She had a complicated relationship with her father. He died four months ago.
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It’s been four months since my father died. Like many child/parent relationships, ours was complicated. There were two very distinct parts to his personality; the man-child who never lost his delight in the wonders of the world, and the sullen, bitter man who suffered from chronic depression.
But over the years, I learned to let go of my anger.
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About ten years ago, his depression stopped responding to medication, and he needed to be hospitalized. The only effective treatment was electroconvulsive therapy or ECT. I couldn’t believe they were still shocking people out of depression. Very “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, but the results were miraculous. His depression immediately lifted–but not for long. He needed outpatient maintenance ECT every few weeks, and my brother and I took turns driving him to and from treatments at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City.
♦◊♦
His depression often transformed him into a very self-centered unhappy old man.
But over the years, I learned to let go of my anger (“He has so many blessings in his life, why can’t he appreciate the good?”) and accept his limitations. I learned how to compartmentalize. That’s how I was able to drive him to and from ECT so many times.
One day, while sitting with him in the waiting room at Lenox Hill, I decided to bring along my computer and take notes on our conversation.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had accidentally stumbled upon a very useful tool to help me get through the toughest moments in my life. As a writer, I became an outside observer of our relationship. This gave me the distance I needed to separate my emotions and see my father in a much more compassionate light. The following is a short story I wrote while waiting with him for his shock treatment.
Shocking: A Father/Daughter Love Story
I dress my father in two hospital gowns, one facing front, the second backward for full coverage, and then help him into the light blue vinyl hospital recliner. A thin white cotton curtain separates him from the middle-aged blonde woman sitting to his right, waiting her turn at ECT. There are four people in the waiting room tonight. Dad arrived last. We are in for a long wait.
“They had this Yiddish theatre performance the other day at the Atria {assisted living},” said Dad. “They had all the words on the screen translated in English and Russian. It was a parody on Purim{the Jewish holiday}. They had all the characters in the Megillah {scroll read on Purim}. Esther was such a beautiful girl. It was so terrific. It really was. I couldn’t understand all the Yiddish. I couldn’t hear it well. It was very professional Yiddish.”
“What’s professional Yiddish, Dad?”
“Everyday Yiddish. More of a… I don’t know what you call it. Mixed Hebrew and English together. It was difficult to understand. It was nice.
All of a sudden, you’re feeling nothing.
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Tuesday we had lunch and a lecture at the Riverdale Jewish Center. Free lunch and a lecture! I went two weeks ago for the first time. The rabbi saw me and ran over to me so fast. He said it was such a pleasure to have me. He made an announcement that I was an honored guest. He said he was a sandek {person who holds the baby during the circumcision} at a bris {circumcision} that I did. I had a reputation back then. I was a great mohel. People loved me.”
“Nice, you must have felt good when he spoke so highly about you.” I can’t stand when Dad talks about how much people love him, so I change the topic. “What did you do today?”
“Nothing, we just had activities. And when I sang the other day in Yiddish, they didn’t expect it. When the singer came over and put the microphone in front of me, she didn’t know I had a nice voice. At the end, she made an announcement. She asked for my name when she finished. She said everyone give Philip a big hand for singing so beautifully. Did you have dinner?”
“Yes, Dad. And I brought you a treat for when you are finished with your treatment tonight.”
My father has to fast eight hours before ECT because of the anesthesia.
“I’ll have to put my teeth back in. I am having so much trouble with my teeth. Last week, the dentist put implants in again. She put anesthesia, one needle after another. She was drilling a hole in my mouth. I don’t know, who knows what she’s doing… I’m so afraid of that injection, of putting me to sleep.”
(Dad is now referring to the anesthesia for his ECT.) “That last phase. It makes you feel like you’re dead. All of a sudden, you’re feeling nothing. Like a feeling of whoosh,” his hand makes a chopping motion by his neck, “like you’re cut off. Then they start doing the treatment and put you to sleep. Why was I subjected to this?” His voice fades as he glances around the room, deep in thought, hands flat on either side of the recliner.
