I've been doing some thinking. I'm going to kill my dad. I called my sister.
Razmišljala sam. Ubiću svog tatu. Pozvala sam sestru.
"Listen, I've been doing some thinking. I'm going to kill Dad. I'm going to take him to Oregon, find some heroin, and give it to him."
„Slušaj. Razmišljala sam. Ubiću tatu. Odvešću ga u Oregon, naći ću heroin i daću mu ga.“
My dad has frontotemporal lobe dementia, or FTD. It's a confusing disease that hits people in their 50s or 60s. It can completely change someone's personality, making them paranoid and even violent. My dad's been sick for a decade, but three years ago he got really sick, and we had to move him out of his house -- the house that I grew up in, the house that he built with his own hands. My strapping, cool dad with the falsetto singing voice had to move into a facility for round-the-clock care when he was just 65.
Moj tata ima frontotemporalnu demenciju, ili FTD. To je zbunjujuća bolest koja pogađa ljude u 50-im ili 60-im godinama. Može u potpunosti promeniti ličnost osobe, učinivši je paranoidnom, čak i nasilnom. Moj tata je bio bolestan čitavu deceniju, ali se pre tri godine baš razboleo i morali smo da ga iselimo iz njegove kuće - kuće u kojoj sam odrasla, kuće koju je izgradio svojim rukama. Moj snažni, kul tata sa glasom u falsetu morao je da se preseli u ustanovu za danonoćnu negu kada je imao svega 65 godina.
At first my mom and sisters and I made the mistake of putting him in a regular nursing home. It was really pretty; it had plush carpet and afternoon art classes and a dog named Diane. But then I got a phone call.
Najpre smo moja mama i sestre napravile grešku i smestile ga u običan starački dom. Bilo je veoma lepo; imao je plišane tepihe, popodnevne časove umetnosti i psa po imenu Dajana. Ali, onda sam dobila telefonski poziv.
"Ms. Malone, we've arrested your father."
„Gospođice Maloun, uhapsili smo vašeg oca.“
"What?"
„Šta?“
"Well, he threatened everybody with cutlery. And then he yanked the curtains off the wall, and then he tried to throw plants out the window. And then, well, he pulled all the old ladies out of their wheelchairs."
„Pa, svima je pretio priborom za jelo. Zatim je istrgao zavese sa zidova, a onda je pokušao da baci biljke kroz prozor. A potom, pa, izvukao je sve starice iz kolica.“
"All the old ladies?"
„Sve starice?“
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
"What a cowboy."
„Kakav kauboj.“
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
After he got kicked out of there, we bounced him between a bunch of state-run facilities before finding a treatment center specifically for people with dementia. At first, he kind of liked it, but over time his health declined, and one day I walked in and found him sitting hunched over on the ground wearing a onesie -- those kinds of outfits that zip in the back. I watched him for about an hour as he yanked at it, trying to find a way out of this thing. And it's supposed to be practical, but to me it looked like a straightjacket. And so I ran out. I left him there. I sat in my truck -- his old truck -- hunched over, this really deep guttural cry coming out of the pit of my belly. I just couldn't believe that my father, the Adonis of my youth, my really dear friend, would think that this kind of life was worth living anymore.
Nakon što su ga izbacili odatle, prebacivale smo ga više puta u gomilu državnih ustanova dok nismo našle centar za lečenje posebno namenjen ljudima sa demencijom. U početku nam se dopao, ali je vremenom njegovo zdravlje oslabilo i jednog dana sam ušla i pronašla ga kako sedi zgrčen na zemlji dok je nosio kombinezon - ona odela koja se zatvaraju rajsferšlusom pozadi. Posmatrala sam ga oko sat vremena dok ga je vukao, pokušavajući da se izvuče iz toga. Trebalo bi da bude praktično, ali meni je izgledalo kao ludačka košulja. Zato sam istrčala. Ostavila sam ga tamo. Sedela sam u svom kamionu - njegovom starom kamionu, pogurena, dok je duboki grleni vapaj dopirao iz moje stomačne duplje. Jednostavno nisam mogla da poverujem da bi moj otac, Adonis moje mladosti, moj veoma dragi prijatelj, smatrao da je ovakav život više vredan življenja.
We're programmed to prioritize productivity. So when a person -- an Adonis in this case -- is no longer productive in the way we expect him to be, the way that he expects himself to be, what value does that life have left? That day in the truck, all I could imagine was that my dad was being tortured and his body was the vessel of that torture. I've got to get him out of that body. I've got to get him out of that body; I'm going to kill Dad.
Programirani smo da dajemo prioritet produktivnosti. Zato kada osoba - Adonis u ovom slučaju - više nije produktivna onako kako to očekujemo od nje, onako kako ona očekuje od sebe, kakva vrednost preostaje tom životu? Tog dana u kamionu jedino o čemu sam mogla da mislim jeste da se moj tata muči i da je njegovo telo nosilac tog mučenja. Moram da ga izbavim iz tog tela. Moram da ga izbavim iz tog tela; ubiću tatu.
I call my sister.
