“This is my baby, Presh.  I call her Presh, because she is precious.”

Dad would always introduce me as his “Presh.”  It would be the first thing he would tell a stranger that would come across our path.  I would get quizzical looks from people because I was a woman in my thirties, not a baby or toddler.  But once he explained the nickname they would smile and I would give a shy and slightly embarrassed head nod.

I hope Dad knew how much that little nickname meant to me.

When Dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2012 I flew from California to visit my parents a few months later right before Christmas.  Dad was still every bit my dad, but his disease was noticeable for the first time.  Amongst all the reassurances that he would be fine from friends and family, I knew better.  I don’t know how I knew, I just knew.  So I cried.  For days and days I cried.  When I emerged from my pain, I had a coat of armor.  For the next five years, my father deteriorated in front of my eyes, both physically and mentally.  We were losing him, but I didn’t cry.  I was strong for him and my family.  I owed him that.  Every time I was hurt or scared I was comforted by his words, “It’ll be fine. You’ll be okay.”  These simple words were never empty to me because they came from a man of incredible strength.  And he was always right.  So I never worried or cried for long.

My armor protected me as I had to witness his suffering from disease, as I had to say goodbye, as I had to lay to him to rest.  Now what?

From those that have lost their parents, I have been warned that it will hit me all of a sudden, or that I will need to take time to reflect.  I think today, Father’s Day, is a fitting day.  So, let it hit me.

You know who could help me through this grief?  Dad.  I think that is what is so hard for me.  It’s not the father I had that I will miss, but the father I will need in the future that I am devastated to not have.  Who will tell me that it will be fine, that I will be okay?  If I succeed in any area of my life, I can’t see his smile and the pride on his face.  I can’t share new experiences with him.  I can’t reminisce any more.  Remembering Dad is easy, thinking of my future without him is what hurts.  And it hurts like hell.

So first I will remember him.  A lot of daughters are thinking about their dads today, and lucky ones, like me, grew up with an amazing father.  Dad and I had drastically different childhoods.  My dad didn’t have an amazing dad.  My father’s childhood was nothing short of tragic.  How he emerged with a sense of humor and a love of life is beyond me, but he did follow in his father’s footsteps for a while and became an alcoholic.  As an adult, I learned more about his first life, before he gave up drinking.  It was filled with anger and grief, betrayal and loss.  In April of 1987, my father fell on his knees, gave his life to Christ and gave up drinking.  I was three years old at the time, the youngest of his four children.  He never had another drink.  I don’t remember any of this.  I only remember that I would run into his arms and jump on him to play and he would wince in pain because he was recovering from cirrhosis.  That was the only trace of his previous life I could see growing up.  He played me with anyway.

My childhood was radically different.  My father was not an alcoholic.  He was always around.  He taught me about landscaping and planting trees and rose bushes, although his lessons never really landed.  He let me ride the tractor and even though my constant need for attention delayed his work, he would always indulge me.  He taught me how to play basketball and ride a bike.  He taught me how to saddle a horse, and how to take care of animals because they take care of us.  He would joke that I was spoiled, and I was.  Not only because I had a 90’s Barbie collection that my mother would describe as “ridiculous,” but because unlike my father, I had a Dad that was my constant guide, counselor and friend.  Our relationship only strengthened as I grew older.  How was it he was able to give me this?  He was so broken before.  I believe it was his faith that healed his brokenness and only a miracle of God that I had such a loving Dad.

Dad wasn’t just healed for my benefit.  He dedicated himself to his career in law enforcement.  He helped so many people.  He had witnessed depravity, murder, kidnapping, child abuse, drug abuse, domestic violence and the list goes on.  He wasn’t spared further pain after giving up drinking.  He lost his son, my older half-brother, in 1991, but instead of turning back to the bottle he again prayed.   At that time, I remember Dad spending a lot of time outside planting.  I remember him sitting in his recliner staring into space.  As a child, I didn’t understand.  As an adult, I still don’t understand how he could face such unspeakable pain and then turn that pain into a way to help others.  There are so many parents that lose their children to gun violence.  My dad delivered the news.  He could comfort in ways no one else could.  He also reached out to fellow officers who battled alcoholism and told his story openly and honestly.  He founded a Bible study called, “Cops for Christ,” a place for public servants to share their stories, pray together, find comfort in the Word and learn more about faith from priests, ministers and pastors from different churches and communities.

