Anybody got a plan?
I can get to Istanbul Turkey faster than I can get to Brookings Oregon and this is where my Dad and his wife have chosen to retire. It’s a quaint and lovely town full of down-to-earth folks. Artists and retired business owners sit down in cafes next to potheads and crabbers and novelists. All are welcome.
If you can get there!
Visiting there any time of year is tricky, but fall and winter particularly so. There is a teensy public airport located in nearby Crescent City. It sits on the tip of a small peninsula with a short airstrip and a propensity to attract ferocious winds and impenetrable fog. There are two flights from Oakland per day. One in and one out. it is not uncommon for a flight to get halfway to Crescent City and turn around due to reports of treacherous wind shear or lousy visibility.
Every one of us kids have been stranded on one end or the other. My sister Sydney recently got returned to Oakland and showed up the next day at six AM determined to make the morning flight. She plugged herself in getting some work done while she waited and waited and waited. The flight being delayed over and over and over again. Finally, a sympathetic stewardess tapped her on the shoulder and told her to give up the ghost. She was the only passenger left at the gate.
There are so many stories… me driving Dad and another stranded passenger to San Francisco (an eight-plus hour journey) to catch a flight to LA for Christmas. It would turn out to be the last one with our Mom his ex-wife. I have had to hire a cab to drive three hours through the mountains to Medford to fly home. Not cheap visiting the folks and it ain’t easy and here is why that matters …
They are old as crap.
Dad is ninety and Sara is eighty-four. Dad is blind and has been diagnosed with metastatic cancer. He is ambulatory though and quite determined to remain so. I long ago insisted he get a white cane because he would barrel down the street with such confidence folks could not tell that he can’t see. He still gets around, the cane a necessity now, his gait slow and less steady. When we go to the grocery store Dad pushes the cart. Admittedly we have wiped out the occasional caution cone and sent random produce tumbling to the floor, but he is still on his feet. Sara insists in driving though it worries us no end. Her short-term memory is faulty and she is easily distracted on the road. Cooking has become a challenge, potentially dangerous, and frankly a bore. Neither one of them is interested in eating much. Dad dreams about food, talks about it constantly, but only ever takes a few bites. He has lost over eighty pounds.
They are doing very well considering, It turns out that denial that thing we caution people about in their formative years as it can prevent growth, coddle addiction, and keep us from achieving our higher dreams, comes in handy at 90. The doctor: “Mr. Broderick you have cancer” Dad: “No I don’t. Sara pop the champagne!” Whether he believes it or not there was hospice to arrange, my department and the search for the holy grail of home health care. The fellow at Veteran’s affairs told me “ Well, here’s the thing I can get him approved for those benefits, but there is no one in Brookings to hire. Not a soul.”
Dang.
We have made it clear that there are papers to be signed and that the attendant trappings of this final stage of life must be seen to. My sister’s department, she has taken over the bill-paying too. This after the mortgage was paid three times in one month. They have begrudgingly agreed to our involvement.
Dad remains adamant that he does not have cancer, says that was somebody else’s blood work and MRI. He and his wife see no reason to make any sort of plan to accommodate the growing list of their frailties. They have no intention of engaging in this discussion. When their General Practitioner suggested that perhaps they should consider a senior living facility they were offended. “We are fine. That doctor just wants to make money!”
All righty then.
They have decided that not dealing with their situation is the best way of dealing with it and who am I to argue? Their lives, their choice, but it is worrisome for their children and indeed some of their neighbors. There have been falls and emergencies, many an ambulance and thank God my brother moved nearby, but he cannot do it all.
The four sisters are taking turns braving the Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of travel to Brookings.
Arghhhhhh!
There is no plan, so that’s the plan for now.
To be Continued next week … because it’s the story. The story we will all be the main characters in one day. The story of life told and retold and never finished at its never-ending end.
On we go …