“Am I bothering you?” Dad’s calling again.
You sure are! (I’m really not doing anything that can’t be interrupted.)
“Good!” Dad will turn 93 in just a few days. We would be in Michigan right now to celebrate his birthday as well as my sister’s first anniversary and our oldest granddaughter’s graduation, but COVID is cancelling and complicating a lot of plans.
Dad’s been painfully lonely since my mom died eight-and-a-half years ago, and nearly unbearably so since COVID.
Before the pandemic, he was still driving a little—mostly to the nearby Family Fare to talk to people and distribute some hugs but never buying much. He’s living the quarantine life now, and there’s no going anywhere. So he watches the news or “In the Heat of the Night” reruns (his TV is on 24/7) or plays on his computer—which usually amounts to reading the local newspaper or playing a favorite game on Pogo. He might click a link to watch the fancy chickens that belong to friends who live in the Netherlands. He also hopes to catch a glimpse of the friends themselves. It was a near tragedy when the power went out. It wasn’t just the lights and coffee pot and microwave that it took down. It also took his connections to the outside—the computer, the TV, and the phone.
Most of his old friends and relatives have either died or gotten caught up in their own lives or have their own health issues to deal with, constricting his circle of connections. That’s not a COVID thing, but it’s exacerbated by it. We talk at least once a day.
“Get on up here,” he says.
I sigh. “I wish I could.” South Florida is 1500 miles away from northern Michigan, and being in a COVID high-risk group ourselves, my husband and I are not yet ready to mingle with the travel crowd.
The Commission on Aging was sending a lady to clean his house and do his laundry once a week and an aide to help him with a bath twice a week. They haven’t come for the last two months. Meals-on-Wheels still delivers, but it’s a quick stop-and-go by a masked man. He liked to “complain” about the busyness. “Nancy [the housekeeper] sure makes a lot of racket!” he’d tell me. Now he misses the noise and the company.
My brother had to move into Dad’s basement because of flooding in his own place, but he seldom comes upstairs. He’s a respiratory therapist and branch coordinator for a local medical equipment store so he tries to maintain a good bit of distance. In the meantime, he’s undertaken some downstairs renovation tasks, keeps up on yard work and helps upstairs in a pinch. But he doesn’t sit at the table and have coffee with Dad any more.
Dad understands. Until he doesn’t.
My sister (who used to live around the corner but moved 20 miles away last year when she married) still does Dad’s shopping, runs errands, takes him to doctor appointments, and tries to trouble-shoot problems. Visiting outdoors to maintain social distance frustrates him. He misses human touch. He understands, though—until he doesn’t. He does have a friend who comes by periodically with breakfast sandwiches and cups of coffee. Sometimes I think he actually sits inside at the table with him.
It’s hard living 1500 miles away.
Dad hates beds and prefers to sleep on the floor in front of the television. He’s done it for years. He tosses and turns and can’t get comfortable on a mattress. He drinks several cups of black coffee throughout the day—and night. He has no sleep schedule. He’s up and down all night. He snacks, plays on the computer, and watches a little TV. He complains that his fingertips are “slippery,” so he can no longer turn pages to read or work jigsaw puzzles or cook or bake like he used to. Finger cots “fall off.” He used to carve beautiful wood art. He can’t any more.
This morning I’m sitting in a Cracker Barrel rocking chair on my patio overlooking our lake talking to Dad on the phone. He tells me it’s “so damn hot” he had to close the drapes. He thought he might get sunburned right there on the floor. I remind him that sun through a window tends to be hotter. Later he complains that it was “colder than hell” outside the other day—and even more so since my sister “shaved” his head. He had to double-jacket and couldn’t understand how my sister could be outside bare-armed. I tell him he could come live with me when this is all over. We have air conditioning when it’s hot, and it’s seldom cold in winter.
He hates Florida.
I tell him that a pair of Muscovy ducks are making whoopee in front of me. He asks if the alligator has come around. I ask what he ate today, what he’s going to eat. He’d had a packet of instant oatmeal to which he’d added some bran flakes for breakfast and then later a waffle with a hot dog. He said he’d probably graze from the Meals-on-Wheels containers. He used to be able to pack away the food. Now not so much. I ask how many times he’s washed his hands today. In my mind, I see him roll his eyes. I change the subject.
I tell him how I remember sitting in the back of a police car and ask him to tell me again about the time we got rear-ended at a stoplight when I was two or three—back when seatbelts weren’t an option. He tells me how he and Mom both turned around to catch me mid-air. I could ask him about the baby he delivered in the back of the ambulance, but I don’t have time for that story (and the others that would follow) again today. Besides his work as a carpenter and a maintenance man, he was a volunteer firefighter. He also founded the county’s first ambulance corps and trained EMTs. He says he feels so useless now. He wants to do home repairs. He wants to mow his lawn. He wants to blow snow. He wants to help my brother move household items away from the floodwaters. He wants to do something to help fight the virus. I tell him he’s done so much for others. It’s time for him to rest and let others do for him.
***
Am I bothering you? I’m calling Dad this time.
“Nope.”
What are you doing?
“Not a darn thing.”
What’s your plan today?
“I might just go out to the garage and see if my car starts. I thought your sister might have come. She hasn’t brought any groceries or cigarettes for a week.”
Actually, she might have been there just a couple days ago. We’ve all lost sense of time.
What do you need?
“Ice cream.”
I know he needs more than ice cream and cigarettes. He needs to see and touch people. I remind him that even when (and if) he can go to the store again, he probably won’t be hugging anyone for a long time.
He understands. Until he doesn’t.
Photo by Natalia Medd, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Sandra Heska King.
