Those Moments - 1. Those Moments

His funeral was neatly planned, organised to run perfectly to schedule, but that’s what my sister could always do well, plan and organise something.

The church was full; the only space left empty was the front pew, left for us “The Family”. There were people there I hadn’t seen in years, people he’d worked with decades ago, people whose faces I didn’t recognise, people who had certainly never visited him in his last years of life. My sister must have invited everyone he had ever known. But all these people there didn’t offer me any comfort, nor did this funeral, it simply felt like something I had to endure.

By the time the minister stood up to deliver his eulogy I felt so cut off from the whole service. The hymns and readings were my sister’s favourites, not my dad’s. The minister talked as if my dad had never been ill, talked about my dad living a “full live” until only recently – instead of the reality of his life, of being bed-bound for three years. None of it seemed to be about my dad, but about some strange man I’d never met.

My dad had collapsed in the supermarket, three years ago, with a massive stroke. He was rushed to hospital where he stayed. His recovery had been painfully slow, on my visits I hardly saw any difference in him, he struggled to hold a drink by himself. After six weeks in hospital there was barely any improvement, he could sit up in a chair but needed washing, dressing and feeding; and the hospital wanted to discharge him, the Stroke Unit needed his bed for someone who could recover. The problem was it would be weeks before we could get him into a Nursing Home. Someone would have to look after him.

My mum died ten years ago from cancer, so that only left my sister and me. My sister said she couldn’t do it because she has her own family commitments, she has a husband and three children. I was his son, unmarried and a registered nurse as well; therefore the agreement was I had to look after him, agreed by everyone else. I found myself just going along with that agreement.

I got unpaid leave from work and moved back home, returning back there after all those years away. Tam, my boyfriend, wasn’t happy about it all but I told him it would only be a temporary thing, I would be back soon. My flatmates agreed to keep my room for me, after I assured them it was only a temporary move.

Weeks soon turned into months and soon I had been there four months looking after my dad, day and night. Then everything had fallen within a few days. The social worker told me my dad’s funding had fallen through, there was no longer a Nursing Home place for him and he would have to stay at home. I happened because he had me looking after him, his full-time carer and a registered nurse, and was no longer consider vulnerable. My work told me they couldn’t hold my job for me any longer. I had an awkward telephone call with my manager as she told me about the pressure on her budget from filling my post with agency nurses. My flatmates said they needed to let out my room because they needed the rent, another short and very awkward telephone call. At the end of that week, Tam telephoned me with an ultimatum. He wanted me to move back or else our relationship was over, he didn’t want a long-distance relationship, he didn’t want our only contact being embarrassed telephone sex. When I told him what had happened he simply replied:

“That means we’re over then. We had some good times but I can’t go on like this, just waiting. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

That was how my life turned backward. I was back living at home, sleeping in my childhood bedroom and looking after my dad. I had to do everything for him and he could only be left alone for a few hours. My life was put on hold. I had no time to myself, no chance of finding a relationship, if I had met someone I certainly could not have brought him home. During my down time, what there was, I watched television or surfed the internet. My sister always found an excuse not to look after my dad, whenever I asked her to, she could not even bare to sit with him for half a day.

The minister finished his eulogy and, in his singsongly annoying voice, announced the next hymn. The Old Rugged Cross. One of my sister’s favourites but not one I ever remember my dad liking. All together, we all stood up to sing it.

I had gone out, that afternoon, just for a walk around the park. I was tired and needed a break, I needed just to be somewhere that wasn’t the sitting room or my dad’s bedroom. My dad had been so demanding that morning, calling me every two minutes, nothing seemed to make him comfortable. I had left him propped up in bed, watching television, for so strange reason he seemed to like those afternoon gameshows. I spent longer in the park then I’d meant to. I’d just sat on a bench and stared into space, I needed time to myself, I was enjoying just time to myself, away from my dad’s constant calling out.

When I got home I found my dad slumped over in bed, he had slide to one side and looked painfully uncomfortable, but his eyes were staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. I took hold of his hand but he was turning cold, he must have died just after I left.

All I wanted was for this bloody funeral to be over and finished. I had pulled my face down into a frown and kept my eyes looking downwards. I wanted everyone to think of me as the sad and grieving son. I didn’t want anyone to know the truth, not even to glimpse it on my face.

Inside I didn’t feel sad, all I felt was relief. Relief that I didn’t have to care for him anymore, day in and day out. Relief that I didn’t have to wash him, dress him, feed him and lift him up in bed everyday. Relief that I wouldn’t have to wipe food off his face or have to wash his bottom anymore. Relief that I could sleep through the night without having to keep an ear open for him.

I didn’t feel any sorrow, not even here at his funeral, only relief that I had my life back. I could find a job again, earn some money and have some freedom. I could have a social-life again, even to try to have a relationship again. No longer was my life on hold, his death had released me.

I couldn’t tell anyone this, how would they understand, they would only call me hard and uncaring, saying I never loved him. They didn’t know how poor my life had become, how tried and drained I was. They wouldn’t understand that it was only his death that had finally rescued me.

I bowed my head, with everyone else, as the minister lead us in prayer, but I didn’t pray. I looked forward to when this funeral was over and everyone else had finally left me alone. Then I could really rest.

 
This is the end of this complete story