Timing is Everything

Writing for me is a healing tool, so with that in mind, I am sharing this personal event. Yesterday, my father died. We were in transit from Tokyo, Japan back to Budapest. If he had lived until January 22nd, he would have been 83 years old, but that was not a milestone he felt a need to reach. When he turned 80, he shared with me how surprised he was by the fact that he made it that long. My mother had died years before.

Each time we traveled, I had this sinking feeling that this time would be the time that my brother tried reaching me in vain. Today was that day. Getting home at midnight last night, I was too overstimulated to sleep, so woke at 4am. I had to be at school at 9am and was there most of the day. After feeling like a success by making it home with my eyes open, I succumbed to a rest. Still it took me quite some time to doze off and when I did, I thought I heard the phone in my hazy state. Thinking they would call back, I let it go. Then my mobile started ringing, but I could not make sense of the sound through the groggy web of thought. 

When I finally conceded that there really is no rest for the wicked, the e-mail was the first thing I checked. Just spotting the Facebook message from my brother was enough to put me on high alert. We are not casual communicators. Just as I was trying to call him, he tried successfully to reach me. 

Dad died in his sleep yesterday morning. Though a stroke had paralyzed his one leg in a permanently contracted position, he was still in great spirits. According to my brother he was loved by all of the staff. Knowing my father, it is not difficult to believe. In fact, only the contrary would be unbelievable. Everyone knew him as "Good Guy Jack". 

I tried calling him before we left. His room in the nursing home didn't have a phone. I called the nursing station repeatedly asking if they could get him to the phone, but each time they claimed they were too short handed or he was complaining about not feeling well. I knew if he knew I was calling, he would have made it to the phone. We never did get to say our good-byes the way they should have been. 

He was in New Jersey and so is my brother. Dad will spend his eternity there next to my mother. My brother said, "I am not sure I know what to feel." I am kind of the same way at the moment. There was the expectation every day, but now that it is here, I am not certain how to feel. But writing about it is healing at least.

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Procrastinators Anonymous

My brother ranks high in the list of world's greatest procrastinators. He has thought about attending meetings of Procrastinators Anonymous, but they keep putting off having a meeting. Two weeks ago, he called to give us an update on our father's condition. We had a conference call so that Ron, his wife, and I could all listen in. At the time, he shared the news about his venture over to dad's house to get something and found people in the house. They presumably were given permission to crash there by our father. Kevin, I believe had them leave, but then again, Kevin is not the assertive one in the family. He is a chip off of our father, I am more like our mother. My immediate reaction was to get the locks changed and he agreed. There are three entrances to the house. One will only get you into the front porch, another into the basement, and the third into the outer pantry leading to the backyard. After entering any of these areas, there is still another door to negotiate before entering living space. All six doors have locks on them. Our mother was paranoid. Our father used to work nights. Changing locks can be expensive, but hey, the old guy has $40,000 he needs to spend down to be eligible just to apply for Medicaid. Kevin has the power of attorney to access his funds. No brainer. Off of the dining room, there is a wasted little room that never was declared utilitarian because is lacked a radiator or heating vent. The whole time we were growing up, the old chest freezer lived in there and the rest of the space was a throw-all junk room. When we moved our things from CA, this was cleaned out and stores our life belongings, minus all of the furniture we sold. Mostly, it has our kitchen appliances, china, thousands of books, and memorabilia from dozens of trips abroad. Our thinking at the time was after a year away, at least our kitchen will not need to be restocked with essentials. The padlock on the door survived seven years of having the scheming slut whore who stole thousands from dad during her days of leeching off of him. Kevin said the door was barricade with the china cabinet, a formidable piece of furniture. At the end of the call, we all agreed to speak each Wednesday for updates on dad's condition. We were still waiting for the neurological report due the day after this call. The next Wednesday, I e-mailed Kevin about calling. He responded with "Nothing has changed, no need to call." Nothing about the report and a follow-up e-mail was not responded to. The following Wednesday, I wrote again, but did not get a response until that Friday. Giving him his due, he is a manager at an IT company, from what I gather is head of an extensive team, so does have a lot on his plate. Adding the needs of our father is a burden that he has to deal with with little help from me.

