That weekend in February, 1996, I drove the five hours from Hickory to McGuire V.A. Hospital in Richmond. My mom and two children in tow. We were in my burgundy Caravan; the one John and I had bought from a couple that had gone into The Way Corps.
We stayed at a woman's home in Richmond, I think where Mom had stayed before. Perhaps I also had stayed there previously. The woman rented out rooms in her home to friends and family members of patients at McGuire. Mom had always been good at finding places like that.
I was having asthma trouble at the time and was also looking at my fourth polypectomy sinus surgery later in February; I had no air passage through my sinuses - none, zip, zero - so I mouth-breathed. I may have been on some sort of steroids at that time. I also puffed inhalers regularly and took Theo-Dur, another drug to help open the lungs. Theo-Dur, one of caffeine's cousins. Theo-Dur, the drug they had to keep an eye on as I needed unusually high doses; too high could have fatal effects. Theo-Dur, the drug that helped induce anxiety and anger.
Mom was anxious and irritable on the trip; I probably was too. She acted bewildered at times. She would wear the pleasant face when around Daddy. When we would leave the hospital, she'd don a different mask. I think she was torn between guilt and bitterness. Guilt that she knew Dad couldn't come home; she couldn't continue to care for him and there were problems with the home health agency; Daddy didn't qualify for certain care or something. Bitterness because the children, me or my brother or sister, were unwilling or unable to bring Dad home and care for him. I felt guilty and torn. But I couldn't care for Dad and my children and my husband and my health and oversee Way fellowships; my husband and I had continued in local leadership positions with The Way.
It was a turbulent time spiritually with the new Way of Abundance and Power Class hitting the field for non-Corps believers; the first session for our area started the following Friday night, February 16th. Our local Corps clergy, Mike and his wife Jane, had been designated 'mark and avoid' back around September, 1995. Prior to their 'mark and avoid' sentence, Mike and Jane had been put on probation. At the time of Mike and Jane's probation, John and I stepped up to help oversee the area. We now had new Way Corps leadership that had arrived in August, 1995, and John and I were working with them helping to run fellowships.
Mom had tried to commit suicide in 1995. I found her on the kitchen floor at the time. I called 911. She was hospitalized and given shock treatments. I don't know where Dad was at the time. That must have been around the time he was doing his rendezvous between hospital and nursing home. Mom ended up in the psyche ward at the hospital and going for rounds of shock treatments. She was on a lot of medications. How many, I'm not sure. I know at one point she was on about 14 different meds, a cocktail for disaster.
Mom was now in denial about Dad not being able to come home and I didn't feel it was my place to tell Dad he couldn't come home once he was well enough. Plus I felt inept and guilt ridden too. I mean what was my excuse for not dropping my life to care for Dad? But I couldn't do it. What was my spiritual duty? Should I try to push through and care for him? But what about my husband? What about my kids? What about my health? What about fellowships? Daddy wasn't part of The Way Household, and neither was Mom.
During the visit I went with Dad to the exercise room. There were mirrors around the room, just like a regular gym. Injured vets were at various stations pumping the muscles that still worked. I watched the physical therapist work with Dad; his strength was improving. Dad had some sort of weight machine velcroed to his arms so that he could pull weights up and down.
Dad smiled and thanked the PT for his help. Dad said, "I'm getting strong enough that I can maybe go home in a few weeks, huh?" The PT smiled and nodded, "You are doing better and better." My heart sank; I knew he couldn't come home.
Mom and the kids and I left Richmond for North Carolina Sunday evening; we had arrived Friday evening. Mom never did tell Dad he wouldn't be able to come home; nor did I. I was upset that Mom hadn't told him; I was upset at myself for not knowing how to handle the situation.
The 5-hour drive back to North Carolina, Mom was angry and critical. She blamed me and my siblings for the predicament in which she found herself; unable to care any longer for her quadriplegic husband. They had been married for over 52 years. According to her my siblings and I were ungrateful for all her sacrifices; especially me, the one who had overdosed as a teenager and was into all sorts of messes as a teen, the one who had called her to pay for an abortion while on a Christian outreach program, the one who never went to college, the one who was sick all the time with asthma and immune problems, the one who had two young children that she and Dad would sometimes babysit for. On our trip back, we stopped at Kentucky Fried Chicken and she verbally assaulted the servers letting them know just how inept they were; nothing and no one was good enough.
I was glad the weekend was over.
I found out at Dad's funeral two weeks later, that he had talked to home health on Monday, the 12th, the day after Mom, the kids, and I had come back from visiting him at McGuire. That Monday home health told Dad that he wouldn't be able to come back home.
He died Friday, February 16th; the night the Way of Abundance and Power Class was supposed to start. He had fallen asleep Wednesday and never woke up; but the hospital didn't let the family know until shortly before he died on Friday. None of us could get to Richmond; roads and interstates on the east coast were closed down due to a snow storm.
I guess he had nothing to fight for, to live for; no earthly hope. He couldn't come home. I feel sure he cried. I feel sure he felt so very, very, very alone. So alone in that hospital. Alone and helpless and hopeless.
He died from congestive heart failure. A broken heart. I'm glad he was asleep.
Mike and Jane came to Dad's funeral. I thanked them; even though they were "mark and avoid."
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This is second in a three-part series:
Part 1: War Maims
Part 2: Heart Failure
Part 3: Ashes
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