My Dad

I'm sad tonight. The last 3 days have been awfully rough on my father and I think that it's finally catching up to me.

It started with a phone call from my mother a few nights ago while my wife and I were falling asleep. She told me that Dad hadn't been making sense all day and said that he'd been pointing to the ceiling at something that "flew". Words maybe, or random thoughts. It was enough for her to call an ambulance and ask another favor of her EMT neighbor to come over and see what's up.

I called my Mom back and things weren't good with my father. He couldn't focus and wasn't able to answer the most basic questions. On the phone I heard, "Bill, look at me. Look at me." Then the seizure started. The phone went silent as my mother and her neighbor lowered him to the floor where he stayed until the shaking stopped.

My Dad has been suffering with dementia for four years now, and it has finally gotten to the point that the destruction of his brain is beginning to knock on vital areas, causing him to blur and twitch.

I went to the hospital after work to be with him. He wasn't the man I knew. He was helpless. The man that I have worshiped all my life was having trouble understanding where he was and what had happened. "You've had a seizure, Dad." "What's a seizure?" he'd say each time I told him.

I held his hand as he slipped in and out of sleep. The lorazapam that the doctor gave him to calm him down was still hanging on in his system and he was having trouble shaking it, so he was asleep more than he was awake. I prayed as I looked at him, and the more I looked at him, the more the memories flooded my mind.

I remembered when he used to take me to his office in Boston for the day. I'd get dressed up in my nice shirt and khakis. Dad would be in his business suit. We'd walk down the  street and he would say hi to all of his friends. I'd be trotting beside him trying to keep up. I'd get so frustrated because I felt that I could never be as big as he was. I could never be as strong.

But now I held his old hand, bruised from the IV, and cradled it like I was holding a little tiny child. How could time have done this? What would I do without him?

The hospital released Dad the next day - yesterday - because he didn't have anything physically wrong with him. CT scans and heart monitors showed nothing unexpected, so he was discharged. He insisted on sleeping in his own bed last night on the second floor. My Mom and my brother barricaded the top of the stairs with a table to keep him there, but in the morning he stepped over the table and fell down the stairs. He's back in the hospital now for at least three days with cuts, bruises and a hematoma on his brain from when he hit the wall.

One time when I was in my early teens I went for a walk with him. His business had fallen apart and the debt was piling up. He put his arm around me and told me that he was having a hard time, and asked that I try to understand if he seemed a little lost. I did everything I could to be with him and help him. I knew that it was now my time to help him, after all the years that he had guided me.

Tonight I pray, "My Lord my Father, please hold my hand and tell me what I can do to help my Dad. How can I be there for him as he has always been there for me? Holy God, hold his head in your hands and fill him with peace. Let him know that he is deeply loved and cherished. In the name of Jesus Christ my Lord I pray. Amen."

Fragile

I’ve tried to live a good life. An honest life. I’ve always tried to be a good example for everyone around me, which is very, very hard. But, it used to be a lot harder because I was trying to be a good example for all the wrong reasons. I was following a path that was bound to lead me right off a cliff. I just didn’t know when.

When you work as hard as I did, first you find yourself yielding for others, just to keep things smooth – not to rock the boat. It doesn’t feel like it’s a burden because what you are doing doesn’t seem like it’s a big sacrifice. It’s just bending and dodging to keep everyone happy. It almost feels natural, if you have a high tolerance for demands being placed on you. But, after a while you realize that the gears are starting to grind and it’s not that easy to keep it up. It weighs on you and starts to change everything that you knew to be real.

You read earlier that I grew up in a goofy household. It’s true. But we were also experts at smoothing things over and pretending things were OK. We didn’t allow the ghosts to come out of the closet and wreck the image that we were trying so hard to maintain. See, I’m the oldest of five kids. Actually, I should say that I’m the oldest son, William Channing Swan, Jr. I was the mainstay of my generation, and became my dad’s right hand man when it came to the complex cover-up.

There’s no sense in pointing fingers, but worth it to say that the list of maladies is long, involving every member of my family to one degree or another. All of the impairments were emotional, which required particular skill to hide. But, we were exceptionally good. Being that good a cover-up artist became a badge of honor I wore proudly well into my adulthood. I was strong and I didn’t falter. I always held it together, or so I thought.

