Coming Face to Face with My Mortality

On December 21, 2011, my father was discovered at 1pm, in and out of consciousness. He was rushed by ambulance to the hospital, where it was determined that he had a stroke.  The circumstances surrounding his stroke are very sad however, he has made great improvement.  My father was born and grew up in Tifton, Georgia. His mother gave  birth to two boys. She gave my father away to her mother to raise and kept the lighter skinned child. My father’s childhood was short because he had to feed and clothe himself at a young age. He drops out of high school at the age of 17 and as soon as he does, he is drafted in the US Army, where he served a tour of duty. He meets my mom on a blind date and they hit it off. They marry and have three children. One girl, me and two boys, my brothers. My oldest brother died from cardiac arrhythmia, triggered by acute renal failure. He was mentally retarded and what I learned from him is immeasurable. I learned compassion for man kind. I understand the differences in people. I can go on and on, but this blog is about my father.

My father took a liking to the less fortunate as early on as my childhood could remember. My issue is not with the less fortunate persay. My issue is with the bottom feeder mentality that never ceases. Always scheming and taking. Every opportunity is seen as a opportunity to yank somebody’s chain to get what they want. My father was fixated on them.  He would pick up single mothers with kids and take them to the store and help them. Problem with this was that he did not show that same love and compassion at home. With his children, he was aloof. Not really a dad. He kept himself occupied with auto repair, TV repair, electrical, plumbing and auto body repair. And, he worked at the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia for over 30 years in the janitorial services area. He was also an alcoholic.  The deeper he got in assisting the less fortunate, the less he did for his children. He was emotionally unavailable to us. He would only spend $28.00 dollars at the grocery store and that was supposed to feed a family of 5 ( Two cousins were living with us too). In 1983,  my mother  moved away from him and I went with her.  When he retired and had nothing to do, his friendships with the  less fortunate took a turn for the worse. His friends were now  alcoholics, crack heads, criminals, and prostitutes. All of whom received all of his time and attention. He was available to us only when we needed something fixed.

My father laid in his cold and wet backyard for some 12 hours, suffering from a stroke. The first girl that was with him, her name is Doreen or Dorian. She was with him outside in the backyard at 2am on the night of December 21. She left him in the yard, laying on the wet ground, temperatures went down to the low 30s. And it had rained two straight days prior. His next door neighbor saw him laying on the ground, thought he was drunk and ignored him. It was not until another crack user female, heard him making sounds as she walked by, discovered him in the yard, and called the ambulance. That was at 2pm. So he laid in the yard, in and out of consciousness, for 12 hours until someone with an ounce of compassion, called the ambulance.  Then, my father’s crack user girlfriend came and she became fixated on my father’s wallet. She tried to get it before  he got on the ambulance but was unsuccessful. Her fake step father rode in the ambulance with my father and got his keys that had fallen. She tried to get his wallet again at the hospital but by then, hospital rules kicked in…Only a family member can receive his property.

I made it to the hospital emergency room and saw my father. A female from the street was in the room with him (She genuinely cares for my father. And told me how much he has done for her.) She was feeding him, banana pudding. He could talk but he was rambling and his left hand and left arm shook uncontrollably.  The nurse told me he had suffered a stroke and there was some bleeding from the brain and another cat scan would be done to see if there is improvement. She told me when he was brought in, his body temperature was real low, down to 90 degrees. And she said he could not move his left side. But now, there was movement on the left side.  The nurse showed me the bag where his clothes were and told me he was wet when he came in and he had urinated on himself repeatedly. I retrieved his wallet from the bag and his cell phone. (I said to myself as I looked at his bag of clothes)  The rest is headed to the nearest trash can.

His girlfriend and fake step father made arrangements to bring the keys to my mother. They made it and dropped off the keys and my mother gave the fake stepfather $20 for bring the keys.  Me and my brother went over to check out the house and quickly learned that the keys, did not fit any of the doors, inside or outside of the house and his car keys were not on the ring either. My mother were given a set of dummy keys. A locksmith had to be called and they changed the top and bottom lock on the main door, which was the back door to my father’s section of the house. A quick assessment and video taping showed that my father’s living condition was far worse that any episode of hoarders, I have ever seen. However, we noticed that two flat screened TVs were gone. And we need to go back and make a thorough assessment of what was taken. Making matters worse, we’d have to go through piles on top of piles of junk and clothes before taking an inventory.

As I looked at my father, he was making jokes and talking crap. It was funny but I couldn’t laugh. What caught my attention was him. I looked at him really good and I saw myself. I look just like him and his mother. In that alone, I know what I will look like when I get old.  I almost walked in his foot steps with the people in the streets. I hung out and embraced those bottom feeder people too, while getting high on drugs. They knew I didn’t belong and they robbed me and used me to no end. I woke up from that experience and now, the only way I step into the hood is to serve court papers or take statements in an ongoing investigation. I got my creative side from him and my entrepreneur spirit from him. I don’t have one trade, I have a cluster of trades like he did.  And its the cluster of trades that keep my phone ringing with new and repeat business.

My love of animals came from him. My pigeon toes came from his mom.  My kind heart came from both my mom and dad. My business mind came from my mother. I don’t age hard like my father. I age like my mom. I’m 51 but don’t look it. My mom is from Washington DC and my dad is from Tifton, Georgia. So I have a healthy mix of the city and of the country. I used to enjoy walking barefoot with my poodles, walking right with me. As I looked at my dad, I faced my own mortality. I realize too,that I may lose him through all of this.  I love my dad. I’m not ready to lose him. I am ready to break the ties he have with the street people. If one more street woman come to me, praising my father for all that he has done for them, I think I will throw up. Because he was robbed and taken advantage of much worse than me. One left him on the wet ground to die in his own backyard, covered in urine.

I have power of attorney papers in place for my dad to have my mom take charge of his affairs. And those people in the streets that he seemed to enjoy so much, will be expunged from his life. If I can help it, he will never see those people again. My father is wealthy and did not have to live that way. But now, he will live as he should. Loved and cared for, in his own element.

by Joan Farley Nyobe