On the way to work this morning, XM played Mint Condition's "Nothing Left To Say." Got me a little teary eyed, because this morning I woke up to a text that an acquaintance had passed away.
This man happened to be the limo driver for Mint Condition when they came here in 2008. He didn't know me from Adam, but because we both knew my friend Steph, at her request he got me the band members' autographs. We met him behind the concert venue after the show, and there he was - bright smile, like a big brother, joking with me about these autographs I do desperately wanted.
The flyer they signed is still framed and I always smile when I look at it.
We befriended each other on FB and would joke around occasionally, but I hadn't talked to him much as of late.
I hope that his 2 kids, his family and close friends can find some peace on the coming weeks. Like HH reminded us at my grandma's and dad's funerals, energy is neither created not destroyed - it just changes form. He's still there with you all.
R.I.P, M.
Showing posts with label Bereavement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bereavement. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Last year on this date, I was at my grandmother's funeral. My dad sang "In The Garden." He struggled to even make it to the funeral. How he had the strength to get up and sing, I have no idea. But he did it.
At one point during the service, my dad was holding my right hand, and LDR was holding my left. And I wished that it could just stay like that. But I knew it could. He was dying right in front of my eyes.
I know this all went down a year ago, but some days it feels like it just happened. Does that ever go away? I guess that's a rhetorical question. Nobody can tell you how your own grief is going to play out for the rest of your life. I'm really just rambling...but it's my blog, so that's what it's here for. :)
I wondered how I would feel a year after the fact. Like my favorite yoga teacher often instructs me, I'm just going to observe my feelings and I won't judge them. They are what they are.
At one point during the service, my dad was holding my right hand, and LDR was holding my left. And I wished that it could just stay like that. But I knew it could. He was dying right in front of my eyes.
I know this all went down a year ago, but some days it feels like it just happened. Does that ever go away? I guess that's a rhetorical question. Nobody can tell you how your own grief is going to play out for the rest of your life. I'm really just rambling...but it's my blog, so that's what it's here for. :)
I wondered how I would feel a year after the fact. Like my favorite yoga teacher often instructs me, I'm just going to observe my feelings and I won't judge them. They are what they are.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Dear Grandma...
It's hard to believe you passed away a year ago today. You made it through 99 years on this earth. I'm 36 and some days I just feel tired. But I think sometimes our technology and advances have served to make our lives a little more difficult. You kept it simple: God and your family.
At Thanksgiving, Pam and I try to recreate your sweet potato pies. Uncle Gene says we've done a good job so far. He's also put in his 2 cents about what we need to do or what we could do. That's your son, the retired chef. :) We know it's not exactly like your pies, but I don't think Thanksgiving would be Thanksgiving without those pies on the dessert table.
Mom seems to be doing much better. I know that she still misses you and Dad a great deal. Speaking of Dad, can you tell him hello for me? And give him a great big hug and kiss and tell him we really miss him. Today is Sunday, and this was usually the day that he and I would talk for an hour or so. I still laugh about the Sunday he tried to trick me into having LDR bring him some ox tails...knowing he could not have it. I almost wish we had given it to him anyway.
(Grandma ans a few of her brothers - date unknown)
You managed to outlive all of your brothers. I wonder if you are with them now. Or with Uncle Rafe or Aunt Lennie. I hope so. Then that means we have a whole extended network of family watching over us.
I am still working on that family tree project. I hope I can find some more of your family that we haven't met yet. Maybe they can come to the next family reunion.
Well, I just wanted you to know that we missed you. Our lives have been changed but we carry on. We hope you're looking down and that you're proud.
--C
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Out of The Blue
My yoga class has been moved to a 5:30am start instead of a 5:45 start. Which is cool...it just means I really have to get up at 4:30 and not hit the "snooze" button.
One of the reasons I appreciate yoga (among the MANY), is that it does help me focus my mind. On the drive over my mind is constantly going; what I have to do that day, what bills need to be paid, what's going on with so-and-so. When I get to class, that is my "me" time to turn my brain off and focus on my spirit and my body.
We talk about how sometimes thoughts will sneak in, and you have to just acknowledge them and then move on. I've been trying to do that outside of class - if it's what I deem an inopportune time for my mind to be wandering, I acknowledge the thought - maybe jot a note to myself - and then send it on its way.
For some reason, this morning I was thinking about my Dad's funeral. I can't even tell you how my train of thoughts got to that point. I know it was a train of random thoughts that somehow led to me thinking about when my dad's neighbors came to the wake. I can't remember his name, but one neighbor gave me a hug and told me how much they would miss my dad and how everyone in the building really liked him. I just started crying. Now like, burst into ugly sobs crying...but just tears running down my face.
And then, it was over.
I got to yog and went on with class. I guess I was just surprised. My auntie told me that I would probably have some random moments, but I just wasn't expecting it at 5:15am.
One of the reasons I appreciate yoga (among the MANY), is that it does help me focus my mind. On the drive over my mind is constantly going; what I have to do that day, what bills need to be paid, what's going on with so-and-so. When I get to class, that is my "me" time to turn my brain off and focus on my spirit and my body.
We talk about how sometimes thoughts will sneak in, and you have to just acknowledge them and then move on. I've been trying to do that outside of class - if it's what I deem an inopportune time for my mind to be wandering, I acknowledge the thought - maybe jot a note to myself - and then send it on its way.
