A hard goodbye

Bill's now en route to his home on Becker Road. Just got back from the airport, where with a note from his medical team, I was able to escort him to the gate and even on the plane to help stow his carry-ons. He didn't really need my help ... but it gave us extra time together and he didn't have to sit at the airport alone.

Man, was I emotional. Dad arrived in Madison on May 23. That was 96 days ago! Three months of living with someone and you get used to having him around. Sure, we had our moments, but for the most part we just enjoyed each other this summer. After three months, to have to hug Dad goodbye on a small plane with people around me jockeying for seats and storage ... that was tough. The cheesy, sad elevator music playing in the background at the airport didn't help. Nor did the fact that the last time I saw my mom was in an airport. I can still see her crooked smile and her waving at a big, pregnant me from afar. But somehow I managed to hold back tears and helped Dad get on his way. Then, I called Heather and cried, cried more at home, prayed, talked to my mom, wrote Dad a postcard, ate a yummy nectarine -- and now I feel okay.

Onward.

I can't reflect too much on the summer right now ... more to come.

A few notes on Dad's return: I think it will take some time for him to adjust. He IS the same person he was when he left months ago, but he's also changed. He's a bit slower and has difficulty communicating. This is the toughest part for him, and Bill's nervous about how well he'll be able to listen and talk to his friends and family. It got to the point here where we could almost read his thoughts, or at least extrapolate where they'd be going enough to have a conversation. We might be talking about our options as we look for a new car and he might say something like, "Did you see the safe?" which we would correctly interpret as Dad asking us about the safety ratings of a particular vehicle. It's totally possible to have a conversation with Bill; it just takes some patience. I know you will all help him feel comfortable. The best way to do this is to talk in short sentences, slowly. You don't have to speak any louder than normal. But he digests information best in small chunks.

Speaking of your communication with Bill, here's your official invitation to call him and visit him on Becker Road! You should know that starting Sunday, he'll be taking a second round of chemo. He'll only take it for five days, but it sounds like a pretty toxic medication that might leave him sick for awhile. So perhaps give him until that second weekend in September to recover. I know that he'll want to re-connect with friends and family, though. So he might just call you! Also, Bill's been real proficient at napping. So morning calls/visits might work out best, or even up until about 2 p.m., dinnertime or early evenings.

The blogging will continue ... look for a surprise guest blogger this weekend. Then Dad will be coming back to Madison for an MRI in mid-September, and I'll keep up with his trouble-making through phone calls with him and through Linda.

Phew ...

At the airport, Dad picked out an Automobile magazine to read on the plane and he wanted to treat me to some reading material, too. I picked a book called My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor. I heard Jill, a brain scientist, talk on NPR about how she had a stroke and lost her memory and ability to walk, talk, read and write in a matter of four hours. It took her eight years, but she made a FULL RECOVERY. Her stroke was on the left side of her brain, like Dad's tumor, surgery and treatments. In the book she talks about losing that logical, sequential left side of her brain and relying only on the intuitive and kinesthetic right side, similar to how Dad's operating. One review of the book says, "Transformative ... her experience will shatter your own perception of the world." I kinda feel that way about this past summer! But I'll still read the book.