaps something got lost in translation, as the show
he was watching on Univision seemed like a telenovela to me!
Maya didn't want
to give her Abuelo a hug or a kiss, not even a high-five. It broke my
heart, though I understood that she wasn't trying to be rude. She was
genuinely shy of the strange-looking guy who didn't resemble the Abuelo she had
met the year before. She wasn't even two years old yet, after all.
It was a lot to ask her to be extra nice to her Abuelo. She did go
get some ice for him when I tried to convince her to show some sort of interest
in him because he was sad. She took that to mean that he had a boo-boo.
She led me to the fridge, had me open the freezer and take out the ice
stick, and she brought it ever so tentatively and pointed it in the direction
of Henry. I suppose I should count that as a success.
It was during this
visit that Alex started to formulate a plan to show Henry the ocean one more
time. He had loved the ocean, and Alex saw an opportunity to bring the family
together again, the way they were before their parents split up, before the
kids each went their separate ways.
In spite of
sensing the urgency of the situation, it still took two weeks for the weekend
trip to take place. Henry was getting his second chemo treatment the
morning before his daughter drove him to meet the rest of us at Virginia Beach.
It had been delayed because of various problems in the interim - an
infection and the need to replace his feeding tube, a fall that resulted in
stitches on his eyebrow, a fever that had to be controlled before he'd be
cleared for chemo.
Alex, Maya, and I
were the first to arrive Friday evening. Alex booked four rooms on the
beach, with ocean-views. Thank God he did. Henry was very frail and
weak post-chemo and due to the meds he was on to control his nausea. He
no longer walked on his own; his daughter rented a wheelchair from the
Walgreens across the street.
It was no surprise that Alex's brother had another falling-out
with his bride. The point of this weekend trip seemed to have been completely
lost on her. She wanted Ritchie to go to work instead of coming on the
trip. I remember saying to Alex, "doesn't she understand the gravity
of the situation? The point of this trip?" I was very upset,
assuming that Ritchie would do what his wife wanted instead of being there for
his dad, but I was pleasantly surprised. Marilena picked him up straight
from work and he came as he was. He watched his dad both nights and during
the days as well, giving Marilena a little break. Considering that he was
facing losing his dad and possibly his marriage all at once, he held up pretty
well.
Friday evening was the last time I exchanged a greeting with
Henry. We had adjoining rooms, so when he and his two other kids were sitting
on the balcony with him, I came out with Maya and we waved and said "hola
Abuelo". He looked at us and I'm pretty sure I saw a faint smile
across his face. During Maya's two hour nap, Henry was taken for a nice walk
with the family. Alex texted me a photo of them on the boardwalk.
But later when we brought him a strawberry slurpie to the room, he was
asleep, and his ex-wife was caring for him. She had brought her
boyfriend, who was relaxing on the other bed, watching TV. I was struck
by the strangeness of the situation. I don't know if I was projecting my
apprehensions onto Henry, or if he actually felt the way I imagined he did,
having his ex-wife there with her boyfriend. Maybe it's a cultural thing.
At any rate, Maya
and I sat down for a quick second upon Abuela's insistence. I was worried
that Maya had sucked all the flavor from the slurpie on our way back to the
hotel. She wouldn't let up until we let her hold it, and in the elevator
we noticed the ice was more pink than the original red. I looked over at
Henry, sleeping with his knit hat on, under the covers, mouth slightly ajar and
the spaces between his teeth reminiscent of tiny caverns. He looked
familiar in an eerie way. He didn't look like himself. He looked like
what I imagine everyone looks like when approaching death. He had aged
tremendously in the past few months. No one would guess he was only 55.
I left the room
keenly aware that something had changed on this weekend. I wasn't sure
how much it was discernible to the rest of the family, but I knew that Henry
was dying. I thought about the timing of this trip, and how it came not a
moment too soon. I thought about how this was probably his last week on
earth.
That evening,
after Alex, Maya, and I went to mass, the family - minus Henry and Ritchie -
went out to eat. It was my birthday. I got gifts, I was sang to, I
got dessert. What a strange juxtaposition, I thought. On one hand, I was
sad that Henry wasn't with us. On the other hand, I was relieved he
didn't have to be tempted by all the food he couldn't eat. He hadn't been
able to eat not because of some dietary restrictions. He physically
couldn't eat. Food would inadvertently go down his esophagus and into his
lungs instead of his stomach. The cancer was blocking the correct tube -
hence the need for his feeding tube.
The next morning,
we took family photos. I'm pretty sure everyone knew this was the last
time we would be taking a family photo of everyone together like this.
