Sublimity, Oregon: population 2,148. The family moved my father to a nursing home in the small town due to his failing health. Soon my mother joined him, relocating into an apartment across the street from him.
The official population listed on the sign never changed after they moved there, despite that precise number. The fact that my parents made it an even 2,150 and no one bothered to change it always bugged me, though I realized of course it was an official census and my reaction was irrational.
The experience is indescribable, watching the cell-by-cell death of the body of someone you have known and loved so much, for as far back as conscious memories allow. Watching eyes blinded by acidosis straining to see. Sitting with him there as he struggled, determined to connect with us one last time -- long after Alzheimer's had robbed him of all but the most rudimentary forms of communication -- was life-changing.
Many times in his middle years, he had stated his intent to "die with his boots on." For him, as for most of us, it seemed to mean he wanted to leave with all of his autonomy and faculties fully intact. Sadly, it was not to be.
The only saving grace was knowing he seemed unaware of many of his limitations. Those final months, his frustrations broke through less and less. As bits and pieces of his ability to make and retain new memories left him, and then eventually even his past began to retreat, much of the time he was outwardly at peace.
Each time I saw him, I saw a new version of a father I had known all my life, not necessarily devolving as I had feared, but something altogether different. He was certainly not docile or compliant, not really childlike, but living in the moment, the fear and anger that had dogged him so much of his life falling away before he could begin to work himself up into anything resembling real rage.
Disarming. Endearing. Guileless.
I tried to be grateful for small things.
The only saving grace was knowing he seemed unaware of many of his limitations. Those final months, his frustrations broke through less and less. As bits and pieces of his ability to make and retain new memories left him, and then eventually even his past began to retreat, much of the time he was outwardly at peace.
Each time I saw him, I saw a new version of a father I had known all my life, not necessarily devolving as I had feared, but something altogether different. He was certainly not docile or compliant, not really childlike, but living in the moment, the fear and anger that had dogged him so much of his life falling away before he could begin to work himself up into anything resembling real rage.
Disarming. Endearing. Guileless.
I tried to be grateful for small things.
During those final days, a hospice nurse ordered foam cushions for his feet to help keep the sheets and blankets from pulling and weighing on his fragile skin, interfering with circulation and leading to breakdown. As I walked into his room for the first time after someone had slipped them on him, I laughed out loud. They covered his ankles and shins nearly up to his knees, purple no less. Dad was going to die with his boots on after all.
Many posts ago, I wrote about an occasional compulsion I used to have, to go out in the middle of the night and change the number on the population sign posted at the Sublimity town limits, just before the turn-off to my mother's apartment.
Now, I am grateful the number on the sign never changed.
The song Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) began playing on the car radio as I left Sublimity, the day after my father died there on February 12, 2008.
Amazing grace
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
Was blind, but now I see
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed
My chains are gone
I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy reigns
Unending love, Amazing grace
The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow
The sun forbear to shine
But God, Who called me here below
Will be forever mine
Will be forever mine
You are forever mine
additional lyrics by Chris Tomlin
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