Home again, home again . . . Wow. Now that I’ve taken a short break after writing so much for so many days, I’m having a hard time remembering where I left off. Just before I left Jacksonville, I scrolled down through my Facebook page and was surprised by how many posts I made during this journey. I was also somewhat abashed at having revealed so much about myself, but oh well. The first one was all the way back on Father’s Day. That seems like ten years ago now. I think I may have said in the comments beneath one of the posts, but I spent Tuesday night at my sister’s house. That was the first time I had left my father-in-law’s side for more than a few minutes in nearly three weeks. Saying goodbye that day was far more difficult than leaving town yesterday. We were both afraid, because we knew that if it didn’t work Daddy couldn’t stay in the house, which would mean the end of everything--the business, Daddy’s independence, Mike’s future. Eventually, I had to go back to Tallahassee. My father-in-law basically doesn’t like to be touched. He will tolerate a hug from a stranger, but he bristles when family tries it (the closer he is to a person, the more piercing the sentiment alarm [whoop, whoop, whoop! Danger!]). Fae says that the first hug she ever remembers was when she went off to college, and that was over in a microsecond. On Tuesday before I left for my sister’s, he took my hand in both of his and held it for what seemed like forever. Then he told me he loved me, which was tough. But then he said, “We’re bonded, you and I. Not just now, not just tomorrow, but forever.” Waterworks, etc. (thanks a heap, Maestro). He’s done that a lot in the last month. After saying for forty years, in eighteen thousand million ways, that he thinks shows of sentiment are silly, he says something obviously designed to draw tears every time I have to leave. I’ve had so little sleep that it doesn’t take much. During these past days I’ve seen him cry for the first time, been hugged by him for the first time (big bear hug and a kiss on top of the head at three in the morning after a long, long talk), heard him admit to insecurities I never dreamed he had: how sad and alone he felt being hated by Nurse, who doted on Happy (that grump? Go figure); how small and unimportant his parents made him feel; how much he misses Mama, who died five years ago. He even told me about staring at the ceiling in the barracks deep into the night, tears streaming down his face, wondering why people killed one another and whether someone would blow him out of the sky the next day (this after forty years of handing me his ‘I just rolled over and went to sleep’ jazz). There were times, especially in the first few days when things were so grim, that I flashed back to taking care of Anna when she was born. My wife had been so sick that I was the one who got up and dressed and changed the baby. Getting a grown man dressed and undressed is tough. Same problems as with an infant--the arms and legs don’t seem to cooperate and buttons and snaps aren’t automatic like they are on your own clothes. I found myself patting him on the arms once the shirt was on (there!) or jiggling his feet when I did the pants, just as I did with Anna. Daddy and I have been super close for years, but after such prolonged intimacy, we’ve moved into a different place. It feels wonderful but ominous. We wouldn’t be here if Grim Death hadn’t guided us in. I’m sure some of you read in between the lines that I was having a lot of friction with a family member, who basically lost it to the point that he pretended nothing was happening and left me to do everything. I’ve lost it before, believe me, so I know how this can happen. He has too many responsibilities and isn’t suited to his occupation, plus he has other problems that we’re finally addressing (at least, I am). We had a tense couple of days before I finally decided I couldn’t go on the way things were. I discussed this (well, ranted to) a number of my friends, which really helped. Finally, I decided I needed to talk to someone who was not directly involved, someone who knew me but would have a completely open mind about things. So, I nabbed Paul Dixon. I got the family member to give me a break and I talked to Paul on the phone for over an hour while I drove around Mandarin Sunday evening. By the end of the conversation I knew that I had to break my promise of ten year’s running to Daddy not to make waves on the subject, that I needed to confront the person in a firm but helpful way, and that I needed to make plans to come home. I had been thinking along those lines, but I was so angry that it was making it hard for me to act. And then there was the promise. Paul made me see that it was never fair to exact such a promise in the first place, and that far from keeping the peace, I was prolonging and intensifying the conflict by not demanding things be done right. It is exceedingly difficult for me to say no to my father-in-law. My mother once said, angrily, “You’d lie down in front of a train for Mr. Barwald, wouldn’t you?” TGO knows this as well as she did. Paul helped me to look realistically at Daddy’s participation in the thirteen year saga: Martin Comes Running. His manipulations aren’t malicious, just instinctive. When Fae was there on the weekend she chided me a couple of times for babying him (“He can reach for the Chapstick himself. You’re turning him into an infant.”). Got similar comments from the PT and OC guys. So, I sat the family member down, aired my grievances, received an impressive apology (we’ll see about the follow-through, but I’m hopeful that with my help he can do it). Then I called my sister. Then I worried like crazy about what would happen on Tuesday night. Guess what? The boys had a pretty decent night. Mike is a deep