"We're going to go buy land" I told my friend on the phone. "We're looking for a place that would be easy to find, near the road. Shade is not important" My brother Chuck, and I were deciding on a place to bury my dad. The serious little lady from the cemetery, carrying her official notebook of available plots, gaves us the ok on potential places. I stood on one, while my brother was standing on the other. We had it narrowed down to two possiblities. "Hows this one" I shouted to him, as he stood on his plot nearby. "Its everything we want. Easy to find, near the road. One could actually just drive by and not get out of the car. We'll take it" The lady wrote the numbers down, and the deal was done.
There are so many details to dying. People say that the deceased are put to rest. I think the term "rest" should apply to those left behind, that have to decide all the details. My dad died of Alzheimer's and other complications. After he died, we rested. My mom, who cared for him for many many years is resting now. She no longer has to barricade herself in her bedroom at night. She no longer has to care for his every need. She misses him, and she's resting.
When I stood at the casket, and looked at my dad, I rested. I rested in the fact that the journey was over, and I was tired. Tired of seeing my dad go away, over and over again, never to come back whole. He was dressed in his pants with many pockets, his suspenders that had many notes from his family tucked beneath the elastic, and his tshirts. He did look asleep, kinda. The lipstick gave it away, that it really was just a body. My dad never wore lipstick. We had placed other sentimental items in the casket. A bottle of Heinz ketchup. A bottle of beer, vodka and orange juice. The most touching sight was all the notes. I wish I could have read them. I wish I could have peeked.
When my dad was lowered into his final "resting" place, someone noticed that the guy right next to him was a friend of his. A drinking friend from one of the local bars. Just like my dad, to be hanging out with his friends.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Breaking Point vs. Target
I always knew there was a point that I would snap. I didn't know where it was or what it would look like. You can only push me so far, I've always thought, and then look out. I've never reached that point in my life, although I've been pushed pretty hard in lots of directions. Until last week.
The day of my dad's funeral was full of sadness and tension in trying to get all the little details taken care of. There are so many decisions to be made when someone dies. They are laid to rest, for sure, while we scramble to get it all done. At least with weddings, you usually get months to plan. Funerals a few days, if your lucky. We actually had 6 days.
Deciding what to dress him in was easy. My mom, in her daze, suggested his suit. "Do you want us to bury you in a dress?" I asked with loving sarcasm. I've only seen my dad in a suit, and my mom in a dress maybe twice in my life. We buried him in his work pants with lots of pockets, a long sleeve t shirt, with another two t shirts over that. The suspenders finished it off. That's how my dad always looked.
I had met with the grieving ladies at the church rectory to pick out prayers for the mass. It was hard. I had to go generic. Faithful servant of the church just didn't fit my dad. He only went to major events, like baptisms, and weddings. He did volunteer at all the church BarBQs, and pancake breakfasts. I never knew you could add beer to any recipe. It sure made the pancakes fluffy.
We gathered photos for a remembrance table. I had a family portrait that I needed framed. The one I bought at Target was broken, so I asked my mom, if she would exchange it for a flawless one. She needed to get out of the house anyway, and welcomed the excuse to go for a drive. Twenty minutes later, I got a call. "They won't exchange the frame. I don't have the receipt" To which I replied "Where are you standing, right now" "Outside the door" she said. Poor mom. She's had such a tough week. "Don't move, I'll call you right back"
Just as I was dialing the store my son walked by. "You better keep going, you don't want to hear this" My blood was almost to the boiling point. "Customer Service please" I said is a very steady voice. "May I help you" the innocent little checker said. "My mom just tried to return a frame, and I don't understand why you didn't exchange it" "Store policy, we need a receipt" "May I please talk to the manager" I said with all the politeness my Catholic upbringing could muster. I was put on hold for a moment, while my mom was calling in on another line. "Hold tight mom, I'll be right back with you" Click, the manager answers the phone, to which I start screaming "My mother just tried to return a F%#$ing frame that was broken, I don't understand why you aren't exchanging it" "Store Policy" she said. "I don't care what the f%#$ing policy is. We are getting ready for a funeral, and I sent my poor mother on a errand to get her out of the house. What the hell is going on! "It's store policy" she started to say again. "Listen, I spend thousands of dollars in Target each year, I live in Florida. There has NEVER been a problem returning something. I'm not asking for money back! I just want you to exchange the F%#$ frame." By this time, any movement in the house stopped. People were not moving around. Silence. "I will never shop in Target again"..... I think I was breathing fire at this moment. "Will you let me finish? Please send your mother back in and we will make an exception." "It's safe to go back in now mom" People started moving around the house again.