For some reason, this morning I was thinking about my Dad's funeral. I can't even tell you how my train of thoughts got to that point. I know it was a train of random thoughts that somehow led to me thinking about when my dad's neighbors came to the wake. I can't remember his name, but one neighbor gave me a hug and told me how much they would miss my dad and how everyone in the building really liked him. I just started crying. Now like, burst into ugly sobs crying...but just tears running down my face.
And then, it was over.
I got to yog and went on with class. I guess I was just surprised. My auntie told me that I would probably have some random moments, but I just wasn't expecting it at 5:15am.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
And Just Like That...
...it's over.
Well, maybe not "just." I spent a week making decisions, taking care of financial matters, calling the funeral home when they weren't calling me like they were supposed to, getting Dad's suit outta the cleaners, stressing, not sleeping, etc. I still have a few things left to do in relation to his final checks from his pension and SSA, and then one more piece of paperwork related to letting life insurance pay the funeral home directly.
Everyone said the service was beautiful. My aunt bought her flowers yesterday, and we chuckled because she picked the same color theme that I picked for the flowers from us kids and the grandkids. We had so many cards and flowers from people that I haven't talked to or seen in years. My eFriends from Twitter sent a beautiful bouquet, but the florist was on CP time and didn't deliver until after the service. How that happened, I don't know. But they made sure to bring the flowers to me at the repast. We have so many cards! We'll be sending out "thank you" cards for a minute.
Not that I wasn't proud of my dad before, but in the midst of all the tears and sadness, it was nice to hear people get up and talk about the impact of his life. How he had one of the first black owned grocery stores in Syracuse. There was another business owner there, who talked about how he'd known my dad since he moved to Syracuse...and how way back when, they both talked about starting their own businesses. And they both went on to do it. Choir members talked about how much they would miss singing with him. How they would see him walking to choir rehearsal and they'd offer a ride, but he'd refuse.
If you recall, I mentioned that my dad sang "In The Garden" at my grandma's funeral just 3 weeks ago. I had mentioned to the deacon that I'd like for the choir to do that song. Unfortunately, he never passed along that message. When the head musician came up and asked me if we'd mind if the Men's Chorus (my dad sang with them, too) did a number, I told him that would be fine. Then I asked him about the song. He said he didn't know. Instead of singing, he played it as a prelude before the first prayer. That was ok with me. I could hear my dad singing along, anyway.
And apparently, the Men's Chorus has not sung together in years (they made changes to all the choir line ups) and decided to get back together to honor my dad. The last song they sang was one that he used to lead. Well, apparently he just started leading it recently. The head musician told me a story about how my dad told HIM that he auditioned to sing lead on the song 20 years ago, and the keyboardist told him he couldn't sing it because he had a "tremble" in his voice. LOL! Robert (keyboardist) said he didn't remember telling him that, but that Dad remembered it 20 years later. He had a sharp mind - so I'm betting the story is true. After all, remember the previous blog about his ring. :)
The pastor preached about Dad having his own business and the struggles that business owners go through, and how sometimes the only thing they have to cling to is their faith. Maybe they make a decision that they're not sure of, and they start to doubt. But they have to have faith that it was the right thing and that their business is meant to be. I believe my dad had that faith. Unfortunately, a bunch of factors in the 80s (including Reagan-omics) lead to the demise of his second store (the first one burned in a fire).
People ask me all the time, why don't you sell your body butter mixtures full time, or start a natural hair care business. Having earned my MBA, I'm aware of the size of that undertaking, and it scares me. Not to mention, needing to have a better grip on my finances. And then I think, "my dad did it with a high school diploma. And he did it twice." Something to mull on, I guess.
We had a nice turn out for the repast, and an abundance of food. So much, that we have pans of food that we've had to stuff into my mom's 2nd fridge in the basement. Somebody needs to come help us eat this stuff. I feel really blessed that my aunts came up from Savannah. I feel closer to them somehow. Which seems sort of backwards, but in 2011 I need to do a better job of keeping in touch with them. We are my dad's legacy, and we need to keep the family connected.
Everyone is home, or on their way home, now. I think we're all reflecting on the day in our own way. It's hard to believe I've only been here for 13 days. It seems like much longer. A lot has gone on in the past 3 weeks. I'm sure there will be a lot more tears, but also laughter and smiles as we reminisce about Dad. LDR even got up and told the story about Dad and his ring at the hospital. That made me smile. They had some kind of connection in that short time they knew each other. I can tell that Dad really liked him.
I think now, Dad is smiling down on us. I think he's proud of all 5 of his kids. And I don't think we said anything about him today, that we hadn't told him before he passed. Just like with my grandma, we are his legacy. We're going to do our best to carry on.
Well, maybe not "just." I spent a week making decisions, taking care of financial matters, calling the funeral home when they weren't calling me like they were supposed to, getting Dad's suit outta the cleaners, stressing, not sleeping, etc. I still have a few things left to do in relation to his final checks from his pension and SSA, and then one more piece of paperwork related to letting life insurance pay the funeral home directly.
Everyone said the service was beautiful. My aunt bought her flowers yesterday, and we chuckled because she picked the same color theme that I picked for the flowers from us kids and the grandkids. We had so many cards and flowers from people that I haven't talked to or seen in years. My eFriends from Twitter sent a beautiful bouquet, but the florist was on CP time and didn't deliver until after the service. How that happened, I don't know. But they made sure to bring the flowers to me at the repast. We have so many cards! We'll be sending out "thank you" cards for a minute.