sleeper, so he’d hoist him up when he needed to drain some Lasix (we dropped the bottle-between-the-legs routine a few days ago after the eighteenth millionth accident and haven’t changed PJs and bedclothes in the middle of the night since Saturday) until he was finished, get him back to bed, roll over and be cranking Zs when he hit the pillow. Of course, he had to do this six times, so who knows how long he can do it and still work the next day. We don’t think it will have to be too long, because TGO is getting stronger rapidly. We’re having rails put in the room--one next to his bed so he can pull himself up at night and not wake up Mike, and two more in strategic spots. Also, the custom wheelchair will be ready on Wednesday, so he’ll be able to sit comfortably and stay out of the bed more. He still isn’t sleeping, but I’ll write a post tomorrow about what the doctor said, and all the visits and procedures we have to run through in the next six weeks. The long and short of it is that they need to get his medicines just right--relieve congestion around the heart without his BP going too low and without causing fluids to migrate to the lungs. Other than the sleeping, which might take a while to resolve, he is progressing well. He did standing exercises for the first time yesterday. He did assisted squats for PT and arm raises with weights for OC. After the squats, which were exhausting, he was beaming like a kid and we both sniffled: Daddy: I guess I really am going to get well, huh Teen? Martin: The Great One is Back! The Breakfast Maestro! The Human Dynamo! Greatest, I’m going to say I told you so over and over till you puke. Daddy: Rather have a good BM. So, I’m home now. The plan is for me to work like crazy and try to catch up (although I’ve had two long naps that were like falling into a well since I started writing this) and then relieve Mike on Friday and Saturday nights and for doctor’s appointments, which we are trying to schedule for Fridays or Mondays. I’m also now a contact on all bills, with P of A to discuss all financial matters. This makes me tired just to think about, but things won’t change unless I keep my finger on the pulse. The business could be a gold mine if run properly. A month ago it was circling the drain. I spend a lot of time each day talking on the phone, making deals, helping them decide how to pay off things. I have to talk to a lawyer next week. We have a close family friend who loves Daddy to get me started with that. Cracking a whip doesn’t feel right to me. I do think, however, that I am a good leader when I want to be. I have a knack for getting people to cooperate without insulting or browbeating them. The important thing is that I have to speak up. Daddy wanted to make a deal with his mechanic to work on my car on a buy now, pay later basis. He thought he could bark at me and make me do it, but I stood my ground. No more freaking debts. I ended up having to accept charity to get through this. If the business had been healthy, that wouldn’t have been necessary. Never again. Never. We do it my way or we don’t do it at all. I know I keep promising more stories from TGO Chronicles, and they will be forthcoming. Daddy told an old favorite last night, the one where the two boys get it into their minds to take the train to the Chicago World’s Fair in 1933. Some older boys were going (one friend, Bill Stockton, their age but much older looking, claims to have sneaked in and seen Sally Rand do her famous fan dance), so they gathered their coins and asked the folks to drop them off at the train depot downtown. The amused parents waited in the car as the boys raced to the train platform with their clothes in a sack: Daddy and Happy (excited and out of breath): We want two tickets to Chicago! Ticket Taker: You boys go on home. I ain’t about to let you on this train. Daddy and Happy: But we have money and we want to see the Century of Progress! Ticket Taker: You might have money, but you ain’t riding my train to no Chicago. Not without shoes, you ain’t. Daddy and Happy (looking down at their bare feet and then up at the man): We have to wear shoes? So, the barefoot boys come dragging their long faces back to the car where their snickering parents have been waiting the whole time. Love that one. Thanks all you dear people who have stood by me during this long ordeal. This would have been so much harder without you. Some of you gave money, which, even though I roared about it, my wife (more level-head than I) ended up taking so we could pay bills. That I needed it is going to sting for a while, but that you gave it made me feel loved and appreciated. Our honorary daughter, Ashley Nollen, started the fund and gave too much. My sister-in-law, Bonnie Rose, sent me a big check that she couldn’t afford. It flooded where she lives in Michigan and she dropped a bundle on repairs for that, so she parted with money she needed for herself. I saw where Mark Kunkle, one of the nicest people I have ever known, gave too much as well. My daughter, Anna B. Wilkes,gave fifty when she needs every penny to move to NJ, but I’m dad, so she has to take it back. Im sure there were others, but I havent looked. All I can say to everyone who contributed is that someday I’ll pay it all forward. Your gift was not only very humbling, but it also saved the day. I’m not yet at the point where I can take off work for a month and not get into trouble. I’m realizing since I got home that I’m not thirty years old anymore. Becoming fully human may take several weeks of sleeping through the night. What I write should become clearer when some of my brain cells line back up. Thanks for reading this long post. I hope it all made sense. God bless, all!
Posted on: Fri, 25 Jul 2014 19:44:49 +0000
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