I came back from this weekend in a funk. It's lifting now.
Social Lesson #3: Even though things fail to unfold as I'd like, it doesn't mean I'm failing.
aka "Don't take their stuff personally" Just keep loving.
I assure you, I didn't take Dad's fall personally. Falls happen. What made this past weekend special - our family assembled for a BIG birthday celebration - his 103rd. (Which really falls this weekend, except we couldn't get the whole family together then.)
I have to cut my father some slack. Why shouldn't he take a shower at midnight, then fling the towel over the shower curtain bar? He didn't plan to slip. When he did, he did manage to crawl over to the button and press for help. Of course, help took forever to arrive. (Did not, but it seemed that way.)
With no bones broken, apparently, the staff concluded there was no need to send him off to ER or alarm all of us ahead of our arrival. My brother knew in a timely manner, though, and had my Dad checked out pronto. O.K. Just badly bruised. Then one hour before, when we'd arrived for the bash, Dad called his Birthday celebration off. ??? If he was O.K. the day before???
Somehow Dad had the idea that Ibuprofen or Tylenol was bad for the liver (right, but in large doses over time, Dad). So this father of mine had taken no pain medication night before, only to awaken to pain that had jumped right over his very high threshold and left him stiff as a board. My brother arrived. Together he and the staff tipped him, head over toe, keeping him straight as a board, to full upright positon. At this point, Dad bent in his middle and sat in one of those electric lift chairs. Hallelujah. Ornery but now contrite? he took the Ibuprofen. We waited for it to kick in.
The Birthday lunch bash was a somber affair, Dad upstairs and we kids downstairs. But, the Ibuprofen worked its magic.
For some dang reason, this video hasn't loaded. Sorry. It was so sweet! Dad felt relaxed. He got his Birthday cake, his Birthday cards, his Birthday gifts. He loved it all! The Genealogy Book Judy created for him was a huge hit. This man comes from sturdy stock, for the most part. We learned my father's R**** ancestors date back to 1520 in Norwich, England. His Great Great Grandmother's lineage goes back to the time of Henry VIII in England. The R****'s came over soon after the Mayflower did, settling in New England. Moses R**** served in the Revolutionary Army. Then came two doctor generations, moving from Vermont to Wisconsin. His father, an only child, then moved to Seattle. His mother's family, Norwegian, had come with the wave of Scandinavians mid-19th century, settling in Wisconsin. She travelled from Wisconsin to Seattle, marrying the man she'd fallen in love with at the University of Wisconsin. She bore a daughter who died in infancy and then bore a son. When this son was 14 months old, his father died of TB. On her own, she raised her son.
|My Paternal Grandfather, 1908|
|My father, 1972|
So his Birthday turned out well.
Next day, we got the call. Dad, stiff as a board again, was sent to the ER. LONG story short, many x-rays later he returned home as ambulatory as the day before. This is when my buttons got pushed; ER and the words "compression fractures" will do that. While we now know for sure that this fellow is made of rubber and stubborn grit, we also know the staff will make sure he takes his pain medication. Meanwhile, this kid is feeling every bump and bruise like it was her own.
So here's for two generations -
Feeling a little sad right now. Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you.