Pepaw's not happy with God - part 2 conclusion

I had to think fast when Pepaw announced again, “I’m ready to go. Are you?”

“How about we —”

Saved by the doctor. She called my father-in-law’s first name.

“That’s you.” I patted his arm to get his attention and stood quickly to get him on his feet. “She’s right over there.”

She greeted him and asked if he were okay.

“I lost my Bible.” That much he remembered.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Where did you lose it?”

“I don’t know where it went to.”

I reassured him. “We’re going to look for it when we go back.”

“Maybe it’s at the house …” I was relieved that he called the Alzheimer’s residence his home. He needed that. I needed that.

I gave her all the paperwork and explained his trouble sleeping and walking obsessively. I scooted my chair closer to his.

“You’re walking yourself to death, you know that?” I smiled. “You just keep walking and walking and walking.”

“You gotta walk,” he said. “You ain’t got much choice.”

I shook my head. “You’ve also got to make sure you don’t wear yourself out and keep some weight on you. Your jeans and everything are getting all baggy on you.”

“Yep.”

Reviewing his paperwork filled with specific information on his sleeping habits, the doctor said, “He needs to rest.”

“I pray to God to put me to sleep.” Pepaw’s eyes focused on mine.

“I know you do,” I said.

“When I’m in the bed, He don’t put me to sleep.”

“That’s why we’re talking to the doctor.”

He’s in great condition overall with good blood pressure, clear lungs, etc. Not bad for 84 years old and a former lifelong smoker.

I summarize her report for his convenience: “You’re pretty healthy.”

“Yeah.”

After she explains more to me, I interpret that for him: “She’s going to give you something to help you sleep. If you’re going to do all that walking, you need your rest.”

“When God won’t let you sleep some more, that’s a big deal. That’s God’s saying, no, you can’t sleep no more.” He signed. “So, you don’t get sleep no more. And you can’t get any more sleeping pills either.”

“That’s what we’re working on for you. We have to make sure it’s safe. That’s why we always talk to the doctor first.”

“If you got a sleeping pill, you can go to sleep.”

“Sometimes we have to give God a little help here, so that’s why we’re taking care of you.”

I patted his forearm as he studied the doctor. He told her, “You’re doing a lot of writin’.” She smiled.

I explained that doctors have so much paperwork to fill out. All these laws nowadays, you know.

Then he repeated the whole story about his Bible probably being in his bed …

Back “home,” I searched but didn’t find the elusive written word of God. Not in his clothes, the bathroom, closet, chair or bed. His concern mounted.

I had no choice but to get him a new one. Hopefully that would calm him.

In the hallway, I told him I would look somewhere else for his Bible. He nodded and turned away. I let him go. I could hug him next time.

I suddenly realized that he hadn’t called me by my name all day. For an instant I was sad but accepted that he had forgotten it, but not me … yet.

I watched him greet his new buddy. He said, “Me and Monica went to the doctor, but I can’t find my Bible …”

Smiling, I asked the staff about his Bible. They told me it had been left in his clothing and had gone through the washing machine and was pretty much ruined. I told them I’d get him a new one. A few seconds later, from the lobby, I could see and hear Pepaw talking to a nurse, but he couldn’t see me.

“Hey, you got my Bible?”

“No, but we’ll try to help you find it …”

This was definitely a mission from God, so I hurried to the nearest dollar store to find a Bible to tide him over until I could get a nicer one from a bookstore. For any other laundry emergency, I bought two copies and inscribed them to Pepaw from Monica.

After leaving them at the residence for him and on the drive home, I understood why Pepaw was not happy with God. I remembered several things he had said since we started caring for him in late April last year. I recalled his pained expression when he talked about not being able to sleep and having to walk to “kill time.”

It’s not the eight hours a night he’s talking about. He’s cognizant enough to know what this damned Alzheimer’s is doing to him, destroying him bit by bit.

“You ain’t got much choice.” His words this day made even more sense.

Pepaw wants eternal sleep, and he’s frantically walking his way there.

And I couldn’t blame him. Tears momentarily fogged my vision.

“I pray to God to put me to sleep … Where’s my Bible?”

Please, God, help Pepaw find all the passages he seeks.