It's SO HARD to believe this is only my 3rd post this year, but there it is. I suppose it's an indication of time and ability.
I had a pretty sacred experience in the middle of a bout of anger recently. I have pondered whether to share the full detail or not. And I'm guessing since I am pounding on the keyboard, I decided to do it. My hesitation is two fold. 1) Revealing personal details about my dad would cause him to feel ashamed and embarrassed. 2) My inspiration is one of the most profound of my life, and I don't want anyone to see me as more than I am; a flawed human just like you grappling with my circumstances from time to time.
The last few years have brought new knowledge that my dad is an alcoholic. It was only recently I became aware that it's been his cross to bear for his entire adult life. Because he recently turned 80, we moved him to Arizona to be closer for the times he has emergencies. And because of the alcohol, there have been numerous emergencies over the last three years. The most recent was just one month ago.
He seemed to be doing much better and was successfully decreasing his intake, and then there was a triggering event I won't go into details about. His spiral began with the familiar incoherent phone calls to me and several of my family members. His birthday came and went with no recognition, not because we didn't want to, but because he was completely incapable of attending what we planned. More than once.
I've learned to temper my emotions around most of these experiences most of the time, but there are days when I swing from hopeful to absolutely frustrated at the daily conversations, concerns, and consequences on me and my family. My family is hesitant to be involved at all. I mean who really wants to deal with a person who leans to total selfishness, inability to see, and the attending results of regular alcohol abuse.
THE phone call came. The emergency call we hadn't had since he moved here. He called me with severe physical symptoms that were unmanageable and life threatening. In spite of that fact, he also called when I was in a position that I absolutely could not respond and rescue him. We discussed his options, including calling an ambulance. I told him I would come as soon as I could. Then I called him back to tell him I thought he really should call the ambulance. He already had. I'm leaving the worst of the details out, but anyone who has dealt with a family member involved with drugs and alcohol, can easily insert them.
From this point, I'll fast forward to my moment of angry inspiration. He spent a week in the hospital and somehow avoided also getting THE VIRUS. It took two days to convince him to go to any further therapy, but he ended up with two weeks in a short term care center to gain his strength back so he could walk and take care of himself again. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to the health care workers that attended him. Doctors who were as blunt and honest as was absolutely needed. Nurses who were overburdened because of our hospital patient load. And social workers and case managers willing to give every bit of information and services to support and save his life.
In the meantime, his apartment told me there was going to be an inspection and I'm just telling you, there was no way it would pass. I had a sweet little niece visiting and she went over with me and did some scrubbing. I gathered up his laundry and bedding and washed it all. We cleared a pathway that would be less dangerous than how he was living and made sure the doorways were all clear. Then I just waited for him to come home, which he did.
Three weeks of close to total bliss while he was quietly (for me) in the hospital and care center getting better. I just had to visit and coordinate and he's always nicer when he's "down." And then he went home and that's when the real fun began. Every day he became stronger and every day he was more back to himself, only I think now he is not all the way back. Each time in the hospital takes another little piece of him. But I digress.
After a week or so, and increasingly more frustrating interactions, I went to do his shopping one night. He had a specific short list that included two newspapers. Even though he hates everything and everyone in the government and knows all the news is fake, he has to read it every day anyway. I brought his groceries in and put them all away and while he was in the other room, he called, "did you get my newspapers?" As impending doom settled on me, I meekly replied, "no." I can't repeat his response, but I was immediately hot under the collar. I stormed out, slammed the door, and drove to Walgreens, counted out all my change because I didn't have any cash and didn't want to put it on my card, drove back, opened the door, slapped them down on the table, slammed the door again and drove off. He called four times and I ignored them all.
What happened next was my breakthrough. As I fumed toward home I kept thinking. "WHY DOES HE HAVE TO ACT LIKE SUCH A TODDLER? WHY IS HE CONSTANTLY THROWING TANTRUMS?" I should know better than to ask questions I don't want answers to. I heard a question in my mind. "Why DOES he throw temper tantrums like a toddler?" My brain said, "well toddlers usually throw tantrums when they are tired or don't have any explanation for the frustration they are feeling; when they don't understand." I was still angry, but a little light started flowing in. "Oooooooh." Only a couple of days before, he shared with me that this six weeks is the only time in his adult life he has gone that long without a drink!
Besides being shocked at the confession, I was astonished that I never knew as a child! I knew there was always beer, but I don't have a single memory of what I would have thought drunkenness or inebriation looked like. So I began to realize that with his age, and his loss of cognition because of age and addiction, there must be some real frustration going on over his knowing that he cannot go there anymore. There's an equal amount of frustration on my part that I've never had a dad fully present in my life.
I plunged back into anger. WHY? Why do *I* have to be the one to take care of him and care and be frustrated and dealing with him. W.H.Y????? The memory of a prayer prayed many years ago, was brought back to my mind. When I realized in my young mom adult years that there wasn't much I could do to help my dad if he didn't want to be helped, with a host of other issues, that I now realize were probably the same problem, I told my Father in Heaven that I was turning him over to Him and He would just have to deal with Him, but to please let me know if there was anything I could do to help and I WOULD DO IT!
The next stunning ray of Light opened to thoughts I had never considered. "You GET to do the dirty work." I can't remember ever having thought that dealing with my dad was dirty work. So, I was a little perplexed until right after the question, the next thought was, "just like the Savior. Christ did the dirty work." And then a flood of examples.
The hands of a carpenter.
Writing in the dirt.
Mud on the eyes of the blind.
Washing the feet of His friends.
Befriending the unclean.
The insane.
The adulteress.
The tax collector.
The harlot.
The bleeding woman.
The sinners.
"You get to do the dirty work." And as my resistance faded and I truly saw the invitation, my eyes flooded with tears. My own question formed within me. If I seek to be like Christ (and I do) and I want to obtain His attributes (and I do), how can I expect to do that if I am unwilling to do the dirty work? So many years ago, I could have been looked at by other families as doing the dirty work. I mean I was pretty adorable, so probably not, but....I was someone's project. Multiple someones and I am so grateful. I can't be afraid to get my hands dirty for my dad. I am grateful for the family I have that is willing to do it with me. It's uncomfortable, but I see how it is also an invitation.
I know absolutely that I will continue to stumble, and get frustrated, and wish I wasn't the one to do it. But I am fully committed now, to look for those who others might identify as not worth the work. It's the only way those have a chance at all to fully experience what is available to them in this life. I continue to hope, until there is no more, that my efforts will make a difference. It has been the hope of my life since I was sixteen. I will continue because I GET to do the dirty work. I feel so blessed.
