My mother endured many ups and downs with her physical ailments the last few years of her life. But mentally, she never gave up―nor did my father. He was her rock.
Upon mom's last admittance to the hospital, after being in there for a few days in a semi-comatose state, she greeted me with a cheerful hello as I entered her room. I recall explaining to her that she was being transferred to hospice. She didn't understand why.
Many times when I see families that have come togethter to care for their loved one, they do so out of love. Also significant, is that the loved one that they are caring for feels like they are a "burden" and don't want their family to feel put out. I think one of the most inportant parts of my job is to help my patients understand that their family wouldn't want it any other way!
I am so incredibly blessed to have had all four of my grandparents in my life for seventeen years. I couldn't imagine losing one of them until my grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.
The one thing I remember best about my grandfather is that he could tell stories like he was reading a book. He used such detail and was indescribably passionate about what he did. He was a physician and the number one rule he always followed was to make sure his patients were comfortable and peaceful.
My father was the strongest man I ever knew. A WWII hero, he rarely talked about his plane going down in the Philippines but when I moved him out of his apartment into the first of many nursing homes, I found the NY Times article from 1942 that told about the accident. “Henry G. Jackson is credited with saving the lives of the whole crew,” it said. Next to the article is a picture of him, 18 years old, beaming in his Marine uniform.