My Biggest Secret: Dad's Death was My Fault

When I first saw the topic for this month's challenge, I thought, "I don't have a secret." As I reflected on my life, my biggest secret came to the surface. It's one that I had dealt with several years ago and then buried it. (Or I thought I had.) As I debated whether to share it or not, I struggled with the guilt I felt. Would this secret hurt my family? Or would it be another step in my healing process? So, I'm taking a deep breath and giving this a shot.

I have a related article: "ALS: Lou Gehrig's Disease Took My Father's Life". In that article, I simply explain the disease. With my biggest secret, though, I have to explain how it was living with my dad and dealing with this disease. It is painful to talk about, not just for me, but for my family. But, after 20 years, maybe the truth should come out.

I was 15 when Dad was first diagnosed with ALS. I'd never heard of it and had no idea how difficult the road would be. I was more concerned with how this would affect ME. I was a typical selfish teen.

Dad was diagnosed in January 1986, after having a lot of back problems and unexplainable falls. He was also losing the ability to grip things firmly with his hands. He was only 49 then. February 17th he turned 50. I thought we had several more years together - it never occurred to me it might just be months.

In March, I turned 16. Now I was old enough to date and hang out with my friends, drive and do all that stupid teen stuff that we all think is so important. But as Dad got worse, all that seemed to be far out of reach. Mom needed me to stay home during that summer to take care of Dad. I really resented it. Now I look back in shame on how selfish I was. Mom still let me go out a lot, more than I thought at the time. I was still a teen, just with a sick dad. It never dawned on me just how stressful it was on my parents. They really needed me to be there for them. I guess I was as much as a self-centered teen could be, but I wish now that I had really given it my all.

I was having to do things no one should have to do at 16 for their dad. I had to help lift him out of bed, pick him up if he fell, push him around in a wheelchair, cook his lunch, clip his toenails and fingernails, feed him and worst of all, take him his urinal and empty it. I thought it was the worst thing for me, but it was absolutely humiliating for him. I also had to help get him in and out of the bathtub. I never had to bathe him or help him use the bathroom, but it was enough to make a formerly strong man feel ashamed. I knew he couldn't help it, but I had a lot of anger built up towards him and my mom about it all. I'm so ashamed of how I behaved.

When I went back to school in the fall, we had to hire a lady to come stay with him. She was nice and all; she took care of him. But Dad still didn't want her to have to do certain things for him.

This is where my biggest secret really comes in. The lady didn't come to the house until about 8 a.m. each morning. On October 1, 1986, Dad had accidently wet the bed. Mom had already left for work, so it was up to me to help him. But I was getting ready for school. I didn't want to deal with it or him. I was hateful and ugly to him. All he asked was that I dry him off with a hairdryer. He didn't ask me to change him or the sheets. He just wanted to be dry. He was so embarrassed. I will never forget how I treated him that day. I got the hairdryer and plugged it in, but just handed it to him. I didn't want to have to stand there for five minutes and dry him. So here's a man that couldn't use his hands and I hand him a hairdryer. I left for school after that.

That morning while I was sitting in home economics, the office called for me. I was being checked out. Cold chills went all over me. I knew it was Dad. As I made my way to the office, I saw his aide standing in the hall. I knew then what was going on. I felt so sick and guilty.

By the time I made it to the hospital, he was gone. His heart failed him. I failed him. My biggest secret is that I believe I killed my dad. My selfishness killed him. If I had stayed and showed some compassion and love, he may have lived a lot longer. But no, I was so mean to him that I literally broke his heart. My punishment is to live with the guilt for the rest of my life.