A Long and Winding Road

Every now and then, life throws us a curveball.  An unexpected turn in the road. 

Sometimes, the road is well-worn and long-traveled, the destination often eluding us as we cling to the steering wheel in a desperate effort to dodge the twists and turns. 

Often, the road is straight and steady, and we stay on our path we the utmost diligence, knowing where we are meant to arrive.

And occasionally, the road is short and swift, leading us exactly to where we are supposed to be at the right time.

This last scenario hasn't occurred as frequently as I would have liked during my lifetime, but I am grateful that it happened to me a few weeks ago.

And because of this journey, I apologize to my readers for the interruption in my blogs.

I would like you to meet my father, Mr. William James Wilson, or Bill to pretty much everyone who knows him.

My Dad, Bill Wilson, watching "Tom and Jerry" with his Grandsons

Of course to me, he is Dad, or Daddy, as my Sister and I will always refer to him when we are chatting about him by phone, text, e-mail  or, when we can spare the time, in person.

He is 73 years old, out-living many of the Wilson family members by decades.  Sadly, this includes a Grandfather I never met, who died of a heart-attack in his forties, and Grandma Wilson (as my sister and I referred to her), who sadly suffered a stroke while my family was visiting her Florida home.  She was only fifty-two-years old, two years older than I am now.  I was just a little girl of eight or nine at the time, but old enough to remember the pain it brought to my father. 

Over the many years since then, life in the Wilson family has continued to be quite a ride!  My Mother and Father separated when I was a Senior in High School, and subsequently divorced the following year. 

My Father quickly married again.  His wife, a deeply devoted woman named Nancy, has been with him for thirty-three years, almost twice as long as my Mom and Dad were married!  She has two daughters of her own, and both girls (now women close to my age) grew to love my Father as if he were their own.

My Dad had his first heart attack at the age of forty-nine.  It was a massive coronary requiring at least a quadruple by-pass.  Boy!  Was I worried last year when I was the same age.  I thought that the Wilson curse of early demise would get me, too.

But, miraculously, it didn't strike my Dad, so why should it target me?  I can distinctly recall the doctors predicting a life expectancy of no longer than five years for my Father after that first heart attack.  And here it is almost a quarter of a century later!   Way to show those doctors, Dad!

Seven years ago, my Dad, who had moved down to Florida with Nancy a few years earlier, suffered a second heart attack.  The irony was that he was actually in the hospital already to undergo a different procedure.  Talk about being in the right place at the right time.

The damage was severe, and the cardiology team installed what was then a relatively new marvel of modern medicine, a V.A.D., short for Ventricular Assist Device.  This handy dandy mechanical pump has virtually kept my Father alive since then, which is truly an amazing feat!  As grateful as we Wilsons are to have him around, it has nevertheless been sad to see a once active and vibrant man limited by an extremely heavy and cumbersome battery pack that is constantly attached to a belt around his waist.  Everywhere he goes, he takes a supply of batteries with him.  And at night, when not using the batteries, he must be plugged in.  If not, his heart will stop.  Power failures are NOT an option, and a generator is an absolute essential!

My Father has nevertheless managed to lead a fulfilling life with his V.A.D., continuing to participate in things that he was able to, like visiting his seven grandchildren and attending regular 12 Step Meetings.

Last year, while caring for "M" during the holiday season, I was gifted with the opportunity to spend a day with my Dad.  It just so happened to be his twenty-five year sobriety birthday, and I couldn't have been more proud of him.  Coincidentally (???) carrying the same name as the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, Bill Wilson, my Dad had managed to remain alcohol free despite all of his physical health issues.  We were able to have lunch together, and it was a healing visit for both of us, especially me, who was very much in need of making amends with my Dad for years of distance between us.  I was blessed by the visit, and figured it was the last time I would see my Dad, for he disclosed to me that he now had cancer.  Merkel Cell.  An incurable type of cancer that had established itself in his leg.  He intended to fight the villain with all his might, but the outcome still looked dire.  And thus, my Dad underwent a year of intensive Chemotherapy and Radiation treatment in an attempt to beat yet another deadly disease.  After all, look what he had accomplished with his coronary health!  Beating all the odds!

