Two dates and a dash


I read a quote recently that I’ve been mulling over: “Life consists of two dates and a dash.  Make the most of the dash.”  With all that’s been going on with my dad I’ve been thinking more about death and just how short this life really is.  I truly believe he has been granted more time for a very specific reason not just in his life but in the whole family’s.  That and the fact that I’ve said for years I wish I could spend more time with my dad (careful how you pray, answers can come in unusual ways!).  So I’ve determined to make the most of the time left with “dad’s dash” (assuming of course that his ends before mine).

It has been an interesting week.  Meetings, hoops to jump through, a visit to the nursing home he’s scheduled to be moved to on Monday (for 20 days at least), calls to attorneys, business to take care of.  Hopefully all will go according to the plan that seems to have worked itself out.  Just in case, though, I am working on making an area in our basement for him to stay if he needs that (though I’m hoping he doesn’t).  The situation has been complicated because my stepmother did in fact file for a divorce.  The folks at the rehab hospital and the nursing home were scratching their heads over that one, but it is what it is.  My brothers and I will get a Power of Attorney and work together to figure out a solution.

All that aside, he continues to improve, though short-term memory still seems to be affected, as well as some decision-making and judgment issues which means he can’t be left alone.  I had a couple of days midweek where wave after wave of sadness just kept washing over me, and I had to fight thoughts of resentment toward my stepmother.  They only lead to bitterness and bondage and I’m not going there.  I understand why she filed, and there is still hope that he will get completely better and be able to move back.  Time will tell (it always does).

This afternoon I got to spend a bit of time at the nursing home.  I’m somewhat concerned for one of the ladies I visit.  Evidently she’d had some back pain and they gave her a med that completely knocked her out.  I had to help her eat her lunch (which she ate very little of) and then she just kind of laid back down into bed and fell asleep.  I haven’t been feeling as if I have much faith for anything this week so I whispered a sort of halfhearted prayer over her from the half of my heart that had faith.  As I walked down the hallway I felt as if I should have prayed with more authority so I went back and prayed for her as she slept, a very short prayer commanding the pain to go and then speaking peace over her.  The corners of her mouth came up when I said that.  I don’t think she heard me (I wasn’t praying loudly).  I’d like to believe she actually felt that peace and pray she did.

I then got to pray for another resident and reached out to the lady I tried to engage a week or so ago who’s more “with it” than most (aside from walking with a cane).  She was sitting in the chapel, lights off, just kind of staring out the window.  I asked if she’d like to go for a walk and she immediately brightened.  After getting permission, we were finally able to go out, and we had a nice time chatting while we walked.  She’s my mom’s age but looks younger and has an interesting (if not a tad bizarre) story.  She’s definitely had life give her some lemons; I would like to help her make lemonade out of them!   That’ll have to wait though.  I have to go back to working on the basement.


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