Fight! Fight!

Nothing clears the air like a good argument.  A sudden, therapeutic release of negative energy and everyone feels better.  That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?

Jeannie and I finally had it out; months of resentment and occasional snide remarks gave way to a full-on brawl, minus the physical contact. Unfortunately for all of us, it started on Father’s Day and culminated on my dad’s birthday, shedding new light on the concept of "special occasion.”

I’d mentioned beforehand that I planned to pick up my dad on the morning of his birthday for an appointment at the DMV (to replace his expired license with an ID card), followed by brunch. She heard me, but automatically assumed that she would be going as well. When I informed her on Father’s Day that I was planning to take him alone, things got ugly. “Don’t exclude me, don’t EXCLUDE me!” she cried. Besides, she added, there were a couple of errands she needed me to do, like going to the bank and the post office.

Nothing doing, I said. She hadn’t mentioned those errands earlier, so I told her she’d have to make other arrangements. And I wanted to spend some quality time alone with dad on his birthday. I imagined that would be the end of it (I have a lively imagination).

When I arrived to pick him up, they were both waiting at the door; I could see the anxiety on his face, while she was darting back and forth like a boxer preparing to lunge. Before I was halfway up the stairs, and faster than someone can say, “Happy Birthday,” the yelling started.

“I want you to know how UPSET I am at what you’re doing!” she shouted.  “This is so inconsiderate and thoughtless, and I want you to know how I feel!” I waved away an imaginary cloud of mosquitoes and said, “Let’s not discuss it now, this can wait.”

“NO IT CAN’T! I want you to know how I feel, and Gene has some things to say to you too. He’s going to talk to you about how upset you’ve made me. You’re being very selfish.” 

At this point, I decided to hit back. “Selfish? Look who’s talking! We’re at your beck and call, doing your errands every week and you don’t even think about our time and energy. And I hope you enjoyed the Father’s Day lunch we treated you too—you never even said thank you.”

More shouting ensued. I accused her of ruining my dad’s birthday; at one point I bowed deeply, saying, “Of course, your majesty, your needs are the only ones that matter,” and finally my dad and I left. My mouth was parched and I was shaking.

At that moment, my concern was for him. He slumped in the front seat of the car, and when I asked him how he was, he shrugged. “Oh, we’ve been yelling at each other for the last couple of days.” I apologized for causing the upset; I didn’t want him to be the recipient of her rage and assured him it was between her and me. But of course, it wasn’t.

Our visit turned out well. We finished early at the DMV, and I took him to the office to meet my co-workers. He perked up at the friendly attention. At brunch, I asked him if he had anything he wanted to say (or had been directed to say); but he said no, nothing. I also mentioned that he might get her to shut up by threatening to leave her, and that he could stay with us for a while. “That occurred to me,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want to do that to you.” Still, I could see how easy it would be to persuade him to leave, once and for all, at the tender age of 87.

Truce

But no. It would not be easy and we all know it. In the end, I took him back home to find that tempers had cooled considerably. We were all cordial—and the next time I called to discuss the weekend grocery list with Jeannie, the conversation was friendly, as if nothing had happened.  But it did happen, and will probably happen again unless we manage to decide calmly on an unsupervised visitation plan. 

Going Down...

A medical appointment last week revealed that my father has dropped about seven pounds in the last 3 months. While some people might regard this as cause for celebration, in his case, going from 114 to 107 lbs without trying suggests something more insidious may be happening. For the record, he stands at about 5'-5 so is seriously underweight.

Yes, old people shrink. Muscle mass evaporates along with bone density, but this kind of weight loss in a short time is troubling. The obvious concern would be some kind of malignancy, so of course the doctor ordered more tests. But the issue could be much simpler: my father has been eating less and less, requesting very small portions and becoming pickier about certain foods. It doesn’t help matters that my stepmother’s cooking ranges from merely uninspired to god-awful.

It occurred to me that his giving up food could be part of his general trend of giving up. Maybe not an active suicide plan, but then again…maybe. He’s about to turn 87; he knows that his memory is slipping away. Moreover, he is still aware of how much worse things are likely to get—so maybe this is his way of avoiding the most miserable phase of his life—the indignity of having someone put diapers on him, of having to be fed and bathed. Who would willingly sign up for that?

Elderly white males in our culture have the highest suicide rate of any group.  Losing control, being dependent on others is anathema to most traditional men who have spent their lives being in control and having others depend on them. My dad is one of those guys.  

True to form, Jeannie doesn’t get it. She thinks he just “isn’t being practical.” “Not using common sense.” She ascribes everything to his “lifelong pattern of negative thinking.” Her solution, frequently voiced, is that he should just snap out of it and be more like her. She often remarks that he’s in good enough shape physically—better off than most men his age, so why can’t he just try harder?

She may be in denial, and also has a lot to lose if he dies. Naturally, she doesn’t want to be left alone, with nobody to chatter at. And she would suffer financially, standing to lose half of his pension, which I'm guessing is her primary concern. Maybe she even wonders if I would continue to be as willing as I am now to help her with shopping and errands. (Let me take this opportunity to pledge that I will not be very available, and don’t plan to help out more than once a month at best.)

Here’s another promise: I may not ask my father directly about his intentions, but will give him my full support if he chooses to leave this world.  I do “get it” and while I couldn’t bring myself to actively help him end his life, I'll do whatever else I can to make his journey easier, wherever it may lead.

Dad & I