I greeted her with a smile when she returned . "I think you need to wash my mouth out with soap", I said. I told her all about my outburst. She took one look at me, and we hi-fived each other.
The lovely Target frame now sits in her home, showcasing a portrait of our family.
The day of my dad's funeral was full of sadness and tension in trying to get all the little details taken care of. There are so many decisions to be made when someone dies. They are laid to rest, for sure, while we scramble to get it all done. At least with weddings, you usually get months to plan. Funerals a few days, if your lucky. We actually had 6 days.
Deciding what to dress him in was easy. My mom, in her daze, suggested his suit. "Do you want us to bury you in a dress?" I asked with loving sarcasm. I've only seen my dad in a suit, and my mom in a dress maybe twice in my life. We buried him in his work pants with lots of pockets, a long sleeve t shirt, with another two t shirts over that. The suspenders finished it off. That's how my dad always looked.
I had met with the grieving ladies at the church rectory to pick out prayers for the mass. It was hard. I had to go generic. Faithful servant of the church just didn't fit my dad. He only went to major events, like baptisms, and weddings. He did volunteer at all the church BarBQs, and pancake breakfasts. I never knew you could add beer to any recipe. It sure made the pancakes fluffy.
We gathered photos for a remembrance table. I had a family portrait that I needed framed. The one I bought at Target was broken, so I asked my mom, if she would exchange it for a flawless one. She needed to get out of the house anyway, and welcomed the excuse to go for a drive. Twenty minutes later, I got a call. "They won't exchange the frame. I don't have the receipt" To which I replied "Where are you standing, right now" "Outside the door" she said. Poor mom. She's had such a tough week. "Don't move, I'll call you right back"
Just as I was dialing the store my son walked by. "You better keep going, you don't want to hear this" My blood was almost to the boiling point. "Customer Service please" I said is a very steady voice. "May I help you" the innocent little checker said. "My mom just tried to return a frame, and I don't understand why you didn't exchange it" "Store policy, we need a receipt" "May I please talk to the manager" I said with all the politeness my Catholic upbringing could muster. I was put on hold for a moment, while my mom was calling in on another line. "Hold tight mom, I'll be right back with you" Click, the manager answers the phone, to which I start screaming "My mother just tried to return a F%#$ing frame that was broken, I don't understand why you aren't exchanging it" "Store Policy" she said. "I don't care what the f%#$ing policy is. We are getting ready for a funeral, and I sent my poor mother on a errand to get her out of the house. What the hell is going on! "It's store policy" she started to say again. "Listen, I spend thousands of dollars in Target each year, I live in Florida. There has NEVER been a problem returning something. I'm not asking for money back! I just want you to exchange the F%#$ frame." By this time, any movement in the house stopped. People were not moving around. Silence. "I will never shop in Target again"..... I think I was breathing fire at this moment. "Will you let me finish? Please send your mother back in and we will make an exception." "It's safe to go back in now mom" People started moving around the house again.
I greeted her with a smile when she returned . "I think you need to wash my mouth out with soap", I said. I told her all about my outburst. She took one look at me, and we hi-fived each other.
The lovely Target frame now sits in her home, showcasing a portrait of our family.
Well, Get Going!