Three weeks ago, I got the call that my Dad's battle was coming to a close.  The cancer had spread, and even though everyone always thought that the V.A.D. would ultimately wear out and be the cause of his life's end, the doctors were now certain that a shut-down of the kidneys due to the spread of the Merkel Cell Cancer would lead to my Dad's departure from this life.

I was very lucky.  I had a chance to see my Dad last year and come to peace with our relationship. If I've learned only one thing over my years, it's how importance a sense of closure with the past is in order to remain at peace in the present... and to move forward.

Upon getting the call about my Dad's prognosis, I made a quick decision that involved no second guessing.  I knew instantly what road I needed to take. 

And so, I packed up my son, Peter, now sixteen and a half years old, along with my Sister's son, Patrick, who recently turned seventeen, and rented a car (my most affordable option).  They had not seen their Grandfather in several years, and surely deserved a chance to say goodbye. 

We arrived at the Shands Medical Center in Gainesville, FL on Tuesday evening, January 28th, just ahead of Winter Storm Leon that crippled the Southeastern portion of the Country with its snow, ice and cold. 

Amazingly, a good piece of timing on my part.

The following morning, my Dad was transported to Tuscany House, a Hospice located right in the community he and Nancy reside in.  Patrick and Peter helped pack up his belongings, the most important of which was the V.A.D., and we arrived at the hospice shortly after my Dad did.

What a wonderful visit!  Although it was only a few days in length, it was a case of perfect timing.  For once, the road of my life thus far filled with far too many unexpected twists and turns, had led me to exactly the right place at the right time. 

The boys, who had grown quite significantly since the last time my Dad had seen them, could not have been more helpful in getting my Dad settled in his room at the Hospice.  They handled the situation with a level of maturity and compassion that, I must admit, surprised me.  Who were these two strangers that looked and sounded like my son and nephew?  I couldn't have been more proud of the two of them!  Their Grandfather, now in his final stages, looked nothing like the man they had last seen, but this did not phase them in the least.  The three of them sat down at the kitchen table for drinks, got to know the the Hospice staff, and acted as if the situation had been this way for years!

As for me, I had been down this road on my own only a year ago, when I was able to have lunch with my Dad during my stay with "M". 

I never thought I would have a second chance to travel the same path, and was immensely grateful for a another opportunity to spend some quality time with my Dad.  Our relationship over the past three decades, at best, had always been strained, and while I was growing up, it was often oppositional.  If course, my Father's battle with the bottle played a huge factor, as he was not a happy drinker by any means.  But my own part in our distance had become quite clear to me over the years, as I had deliberately shut him out of my own life.  Second chances are few and far between, if at all, so I relished every moment I could during this goodbye journey.

My Dad has declined significantly since entering Tuscany House two weeks ago.  The boys and I are back in the bitter cold and snowy Northeast, and my Dad is safe and very well-cared for at the Hospice.

It is a very beautiful and serene setting.  A warm (usually), sunny (typically) place to come to rest.

I continue to call the staff daily for an update on my Dad's condition, but he is no longer able to speak on the phone.

Most of the time, I am told that he is sleeping peacefully, after having been sedated due to agitation and confusion.  It is painful to hear this, but necessary.  I want to know exactly what is going on with my Father's condition. 

How different from all those years of separation and resentment.  And how lucky I am to realize the change.

Life is too short to be filled with negativity and anger.  I've learned that the hard way, but I least I finally understood the lesson.  We never know when the road is going to end, whether it is long and windy, straight and steady, short and swift, or riddled with unexpected twists and turns. 

I certainly don't know where I am headed next... other than to "V"s this weekend to wish her a VERY HAPPY 96th BIRTHDAY!!!

And afterwards, I hope to return to my regular blogging routine. 

A very special thank you, all of my readers, for allowing me to share an important part of my personal journey with you.  The road that will, hopefully, soon lead to peace for my Dad, William (Bill) James Wilson.