Dad never shared with me the tragedy he witnessed in the field.  He wanted to protect me from that as long as he could.  One lesson that he may never know landed, was to love thy neighbor.  Seems simple enough, but much harder in practice.  All kinds of people would turn to my dad for help.  They could be the recipient of a speeding ticket or the victim of a violent crime.  They could be wealthy or they could be poor.  He tried to help everyone he could, and he wanted me to witness that.  If you needed food, Dad got you food.  If you needed a place to stay and park the trailer, our yard was your home.  If you needed a little money, Dad could find some work for you (even if he could do it himself).  As a child, I never understood why Dad would surround himself with all these needy characters.  As an adult, I know that he was following the footsteps of Christ.  He would not judge you based on your social class, political party or the sins of your past.  Everyone falls short, and everyone needs a helping hand.  My dad was a recipient of grace and forgiveness, and he never forgot it.

That’s the lesson I hope he knows I got in the end.  Everyone deserves another chance to become better, to do better.  And there are those, like my Dad, who finally take the opportunity to create a life they never thought possible.

Dad left a lot of different memories with different people.  Many were touched by his life.  When I remember him as only I can as his daughter, I am truly humbled.  My father was by no means perfect, but to me, there was no one more perfect to be my dad.

Now I must move forward, which is much harder than remembering.  When Dad took his last breath, his suffering was over, but for our family, the world stopped spinning.  How is it possible to live in a world that no longer contains Lawrence Romero?  My grief, of course, is selfish.  But, I must deal with it when it hits me hard on days like today.  I must move forward by remembering what I promised him when I said goodbye.

Tell His Story
Dad was worried that he didn’t have the chance to reach more people.  He wanted to help more people suffering from alcoholism.  He wanted to let them know that it wasn’t hopeless.  I didn’t battle alcoholism like my parents and grandparents because that battle was waged on my behalf.  Dad broke the cycle.  My father’s example reminds me that this disease is incredibly dangerous and that I don’t need alcohol to tame my sorrow – I have my faith and my family.  Because I have not battled alcoholism myself, I cannot help others the way that my father could.  But I can tell his story in hopes that it provides a real example of triumph over adversity, any adversity, and that there is mercy and forgiveness for those that seek it.

Take Care of Mom
I did tell Dad that I would take care of Mom although I laughed when I said it.  Mom took care of not only Dad but she took care of me.  She is a strong, independent woman, and she is going to do what she wants when she wants no matter what I say.  But I can fulfill this promise by being supportive as she learns how to put herself first for the first time in 35 years. Mom is smart and resilient, so all I can really do is watch her embark on a new adventure.  I know she will do incredible things.  I have no doubt.  I’ll give my two cents here and there, but taking care of Mom means making sure that she knows she is loved beyond measure.  Dad wasn’t always a prince charming (to say the least), but he loved her deeply.  So, Dad, know that she is not alone, and that even though you are not here, she is still loved here on earth, very deeply.

Be Okay
This is the hard one.  I told Dad I would be okay.  It’s so much harder to be okay without him here to tell me that everything will be fine and I’ll be okay.  Even when he was sick he would have moments of lucidity that he would use to tell me that it was okay.  He lived in a prison.  He could barely move and he was in so much pain at times.  He was fearfully confused from dementia, but he would still try to comfort me.  Oh, Dad, I never told you how hurt and angry I was that you got sick.  Being okay was easier somehow when you were here.  The world was safer with you in it.  It made more sense somehow.  But dammit, I’m going to be okay.  I have a family that loves and comforts me and I have work left to do.  More than that, I have your words.  You may have left, but you left behind your words of comfort.  I’ll listen to you still.  You stayed strong when struggle came, and I am, after all, your daughter.  I’ll always be yours.  Your Presh.

“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”
— Psalm 40:2

Diagnosis We Don’t Know.

Diagnosis We Don’t Know is the latest in the seemingly endless barrage of crap that keeps hitting me and my husband.  What…the…*explicative*???

Okay, end of my whining.  Now for the backstory (the condensed version).

My husband’s symptoms started about one year ago, shortly before we moved back to our home state.  Why did we move back to our home state?  My father had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease and my sister with terminal cancer.  My mother was drowning in three businesses, and Dad hadn’t seen a doctor since his diagnosis.  He has six doctors, so that was a lot of appointments to miss.

Upon our return, Dad started to really hit his Parkinson’s and his diabetes hard, and at the same time we were proud of Dad, we were frustrated with his diseases.  I developed a strong anger towards disease, stronger than ever before, and not a very healthy anger.  My anger and frustration peaked when my sister passed away.  I decided to focus on getting Dad through his grief and back to his fighting stance.  Whereas living with diabetes was like shooting a missing target, living with Parkinson’s (PD) was like shooting at a target that you couldn’t even see.  Why did he develop PD?  Don’t know.  What stage was he in?  Don’t know.  Will an extra dose a day help?  We can try…don’t know we’ll see.  Physical therapy.  Speech therapy.  My hatred of Parkinson’s was intense partly because I was so confused by it.