Dec. 13, 2005
"It's time", the hospice angle/nurse said. "It's time to call your family and get them here." My head exploded at he rush of adreline. I think I'm having a stroke. I paced and took deep breathes, just trying to get some oxygen to my brain. The drill that my brothers and sisters and I discussed fell to the wayside, as I tried to dial my brother's cel phone. My hands shook, and I couldn't even see the numbers. "I've got to call my brother Chuck", I said over and over as I frantically tried to hit the right numbers. "It's time." The words were hardly understandable with choking voice.
The hospice angle/nurse was the calming voice in all this. My dad just got moved from the hospital to the hospice facility. She took one look at him, and knew the time was near. In fifteen minutes, my mom, siblings and all the grandkids were there. We surrounded his bed, and told him how much we'd miss him, that it was time to go, and that we loved him. The doctor arrived and told us what to expect. "24-48 hours" he said. He would be given medicine to ease the gurgling sounds of his breathing. Morphine for the pain. My poor dad. His battle with alzheimers, was coming to an end.
It was only three weeks before this, that he shuffled over to my sister's house. "Come sit with me, I have to tell you something." He had been telling everyone he saw, that he had to tell them something, but his words were jumbled and no one knew exactly what he wanted to say. Except this day, clarity visited him for a moment. "My brain is dead. My words don't work. my legs don't work. We have room here for everyone." and then he clapped his hands together like a plane taking off.. He spoke of a ring, and them he pointed to his heart..."but its still ticking". He got up and walked off.
When I visited him at Thanksgiving, we took a walk. He kept stopping and telling me he had something to tell me. The words were not there, as with my sister. But I understood. I told him I would keep the secret, whatever it was.
The week after Thanksgiving, the violent man that possess my dad's body lost control. The next day he was in a home for alzheimer's patients. He was dangerous to himself and my mom. He threatened her with a plastic knife, a banana, and then tried to choke her. For 11 days he was in a home. He refused food, and drink and all meds. No one could get near him. No one could touch him. He was checking out. And we let him.
My dad had a 3 day stay at the hospital before he was transported to a hospice care facility. That's when I arrived from out of state. He never regained consciousness. He never spoke again with words. "Its ok to go, Dad." I whispered over and over again. "We'll be ok. We'll miss you, but we'll be ok." I stroked his hair, like I did when I was a child. Even in the midst of dying, treasured memories brought my soul relief.
I had my hand on my dad's wrist and felt his pulse, as the life slowly ebbed from his body. I felt each beat of his heart. Not a struggling heart, but one that just slowed down. We had expected him to last the night. My mom went home to rest for awhile. His doctor even made the comment to my brother David "So, your spending the night" His nurse came by, loving on my dad, and telling him how special he was and that she would miss the dance he always did when he greeted her in the office. My dad loved to flirt and she knew it. It was a touching sight.
Then my niece said "there is no color in his lips" My dad was leaving. Quick, go get mom, as someone dashed home. By now the pulse in his arm could not be felt. I had one hand on his chest, and my fingertips on his neck. The hand on his chest was loving him, but my fingertips would know when he was gone. Please, my soul was screaming, please, don't die before my mom gets here. Please, don't let her feel guilty about this. Please, hold on. And then his heart slowed.. and slowed. The door opened and my mom walked in – my dad had one beat left of his tired heart, and he was gone.
Everyone was there. His wife of 57 years. All five of his kids. Many of his grandchildren, and a few close friends. We all made our peace with the man that gave us life, as we watched his life end.
For the past 10 years, whenever I would visit, I would say goodbye, and hope it wasn't the last time I would see him. This past Thanksgiving I wondered the same thing. The last words I ever heard my dad say to me was "Well, get going". I think what he was trying to tell everyone at Thanksgiving, was that he was going. He said it with words, jumbled and clear. He said it with his actions when her refused to eat and take his medicine. He said it over and over.
I'm going now, dad. I'm going.
