What Have We Done to Him?
Today I accompanied my father to the nursing home – A place that is to become his home. I cried. Twenty days ago he lived in his own home, Slept in his own bed, Compromised by the thief that had taken his memory Over the past nine years. He still enjoyed his home, his music, Accompanied my mother on the errands That kept him involved in life. He responded to love and touch And slept with my mother in the bed they have shared For almost fifty-seven years. Nineteen days ago he awakened early With pain in his stomach— A lot of pain And said, “yes” That he wanted my mother to take him to the hospital. Soon the physicians said the problem is severe And that they must operate. They wanted her that at 84 he might not withstand the operation— But his heart was good and maybe he would. But did they warm her of the possibility that he might live, With no prediction of the impact of the assault On his fragile grasp of reality – Held together only by familiarity And his own determination To keep his world small enough to control his terror In a world he could no longer manage But still tried valiantly to do. Without the surgery he would die. A matter of hours, days – I do not know – And with what pain – I do not know – And could he have been helped to be comfortable— I don’t know. I only know that by the time I knew what was happening It was too late to say, Wait! Would it be all right to let him die now; what lies ahead? More time to let the thief rob him of everything— A gamble that he might survive both body and mind. There was no way for the impact to be positive – Only degrees of loss – a little, a lot – everything-No one can say. And could he choose to take the risk? No! The thief took that as well. And now today – my greatest fears have all come true. The operation was a success and the patient didn’t die. But it robbed him of almost all those things he held dear. He is not alive – as life is full – Nor in a living hell despite his closed eyes
Which he no longer opens. It is as if life outside has become too confusing, painful For someone who always wanted to be in charge. Deciding, directing, taking care of those he loved. He has given in, sometimes gracefully, often not. To a world too complex to manage. For me, the agony is almost more than I can bear. But I walk with him one step further In this path that he began with me— Where love and care is all there is – Until eternity. Something is wrong! It is as if we as a culture are so terrified of death, We will impose any pain— No matter how bizarre (and call it healing – medicine) To avoid the end we all will meet. It does not have to be this way. Death is not always kind— It can come without warning. It can come slow with suffering. It comes to some alone—others surrounded by love. But faced, it can come lovingly with care— By strangers or those with whom life has been shared. Whether it is a transition or completion is not certain. But death’s anchor is life – Lived fully, purposefully, lovingly or poorly But seen clearly at the end. Death is life and life is death. We can choose to live it well.. We can choose to end it well. Courage is required. Courage to question, to choose, to act, In love. But I am troubled by the larger questions. What kind of living hell do we inflict By surgeons’ knives and nurses’ needles; Tied in bed with cords of steel. I see the helpful become bizarre When outcomes no longer matches intent. Something is wrong! And then the bills will come. Please pay for what we have done to you. What have we done to him? Grace Harlow Klein A Bridge of Returning An Empowering Journey 2010
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