CARING FOR DAD
told by Ken Shaw
In the last two years of his life my Dad went deeper into states of
consciousness associated with dementia and a blood disorder
characterized by his body's failure to produce red cells. He slept a
lot and his mood shifts sometimes brought with them unpredictable
behaviors. Confusion and obsessions were common.
In October of 1996 we placed Daddy in a well respected nursing
facility in Dallas, his hometown for most of his adult life. He did
not resist. In fact, he made friends rapidly and was a favorite of the
caretaking staff. It appeared to me that a long suppressed wish to be
taken care of was now being granted. Another part of him was troubled,
and he would cry easily and call out for his brothers and sisters. "HELP!"
he would yell loudly. When I was there I would yell with him, trying
to encourage his efforts to find relief from some unknown source of
torment. On one of these occasions he went so far as to tell me that
he 'owed apologies to some people'. I urged him to make these
apologies now, but it seemed too much for him in that moment. He went
back to a safer place. We ate ice cream and took a ride in his
wheelchair.
I had read Arny Mindell's book on coma, plus Stan Tomandl's work. In
addition I obtained a copy of Stan's manuscript regarding his Dad's
encounters with dementia. These readings all helped me to understand
more about what was going on. So did information from the nursing
staff and the Hospice people.
During 1997 I visited from Colorado as often as time and money
allowed. During these times I was able to teach caretakers to be more
aware of Daddy's levels of awareness, e.g., that he heard and took in
much of what was said in his presence; that he was very vulnerable to
intrusions of sudden noises or lights or touching; and that his
personal schedules for eating, shaving, dressing, etc. could be
compassionately negotiated rather than rigidly imposed.
In spite of everyone's efforts he seemed more and more despondent over
his body's failure to respond to frequent transfusions. His appetite
waned and he spent more and more time 'under the surface'.
The call I expected came the second week in January, 1998. When I
arrived he appeared not to recognize me in any way. Staff reported
that he had not eaten nor taken any fluids for two days. His body
functions were shutting down. At eleven o'clock my son David told me
to go home and rest, and that he would stay until six AM. That morning
he reported no movements during the night, that Daddy's eyes were open
though not responsive, and that his breathing was shallow with long
spaces in-between.
I sat beside his head with my left hand on his chest, my right hand
on his forearm, compressing lightly on the slow intake of his breath,
releasing on the exhale. I spoke quietly into his right ear, telling
him it was me and that I was glad to be there with him. I thanked him
for what he had given me over the years. I told him that I loved him
and named others who did, and said that he did not have to stay around
to take care of us any longer. He could go whenever he wanted. I
noticed a small movement of his right hand. When I took hold of this
hand I told him that I noticed his movement, and that I believed he
had been listening to me. I asked him to make another movement if this
was true. In two or three seconds his hand closed on mine. I told him
I felt that, and said, 'Would you do that one more time so I can be
sure?' He squeezed my hand firmly once more. Two more breaths and
he left.
Ken Shaw
in memory of
Truxton Shaw
Copyright 2006 by Ken Shaw
Used with permission.
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COMA COMMUNICATION THERAPY ~ PROCESS ORIENTED FACILITATION
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