Wheelchair No More

When I learned some five years ago that my father had cancer, I didn't cry.  I agreed completely with his plan of treatment (no surgery) and all of us sort of went back to our normal way of doing things.

As the disease progressed, I began to see him in pain.  I saw my mother trying every possible thing to help Daddy.  I didn't cry about it or say much.  Although I did cry out to God above....I asked for that pain to be transferred to me.  I was willing to make a deal, strike a bargain, whatever it took to relieve my parents from what they were facing.

I told a friend about my prayer.  I think I can handle it if I know it matters.  She said 'it doesn't work that way'....and I knew she was right but I continued to pray that my Daddy wouldn't hurt.  He was so good and gentle to the world.  I went through a stage where I compared his illness to people beating the drills of cancer.  But my friend again said 'it doesn't work that way'.  And she was right.   Some things I just don't understand.

Finally, I realized I could not will a change, control the process or make a bargain that would matter.  I began to try to spend as much time as I could making memories.   Memories that I know are getting me through from day to day.

The last time I took Daddy to the doctor at Five Rivers, I had a good plan.  I backed the car up right by the sidewalk and went inside the medical building, got a rickety wheelchair and rushed out to get him.  We were at a slight incline but after a few minutes we were loaded up and ready to head toward the doctor's office.  I wheeled the chair around from the car and turned a corner upward to the door. And then it happened....

That rickety wheelchair (which I hope has now been disposed of) came apart.  At least, the handle grip came off the handle.  I was left standing on the sidewalk holding only the plastic handle and my Daddy was rolling downhill fast into the concrete jungle.  I yelled "Daddy, stop".  He chuckled back "I can't" as he skidded sideways out of control.  I threw myself between him and the car to cushion the crash and luckily a man came out and saved us because he saw our plight....we've laughed about that so much.  I can only imagine the look on my face...Daddy wasn't angry, he didn't show fear (if he had any), and after that we got our own wheelchair for future use.  Well, wheelchair no more.

As I talked to Mom on the phone tonight, we agreed that it's indeed a good thing the man we love so deeply doesn't need a wheelchair anymore.  He never deserved that horrible illness that settled in his strong, capable body.  Some things I just don't understand.

Now in grief, I can cry when I want to and sometimes when I don't want to.  I am unsure how it helps me other than to clean my tear ducts.  It's true my heart has part of my father in it.  But, it also has part of my mother there too.   There's a section up high in there, a shelf perhaps, where she will always be on a pedestal for her loving attention to my dad.  Many people would have abandoned the cause, would have said it was too hard, but not Mom.  Some things I just don't understand.  Like love that never gives up and how those damn Chinese wheelchairs come apart at the least opportune times.