"It's time", the hospice angle/nurse said. "It's time to call your family and get them here." My head exploded at he rush of adreline. I think I'm having a stroke. I paced and took deep breathes, just trying to get some oxygen to my brain. The drill that my brothers and sisters and I discussed fell to the wayside, as I tried to dial my brother's cel phone. My hands shook, and I couldn't even see the numbers. "I've got to call my brother Chuck", I said over and over as I frantically tried to hit the right numbers. "It's time." The words were hardly understandable with choking voice.
The hospice angle/nurse was the calming voice in all this. My dad just got moved from the hospital to the hospice facility. She took one look at him, and knew the time was near. In fifteen minutes, my mom, siblings and all the grandkids were there. We surrounded his bed, and told him how much we'd miss him, that it was time to go, and that we loved him. The doctor arrived and told us what to expect. "24-48 hours" he said. He would be given medicine to ease the gurgling sounds of his breathing. Morphine for the pain. My poor dad. His battle with alzheimers, was coming to an end.
It was only three weeks before this, that he shuffled over to my sister's house. "Come sit with me, I have to tell you something." He had been telling everyone he saw, that he had to tell them something, but his words were jumbled and no one knew exactly what he wanted to say. Except this day, clarity visited him for a moment. "My brain is dead. My words don't work. my legs don't work. We have room here for everyone." and then he clapped his hands together like a plane taking off.. He spoke of a ring, and them he pointed to his heart..."but its still ticking". He got up and walked off.
When I visited him at Thanksgiving, we took a walk. He kept stopping and telling me he had something to tell me. The words were not there, as with my sister. But I understood. I told him I would keep the secret, whatever it was.
The week after Thanksgiving, the violent man that possess my dad's body lost control. The next day he was in a home for alzheimer's patients. He was dangerous to himself and my mom. He threatened her with a plastic knife, a banana, and then tried to choke her. For 11 days he was in a home. He refused food, and drink and all meds. No one could get near him. No one could touch him. He was checking out. And we let him.
My dad had a 3 day stay at the hospital before he was transported to a hospice care facility. That's when I arrived from out of state. He never regained consciousness. He never spoke again with words. "Its ok to go, Dad." I whispered over and over again. "We'll be ok. We'll miss you, but we'll be ok." I stroked his hair, like I did when I was a child. Even in the midst of dying, treasured memories brought my soul relief.
I had my hand on my dad's wrist and felt his pulse, as the life slowly ebbed from his body. I felt each beat of his heart. Not a struggling heart, but one that just slowed down. We had expected him to last the night. My mom went home to rest for awhile. His doctor even made the comment to my brother David "So, your spending the night" His nurse came by, loving on my dad, and telling him how special he was and that she would miss the dance he always did when he greeted her in the office. My dad loved to flirt and she knew it. It was a touching sight.
Then my niece said "there is no color in his lips" My dad was leaving. Quick, go get mom, as someone dashed home. By now the pulse in his arm could not be felt. I had one hand on his chest, and my fingertips on his neck. The hand on his chest was loving him, but my fingertips would know when he was gone. Please, my soul was screaming, please, don't die before my mom gets here. Please, don't let her feel guilty about this. Please, hold on. And then his heart slowed.. and slowed. The door opened and my mom walked in – my dad had one beat left of his tired heart, and he was gone.
Everyone was there. His wife of 57 years. All five of his kids. Many of his grandchildren, and a few close friends. We all made our peace with the man that gave us life, as we watched his life end.
For the past 10 years, whenever I would visit, I would say goodbye, and hope it wasn't the last time I would see him. This past Thanksgiving I wondered the same thing. The last words I ever heard my dad say to me was "Well, get going". I think what he was trying to tell everyone at Thanksgiving, was that he was going. He said it with words, jumbled and clear. He said it with his actions when her refused to eat and take his medicine. He said it over and over.
I'm going now, dad. I'm going.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)