Brady Helps

Well meaning people ask: how is your dad?

I have no idea how to answer that question without sounding like a jerk. I dread answering the question. I know myself — I speak bluntly and directly more often than not. I know that I see things pretty matter-of-factly, and I know that doesn’t come across well.

When answering — all I can say is: He sucks. He’s dying. He’s lost his mind, and he’s not fully aware of what’s happening to him. And, it’s awful. Thanks for asking.

I mean every word of it, including the thanks for asking. I appreciate that people care. Though, most people register it as sarcasm, but it’s not meant to be.

Well meaning people also ask: how are you doing with it?

hate answering that question too. I answer — I began mourning the loss of my dad years ago. It’s painful to watch him go through this process. In the end, I made my peace with it a while ago, and this is just a natural thing that happens, and it will come for you and I at some point. So how am I? I’m existing, and I’m okay, and I’m going to be okay. That answer screws people up — they always follow up with a doubting, are you sure?

Yes, of course I’m sure! If I wasn’t sure, I would use different words to describe my uncertainty. However, I am certain I will die, I am certain I am okay, and I am certain that I’ll be okay.

In the end, I appreciate people’s intent behind the questions. They’re checking in. They’re wondering if they can help. They’re offering support.

What they miss though is something rather important — they are expecting me to answer them as if I was them talking to them.

How many times did I use “them” versus “me”? 4:2.

It’s not really about me — their interpretation of my response is about them.

And, unfortunately, I can’t manage for them.

Euclid writes that a point is that which has no part. Well if something has no parts, it cannot be divided into other parts… and if it cannot be divided into any other parts, because it doesn’t exist? Another definition suggests that a point is the point from which magnitude increases. In astronomy, magnitude means brightness. In mathematics, magnitude means size. In seismology — energy. Could it be said that a point is nothing unless the person receiving the point assigns an amount energy/value/size/importance to that point? What is the point of this post? To some it might be nothing… but to me, it’s that a point, like art, matters in the eye of the beholder.

Burt, Hal, Dionne — and later Babs — ask the important questions of the listener:What’s it all about? Is it just for the moment we live?What’s it all about when you sort it out?Are we meant to take more than we give? Or, are we meant to be kind?Are the kind foolish and the strong cruel? And if the strong be cruel, do you lend on a golden rule?The song asks the ultimate question — what’s life about? And is it about hoarding what’s yours or giving all you can to serve others? And if you hoard, what are you missing that causes you to keep? Perhaps it’s love — true love — the feeling of being loved. I love the last line:"When you walk, let your heart lead the way. And you’ll find love any day, Alfie.”Enjoy:

Disclaimer: I’m not writing a religious post!

At church today, the priest spoke about suffering — “suffering is a means to life.” He also said, “death is not an end, life is changed through death, it continues.” The religious idea is that we are promised eternal life by Jesus.

I enjoy researching consciousness. In the last 90 days, I found articles theorizing that consciousness could be non-local — source. The idea is that consciousness may be some quantum entangled thing and it might persist long after our bodies die. I’m ultra-simplifying and robbing you of the nuance — for more, read the link.

Here, I have two ideas — one religious belief and one scientific theory. Both ideas point to the idea that our consciousness might/does survive our death. Perhaps this is where the ideas of angels or spirit guides come from? Maybe this is the experience we have when we believe our ancestors are talking to us? Maybe this is what our parents mean when they say “grandma and grandpa are looking down on you and watching over you.”

As I come to terms with the hospice situation of my dad, I experience comfort knowing that both ideas might be true. That death isn’t the end… it’s just a change. Nothing comes from nothing, everything comes from something… the end of one begins another.

We needed to arrive at the location before 4pm. If we missed the time, it’s possible we might not complete a critical task on behalf of my dad. We left the first location at 2:30pm, and it became clear that we would arrive at our destination around 3:40pm. We would be rushing to complete our task. Only to have to rush back home in order to make another deadline.

At 3pm I decided to turn the car around and head back home. Why rush? Why stress about getting from one point to another? I, and my compatriots, are already stressed and tired — why put ourselves through more of it? My decision created some frustration that quickly abated — “we’re almost there, let’s just get this done… we’ll rest when we’re dead.”

Today, I learned that we didn’t need to head to any location yesterday — everything could be done by phone from the convenience of our home.

I’m reminded of a story my Dad told me — many times. I’ll change the story — [changes] — so that it’s appropriate for this audience — my Dad wasn’t always the cleanest story teller.

Atop a hill sat two young bulls. A young one, and an old one. In the valley, there sat a collection of female cows.

The young bull looked to the old bull and said, let’s run down and [read scripture] to one or two of them. The old bull turned to the young bull and said, let’s walk down and [read scripture] to them all.

Sometimes the simplest and least stressful plan produces the maximal experience of life. And, while moving slower might feel less productive, in the end, it’s likely better.

Commentary: If you know my dad, you know how that story went. And if you didn’t, then I’m comfortable with you believing that he spoke about reading scripture often.