Not that I wasn't proud of my dad before, but in the midst of all the tears and sadness, it was nice to hear people get up and talk about the impact of his life. How he had one of the first black owned grocery stores in Syracuse. There was another business owner there, who talked about how he'd known my dad since he moved to Syracuse...and how way back when, they both talked about starting their own businesses. And they both went on to do it. Choir members talked about how much they would miss singing with him. How they would see him walking to choir rehearsal and they'd offer a ride, but he'd refuse.
If you recall, I mentioned that my dad sang "In The Garden" at my grandma's funeral just 3 weeks ago. I had mentioned to the deacon that I'd like for the choir to do that song. Unfortunately, he never passed along that message. When the head musician came up and asked me if we'd mind if the Men's Chorus (my dad sang with them, too) did a number, I told him that would be fine. Then I asked him about the song. He said he didn't know. Instead of singing, he played it as a prelude before the first prayer. That was ok with me. I could hear my dad singing along, anyway.
And apparently, the Men's Chorus has not sung together in years (they made changes to all the choir line ups) and decided to get back together to honor my dad. The last song they sang was one that he used to lead. Well, apparently he just started leading it recently. The head musician told me a story about how my dad told HIM that he auditioned to sing lead on the song 20 years ago, and the keyboardist told him he couldn't sing it because he had a "tremble" in his voice. LOL! Robert (keyboardist) said he didn't remember telling him that, but that Dad remembered it 20 years later. He had a sharp mind - so I'm betting the story is true. After all, remember the previous blog about his ring. :)
The pastor preached about Dad having his own business and the struggles that business owners go through, and how sometimes the only thing they have to cling to is their faith. Maybe they make a decision that they're not sure of, and they start to doubt. But they have to have faith that it was the right thing and that their business is meant to be. I believe my dad had that faith. Unfortunately, a bunch of factors in the 80s (including Reagan-omics) lead to the demise of his second store (the first one burned in a fire).
People ask me all the time, why don't you sell your body butter mixtures full time, or start a natural hair care business. Having earned my MBA, I'm aware of the size of that undertaking, and it scares me. Not to mention, needing to have a better grip on my finances. And then I think, "my dad did it with a high school diploma. And he did it twice." Something to mull on, I guess.
We had a nice turn out for the repast, and an abundance of food. So much, that we have pans of food that we've had to stuff into my mom's 2nd fridge in the basement. Somebody needs to come help us eat this stuff. I feel really blessed that my aunts came up from Savannah. I feel closer to them somehow. Which seems sort of backwards, but in 2011 I need to do a better job of keeping in touch with them. We are my dad's legacy, and we need to keep the family connected.
Everyone is home, or on their way home, now. I think we're all reflecting on the day in our own way. It's hard to believe I've only been here for 13 days. It seems like much longer. A lot has gone on in the past 3 weeks. I'm sure there will be a lot more tears, but also laughter and smiles as we reminisce about Dad. LDR even got up and told the story about Dad and his ring at the hospital. That made me smile. They had some kind of connection in that short time they knew each other. I can tell that Dad really liked him.
I think now, Dad is smiling down on us. I think he's proud of all 5 of his kids. And I don't think we said anything about him today, that we hadn't told him before he passed. Just like with my grandma, we are his legacy. We're going to do our best to carry on.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
And Time Marches On
The past few days have been filled with "arrangements." And phone calls. And returned phone calls, and FB and Twitter posts and everything else. Sometimes you don't realize how many people you know and touch, until they start reaching back out to you. My family and I really appreciate everything.
So, aside from the SNAFU in which the church wanted us to pay $300 for the repast food...never mind that my daddy been a member there since the 60s, on the trustee board and in the choir (that's a whole rant that I won't get into - but I reached out to someone and the choir is going to take care of the repast for us)...everything else has been pretty smooth. Today I went to the florist and picked out an arrangement from us kids, and also one from the grandkids. Did y'all know how expensive flowers are?
Anywho, let's get down to the point of this post: the ring pictured above. That's my dad's ring. It's on my hand now, but he wore it quite a bit.
Some time last week, during one of our visits with him, he started talking to me and my brother and asking where was his ring. :::insert BBM confused face here::: I wasn't there when he was admitted to the hospital, so I had no clue what he was talking about. My brother couldn't remember if he had it on or not. Mind you, his dentures were missing also. Gotta love hospitals.
I think I said before, he was pretty weak. Most times, you had to lean in close to him to hear what he had to say. Right after he asked us about the ring, we checked his bag of belongings and it wasn't in there (neither were his teeth, dang it). But he was adamant that he had this ring on. We told him we'd try to find it.
The nurse came in, and was trying to talk to us about something - I don't even know what it was. All of a sudden Dad says, "well, I'm tryna find out about MY RING!" This was the loudest I'd heard him the whole time I was there. My brother and I chuckled about it later. We said, he is really serious about this ring!
The next few days, we got wrapped up in the Francis House arrangement, DNR, and everything else. I'll be the first to admit - I forgot about the ring. I did not, however, forget about his "teefuses." Thursday night, I inquired as to if they had found them, and indeed they had. They were sitting on the table by his bed. He didn't ask about the ring that night.
