Just a belated notice that I changed the name of my blog to The Muddlers. I didn’t feel like Mister Ritchey was catchy or descriptive enough. The Muddlers would be all of us just trying to muddle our way through life, doing the best we can.
So, if it’s not too late, don’t unfollow me because you didn’t recognize the name.
Today, of course, was Easter Sunday. It was also my dad’s 86th birthday. He saw fit to celebrate by giving us all a scare.
Since my parents moved to a very small senior apartment two years ago, we’ve had most of the holidays at my brother’s and my shared house. So, it was the five of us, with my sister. As my mom and I peeled some yams and my sister worked on other stuff, my dad came out to the kitchen for a drink. He had been sleeping on the couch in a half seated, almost lying on his side position.
He stood by the cupboard that holds the glasses for a moment. I had asked him something and glanced over to see that he didn’t look quite right.
I saw that he looked unsteady and, thankfully, was able to close the distance of a few steps to him before he could fall. He fell against me as I put an arm around him and held him up while my mom grabbed the nearby stool. He was all sweaty and clammy and pale, and kept yawning a lot and putting his head down like he wanted to just fall asleep.
I said what everyone was thinking, that we should get him to the hospital, but he didn’t want to go. My mom said he has had fits like this before. I also said about the yawning, that it means the brain needs oxygen. I feared something major was happening.
My brother had come out to the kitchen by then and we switched out the stool for a chair with a back. He sat a couple minutes then insisted he use the bathroom, which is what he was on his way to do when he came into the kitchen. My brother and I led him in, for fear that he might fall. Privacy was not the priority for the moment. It was a sitting down event. When he was situated, we went out and my mom went in to make sure he was okay. My brother and I guided him back to his chair when done.
He sat for a bit longer in the kitchen with a coat over him and his color came back. I happen to have a blood pressure monitor, since mine has been running high for a while. We checked it and it was pretty low. He said it was low the morning before, and he only took a half pill of his blood pressure medication today. Well, that’s going to get checked on, I assure you.
It was a scary and humbling moment. Given his age, we all know there can’t be an abundance of time left for him to be here with us, but this was the first time it really hit home. At least, the first time since the day of his quadruple bypass heart surgery. That was at least twelve years ago. I think more like 14 or 15. He came through that with flying colors, and even though it was a nerve-wracking day, the risks are fairly low and I felt like it was going to be okay.
Today was different. It was somehow worse. I guess because the end is nearer, and we didn’t know what was happening. Was it a heart attack, stroke, or something else?
It’s tough to see your parents become weak and vulnerable, when you love and respect them so much. You looked up to them with unquestioning faith as a child, for comfort, guidance and provision.
I will cherish the time we have. I’ve wanted to write down some of my dad’s experiences as he tells them, to share in his memories, and preserve them. A scrapbook, of sorts. Now is the time to do that, and anything else I’ve “always wanted to do” with him.
The cycle of life spins quickly. So, get out there and live it! And, share your experiences, because we’re all in this together.
There was a knock at my door tonight. Somehow, I knew who it was. He hadn’t come around for a while and it was about due. It was Stan, (name changed for privacy). Stan comes around every so often wanting to do some small task for cash and/or a beer. My brother and I never got to cleaning out the flower beds last fall. Now, there’s still dead leaves, and some litter that blew there, covering the spring growth of daffodil and tulip stalks and already-blooming crocus and grape hyacinths.
Stan has a sharp eye and has trained himself well to spot things like that. I’ve obliged him in the past as has my brother, but did not the last few times he came around. This time I went a step further, and told him we’re just getting by here and can’t afford to pay him to do things we can do ourselves. He could tell by the resolve in my voice that I meant it and only tried again once. Normally, he’ll keep talking and try to squeeze some money out of you.
You might wonder why I would ever oblige him in the first place, or have any sympathy. Well, for one, he’s pretty good at what he does. If he put as much energy into trying to keep a job as he does in coaxing some cash out of the neighborhood denizens, he might do okay.
Also, shortly after my brother and I moved in, we had 8 tons of topsoil delivered to restore the back yard. Because of the narrow alley and a retaining wall restricting access for the dump truck, the soil had to be dumped in the abandoned part of the alley next to the yard and then distributed by shovel and wheelbarrow. I had to leave for my part time job after we were at it a while. Stan ended up helping my brother finish the job, and I got out of doing most of it. My brother was so grateful, he gave him what cash he had and asked me for some more to give him when I got home. That was fine. It was a huge job.
Unfortunately, it set the stage for repeated solicitations of odd jobs for cash or a cold one.
That was eight years ago. Stan’s methodology evolved over time. He became more engaging, sneakier, and he always had a story of why he was short on dough. That, of course, wore out, despite his efforts. Seems he always just started a job but didn’t get paid yet. His girlfriend kicked him out, at least twice. You get the picture. He also would start out saying he’d do a chore for $10, but then by the time he finished, he was suggesting $15 or $20.
Tonight, he didn’t push the issue too much with the leaf gathering, but he still asked for a cold beer. He’ll tell you he’s an alcoholic and then ask for a drink. I guess that’s supposed to make you more sympathetic or something. Well, I said I didn’t have any. I had a few, but why should I give one to him. That still costs me money. Money that I work long hours to earn. Plus, if he really is an alcoholic, which he most likely is, then I’d just be enabling him.
Stan seems like a decent guy, and at least he’s willing to do something for the money. Not just plain asking for a handout. He’s engaging to talk to, so you let your guard down. I’ve learned though, to say no, pretty much automatically, now. Neither my brother or I will give him anything anymore, but it took us a while to get to that point.
Yes, having a hard time saying no runs in the family, but it’s also because we care about others and know that life can be hard. But when that gets you taken advantage of, and enables unhealthy behavior in another, you’ve got to put your foot down.
Maybe Stan was sent here to teach me (and my brother) that lesson.
Sophisticated Neanderthal 
You must be logged in to post a comment.