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Connie Squires says
Oh Sandy, I can so relate to your dad’s frustrations. I’m a hugger and I miss the human interaction that this covid thing has taken from us. Plus I’m dealing with my 94 year old mother who has lost the majority of her friends and gets awful lonely too. We have to be so careful not only for ourselves but for our elderly loved ones. I understand that….until I don’t!
Sandra Heska King says
Hi, Connie! I’m so glad to see you here. It’s hard enough for all of without this covid thing when it comes to our elderly parents. And then add in our own risk factors. I haven’t seen Dad since Thanksgiving. Maybe next month? But now Alpenfest is cancelled, too. I’m glad Sissy has friends like you nearby.
Megan Willome says
“He understands. Until he doesn’t.” Oh, Sandy, that refrain!
Sandra Heska King says
Yeah. He gets it. Then forgets it. And it’s hard after all these years to change the way you do things. My sister did take him the the grocery store a few days after I wrote this–gloves, mask, sanitizer, one-way aisles, wave from a distance (if you recognize each other.) I think it was an eye-opener.
Martha Jane Orlando says
Oh, Sandra, this is such a poignant and moving piece you’ve penned here! My mother is a year younger than your dad, and though she lives only 60 miles away, we can’t see her because both we and she are at high risk. I talk to her every day, and she still has a housekeeper who comes twice a week (socially distanced), but I know she is feeling frustrated and alone. It breaks my heart! Hope this is all over sooner than later so your dad and my mom can be with those they love and get those much needed hugs!
Blessings!
Sandra Heska King says
Hi, Martha. How is your mom getting her groceries? Did your her housekeeper continue to come through the worst of the lockdown? Even now that they’ve returned, my dad’s ladies just do their thing and leave. No time for socializing right now. One thing I think about is that they aren’t getting any younger through this, so when it’s over, how “normal” will things really be? Thanks for coming by here today. xo
Martha Jane Orlando says
Hi, Sandra!
My brother is helping in the shopping department – he orders for her through Instacart, and they deliver to her doorstep. Mom appreciates that so much, although she’d still like to be doing her own shopping. The house keeper is coming regularly, but they are careful to social distance. I’m so grateful she has company!
Blessings!
Sandra Heska King says
I can’t imagine what it’s been like for older folks without family to help watch out for them even from a distance. Especially if they live alone. Instacart has been a lifesaver for so many, I think.
Laurie says
This is so wrenching and real and vivid and stirring. I remember similar feelings of helplessness and the losses, large and small, entailed in long-distance loving. The repeated line sounding throughout your piece hits my heart (and triggers memories) each time I read it: “He understands—until he doesn’t.”
Thank you for gently focusing attention on what you and so many others continue to endure.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks so much for reading, Laurie. So many are in the midst of this journey right now made harder by this “dumb virus.”
Michelle Ortega says
“He understands. Until he doesn’t.” How relatable, and frustrating. It’s so difficult to sit and be, when you’ve spent a lifetime doing. Hopefully, soon, he’ll have some more freedom. <3
Sandra Heska King says
My brother did take him out the other day to my nephew’s for kind of a picnic, I guess. I think he enjoyed watching the kids in the pool. There was distancing and he got cold but didn’t ask anyone for the warmer clothes he’d brought in the car and he had difficulty eating because his teeth (that were just refitted) felt loose… I think he just hates watching the action and not being part of it and having to ask for help. It’s a hard season.
Bethany R. says
What a poignant piece. Thank you for sharing this slice of your lockdown experience with us and broadening my perspective of what this season is like for others.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks so much for reading, Bethany. Sending love over our 3300-mile distance–from Southeast to Northwest.
Patricia Hunter says
This has got to be so hard for all of you, Sandra. Bless his heart.
Sandra Heska King says
And bless your heart, Patricia. This has been such a hard season for you, too. I wish we could get away and visit–at a distance, of course.
Marilyn Yocum says
“Am I bothering you?” I used to ask my mom, she used to ask me, now I ask my grown kids, my grown kids ask me.
Aren’t we rich to have people to bother and potentially be bothered by? This is beautiful, Sandy. I felt rich, reading it I think I’ll go bother someone now.
Sandra Heska King says
If I tell my dad he’s not bothering me, he’ll say something like, “Well, I’ll hang up then and call back later.”
And yes, there is richness is the ability to bother and be bothered. Sometimes that’s hard to remember. Thanks for reading today, Marilyn.
Katie says
Marilyn,
So good to see your name and comment here:)
Thank you for sharing your perspective on Sandy’s post.
I too am blessed with people to bother and be bothered by.
John 10:10b
Gratefully,
Katie
Sandra Fox Murphy says
Oh, Sandy, this is heartbreaking yet lovely. I’m glad you talk every day. I had to laugh about the “ice cream,” because that’s what I always ask my son-in-law to bring me. And “feeling useless” is a tragic place. I remember when my grandpa would say that, and even I sometimes feel it, but I press on with what I can do.
We all need hugs. Your father, you, all of us so far from family or, now, even a hug from someone up the road. I send you one virtually.
Thank you for writing a pandemic journal and for sharing. —Sandy to Sandy
Sandra Heska King says
Sandy to Sandy…
Ice cream is the best! Lately I’m addicted to Haagen-Dazs coffee almond crunch bars. It’s gotten bad. LOL
My grandmother (Dad’s mom) died when she was 84, and as I understand it (I was living out of state at the time), she fretted about feeling useless but still prided herself on driving senior citizens here and there–though I guess her driving was a little scary. She fell and broke her hip and once home developed complications and ended up back in the hospital. The story, as I remember it, was that she overheard the doctor tell family members that she could no longer live alone at home, and so she just gave up.
I think it’s a reminder to me to try to keep my mind sharp in the event the day comes when my physical abilities start to deteriorate–and to remember that “usefulness” wears many faces.
So good to “see” you. Sending a virtual hug right back to you.