The next call came one day in June. I got the call just before I was leaving for work. It was Gabby again.
“I no longer want to take care of him” Gabby said.
“What do you mean you no longer want to take care of him” I asked. “Has he gotten better or worse?”
“He is the same. They are not able to help him here. He is still mentally and physically disabled. They say he will remain this way for the rest of his life. He cannot walk, talk or feed himself. It is too much work for me. You need to come get him. As I tried to put him on a plane to send back to him, but they would not allow him on it. I even placed a note attached to his shirt asking the pilot to take care of him. But they could not do that. So they would not allow him on the plane. So please come get him.”
I told her, I would book the plane ticket right now. So I informed my work about the situation, got on a plane, and flew to Germany. Gabby met me at the plane, drove me to her house, and showed me to you. I stayed one night there, and we flew back. I watched on the plane the whole trip. When we arrived, we were met by Joan, and she drove us home. That is when the real work started.
I took you to speech and physical therapy. I also took you to numerous doctors. They all told me that you would not get better as it had been 2 year since you had the stroke. But I was determined to get you the best care I could. They then took you to California to be checked out at one of their hospitals. I drove there every weekend to see you and how you were doing. They did numerous tests, MRIs, CAT scans, and every specialist looked at you. After two months they decided they could do nothing for you, and sent you home. You were then placed in a convalesce home and this was to be your home until the end.
I tried to take you out as often as I could. We went to family celebrations and birthday parties. During the summer, I even tried to take you swimming. After a few years, you just got worse and worse. I learned to sleep light as there was many times that you were taken to the hospital. We went to every hospital in the town. I think I met every nurse there, and they definitely knew you. Once in a while you would come out of your stroke, but you would only talk to me. When you did come out and were talking, the nurses would call me so I could find out what you needed. It was often that you were in pain, wanted the channel changed, or were hungry. If you had your legs curled up, then we knew you were in pain.
You were no longer the man who was full of muscles I knew prior to you leaving for Germany. You were now skinny and small. You were only slightly heavier than me. I couldn't believe the difference in you. So I knew you were a drug addict before you had this heart attack. I just wish I had just spoke up prior to this. Why had I not said anything to anyone about you being a drug addict? Why did I feel it was not my place? Or that no one would believe me? I was racked with guilt that you were like this, and I hadn’t done anything to stop it. Were you like this because of me? If I had asked you to stop, would you have stopped? The questions ran through my mind day and night. I cried myself asleep many times, because of these questions.
After a few years, the doctors and therapists all gave up saying there was nothing they could do. Even the nurses at the hospitals stopped trying to help you. Every time you went into the hospital they just made you as comfortable as possible. Even you coming out of it all and talking to me became fewer and fewer. Soon my visits became less often, and I my guilty feelings became less and less. Until it was completely out of my mind. Before I knew it I was only visiting on holidays and special occasions. You were not the same person I knew or loved. You were now a different person. You were under a hundred pounds by the ninth year and they had placed a feeding tube in you because you were no longer able to eat with your mouth. What happened to the rambunctious boy I once knew? The one who had stars in his eyes and knew what he wanted to do with his life. Who I loved with all my heart. I would stare at you, and just wish you could talk with us. I didn’t touch you, because I was afraid that you would break. Every ounce of me wished that you did not have to live this way. That one day someone would find a cure, and you would come back to me.
The last year of your life, you were in the hospital every single month. I got so use to the late night phone calls saying that once again you were in the hospital, that I became a light sleeper. Every time you were in the hospital, it was for the same things over and over: High fever, vomiting, flu like symptoms, malnutrition, and pneumonia. It was the last one that was the worst. You survived many “on his death bed” battles, but that last one even I doubted you would come back from it. I hoped and hoped that you did.
But, Instead I got the call that I most dreaded....
Chapter 7 - The Final One