I’m behind in my planning. I can see the phase fast approaching when I will no longer be able to make it to the bathroom or use the toilet on my own. In my vague expectations, I had imagined that I would first reach the phase where I could no longer swallow or breathe unaided. At that point, I would refuse all artificial life support and make my exit from this world. But what if I have to accept a transferal to a nursing home, the very thing I’ve hoped to avoid? My wife and children would pay routine visits to keep their consciences clean. They would make awkward small talk before having to rush off. Would my wife or son remember how much time I spent at his bedside in Hawaii, how urgently and lovingly I attended to his needs, how I said nothing about his having shunned me for two years?
Yesterday Herman called and invited me to join him, Sarah, Klaus, Eric, and August, to go out for a Father’s Day dinner. Without thinking about it, I agreed. Then I realized that this was well-intentioned but premised on the assumption that my family would avoid any recognition of the event. It was well intentioned but just a little humiliating. When my wife came home, I explained that I would prefer to be with my family on Father’s Day. Couldn’t we do something, anything, so I would have a pretext not to go out? The answer was no: we don’t observe the day. It was such a small thing to ask. Fortunately, however, my son offered to include me in his dinner plans, so now I have an excuse not to go out. I’m grateful for that. My daughter also texted me good wishes from Michigan where she is on a trip with her boyfriend Michael.
But here I am, indulging the very bitterness I wanted to avoid. Yes, it’s better to be grateful for any act of kindness than to patch together an image of my loved ones out of every gesture of insensitivity and unkindness. And it’s better to formulate my resentment so that I can see it clearly before me and make my choice for or against it. J’ai vu tant de gens mal vivre et tant de gens mourir bien. I’m left with only the one thing I could still do well. Why trade that for poisonous bitterness? Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I texted her and asked if she could come home for a while. I’m depressed by the loneliness of a day without company. She agreed to come in half an hour. She was here for a while and then left again. I kept my promise that we wouldn’t have to talk. I worked through my anger and put it behind me. At least for now. Later she was especially solicitous about helping me get dressed after a shower.
For the first time since I started this diary, I am deeply, deeply depressed. I’m not afraid of death but now nothing makes sense to me at all. What has happened to my family? What have I done to make them turn against me? I’ll die without an answer.
Signed,
Andrew (Weeks)
Normal Thoughts 