Cucumbers

After my Dad had a heart attack and the subsequent bypass surgery left him totally incapacitated from a stroke suffered during that procedure, a black cloud descended on my Mother. It was more than apparent that she could not cope with the possibility of taking care of someone on the level he might need.  It was a palpable darkness, you could see it on her face, feel it in the air around her.  I knew I would have to, need to, want to move back home to take care of this man I so dearly loved.  I told my husband, not sure at all what he would say, how he would feel about the prospect of leaving it all behind to go far away and willingly sacrifice his wife to serve her parents.  Was it too much to ask?

He never hesitated for a moment.  "Of course," he replied, "when do you want to leave?"  He knew full well that would mean leaving all his business contacts and trading in an office for an apron.  This from a man who fed the kids cucumbers, and only cucumbers, for dinner when I was in the hospital with the latest newborn.  Who evidently didn't know how to load the dishwasher.  Who that same day threw the dirty cloth diapers in the washer without first rinsing them and had to buy a new washer immediately.  And furthermore spread bug spray sufficiently around that night, so that the next morning the kids were violently ill when they came to the hospital to pick us up.  Before we even could take the new baby home, we had to make a pit stop at the Doc's office.  Not a great track record.  His Mr. Mom skills might need a little polishing.  But he didn't balk.

I was so happy, and grateful.  We would be able to make a difference in the life of the man I had so loved and admired all my life.  I was not unaware that this circumstance would change the lives of my children.  That it would be hurtful and life changing for them, some more than others.  Leaving friends, changing schools and more.  We had been around the block with this before. And it was obvious our economic well being might become even more precarious.  Sacrifice does entail real costs. But paramount in my mind and heart and soul was the quality of life of my Dad; it overrode all other considerations.  Decision made.

And yet, it never happened.  Dad never left the hospital and died there three months later.  Sadly, we never got to the point of planning his home care and rehabilitation.  A few trips - for a weekend or couple weeks - holding his hand at the hospital during that time was it.  (Leaving Mr. Mom in charge back at the ranch, expecting they all could survive.  Possibly.)  Still stings.

Looking back all these years later, I am comforted by the realization that we truly wanted to be there for him, and would have made it happen.   And I know that's the genuine article.  Love.  Wanting to help someone.  And following through if you're granted the privilege.  If only. Would it have been easy?  Or a good experience for everyone involved?  Obviously not.  And talk is cheap, maybe the overwhelm would have had us rue the day.  I have no doubt we would have stumbled.  A lot.  Maybe I would have made a mistake that would catapult Dad's health downwards, making things worse, not better.  Torturous thought. My Mom could have ended up resenting us, I usually tried her patience.  Our kids could have run with the opportunities and challenges, or run for cover.  We'll never know. But I do know the depth of love I felt for my Dad in his hour of need, and I do know the depth of gratitude I have for my kids' Dad in supporting me supporting him.  That covers a multitude of cucumbers.