Friday morning, when they called us up to the hospital to see him, my brother J and I were in the hallway talking to one of the palliative care nurses. LDR, T and my Uncle G were all in Dad's room. One of the nurses walked by and went in the room, and handed something to LDR. He held it up - it was a plastic bag with Dad's ring.
LDR exclaimed, "I told y'all Pops knew what he was talking about!"
I was laughing and crying at the same time. If you knew my dad, and knew how he is...it takes a minute for him to get worked up, but when he does - watch out. We knew he was serious about that ring. We also know he was in and out of being lucid, so we just really weren't sure if he had it on when he was admitted.
I wish I had the story behind this ring. I don't know when he got it, why he got it, and we don't know what he wants us to do with it, because he never said. I went to hand it to T, and he said, "give it to J." I went to hand it to J, and he shook his head. So, I wear it now. If either of them ever decides they want it, I'll gladly hand it over.
We found your ring, Dad!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Checking In
I know there might be one or two folks who don't participate in all the "social networking" I do. So in case you haven't heard, my dad passed away yesterday morning. He never made it to Francis House. I think he wanted someone else to have that bed.
We've started making arrangements. Sometimes, when I'm sitting and discussing the "business" of his death (funeral arrangements, insurance policy, payments, etc) I feel like I've sort of stepped outside my body. Like, I'm there...but am I really talking about my Dad? Weird. But I am happy to help and take the lead on some things. Glad my brothers and sisters trust me and know that I have Dad's interests at heart, and I would never make a big decision without their input.
My grandma (Dad's mom) really has a great outlook on this. Maybe because she's been through it before...this will be the 4th child to precede her in death. I talked to her yesterday on the phone, and she said, "as long as I know he was at peace, and he knew we all loved him, then I'm ok. I'm not going to hoot and holler and scream; God gave him to me, and he saw fit to take him now."
And even my Dad...days before, he told my brother J, "well son...we all gotta go some day."
I didn't get that "strong in the face of death" gene. I cried my eyes out. Off and on all day yesterday. I would be doing good, and then one of my aunts would call. Or, I was at his apartment trying to pick out a suit, and I just burst into tears, standing at the foot of his bed. He's never coming back to this space.
Thursday evening, LDR and I had a "date night." He came and picked me up from work. But first, we went to the hospital. I got there and they had a suction machine set up, because Dad was coughing more, and they needed to clear his mouth. He could still talk, though. So I called both my sisters and my mom, and he was able to talk to them. I'm so happy I did that. What if I had waited and said, "they can talk to him after we get him transferred to Francis House?"
Maybe Dad felt like it was ok to go. He had talked to his daughters...he talked to my mom. My brothers and I have been up sitting with him all week. He saw my Aunt Betty last weekend. I hope he left knowing that we all loved him and he was a great father. He taught us a lot, even when he wasn't trying to.
I had been chatting with Serenity and she suggested that I make sure to say whatever I wanted my Dad to know before he left this earth. I totally agreed with that. Before I left on Thursday night, I gave him a kiss on the forehead and I said, "I love you, Dad. I couldn't have asked for or been blessed with a better father." He said, "I love you, too" - and then he mustered up the energy to lean up and give me a kiss on the cheek.
I walked to the chair to get my purse and my coat, and I turned around and said, "we're all gonna see you tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., ok?" He nodded and I walked out of the room. And that was the last time I saw my dad alive.
I'm not going to sit here and act like everything was perfect and our entire father-daughter time on this earth was perfection. It wasn't. Whose is? That was my daddy and I loved him, and he loved me. That "dash" in the middle of his sunrise and sunset is filled with a lot of memories.
RIP, Dad.
7/6/1940 - 11/12/2010
We've started making arrangements. Sometimes, when I'm sitting and discussing the "business" of his death (funeral arrangements, insurance policy, payments, etc) I feel like I've sort of stepped outside my body. Like, I'm there...but am I really talking about my Dad? Weird. But I am happy to help and take the lead on some things. Glad my brothers and sisters trust me and know that I have Dad's interests at heart, and I would never make a big decision without their input.
My grandma (Dad's mom) really has a great outlook on this. Maybe because she's been through it before...this will be the 4th child to precede her in death. I talked to her yesterday on the phone, and she said, "as long as I know he was at peace, and he knew we all loved him, then I'm ok. I'm not going to hoot and holler and scream; God gave him to me, and he saw fit to take him now."
And even my Dad...days before, he told my brother J, "well son...we all gotta go some day."
I didn't get that "strong in the face of death" gene. I cried my eyes out. Off and on all day yesterday. I would be doing good, and then one of my aunts would call. Or, I was at his apartment trying to pick out a suit, and I just burst into tears, standing at the foot of his bed. He's never coming back to this space.
Thursday evening, LDR and I had a "date night." He came and picked me up from work. But first, we went to the hospital. I got there and they had a suction machine set up, because Dad was coughing more, and they needed to clear his mouth. He could still talk, though. So I called both my sisters and my mom, and he was able to talk to them. I'm so happy I did that. What if I had waited and said, "they can talk to him after we get him transferred to Francis House?"
Maybe Dad felt like it was ok to go. He had talked to his daughters...he talked to my mom. My brothers and I have been up sitting with him all week. He saw my Aunt Betty last weekend. I hope he left knowing that we all loved him and he was a great father. He taught us a lot, even when he wasn't trying to.
