As I pack the last box and turn out the lights to the apartment, I feel the tears begin to come. They are tears of anger, and of sadness, and of grief. They are the tears of a young woman who has had to make decisions that no 25-year-old should have to make.
At the end of January the sinking ship that was my dad’s health hit an iceberg and began to sink, and I quickly became the anchor trying my best to keep it afloat. I suddenly found myself in the position of a parent rather than a child. I’ve been having to make decisions everyday that don’t feel good, but in the end are best for my dad.
I started with closing the law practice he had built from the ground up over 20 years ago. I have so many memories of being at work with him. He would be on the computer or the phone, and I would sit on the floor coloring people that looked more like potatoes with lines coming out of them than humans. I would often wander over to his secretary’s desk to flash a smile and get some candy. Then off to other offices in the suite for some riveting games of I Spy and Simon Says with his coworkers.
I’ve also set up a care team to help with the medical side of things. My dad has no health insurance, and the healthcare system is set up in a way that not having insurance makes navigating this medical nightmare a lot more difficult. I want my dad to receive the best care possible, but I often find myself facing an impossible question: do I pay for medical expenses, groceries, or rent this month?
An additional challenge has been finding time to do school work. School was never something I had to actively find time to do. I love learning, and homework got done on my lunch break, or after my job teaching preschool, or when I was having trouble sleeping. Currently, though, all those little pockets of time have been taken up with dad stuff.
I have had to learn to swallow my pride and ask my professors for help. I have told them the situation, and they have all responded with an amazing amount of understanding. Some of them even email me just to remind me to take a breath, and tell me things like “Your mental health is more important than any deadline.”
When the roles between me and my dad initially became reversed, I remember thinking, “The Torah says honor thy mother and father, but what is the difference between honoring my dad and enabling his irresponsible behavior?” I think I was asking the wrong question. What I now find myself asking is, “How do I honor my father while respecting both of our boundaries?” The truth is I have not figured out how to do this perfectly yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s the key to not becoming resentful about all this new responsibility.
When my parents got divorced I remember feeling like there was something defective in me. I felt like if I had just been better-behaved, prettier, skinnier, less opinionated they would have loved me enough to stay together. Now with my dad being sick I constantly feel like I’m not good enough. Whenever he misses a dose of medication, or doesn’t use his walker, or lets his oxygen fall out of his nose, I think to myself, “What is wrong with me that I am so unlovable my own father cannot take care of his health to ensure he will be there to watch me grow, get married, and start a family?”
I know logically that these thoughts are not true. I know that I am doing the best I can, and that is all anyone can ask. I know logically that my dad loves me, and would do anything for me – well, anything except for take care of his health.
As I finish packing up the apartment, I happen upon a box of cards. I start to read them. They are all the cards from my family and friends congratulating me on becoming a bat mitzvah. The same family and friends who make it a point to check in on not only how my dad is doing, but how I am doing. They showered me with love then and have continued to be a community of cheerleaders throughout my life.
This community has taught me the true meaning of tzedakah. As a child I remember putting fifty cents of my weekly allowance into the tzedakah box every Friday night. I did it because it was part of the ritual, plus I liked the clank-clank noise of the coins hitting the bottom. Tzedakah, I am realizing, is giving without expecting anything in return. It is giving to someone in need with the knowledge that they will never be able to repay you, whether it’s in time or in money.
The tzedakah my dad and I have received from Jewish Family Services, our synagogue, our friends, and our family has come without condition, and it has showed me that tzedakah is not only an action, but also a feeling. It is a feeling of love, gratitude, and calm which draws me out of the chaos and reminds me that I am not alone in this journey.
Jourdan Stein is a senior majoring in women’s spirituality at Texas Women’s University. In her free time she enjoys taking guitar lessons, watching Fresh off the Boat on Hulu, and spending time with her dog, Sadie.
Featured image credit: Pixabay.com/ulleo.
