Although he doesn't suffer mentally like Mother did, he has finally been diagnosed with a mild form of dementia. He, as our grandson Briston has said, "is still Gramps in the center". His loving and outgoing personality is still there. He loves being hugged and kissed, loves travel videos and even took a ride with Peter yesterday in our new car--a Toyota Prius he delightedly calls the "gas miser."For those of you who don't know, hospice means that doctors think a person has six months or less to live.
While Dad has pulled out of every nose dive thus far (and some have been terrible and breathtaking) his time is finally coming. For the first time during this last hospitalization, he said "I'm dying." At his age, most people would say, "of course." We think, "naturally." But his spirit--the stuff that makes him Glen--is so unfathomably young that it's hard to believe. We have been lucky to keep Dad here in our little village--where natural beauty and a slow pace make life much more enjoyable for all of us. He has had wonderful care from Fijian caregivers who have wonderful and gentle senses of humor. Now, there are hospice workers and volunteers and a terrific traveling doctor who drives out here to care for him. We know he has the best of all possible worlds.
Some of you have already been through these experiences with your parents; some are like us, experiencing our parents well into old age and beyond. It is an intense experience--fraught with uncertainty (are we doing the "right" thing--are we doing the right thing for wrong reasons--are we doing the wrong thing for right reasons, etc.) with a kind of richness that is difficult (even for a poet with enormous adverbial tendencies) to express properly. A dear friend gave me two wonderful books this holiday that have really enriched my spiritual understanding of this part of life: "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion and "Gilead" by Marilynne Johnson. Both are remarkable books with fine writing. Although very different from this experience, there is a core of insight that has been a balm to me. I recommend them both.
We realize that we have been preoccuppied and distracted during these times. The focus we have given to this experience has sometimes made other family members or friends feel shortchanged. And we have ignored things that we both need in life--creative space, travel, professional development, personal endeavor and material goods that we have foregone. Still, I'm so happy we've been able to do this. As humans, we travel through life looking for the real thing--and often return to the place we started to "find it." On this journey, I've learned so much about forgiveness, compassion and happiness in the midst of great sadness and confusion. I can only say from my own experience that life is richer having made the effort.
Dad is quiet and resting. Some days are better than others. He adores his great grandchildren and is proud of his grandchildren--and keeps track of everyone from Incline Village to Dallas to London. He has a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction in life. It's a good feeling, in fact, contagious. Some days, (like our old cat Biscottini) he just likes sitting in the sun. All these things are happiness at its simplest and most complex.
As someone said to me the other day, "Life isn't a grand tour of France with a happy ending, it's a dusty caravan that continues on through storms and high winds--hopefully with love, friendship and laughter."
Credit: masonsofheaven.blogspot.com
