When Duty Calls

My father is in the process of dealing with what I believe will turn out to be a terminal illness. This is not surprising, and has been on the horizon of our family's expectations for years now. From as long as 10 years ago, when his first colonic polyp was found, the grave discussions (via phone) of what they might find would begin. Never did this cause him to cease smoking the 2 packs of unfiltered Camel cigarettes per day. Or adjust his eating habits from high fat, cholesterol, and low fiber to, you know, opposite that. Any time he would come down with bronchitis and have to have a chest X-ray, we'd hear that perhaps they had found a shadow or a mass. But so far none of those came to pass. Suddenly, when he went in for dentures, the dentist refused to pull his teeth due to a massive sore in his throat. Turns out it is quite likely cancer. And a biopsy is planned, lymph nodes are due to be removed, and there are spots on his thyroid. It's all kind of winding up, and bowling down, and the pins no doubt will be falling.

Being the eldest child, I feel somewhat obligated to go and see him, help arrange what I can for now, talk about final wishes, and then wait. There's no property to be dispersed--he is a pauper and on Medicare, Medicaid, welfare, and so on. There's no fabulous relationship between us. For almost all of his adult life, and most of my entire life, he was an alcoholic. He cheated rampantly on my mother, was absent from my life, and left my brother an emotional train wreck that is still proving to be nearly impossible to put back on track. The blessing of diabetes in his life meant he could no longer drink, and upon his diagnosis a few years ago, we were able to begin speaking to one another. A few brutally honest discussions here and there, but mostly the same bullshit he always spewed. But they were still pretty nice. Nicer than what I had growing up. He's a grandfather, and he loves his autistic grandchildren, and is always amazed to hear of their remarkable abilities and gives sincere sympathy when I tell him of their limitations. He tells me I'm a good mother, and I like hearing that from him.

So many of my friends and family are remarking that my making the effort to go see him (he's about 1200 miles away) and begin the process of settling his life is more than he deserves. And that my duty lies in taking care of my husband and kids and not leaving them for some guy who didn't even have the decency to pay child support. That no amount of money spent on my part, time devoted to travel, seeing him in his misery, will fix the past. That it won't make up for anything. That I can't change it now. I remind them: the fixing would have been on his part. He's the one to make up for things. And things are long past changing. Nothing will change now. But he's still human, he deserves dignity and decency in his dying and if my going up there to talk to those who watch over him now to see to these, then I've done my daughterly duty and I will know God will take care of the rest. I will know I did do what I could, to the point that I should, and it's not based on what he deserves, it's based on being decent to someone who, had he the chances to do some things over, I have no doubt he would.

I only wish I could take the kids. I know he would love to see them, and if time and cash allowed, I might. But my son, bless his little obstinate heart, is a runner and has no desire to do what he's told. And while I would love to take my daughter, and I think she'd do very well on a plane and stuff, I just simply have to get things settled too quickly for this kind of thing. I think she'd be a total hit with everyone. This is one of those things that we deal with--how to travel to deal with dying parents when you've got autistic kids. No Uncle Buck to call and see to them. Instead of just arranging for the birthday party, it would be, "You know, Maisy screams if she hears Elmo, but Miles insists on watching it...maybe let her spin in the kitchen while he watches that..." Man, I could remake that movie...