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My Bad

When you develop an emotional attachment to your own blog, there is a feeling of abandonment when time passes and you have not greeted your good friend. I have been negligent in ignoring this friend as well as those I have made through the readers. So much has been happening with my father, yet I have not been able to sift through the ramifications of it all. My own psychological reaction is as puzzling as the sub-issues. With intermittent communications from my brother, I have grasped the fact that he moved from hospital to nursing home rehab onward to nursing home period. He is still not able to use his left leg or arm, thus making him dependent on others for toileting, moving positions, and other adjustments we normally take for granted. The last e-mail I had received revealed what I had expected; the insurance company cut him off due to lack of progress. My brother suggested a conference call, which he arranged on his end, on this last Wednesday. As it stands, or rather does not stand, the PT fitted my dad's leg with a brace to help him bear weight. She did not like the fit, ordered another one, but it had not arrived at the time of our call. On Thursday, he was to have a Botox injection meant to eliminate the spams he is having in the leg. Also Thursday included a Neuro consult, making for a busy day with high expectations. If the Neuro consult showed improvement was in the offering, the insurance could be reinstated after a hearing. If this is as good as it gets, that is the end of the story. Well, not quite the end. The fork in the road is which path to travel. Keep him in the home or have my brother take him home. If it is the latter, then that means hiring assistance since they both work. There is a bit or resentment brewing that we have been sending my father a check every month after his lamenting on how much debt he was in due to the "WOMAN". Then to find out he was sending our money to some Caribbean island, being scammed was just too much to take. Now I find out, he still has $40,000 tucked away in investments. How that money stayed out of the hands of others, I will never know, but thankfully it did. The house is another issue. After the $40,000 is spent down to $4,000, he can apply for Medicaid, but not receive it until it further dwindles to $2,000. After six months, the house is up for grabs by the State for reimbursing their expenses. We and I use the third person pronoun with a lackluster flair, have six months to get his house in shape for sale. Regardless of the economy trying to surface from the gutter, the Realtor still thinks that the house can fetch over $230,000, boggling my imagination. My parents paid $12,500 for it, struggling to make the mortgage payments. Due to false friends, being a nice guy, and lonely, the mortgage on it now is $170,000. My mother must have done more backflips in her grave than a Guiness World Record holder. This brings out more animosity. My brother shared with me that when he has gone to the house, he has found people staying there at my father's supposed invitation. My first suggestion was to change the locks before they do any more harm that needs financial resources to place it in selling order. According to my brother, most of the house is empty of furniture. God only knows why. It was once fully furnished, though not with the best of the best, it was comfortable. The tasks at hand are the clearing out of the attic and basement, both voluminiously filled with STUFF. No one seems to remember what the stuff is, if it has any value or is just junk stuff. Hidden off of the dining room is a small useless room that had become our storage unit, at least one of them. Now that is a bone of contention needing attention. I am overwhelmed.

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Adversity, Bringing Relatives Together

There is nothing like adversity to bring people together. Until my father was hospitalized, I had not heard from my brother for a couple of years. Suddenly, after I made the inquiries, my brother is now like a long lost pen-pal. Each couple of days or sometime a couple of times a day, I receive e-mails keeping me in the loop of what is happening. In terms of my father's progress, there is not much to brag about. He had not made any. He still has the left sided weakness, not able to use his left arm or bear weight on the left leg. Sometime during the calendar, he was transferred from the hospital to a rehab center, but that information never surfaced in my mail. It seemed to me beyond extraordinary that they would have keep him in acute care for so long, but the reality makes more sense. With daily physical therapy, he is not making progress. This does not bode well for his future, though he is mentally alert and reportedly making corny jokes with the staff. The $52,000 question of the moment is what to do about Dad? Both my brother and his wife work out of necessity. Dad is not able to be independent at home, nor would he be if he went to live with my brother. Medicare and Medicaid are not going to pay for daily nursing care. They are not going to cover a nurses aid other than a couple times a week, but only if he continues to get Physical Therapy at home. He no longer has skilled nursing needs. Then there is his house. What do we do with that? With the poor choices he had made in a roommate, he no longer has a life savings, no longer has equity in his house, no longer has stocks and bonds tucked away for his retirement. What he does have is a mortgage that is grandiose when I remember that they paid $112,000 for the house way back when. He also has enough credit card debt to support a small island. It makes me want to start cutting up my plastic right now. Questions that are more difficult to wrestle with are what is my role being not only so far away, but not even in the same continent as they are? Realistically, I don't see that my role would have been much different if I were still living in CA. I could offer to call the rehab hospital social worker or his financial adviser; it is just a matter of a time difference regardless of where I live. However the problem is, I do not have privy to the information they may need to assist us further. That really puts a fly in the ointment, a wrench in the works, it really is a pain for my brother who does have easier access, thus making him among the chosen.

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Oh Dad, Poor Dad

Last Thursday, I received a call on my mobile, 'caller unknown'. When I answered, I did not recognize the voice. It was only the "Bub, is that you?" that made it click in who was calling. Hearing my brother's voice after, what has it been now, two years, it was like those dreaded calls in the middle of the night. Every cell of your being knows to stand at attention. Something not good is coming your way. Yes, Bub is my nickname for my brother. When he was a baby, it was his first word and attempt at brother. The name stuck, though brotherhood had not. After more than dozens in the high plurals of attempts to be close, it just never was on his agenda. I threw in the towel, gave up the ghost, and all of the other related cliches. So when I heard his voice, I thought it was time to find out I have been orphaned. Orphaned at my age is humorous, but when the last of the immediate family goes, there you are alone. It does not matter how many loved ones you have, significant other included. With family there is a different history and a different reality. My or our father is in the hospital. I had been calling him for two weeks leaving messages on his machine. Sometimes, he just cannot make it to the machine in the number of rings before the machine gets it. The woman recording on his answering machine and I have shared a great deal by now. Some evenings, I would call repeatedly thinking he would eventually make it to the phone, but these weeks it did not happen. Finally, my brother called to let me know, because he happened to check the machine while getting things for 'our' father. The timing was interesting. I had just messaged my nephew on Facebook asking if he knew where his grandfather was. He messaged back saying he had not heard anything other than he was having problems with his leg. It seems his father does not communicate much with him either. That must have set the wheel in motion, because an hour later, I received an e-mail from my brother and then the phone call. They thought that my father had a stroke, but nothing shows on MRIs or CT Scans. The only clue is left sided weakness that is still unexplained. They have repeated the tests daily to look for differences, but have found none thus far. For the first four days, my father was reportedly cranky and anti-social. Anyone who knows him, knows this is the antithesis of his normal self. On the fifth day, a young nurse came in to say "I am here to 'draw' blood" to which my father replied "I don't see a red pen in your hand." We had told him for years, if we could can his corn, we could wipe out the Iowa corn farmers. It is a good sign.

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