I had been chatting with Serenity and she suggested that I make sure to say whatever I wanted my Dad to know before he left this earth. I totally agreed with that. Before I left on Thursday night, I gave him a kiss on the forehead and I said, "I love you, Dad. I couldn't have asked for or been blessed with a better father." He said, "I love you, too" - and then he mustered up the energy to lean up and give me a kiss on the cheek.
I walked to the chair to get my purse and my coat, and I turned around and said, "we're all gonna see you tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., ok?" He nodded and I walked out of the room. And that was the last time I saw my dad alive.
I'm not going to sit here and act like everything was perfect and our entire father-daughter time on this earth was perfection. It wasn't. Whose is? That was my daddy and I loved him, and he loved me. That "dash" in the middle of his sunrise and sunset is filled with a lot of memories.
RIP, Dad.
7/6/1940 - 11/12/2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Guilt...And Other Randomness
Sometimes, when I leave the hospital after seeing my dad, I feel guilty. Guilty that life is just going on. I'm talking and laughing with friends who are trying to cheer me up. Chatting it up on FB and Twitter. Shouldn't I be focused on him and what's going on?
But to see him like he is now, it's just draining. I mean, he was JUST at my grandma's funeral, singing and talking about when he asked her if it was ok to marry my mom...waaaaaaaay back yonder around 1961 or so. Now, he can barely talk. The smallest movements, like lifting his hand for something, or turning his head to talk to you, take so much energy. I can see him shaking from the exertion.
It's 12:25am and I'm wide awake. Partly because of some indigestion (my eating patterns have been very "off" since I've been here), and mostly because every time I close my eyes, I see him. Every time my phone rings, and it's my brother, I catch my breath 'cause I don't know if it's "the call." The more days that pass, I know we're getting closer to that call. I'm just trying to focus on the now, like getting him transferred tomorrow. But I know that every day that passes, we get closer to "that day."
I guess this is all part of death and grief. Just gotta work through it. It's normal. I think most people who have been through this would tell me that it is part of the process. And I don't think Dad expects our lives outside the hospital to just stop.
Knowing all that doesn't make it easier, though.
But to see him like he is now, it's just draining. I mean, he was JUST at my grandma's funeral, singing and talking about when he asked her if it was ok to marry my mom...waaaaaaaay back yonder around 1961 or so. Now, he can barely talk. The smallest movements, like lifting his hand for something, or turning his head to talk to you, take so much energy. I can see him shaking from the exertion.
It's 12:25am and I'm wide awake. Partly because of some indigestion (my eating patterns have been very "off" since I've been here), and mostly because every time I close my eyes, I see him. Every time my phone rings, and it's my brother, I catch my breath 'cause I don't know if it's "the call." The more days that pass, I know we're getting closer to that call. I'm just trying to focus on the now, like getting him transferred tomorrow. But I know that every day that passes, we get closer to "that day."
I guess this is all part of death and grief. Just gotta work through it. It's normal. I think most people who have been through this would tell me that it is part of the process. And I don't think Dad expects our lives outside the hospital to just stop.
Knowing all that doesn't make it easier, though.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?
Why, it's not a train coming to run me over. It's the hospital, calling to tell us that Francis House has a bed for Dad.
Finally, some tears of joy!
He will be transported tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. This really is the best thing ever and the best facility available in the city for him. It's not his apartment (home), but it's the next best thing.
And really, that's all I can ask for. You can check Francis House out here.
Finally, some tears of joy!
He will be transported tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. This really is the best thing ever and the best facility available in the city for him. It's not his apartment (home), but it's the next best thing.
And really, that's all I can ask for. You can check Francis House out here.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Brought To You By The Letter "S" and the number "0..."
Why? Well, "S" is for stressed, and "0" is the number of Starbucks readily accessible to me on my way to work in the morning.
Bear with me - this is bound to be a rambling post that's all over the place.
Some of you follow me on Twitter and some on FB. I've said more on Twitter than on FB, because my niece and nephews are on my FB page, and I don't know how much my sister has told them yet, as far as my dad.
The stomach cancer has spread. Because of his weakened state, they simply cannot treat the cancer. Chemo is poison; it kills off the bad cells, but it kills the good ones, too. Not to mention the surgeries he's had on his stomach (the first one in 2008, when we found the cancer - and then the latest for the ruptured ulcer last month). His GI system is just not in tact enough to take anymore. Whereas your stomach or my stomach could take a jejunostomy feeding tube (also known as a J-tube), his stomach cannot.
The other more pressing issue, is that he is continuing to aspirate. The little bit of food that he does try to eat, his stomach is not processing very well. When he aspirates, it goes into his lungs, causing aspiration pneumonia. He has it in the left lung already. They gave him a course of antibiotics, but the recent chest x-rays showed that it's in his right lung now. The doctor told us today that it is this pneumonia that will likely cause his death, not so much the actual cancer.
My brother T and I have been the information gateway for my siblings and my mom. We get the info from the doctors, and then we pass it on. J has been to some of the meetings, but not all. He's got a crazy work schedule and two kids, so it's hard with shuttling them back and forth to after school activities, etc. I know that T has been keeping J informed...but I think it just really hit him today when the doctor, the palliative care nurse, and the Hospice coordinator pretty much all said the same thing: Dad is dying. He's not going to get better.
