My dad wrote this last week. He wrote it while he was having his coffee and my mom thought he was reading the paper. His hands are slowly becoming paralyzed and he usually communicates now by pointing to letters on a letter board. Somehow he found the strength to write this.
It is very awkward for me to see these words. In my mind, my dad is not one to speak in metaphors. He is a very cut-and-dry, matter-of-fact kind of man. Additionally, he only has a 6th grade education!
But, as he has proven to me a million times in the past, being smart has little to do with education. Quite literally, he is the smartest man I know.
This letter is barely legible. Below is a poor transcription and an even poorer translation. If anyone knows Italian and wants to take a stab at translating this, feel free to email me your thoughts.
Transcription:
Nel 1990, sono stato condonnato, io sono appellata la causa e con un avacato dottore e un by-pass, io vinta la causa. Sono rimasto libero per 17 anni. Facevo quello che volevo. La famiglia ogni tanto me regalavano un nipotino, ma quanto e stato 2007 sono e stato condonnato a morte, senza la possibilita di appellare. Solo invece di andare in carsere me anno mesoo arresto de mi domiciliare. La guardia de la carcere e una molto buona. Certe volte mi fa rispettari la legge. Essa prepare da mangiare e buona. Solo che quanto io lo mangio tutto si riduce a polenta. Non posso uscire di casa, mi e stata ritrata la licenza, non posso communicare de con nessuno ni meno con il miei 5 nipotine, cosi o raccamandato a la guardia de la carsere che lo dicesse essa al 5 nipotine che io voglio bene e sieta per me il piu bel regalo.
Translation:
In 1990, I was sentenced. I appealed the case and with a lawyer/doctor and bypass surgery. I won the case. I was free for 17 years. I was able to do what I wanted. The family occasionally gifted me with a grandchild. But in 2007, I was sentenced to death without the possibility of appeal. Only instead of being put in jail, I was confined to my home. The prison guard is very good. At times, she made me respect the law. She prepares meals and they are good. But everything I eat is reduced to [the consistency of] polenta. I cannot leave the house because they took away my license. I cannot communicate with anyone, not even my 5 grandchildren. With that, I told my prison guard to tell my 5 grandchildren that I love them and that, for me, they are the most beautiful gift ever.
I remember when I found out about my father’s condition. It was October of last year. He was beginning to slur some of his words and he felt not quite right. We all assumed he suffered some sort of mini-stroke and that he would either recover from it completely or that we would have to get used to his weaker tongue.
I was at the doctor’s office, taking care of my own medical issues. At the time, these issues seemed like most important thing in the universe. As I was waiting in line for the receptionist, I received a text message from my wife. It simply said: “What is ALS?” I nearly collapsed in the line. I got dizzy and my heart raced. I knew precisely what this was in reference to. By the time the receptionist was ready for me, I had tears in my eyes. She never looked up at me.
As I was not able to drive at the time due to my condition, I had to call for my ride. I waited across the street from the hospital at a Starbucks. I sipped an espresso as I stared numbly out the window and reflected that life as we all knew, would never be the same.
ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), or Lou Gehrig’s disease, is a relentless, horrible disease. There are no “good days.” Each one is worse than the other. Each day, I am still shocked at how my dad’s condition progresses. We do not lie to ourselves. Even though this man no longer looks like the father I once knew, this disease is not finished yet, he will only get worse. This disease is very linear. It is a steady slope downwards. There are no remissions and, yes Papa, there is no chance to appeal.
*hugz*
words are never enough in times like these.
Left by ender on November 29th, 2008