The spring before I turned 30, I got married to someone who was also an expert. Her skill was concealing alcoholism in her family and an emotionally distant father and mother. Still, she grew up chipper and upbeat. She’s still that way today. Her talent at being a cover-up artist far exceeded mine because she not only did the job well; she smiled and laughed her way through all of it! It was astounding.

Our marriage lasted for 17 years before the door that shut out all the pain and dysfunction started to come off its hinges. I made the first move to separate and the anger that she held inside of her burst all over everyone she came in contact with, including my three sons. I became the hated one, something that I had fought not to have happen all my life. Not only was I hated by her, I was held in distain by her friends, some of my friends, some of my own family, and my children.

I’ll never forget her telling them that “Daddy left us”. It has taken me years to rebuild my relationship with my sons. Even though I have been with them every week, every month and every year, there is still a hole in my relationships with them. Sometimes I don’t know what to do, other than keep on being there and keep on trying.

But, you know me now. I am happier than I ever thought possible. My wife and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary last week and I am a different person. She breathed new life into me. I know that God put her in front me and healed me through her. I could never have known that through such deep sadness could bloom such a deep love.

I wish that I could tell you that life is fragile, so watch out and be careful. I thought that I was careful. I thought that I had ever angle covered. What I realized is that life is really about being honest, not careful. Honesty is the mortar for the foundation that we stand on. Sometimes honesty causes conflict, but it’s better than the magnitude of the damage that is done when a life of hiding things blows up. It takes much longer to rebuild, with a lot more pain and a lot more heartache.

So don’t wait. If someone or something is bothering you, let them know. If you are filled with a boundless love, let them know. God willing, you will always step on solid ground and your spirit will soar!

Claiming Victory!

Brain surgery is a complicated thing. You know the saying, "well, it isn't brain surgery!" In my case it was! It was brain surgery to remove a brain tumor, a craniopharyngioma - a benign brain tumor that my surgeon believed could have been in my head since I was born, growing slowly over the years. Finally, the headaches and spots in my vision got intolerable in 2005 and after three or four different doctors, I was diagnosed by an vision specialist.

When my wife and I met with my surgeon before the surgery, he discussed some of the potential risks of the surgery. Regrowth of the tumor because they couldn't get it all, ongoing headaches, carotid artery hemorrhage, blindness and other "morbidity". Morbidity. That didn't sound like something I could have when I was alive. I just means health issues that I will always have as a result of the tumor and/or the surgery.

I did a lot of praying before the surgery. I don't mean just saying a prayer. I mean sitting in prayer. The more time I spent in prayer, the more I knew that I would survive the surgery, and I knew it would be more than surviving. It would be victory! I would regain a life of joy and health. I didn't know how long it would take, but I knew I would be victorious.

Sitting in prayer allowed me to hear God's Word (read “Paying Attention”). I didn't just imagine that I would be fine through the surgery. I saw it. The Lord told me that it would happen. I was so steeped in the realization of victory that I was smiling going into surgical prep. I was peaceful. 

After six hours of surgery, I woke up in recovery. My wife (then fiancé - that's a story for later!) was there, with my parents and my brother and sister. I wasn't sick, I couldn't see well, but I could see! I couldn't move well, but I could move! My mind was telling me it was a miracle. It wasn't a miracle. It was God's work. God's will. Me - God's Will. 

But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.1 Corinthians 15:57

In the Doctor's Office

I spend too much time in doctors' offices. In fact, no matter how often I go to doctors' offices, I feel that I go too frequently. It's not like there's anything bad happening, or that I am going to have some uncomfortable procedure. It's just a sum of memories that I have, that we all have that makes me nervous.

I try to make the experience the best I can make it. I bring my own magazine or book. I go online on my phone. I close my eyes and think about what we're going to do over the weekend. Bringing your own things and your own thoughts helps to make the experience a normal part of life. Now, let's see what good articles are in my magazine!

Lucky Me

The title of this post is something I say to myself all the time. Why am I so lucky? Because I get to wake up and get out of bed every morning in my house and get into my car and go to work. At the end of the day, I get to come home and be with my wife and our beagle, Tucker. On the weekends I rake leaves and do laundry. Sometimes I go food shopping.

On Fridays, I drive 40 miles from work to pick up my son and bring him to our house which is an hour away from there. I clean up the dishes on Saturday mornings and take my son to band practice in Boston. I go in to pick him up after he's done at 7pm and take him home. 