Pozvala sam sestru.
"Beth," she said. "You don't want to live the rest of your life knowing that you killed your father. And you'd be arrested I think, because he can't condone it. And you don't even know how to buy heroin."
„Bet“, rekla je. „Ne želiš da provedeš ostatak života znajući da si ubila svog oca. Mislim i da bi bila uhapšena, jer on to ne može da odobri. A ti čak ni ne znaš kako da kupiš heroin.“
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
It's true, I don't.
Istina je, ne znam.
(Laughter) The truth is we talk about his death a lot. When will it happen? What will it be like? But I wish that we would have talked about death when we were all healthy. What does my best death look like? What does your best death look like? But my family didn't know to do that. And my sister was right. I shouldn't murder Dad with heroin, but I've got to get him out of that body.
(Smeh) Istina je da mi mnogo pričamo o njegovoj smrti. Kada će se desiti? Kako će to izgledati? Ali, volela bih kada bismo svi razgovarali o smrti dok smo zdravi. Kako izgleda moja najbolja verzija smrti? Kako izgleda vaša najbolja verzija smrti? Ali, moja porodica nije umela to da uradi. Moja sestra je bila u pravu. Ne treba da ubijem tatu heroinom, ali moram da ga izvučem iz tog tela.
So I went to a psychic. And then a priest, and then a support group, and they all said the same thing: sometimes people hang on when they're worried about loved ones. Just tell them you're safe, and it's OK to go when you're ready.
Otišla sam kod vidovnjaka, zatim kod sveštenika, pa onda u grupu za podršku, i svi su govorili jedno te isto: ponekad se ljudi čvrsto drže u životu kada su zabrinuti za svoje voljene. Samo im recite da ste bezbedni i da je u redu da odu kad su spremni.
So I went to see Dad. I found him hunched over on the ground in the onesie. He was staring past me and just kind of looking at the ground. I gave him a ginger ale and just started talking about nothing in particular, but as I was talking, he sneezed from the ginger ale. And the sneeze -- it jerked his body upright, sparking him back to life a little bit. And he just kept drinking and sneezing and sparking, over and over and over again until it stopped. And I heard, "Heheheheheh, heheheheheh ... this is so fabulous. This is so fabulous."
Otišla sam da vidim tatu. Zatekla sam ga zgrčenog na zemlji u kombinezonu. Zurio je mimo mene i nekako gledao u zemlju. Dala sam mu sok od đumbira i samo počela da pričam ni o čemu naročito, ali dok sam pričala, kinuo je zbog soka sa đumbirom. Od kijanja mu se telo trglo u uspravan položaj, malo ga povrativši u život. Nastavio je da pije, kija i trza se iznova i iznova, dok nije prestalo. Čula sam: „Heheheheheh, heheheheheh. Ovo je tako fantastično. Ovo je tako fantastično.“
His eyes were open and he was looking at me, and I said, "Hi, Dad!" and he said, "Hiya, Beth." And I opened my mouth to tell him, right? "Dad, if you want to die, you can die. We're all OK." But as I opened my mouth to tell him, all I could say was, "Dad! I miss you." And then he said, "Well, I miss you, too." And then I just fell over because I'm just a mess.
Oči su mu bile otvorene i gledao je u mene. Rekla sam: „Zdravo, tata!“, a on je rekao: „Zdravo, Bet.“ Otvorila sam usta da mu kažem: „Tata, ako hoćeš, možeš da umreš. Svi smo u redu.“ Ali, čim sam otvorila usta da mu kažem, jedino što sam mogla da izgovorim bilo je: „Tata! Nedostaješ mi.“ A on je tad rekao: „Pa, nedostaješ i ti meni.“ Onda sam se samo sručila jer sam prosto u haosu.
So I fell over and I sat there with him because for the first time in a long time he seemed kind of OK. And I memorized his hands, feeling so grateful that his spirit was still attached to his body. And in that moment I realized I'm not responsible for this person. I'm not his doctor, I'm not his mother, I'm certainly not his God, and maybe the best way to help him and me is to resume our roles as father and daughter.
Sručila sam se i sedela sa njim jer je prvi put posle dugo vremena nekako izgledao u redu. Upamtila sam njegove ruke, dok sam osećala toliku zahvalnost što je njegov duh još vezan za telo. U tom trenutku sam shvatila da ja nisam odgovorna za ovu osobu. Nisam njegov doktor, nisam njegova majka, zasigurno nisam njegov bog, i možda je najbolji način da pomognem i njemu i sebi da nastavim sa našim ulogama oca i ćerke.
And so we just sat there, calm and quiet like we've always done. Nobody was productive. Both of us are still strong.
I tako smo samo sedeli, mirni i tihi kao i uvek. Niko nije bio produktivan. Oboje smo još jaki.
"OK, Dad. I'm going to go, but I'll see you tomorrow."
„U redu, tata. Idem, ali vidimo se sutra.“
"OK," he said. "Hey, this is a pretty nice hacienda."
„U redu“, rekao je. „Hej, ovo je baš fina hacijenda.“
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)