To approach a thing stoically can mean to approach a thing without feeling or in a temperate manner. To approach a thing with a Stoic mindset can mean to deeply appreciate the experience of a thing and then move forward when it’s time to move forward.I struggle to go through life with a small case stoic nature. I feel my experiences deeply, and I desire to appreciate those feelings to maximum extent possible. Perhaps I never want that small case experience. Perhaps, one of the best lessons the death process teaches me is that maximizing the perception of the moment while being able to move forward — time doesn’t stop — is the best way for me to experience life. In fact, I wonder if I effectively move forward unless I allow myself to maximally experience the moment. When I use maximize, I don’t mean to n’th degree every second of every day. I mean to do all I can to be present and allow life to unfold in front of me. To widen my mind and my heart’s aperture as much as I can. To perceive what I can, not judge it, and take a step forward. Said another way — live each moment (responsibly) like it’s the last.

He lay on the bed propping his head up with his hand. Eyes locked on me so that he could receive lyric cues. He listened attentively, trying to match his singing with the song. The micro-smile forming at the corners of his mouth signaled his enjoyment — singing through his favorite songs.

We recited the poems he quotes most — Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. He claimed that he would sleep soon, but I still had miles to go.

His hand came out from under his head. His lead lay on the pillow. His hands clasped his body and then outstretched themselves asking for a hug.

I pulled the covers over him. Gave him a hug. He gave me a kiss. And that’s the moment.

I perceived a warm come across my body, and I perceived a light. The world appeared bright to me. As if ball lightning lit up the room. I sensed a bond between myself, my dad, and something else — something else in the room with me.

Something else giving me a notion that nothing really matters besides this moment. And more than that, something else communicating that what matters is love and compassion, not score keeping or remembering how I treated or was treated to/by others in the past. That what mattered was a kind of pragmatic optimism about the present.

My mind’s eye observed the absurdity of family politics, communication dynamics, the need to over-engineer relationships, hate, dislike, pettiness, and the like when juxtaposed with love.

It was hard not to cry and laugh.

It wasn’t sadness, it was a grief… but not the grief at the loss of someone important. It was relief from shedding myself of ideas and notions that never really served me or anybody else… and happiness to realize that nothing but this moment and how it’s used truly matters.

Insights from a conversation:What’s right isn’t necessarily a right.Keeping score never helped anyone stay in the long game.It’s better to give away to strangers and live for others than hold to what ultimately won’t serve you or others.Very little actually matters. You have miles to go before you sleep.

I know it’s been since March since you and I spoke. In March, I basically had a breakdown. My experience at work led me to decompose into a bit of a mess. Since then, I focused on building myself back up. Perhaps I embrace a form of exposure therapy — embracing the thing that stresses me most and learning to love and cope with it. I’m finally, starting to feel more myself.

I’m more myself now because I’m presented with something very new, yet not very new to me — death. My father is in the process of passing away. Only time will tell when the actual moment arrives when his consciousness will leave his body. But until that time comes, I must embrace the inevitable with wide open arms and welcome it as a friend.

I’ve blogged about death many times. You can expect that I’ll begin sharing my thoughts on death and how I’m dealing with it more and more. So far, the experience is not sad… truly… if anything, it’s full of love.

The things in life that scare us, that stress us, that decompose us into a mess, that kill us…. these things are a kind of death. They are things we can choose to be scared of, or we can lean into and embrace. When I began embracing what gave me anxiety I work, I began enjoying myself at work. And now that I am confronted with the impending death of my father (however soon or distant that might be in the future), I lean into the experience and find that I feel more alive than ever through it.

Grit and resilience are buzzwords that get overused. I don’t see myself as gritty or resilient. Instead, I see myself as a someone trying to lean into the things that scares me the most with the hope of finding that reason to embrace life that much more.

A claim from my sister:Did you know that simply being 65+ and hospitalized puts you at risk for developing delirium?The risk is even higher for individuals with cognitive impairments. Unfortunately, delirium is often missed and misdiagnosed, especially in patients with dementia.During my hospital career, I witnessed firsthand how delirium was frequently mistaken for dementia. Proper training and education in delirium assessment and prevention can make a world of difference in patient outcomes.At first, I am skeptical. Really? Age and being in the hospital are two factors that increase the risk? I allowed that skepticism to drive me to research using Perplexity. Turns out, there’s some meat to that claim my sister made. Skeptic no longer. Read the results:“Research consistently demonstrates that elderly hospitalized patients face significantly elevated delirium risk, with prevalence rates ranging from 20% to over 50% depending on the setting and patient population. This report synthesizes evidence from multiple systematic reviews, meta-analyses, and observational studies to conclusively falsify the stated hypothesis, demonstrating that advanced age combined with hospitalization constitutes a significant and well-documented risk factor for the development of delirium. The evidence presents a clear picture: being 65 or older and hospitalized substantially increases a person's vulnerability to this acute cognitive condition with its associated negative outcomes.” (Click here for the full report)Also admittedly, I witnessed hospital delirium first hand — it’s not pretty. I am beyond proud that my sister is engaging in work that matters.