In My Daddy’s Honor, Hell Hath No Fury
Of all things despicable, mistreating the segments of our community without a voice or vote is among the worst. There are so many of our people in nursing homes whose families bother not in visiting them. It is the saddest thing to see. To enter the places where our old and ailing are struggling just to make it through the lonely day without their loved ones is to see how one can quickly lose humanity. What is so wrong with the nursing homes of America? The apathy that quickly sets in once one person in the position to effect change takes their needs as secondary to more financially-driven ones. It is simply unacceptable to allow those incarcerated in such a place live on without at least the dignity of having an advocate to bring their situations to light.
But, I ask, to what avail? The sad fact is that most of the country is anesthetized to the quiet aspects of the breakdown of our society. Family is the foundation upon which we grow our future. When that is not respected and nurtured, we begin to decay. Our day has been coming for ages. When we see parents neglect their children, is it then only fair that children, in turn, forget parents when they reach old age? Or are we not to learn the pernicious aspect of such disdain for our moral duty to our familial relations? Should we not break the perpetual cycle of neglect and discontent? Should we not rise above all the baseness that can express itself in human nature? I, for one, though my parents weren’t always the examples of what good parenting is, have tried to fulfill my obligations to those who–right or wrong–brought me up: Honor thy parents. They have been the set of parenting representatives that have been in my life throughout its entirety. So what does that have to do with scornful females whose fury is said to temper the fury that Hell itself is, or something of the sort? My daddy was in a nursing home, my daddy was mistreated, my daddy was neglected, my daddy lost his life to the intricacies of this system that provides not a decent end-of-life experience to our elders.
My daddy had to be placed in a home, against our will, and was gifted malnutrition, sepsis, pneumonia, and his eventual death. Thank you all, for not having loved my daddy the way we loved him. My daddy was taken by a system that doesn’t allow us to get old with dignity.
In all this, though, I have nothing but thanks to give to our Creator for having allowed me to be with my daddy the last days of his life. I held his hand through this hard time just as he held mine through mine own. A more grateful subject I cannot be. I have loved intensely, lost deeply, and regretted most profoundly. I have been vulnerable to the life I’ve been given, but I have learned a lot about what matters. I try to make myself go back and volunteer at these homes where many are alone, though within multitudes of others, but I find it very hard yet. I still feel my daddy’s presence and find that he has permeated all aspects of my life, even those he didn’t necessarily agree with. One day, though, I hope to find the strength to go back and give of what time I have–in my daddy’s honor.
(Originally posted on “My House” blogspot on February 24, 2011 titled “Hell Hath No Fury”)