Denial. The gap between what dad didn't say and what I didn't want to know.
What dad didn't say about being ill and what I refuse to know created a scenario that served us well in the short run and is now something I can feel guilty about for the long run!
It's not that dad didn't tell us anything. He just told us very little and most of what he told us was prefaced with "I couldn't understand the doctor..." or "they never tell me anything," or "I don't know what they are saying".
My responses were worse:
- He knows.
- He just wants to play games with us.
- He's smart enough to find out what is wrong with him.
- He never asked about mom's health when she was dying...why should I care about his?
- He's lonely and just want attention.
Shortly after dad's first surgery, he came for a visit to the States. My brother and I had to trap him in the car with us in order to probe and put dad through an inquest. It was 2006. Dad said he had a bump on his back removed, but had been hospitalized because the bleeding wouldn't stop. Then he told us they had to cut so deep, they got too close to his heart. We asked if they thought he had cancer. He didn't know. And I didn't push.
Denial.
1 comment:
When hospice interviewed my dad and kept referring to his "terminal illness", he got upset, didn't want to hear it. But he signed the paper.
Everyone's different I learned from hospice. My dad needed denial. And I got okay with it.
Everyone's different. There's not a right way to die.
Post a Comment