Sometimes I lose sleep, but mostly I get sleep. I take a lot of medications for my pituitary issues which I have to swallow, inject, refill, refrigerate, store, update and remember! I have extra weight that I'm trying to lose. We have a house that needs some new repair every couple of months. We have a lot of debt from when I was sick and unemployed. I work on commission, so it's hard to budget.

Oh, the misery!

No. Oh, the grace! I am blessed in every step, in every mile I drive, in every leaf I rake, in every dish I clean. Why? Because I can do all of those things. I CAN do them! I don't have to rely on someone to help me because I can't do things. Think about it that way. What a blessing that my hands work, that I have eyes to see, ears to hear. How lucky I am to have two legs that can take me wherever I want to go. How lucky I am to have a mind that allows me to be thankful.

I can move, see, hear, speak. What else do I need? How about you? Can you thank God for your wholeness? Thank God I'm here!

I am the 100%

I have to say that I have been torn over the last several weeks. You know how strongly I feel about the power that we all hold inside us, but the last month or so has been filled with imagery of the powerless. The mass statement by the victims of the most recent recession speaking out as the 99%.

I'm stunned every time I hear those chants, "we are the 99%, We are the 99%!" Ninety-nine percent! That's just one percent short of everybody, but the 99% feel victimized. How can that be?

It can be because is always has been. ALWAYS has been. For centuries, inequality has reigned in our country, and before that, in England, and Rome, and Greece. There has always been the dominant one percent, and the less fortunate ninety-nine percent. In fact, now, as the recession draws to a close we hear about how the one percent has become even more dominant, on taxpayers' money. The money from the 99%.

It's almost hard to imagine. How could so few people dominate a culture? What about them perpetuates that power? Well, all of us do. We vote them into office. We ask them to manage our money. We buy their products. We push the one percent higher and higher into the stratosphere of our world so that they can make more and more and more.

I'll tell you why I have been so torn. I am one of the 1%, Or, maybe one of the 5%, but still, I am surrounded by the one percenters and I see it, but I don't believe it. I see the ease with which the money flows. Effort that is no more than someone that works in a grocery store produces hundreds of thousands of dollars! How vastly unfair it is! But, how amazing it is that it has gone on for so long in this country, and around the world.

I am the 100%. I'm not saying that because it makes me feel special. It makes me feel out of place and strange. I have achieved success in my life, but I want to walk out of my office and march. I want to promote that values of the 99%, and I want the 99% to have more of what I have been blessed to have.

For this one, I don't have an answer. If anything, I need answers to the injustice in this country. Sure, I could go on about the rampant greed in people that I see most days of my life. I could be disgusted by the financial hoarding that drove our economy into near ruin. All that I know to do is be a good person. To show everyone around me that it is us as a 100% that will heal this world. "We are the 100%, we are the 100%!"

Being Goofy

I grew up in a goofy family. We all did silly things like laughing so hard that we'd cough, dancing in the middle of the kitchen, telling jokes at the Thanksgiving table, standard things like that. There are seven of us, my parents and five kids, so things could get out of control pretty quickly. All that my dad could do was sit back and giggle.

We'd tell my father that it was all his fault because he fathered us all. But, really is was my mom's family that was the carrier of the goofy gene. and we all got it in spades! It started with my grandfather, Pops. We used to all meet at my grandparents house on Christmas Day and my grandfather used to do the funniest things and loved to laugh at himself. He'd laugh so hard that no sound came out of his mouth and all it was was a convulsed, silent smile.

My mom, a goofy gene carrier, has always loved pets. When we were growing up there was a vast assortment of "pets" at our house. At one time we had two dogs, a cat, a dozen chickens, two horses, raccoons and a goat. My dad, not a goofy gene carrier, would just shrug his shoulders and smile. But, I think that coming home and finding the goat standing on the kitchen table pushed him over the edge!

You have to ask yourself now that we are all grown up, "am I still goofy enough?" In other words, have I lost the wonderment of letting myself let loose and having fun? Allowing ourselves to play and laugh opens up some of the curiosity that we had when we were children. Looking at something and laughing out loud. Having a tickle fight with your husband, wife or partner in public. Dancing around wherever you want to.

I'll bet that if you let your guard down from time to time, it would open up a whole new world to explore, just like when you were young. Wouldn't that be great? Imagine what you could see! So, let the world see you staring at a flower and thinking how beautiful it is. Goofy is good!