All three siblings, both parents. I tried again to convince Maya to
say hello to Abuelo. Give him a kiss. Give him a hug. Give
him a high five. Sit on his lap on the wheelchair. Nothing. She
recoiled and buried her face into my shoulder. Under normal circumstances, I
wouldn't have even tried to push her past her comfort level. Since birth,
Alex and I agreed that we would respect her boundaries regarding whom she
wanted to greet and how. At least while she was a baby. But these
weren't normal circumstances, and I couldn't help but feel badly on account of
Henry. It must have felt like a rejection for his little granddaughter
not to want to sit on his lap.
Technically, in
Maya's defense, she did do her little "dinosaurio growl" that she
started doing that week as a way to break the ice. She didn't feel too
shy to say "dinosaurio" and put up her hands like a little T-rex
while growling and laughing at perfect strangers. Generally, the adults
responded in kind, and everyone got a good laugh out of it. But this
time, she said it so softly, that only I heard her, by virtue of holding her up
and having just suggested it to her and therefore watching to see if she'd
comply. It didn't seem that Abuelo heard her. Or maybe he did but
not having the benefit of the context, didn't get what she was doing. She
wouldn't do it a second time.
We all left the
hotel in our separate cars at roughly the same time, with the intention of
stopping on the way home to have lunch together. So it didn't even cross
my mind to say goodbye to anyone. In the car, Alex told me that his dad
had said he's waiting for Maya to come around and give him a hug. I
didn't know if this meant he had hope of being around until she did, or if he had
just said that for Alex's benefit. To be honest, the very first thing
that came to mind was an image of Maya wrapping her little arms around an urn
with Henry's ashes in it. After all, once on the other side, Henry won't
be bothered by her toddler slights. He won't remember any of the
suffering or sadness from his earthly life. He'll be in the presence of
his Maker, and no joy or peace that we know could compare to that. But for now,
I worried about how he felt.
A few hours into
our journey, my mother-in-law notified us that they'd wait until they were home
to eat, in order to have Salvadoran food. It was completely out of the
way for us, as we had an additional hour and a half traffic-free and on the
highway once we passed their exit. And so no goodbye joint lunch took
place.
Alex was planning
on taking his dad to a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, but Monday he got a
frantic call from his sister. Somehow, it came to her awareness that the
doctor's office "tried to contact" Henry with the results of his pre-chemo
bloodwork. His calcium levels were very high, and he was urged to go to
the emergency room. This was apparently a voice mail left on Henry's cell
phone Friday. At first, I joined in the grumbling about how idiotic it
was for them to leave a message with such urgent information and not bother
looking in his chart to see that they were supposed to be contacting Marilena
directly. But then it occurred to me - had they done that, this beach
trip wouldn't have happened. Not this past weekend, and not ever.
As it turns out,
excess calcium in the bloodstream is related to one's bodily organs beginning
to shut down. And upon Monday's examination, that is precisely what
started to happen. Marilena was overwhelmed with grief and shock and
exhaustion from trying to care for her dad while also working and parenting her
daughter. Henry started to separate himself from reality. He
stripped down to his birthday suit at home, and again later at the hospital,
that time also pulling out his IV. When Alex arrived there close to
midnight, he confirmed that Henry was no longer lucid.
Over the weekend,
Henry was already showing confusion as to where they were going and the like.
I had assumed it was the brain tumor affecting his memory. And
maybe it was. But just two days later, he was simply not Henry anymore.
As it stands now,
Henry is expected to be moved to a hospice tomorrow, to spend his last days
there. His doctor doesn't expect him to live past Friday. And while I
normally try to take doctors' life expectancy guesses as that - guesses, under
the dire circumstances, I don't doubt it. And considering Henry's poor
quality of life right now, I don't think it's a bad thing either.
Essentially,
Henry's mind has already checked out. He's been ready to cross over for a
while, and he was at peace about it. Really, these last few days of
waiting for Henry's body to completely shut down are a strange transition
period for his family, time for us to slowly come to terms with the immediate
inevitability of Henry's death.
Last night, before
Alex left to go be with his family, I texted a bunch of people requesting
prayers. I was vague except with the few people who responded asking for
specifics. Within an hour or so, over a dozen people had confirmed that
they were praying. Some didn't know what they were praying for, a few
did. It gave me a strange sense of spiritual awareness as I envisioned
their prayers being lifted up, united with each other, traveling to surround
Henry, Alex, and his siblings and mom.
I don't know how
intercessory prayer works, but I do know that it is helping me - a mere
bystander really, as the non-native Spanish speaking distant daughter-in-law -
to make MY peace with the coming death of my father-in-law. What I also
hope it will do is turn Henry's death into something positive in terms of
Alex's family. I hope it will bring them closer together again. But
I also hope it will bring each of them closer to God. Perhaps once Henry
crosses over, he can start working on that himself :)
(Go here for Part Two of Henry's Crossing Over: http://holinessnotperfection.blogspot.com/2015/10/meeting-his-maker.html)
No comments:
Post a Comment