Both my brothers are the ultimate "big brothers." They would do whatever they needed to do to protect me and my sisters, and they care about our family. J especially. He also is the closest to my dad and - ironically - the most like him. Which means he is the worrier and he is not that good in the stressful situations. I love him to death, but it's just not his thing. It isn't/wasn't my dad's thing either. I knew that he would take it the hardest.
I don't think I've ever seen him cry. And I was just not prepared to see it in the meeting today with Hospice. When we walked into the small meeting room, there were 5 chairs in an L shape. The hospice rep sat where there were two chairs, and then we occupied the other three chairs with T in the middle of both of us.
When she started talking about the info in my dad's chart, I just sort of nodded and followed along. T and I had already gone through this info with the palliative care nurse. I guess J had not heard a lot of it. Or, like I said before, I guess it was just really kicking in for him. When I looked over and saw my big brother crying...I just lost all focus. So I'm listening to her (or trying to listen), but I can't stop myself from crying, because my brother is hurting and there's nothing I can do to change it.
I'm trying to be incog-negro and dab at the tears with a tissue, but they're just coming down too fast. T's rubbing my back and rubbing J's back, and the hospice rep is trying to just give us a moment. Eventually, we got it together and decided on some options, discussed getting him on Medicaid, etc.
When we got out of the meeting, and went back up to the room, LDR was still in the room with dad, and the palliative care nurse. That's too long to keep typing, so I'm just going to tell you her name is Kelly.
Kelly had been in talking with dad, regarding appointing my brothers as his health care proxy, should he be unable to make decisions. Then they were talking to him about the hospice care, and the fact that you have to be on DNR status once you go in to hospice.
Dad has been in and out of lucidity, and because he's so weak and it takes him a minute to respond sometimes, it's hard to know if he really understand what you're saying at that moment. He could start talking about something totally different. Kelly told us she'd been talking to him about hospice care and whether or not he wanted to come back to the hospital should any difficulties arrive. But it seemed like he kept wavering, so she asked us all to come in the room so we could be sure we understood what dad's wishes were.
So you have his doctor, me, J, T, Kelly and LDR all in the room. Kelly is kneeling down so she's on eye level with him, explaining that resuscitating him would involve chest compressions that could possibly fracture his ribs, and that even if they intubated him and had him on a ventilator, ultimately at some point, the outcome is all going to be the same...
In my rational mind, I KNOW that she has to say all of this. He has to know what's going on. But knowing that someone is terminally ill and that they will die is one thing. Having someone speak it out loud into existence is another. I tried to just stand back from the bed some, and keep dabbing my tears. I really wanted to just burst into sobs, but not in front of my dad. So I just tried really hard to focus in on what Kelly was saying, and just make sure that dad understood. And he did. He agreed that if he is in hospice care, and something should just happen, that he would want nature to take its course.
That sounds so crazy. Let nature take it's course. I mean, really...we're all dying, if you really want to think about it. But I guess Kelly was trying to break it down into the simplest terms, and I think that ultimately helped Dad really understand what was what.
Mind you, in the middle of all of this, we were asked to make the decision as to whether or not he should receive more antibiotics for the aspiration pneumonia. Because more antibiotics meant more chest x-rays, and more poking and prodding and taking blood samples...and then being on more antibiotics could mean more distressing side effects. But...I don't know. It's just something about having to make decisions about HOW someone else's life is going to end...it's just like a surreal moment. I can hear myself talking, and conferring with my brothers, but I feel horrible that WE have to make this decision. You could tell that none of us wanted to decide that. I'm sure I had the same pained look on my face that my brothers had. But we did what we had to do.
We left the hospital and, per Kelly's recommendation, took a trip over to Francis House. This is a 16 bed hospice facility that's literally a house. They have volunteers who help with cooking and cleaning, and there are always 2 nurses on staff. They rotate 8 hour shifts. The problem is, it's a 16 bed facility. And EVERYONE with a terminally ill family member would love for them to be there, as opposed to a nursing home. They admit based on medical need, and cost/ability to pay is considered on a separate basis. I loved it; I wonder if we have some place like this in Charlotte where I can volunteer. Chances are that he will NOT end up here, because of the lack of beds...but I know we're all hoping that he can get in.
In the mean time, J and I will visit nursing homes over the next couple of days, to tour the facilities and see if we feel they are up to par for Dad. My job has been really great on flexibility. My supervisor knows what's going on; she's been through it with her own family members. I know that they do NOT have to be this flexible, and I will be forever grateful that they are.
So, these are my days right now. I make plans. We clean out his apartment. We look through important papers, and not-so-important papers, and find out little interesting things about Dad that we really didn't know about him.
LDR told me that while he was in the room with Dad, he saw him sort of staring off like he was thinking. He asked him, "what are you thinking about?"
Dad said, "life."
Yep. Me too.
Bear with me - this is bound to be a rambling post that's all over the place.
Some of you follow me on Twitter and some on FB. I've said more on Twitter than on FB, because my niece and nephews are on my FB page, and I don't know how much my sister has told them yet, as far as my dad.
The stomach cancer has spread. Because of his weakened state, they simply cannot treat the cancer. Chemo is poison; it kills off the bad cells, but it kills the good ones, too. Not to mention the surgeries he's had on his stomach (the first one in 2008, when we found the cancer - and then the latest for the ruptured ulcer last month). His GI system is just not in tact enough to take anymore. Whereas your stomach or my stomach could take a jejunostomy feeding tube (also known as a J-tube), his stomach cannot.