It was a lot of stress, all the while I’m helping Mom with two of her three businesses and Husband is finding that he can’t think straight at work.  His first symptoms seemed like his old essential tremor was claiming more territory.  Then he felt as if he was in a fog.  Then the tremors led to soreness…then stiffness.  Then he couldn’t take wide strides when he walked, so he started to shuffle.  His right side became a lot slower than his left.  All this coupled with the fact that he lost his sense of smell a long time ago….the list of symptoms pointed to…you guessed it…Parkinson’s.  End of backstory.

The thought of my husband having PD was too much to process because going through it with Dad as was intense.  Dad is a strong optimistic guy, but this disease can take down even the strongest most upbeat of people on the bad days.  Not to mention fears of the future.   I didn’t want my husband facing the same thing!  My husband is young, so it is very rare for someone his age to be diagnosed with PD, but of course, it does happen.  Nine months ago, when his symptoms were becoming too much to ignore, we went to the doctor.  Then to a neurologist.  Nine months of tests including blood work, an MRI, an EEG and even a thyroid ultrasound.  Test after test after test.  Each new appointment brought up another “It could be…we can test…”  We finally secured an appointment with a movement disorder specialist who after a physical examination reported “NOT Parkinson’s”.

HALLELUJAH!!!

So what is it?  Uh…we don’t know for sure.  As elated as I am that he wasn’t diagnosed with a neurodegenerative disease, it’s hard to really jump for joy at my fullest capacity to jump without knowing what it is exactly.  In other words, we still can’t completely rule out anything.  For my husband, it has been a long process of elimination.  But we don’t know what it is by knowing what it’s not…yet.  This, to me, is the most frustrating aspect of brain diseases and disorders.  There is no knowing exactly.  The brain is too complicated for such wishful thinking.  Even though we have come so far (I mean, I have epilepsy and was never prescribed an exorcism), we are still in the dark ages when it comes to the brain.

It’s frustrating to watch my husband struggle to do simple tasks or to hear him moan in his sleep.  It’s downright torture.  But when I start to cry out to God “Not fair!” I think of all the people who received a diagnosis and it was devastating.  A lot of these people are in my family.

On top of the health-related stress the financial stress is very pressing.  A few weeks ago, my toothache became pretty bad, so we found a dentist.  After (almost) 30 years on earth, I had my first cavity.  I was handed a proposal for a root canal and crown to the tune of $2,500.  My husband was handed the same proposal in the next room at the same time.  I went numb, and it wasn’t just from the three shots of Novocain it took to drill out my cavity and fill it.

People deal with cavities all the time, and I consider myself a tough lady with a high pain tolerance but it when it comes to my teeth I am a wimp.  I felt so betrayed by life!  I became a complete monster.  I needed constant sympathy and petting from my husband, and I was selfishly angry because he was supposed to be the healthy one.  I’ll deal with all the chronic illnesses, but he has to be the one to deal with me and be the caretaker and bringer of pain killers.  I writhed and whined in tooth pain for two full days.  I blamed everyone but myself for that.  At the end of the two days, I started to sort out my monstrous behavior and thoughts of throwing things.  Seriously…a cavity?  C’mon.  I had a toothache-induced nightmare that my jaw fell off.  So see…it could be worse.

Every time I drink anything I am painfully reminded that I need a root canal.  But I can deal with the pain for now.  We have a lot of medical bills, but we will always have a lot of medical bills.  It’s not worth it to worry about tomorrow’s medical bills.  It’s difficult for me to talk (or write) about financial stress (I am a prideful woman), but I know there a lot of people out there dealing with similar struggles.  They know how much time out of the day it takes to simply call your insurance provider or clinic or pharmacy.  How one piece of mail can turn into two months of phone calls and hair pulling.

I don’t know where God will lead us, but lead us He must, because I have no idea what is going on right now.  My husband and I have a lot of blessings to count, and in the darkest moments of utter confusion, I try to count them.  We have an unwavering God who knows what is to come and is preparing us for it, never giving us anything we can’t bear, and the strength to meet our struggles.  We have each other.  We have parents who love and take care of us.  We have friends who follow-up and ask how we are doing.  We have a senior cat with impeccable dental health.  I mean, the list goes on and on.

Is my life where I thought it would be right now?  Absolutely not.  I fight off the feeling of unfairness when others my age are able to hold dinner parties in nice homes with beautiful kids and plan family vacations.  I have to keep in mind that Diagnosis I Don’t Know has given me some gifts.  I’ve learned patience.  I’m a lot stronger now than I was a year ago (cavity episode aside).  My marriage continues to strengthen.  The more strength I am given the more I can give to my husband.  Most importantly my faith in God hasn’t been this strong since I was a child.  My husband and I are being worked on by the Holy Spirit, and we do have a long way to go filled with obstacles, setbacks, risks and more opportunities to stumble.  I’ve never felt more blessed because even though I can’t see in front of me, I know the ground I stand on is solid.