♦◊♦
Dad glances at his wrist to check the time. “Oh, I forgot that I already took off my watch,” he laughs. It’s in his walker for safe keeping until after the treatment.
“When are you going to make the next appointment?” he asks.
“Before you leave for Passover.”
“That’s two weeks. Too soon! I can’t take it!”
Dad gazes off into the distance. He licks his dry, chapped lips, moving his toothless jaw, dentures removed for his treatment.
“How does it feel when your teeth are not in, Dad?”
“My tongue keeps hitting the implants. The dentist said, ‘try not to hit the implants with your tongue’. I just can’t help it.”
“Where are the implants?”
Dad opens his mouth and points to his lower jaw.
“It’s a piece of metal sticking out. I was there last week. It’s a whole production. I was there two hours.”
I have been hearing about his dentist debacles for seven months now. I don’t want to talk about it again. “Did you take a shower on Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Who helped you?”
“The aide.”
“Was she nice looking?” Even in his late eighties, my father still appreciates a woman’s beauty.
“She’s okay. They all know my name. They say, ‘Hi Philip’. They have nametags on. I don’t know her name..”
Bill, the hospital nurse, comes over to attach a hospital ID band to Dad’s right arm.
“So, Dad, you want to know what the treat is?”
His face brightens. “Devil dogs?” That’s what my brother brings him.
“I know you like your Devil Dogs! No, it’s a homemade treat.”
Dad breaks into a smile. “Cake? Some kind of cake? Drakes?”
“Homemade, Dad.”
“Cheesecake?” His grin broadens.
“Cheesecake? You like cheesecake. No, that wouldn’t be a good thing to bring for a long wait. It could spoil. Guess again.”
“I can’t guess.”
“It’s cookies. Mom made them.” My parents have been divorced for thirty years. I’m not sure how he’ll feel about cookies from Mom.
“Chocolate chip?” He smiles like a three-year-old.
“Yep, you got it!”
“I’ll call and thank her and wish her a happy Passover.” Dad’s chambermaid has convinced him to call my mom on special occasions–New Years, Valentine’s Day. Thirty years after a contentious divorce, Dad has mellowed and dropped the anger. Our family is in a state of shock over this turn of events.
♦◊♦
Maybe it will happen. If I wait long enough.
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Dad’s face lights up. “I had a dream the other day about her. I went to a place like Central Park, a place where young couples meet. They have refreshments. Single people come. Married people come. I was with her again. And a pretty girl. Somebody else, too. A whole dream.”
He suddenly stops and stares off in the distance again. He is now mumbling to himself.
“I keep thinking that thought I told you about. I keep thinking it more than I ever thought. That moment, it’s such a blank feeling like you’re dead. It’s the worst part of it. I don’t know… I’d love to stop coming here already. I keep praying every day. I pray and pray it should stop. I don’t know, I don’t know. It’s like a twist that changes over. A ‘shleppy’ feeling. I hope there comes a time where I don’t have to come anymore. Maybe it will happen. If I wait long enough.”
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Photo: Flickr/ John Bennett
Sandy, Thanks for writing this. I reminds me of my father who suffered from depression all is life. Fortunately, in the last 10 years of his life he was able to find the joy that had been so difficult for him to hold on to in his life. I share some of this predisposition to depression and have had to deal with my own demons. On this Father’s Day its nice to remember the pain and the joy, the healing and insights. We can all learn about love and loss as we share our stories. Look forward to more of… Read more »
Jed,
Thank you for your heartfelt comment. I’m sorry you were dealt a double whammy – your father’s depression and then your own. Depression sucks. Thanks for sharing about your dad’s positive end of life story. I didn’t write this in my article, but my father’s last 3 years were mostly devoid of depression. He discovered work that mattered and his depression miraculously lifted. We were lucky to have 3 good years. I’m glad you had 10! Wishing you a Happy Father’s Day.