The other more pressing issue, is that he is continuing to aspirate. The little bit of food that he does try to eat, his stomach is not processing very well. When he aspirates, it goes into his lungs, causing aspiration pneumonia. He has it in the left lung already. They gave him a course of antibiotics, but the recent chest x-rays showed that it's in his right lung now. The doctor told us today that it is this pneumonia that will likely cause his death, not so much the actual cancer.
My brother T and I have been the information gateway for my siblings and my mom. We get the info from the doctors, and then we pass it on. J has been to some of the meetings, but not all. He's got a crazy work schedule and two kids, so it's hard with shuttling them back and forth to after school activities, etc. I know that T has been keeping J informed...but I think it just really hit him today when the doctor, the palliative care nurse, and the Hospice coordinator pretty much all said the same thing: Dad is dying. He's not going to get better.
Both my brothers are the ultimate "big brothers." They would do whatever they needed to do to protect me and my sisters, and they care about our family. J especially. He also is the closest to my dad and - ironically - the most like him. Which means he is the worrier and he is not that good in the stressful situations. I love him to death, but it's just not his thing. It isn't/wasn't my dad's thing either. I knew that he would take it the hardest.
I don't think I've ever seen him cry. And I was just not prepared to see it in the meeting today with Hospice. When we walked into the small meeting room, there were 5 chairs in an L shape. The hospice rep sat where there were two chairs, and then we occupied the other three chairs with T in the middle of both of us.
When she started talking about the info in my dad's chart, I just sort of nodded and followed along. T and I had already gone through this info with the palliative care nurse. I guess J had not heard a lot of it. Or, like I said before, I guess it was just really kicking in for him. When I looked over and saw my big brother crying...I just lost all focus. So I'm listening to her (or trying to listen), but I can't stop myself from crying, because my brother is hurting and there's nothing I can do to change it.
I'm trying to be incog-negro and dab at the tears with a tissue, but they're just coming down too fast. T's rubbing my back and rubbing J's back, and the hospice rep is trying to just give us a moment. Eventually, we got it together and decided on some options, discussed getting him on Medicaid, etc.
When we got out of the meeting, and went back up to the room, LDR was still in the room with dad, and the palliative care nurse. That's too long to keep typing, so I'm just going to tell you her name is Kelly.
Kelly had been in talking with dad, regarding appointing my brothers as his health care proxy, should he be unable to make decisions. Then they were talking to him about the hospice care, and the fact that you have to be on DNR status once you go in to hospice.
Dad has been in and out of lucidity, and because he's so weak and it takes him a minute to respond sometimes, it's hard to know if he really understand what you're saying at that moment. He could start talking about something totally different. Kelly told us she'd been talking to him about hospice care and whether or not he wanted to come back to the hospital should any difficulties arrive. But it seemed like he kept wavering, so she asked us all to come in the room so we could be sure we understood what dad's wishes were.
So you have his doctor, me, J, T, Kelly and LDR all in the room. Kelly is kneeling down so she's on eye level with him, explaining that resuscitating him would involve chest compressions that could possibly fracture his ribs, and that even if they intubated him and had him on a ventilator, ultimately at some point, the outcome is all going to be the same...
In my rational mind, I KNOW that she has to say all of this. He has to know what's going on. But knowing that someone is terminally ill and that they will die is one thing. Having someone speak it out loud into existence is another. I tried to just stand back from the bed some, and keep dabbing my tears. I really wanted to just burst into sobs, but not in front of my dad. So I just tried really hard to focus in on what Kelly was saying, and just make sure that dad understood. And he did. He agreed that if he is in hospice care, and something should just happen, that he would want nature to take its course.
That sounds so crazy. Let nature take it's course. I mean, really...we're all dying, if you really want to think about it. But I guess Kelly was trying to break it down into the simplest terms, and I think that ultimately helped Dad really understand what was what.
Mind you, in the middle of all of this, we were asked to make the decision as to whether or not he should receive more antibiotics for the aspiration pneumonia. Because more antibiotics meant more chest x-rays, and more poking and prodding and taking blood samples...and then being on more antibiotics could mean more distressing side effects. But...I don't know. It's just something about having to make decisions about HOW someone else's life is going to end...it's just like a surreal moment. I can hear myself talking, and conferring with my brothers, but I feel horrible that WE have to make this decision. You could tell that none of us wanted to decide that. I'm sure I had the same pained look on my face that my brothers had. But we did what we had to do.
We left the hospital and, per Kelly's recommendation, took a trip over to Francis House. This is a 16 bed hospice facility that's literally a house. They have volunteers who help with cooking and cleaning, and there are always 2 nurses on staff. They rotate 8 hour shifts. The problem is, it's a 16 bed facility. And EVERYONE with a terminally ill family member would love for them to be there, as opposed to a nursing home. They admit based on medical need, and cost/ability to pay is considered on a separate basis. I loved it; I wonder if we have some place like this in Charlotte where I can volunteer. Chances are that he will NOT end up here, because of the lack of beds...but I know we're all hoping that he can get in.
In the mean time, J and I will visit nursing homes over the next couple of days, to tour the facilities and see if we feel they are up to par for Dad. My job has been really great on flexibility. My supervisor knows what's going on; she's been through it with her own family members. I know that they do NOT have to be this flexible, and I will be forever grateful that they are.
So, these are my days right now. I make plans. We clean out his apartment. We look through important papers, and not-so-important papers, and find out little interesting things about Dad that we really didn't know about him.
LDR told me that while he was in the room with Dad, he saw him sort of staring off like he was thinking. He asked him, "what are you thinking about?"
Dad said, "life."
Yep. Me too.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tired
This has been one lonnnnnnnnnnnnnng weeekend. Saying goodbye to Grandma was a little harder than I thought it would be. I think because my mom had a hard time with it. She was at the nursing home with her pretty much every day before she passed. It was hard to watch her reaction.
Lemme tell you, my granny did NOT look like she was 99. She looked so pretty in her white outfit, with her white gloves and her hat. She had a white casket, too. Everything was beautiful.
It was nice to hear all of the comments from the people at her church. How she always had a kind word to say, and she would encourage people and always tell them to pray. All the activities she was involved in. That helped me to round out the picture I had of my grandma. Our families went to different churches (she went to the same church as my aunt), so I didn't know a lot about all her involvement and how many lives she touched.
My dad got up and told the story about how he went to my grandma to ask her if it was ok to marry my mom. He said he asked her, and my grandma said, "well did you talk to her yet?" We all chuckled. My mom is notoriously stubborn and sassy. He talked about how when Grandma lived with us, if they had a disagreement, she wouldn't take sides with mom all the time.
Then he messed us all up when he broke out with a verse from "In The Garden." Thank goodness LDR was there with me. He's been a great support system. Even got me to work out twice while I was here. Which is good, considering all the junk I've been eating.
The preacher told us during the eulogy that we were her legacy and that we should make sure we continue on passing down what she taught us.
I hope we can. :)
Lemme tell you, my granny did NOT look like she was 99. She looked so pretty in her white outfit, with her white gloves and her hat. She had a white casket, too. Everything was beautiful.
It was nice to hear all of the comments from the people at her church. How she always had a kind word to say, and she would encourage people and always tell them to pray. All the activities she was involved in. That helped me to round out the picture I had of my grandma. Our families went to different churches (she went to the same church as my aunt), so I didn't know a lot about all her involvement and how many lives she touched.
My dad got up and told the story about how he went to my grandma to ask her if it was ok to marry my mom. He said he asked her, and my grandma said, "well did you talk to her yet?" We all chuckled. My mom is notoriously stubborn and sassy. He talked about how when Grandma lived with us, if they had a disagreement, she wouldn't take sides with mom all the time.
Then he messed us all up when he broke out with a verse from "In The Garden." Thank goodness LDR was there with me. He's been a great support system. Even got me to work out twice while I was here. Which is good, considering all the junk I've been eating.
The preacher told us during the eulogy that we were her legacy and that we should make sure we continue on passing down what she taught us.
I hope we can. :)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
I Am Free
I AM FREE
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I'm following the path God laid for me
I took His hand when I heard Him call
I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day, to laugh,
to love, to work or play.
Tasks undone must stay that way
I've found that peace at the close of the day.
If parting has left a void, then fill it
with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah, yes, these things I too will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish for you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much
Good friends, good times,
a loved one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all to brief,
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and share with me,
God wants me now, He set me free.
--Author Unknown
Grandma passed today. And I'm trying to remember that most importantly, she is not suffering or in pain any more. She put in 99 good years on this earth. She baked the best lemon merengue and sweet potato pies ever. She taught me how to sit in my rocking chair, cross my chubby legs, and watch The Young and The Restless. If I wanted hot chocolate in the middle of the night, she got up and fixed it, with milk - the old fashioned way on the stove...and Hershey's Cocoa, not Nestle Quik.
She didn't want for anything. Her three daughters took care of her. She outlived all of her brothers and she (unfortunately) outlived two of her six children. She may have had dementia but she knew she was loved. My mom was at the nursing home every day, along with my uncle and my aunt. My mom was with her when she took her last breath. She died peacefully, in her sleep.
I don't know what happens now. I would like to think she's reunited with Uncle Rafe and Aunt Lennie, and she's smiling down on us.
RIP Grandma Rosa... 5/9/1911 - 10/23/2010
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I'm following the path God laid for me
I took His hand when I heard Him call
I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day, to laugh,
to love, to work or play.
Tasks undone must stay that way
I've found that peace at the close of the day.
If parting has left a void, then fill it
with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah, yes, these things I too will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish for you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much
Good friends, good times,
a loved one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all to brief,
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and share with me,
God wants me now, He set me free.
--Author Unknown
Grandma passed today. And I'm trying to remember that most importantly, she is not suffering or in pain any more. She put in 99 good years on this earth. She baked the best lemon merengue and sweet potato pies ever. She taught me how to sit in my rocking chair, cross my chubby legs, and watch The Young and The Restless. If I wanted hot chocolate in the middle of the night, she got up and fixed it, with milk - the old fashioned way on the stove...and Hershey's Cocoa, not Nestle Quik.
She didn't want for anything. Her three daughters took care of her. She outlived all of her brothers and she (unfortunately) outlived two of her six children. She may have had dementia but she knew she was loved. My mom was at the nursing home every day, along with my uncle and my aunt. My mom was with her when she took her last breath. She died peacefully, in her sleep.
I don't know what happens now. I would like to think she's reunited with Uncle Rafe and Aunt Lennie, and she's smiling down on us.
RIP Grandma Rosa... 5/9/1911 - 10/23/2010
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