Christmastime

Christmastime.  You know ahead of time it's going to feel a little weird.  You expect it.  Maybe you're not sure how the weirdness will manifest, but you know it's coming and you'll just have to deal with being "off-balance".  Our Christmas Traditions have been involuntarily altered.

For me, it seems we kids spent a lifetime of Christmases trying to figure out what to get Mom and Dad.  How can we surprise them?  What would they need?  How do we sneak it in under the tree?  It was a team effort.  Always.  We would throw out ideas, bat them around, and eventually find the right gift that fit into everyone's budget AND was special enough to bear the crown of being THE Christmas Gift.  Whether it was a new computer, or television set, or a getaway trip to Santa Barbara it was always so much fun planning what to get them for Christmas.

 
And, Dad's birthday on Christmas Eve.  The get together was always at the house on Christmas Tree Lane.  (I think the main reason Mom bought that house was because of the address)  Even after Mom passed, Dad kept the Christmas Eve tradition.  The house always looked so nice with Mom's decorations and the fireplace warming the living room until you had to peel off some clothes and get comfortable.  We would have the big gift exchange to see who could steal the best gift from everyone else.  But before the Christmas festivities, we had to celebrate Mary and Dad's birthdays first. This year I can't tell you how many times I caught myself  thinking, "Better call Tom and see what we're getting Dad for Christmas."  Yeah, it's going to be weird.

It's time to move on, create new traditions.  They won't be much to begin with.  Traditions are kinda like trees you plant as saplings and over the years they grow and get stronger and bigger and have a few more branches added until they are so big and deeply rooted you don't think anything can ever bring them down.

Yeah, it will be weird, but the best thing about Christmas is that New Year's is right around the corner.  We can get 2012 behind us and look to a fresh beginning.

Merry Christmas

"Chuck" December 22, 2012

When I woke up today.. it was just one of those sad days..My dad has been gone for two months now.. and I was thinking..he should still be here, he wasn't ready to go. My cousin Lynne... Pan Am 103, 24 years ago, stunned at the very idea that this type of terrorism could hit so close to home. The shootings of small children in Connecticut What is happening? It turned my glum day into a bad day. Then I read a post I get every day from Whisper of God.. I was comforted... it reminded me that God doesn't always call us home, but he greets with open arms, none the less. And then came the email from my brother John... Charles Stephens (aka Chuck) had passed away. Who’s Charles Stephens, you ask? Well.. he is someone I knew only for about 6 weeks, but will remember always. He was a resident of Rosewood Care Center with my Dad. More than that however, he was funny, loving, and proposed to “every pretty girl I meet.” He gave us all wedding bands folded out of $1.00 bills. He said he thought it was likely around 40,000 (yes, you read that right) women he had proposed to, offering a hand folded ring, a smile and a twinkle in his eye. He made us all feel loved and special!


Chuck played music with Buck Owens and Merle Haggard. He loved writing songs and could make up a song on the fly about anything. He loved his guitar. But what I will remember him most fondly for was the encouragement he gave my dad during the last difficult days of physical therapy and the ‘laugh so hard I cried’ way he had of expressing his views on life. One particular day, Dad wasn’t feeling well physically, but mentally he was ready to take on the world. His therapist came to get him – and Chuck rolled into therapy with him. After putting Dad through an especially trying workout of maneuvering his legs, Dad sat back in his wheelchair exhausted. The PT asked Dad, “are you okay, Mr. Harrer?” to which Chuck came to Dad’s rescue with the response, “Well, he ain’t gonna wanna go squirrel huntin!” Well Chuck, I am comforted to know that you are up there with Dad, making him laugh and keeping him singing!! God Speed my friend. Thanks for all you shared with us. It was during some of our darkest hours that your light was bright! And we are grateful. Rest in peace! Love, All Bill’s kids!!

Family History - Dad's Dad

Agnes Harrer, Frank Harrer, Josephine Harrer

Growing up we had three grandparents.  Mom's mother and father from the old country (Armenia) and Grandma Harrer.  Grandpa Harrer, as the story was told, was a tinsmith.  While working in his garage one day with the engine on in his car, he was overcome with carbon monoxide, and passed away.  That was it.  The whole story, beginning, middle, and end.  Car, gas, dead.  Be careful.  Dad told us he was around 4 or 5 at the time and did not remember much.  Details were not sketchy, they were non existent.  We (the kids) accepted it for what it was and had no more questions.

In 2010, I sat down with Dad for a recorded conversation as part of an audio family history.  Many years had gone by since I asked him about Grandpa.  As it turns out, there IS a little more to the story.  Between what Dad told me during that conversation in 2010 and what some of the cousins related to me, here's how I understand the story.  I'm sure someone will add or correct some of the details listed here.  Feel free to do so.

We still don't know if Gramps "death" was accidental.  Dad was born in '23.  That means Grandpa died around 1929.  Without having an exact date on his "death", there's no way to know for sure that a tradesman with five hungry mouths to feed might have been feeling a little depressed with the economics of the era.  Giving up, however, is not a family trait.  Dad told me Grandpa possessed both a car and a truck, which might not directly point to affluence, but did not make it sound like they were paupers either.  In the late '20's I doubt if many people knew the dangers of carbon monoxide.  Heck, today many people don't know the dangers of carbon monoxide.  It could have been a cold day in Evanston, Illinois, and Grandpa could have been just trying to stay warm.  My verdict:  accidental.  Be careful.

The reason we do not have an exact "death" day is that the story has a twist.  Grandpa did not actually die from this incident.  It did leave him with some brain damage and, as was common for the time, he was admitted to an "asylum" or "sanitarium" for care.  The kids were just told that Dad had died.  Maybe they thought he would die or he should have died from the amount of poison.  We know now that this would not have been the only time a doctor underestimated the constitution of a Harrer.  Maybe it was just easier to tell the kids he had died.  I imagine life was tough enough growing up in Evanston without the stigma of having your father labeled insane.

According to Dad, when Grandma asked her mother-in-law, Great Grandma Harrer, for help, her response was to split up the kids in the family.  Grandma would have nothing to do with this plan and Great Grandma left her to fend for herself.  Stubborn folks there on Grandma's side of the family.  But stubborn served her well.  She did the best she could by running a boarding house and doing what ever jobs she could find.

Dad spent a good part of his life with no idea his father was still alive.  He found out when Uncle Frank (Dad's brother) came by our house in Pico Rivera (1950-1960) with Grandpa's life insurance policy and told Dad it was his turn to start paying the premium.  Dad was stunned.  He told me it came as a complete surprise.  Dad had received a secret clearance from the government in order to work on the space orbiter.  The government's background search had uncovered nothing unusual.    Dad also told me that he remembered that when Grandma got the notice that Grandpa had actually passed away, she went back to the funeral.

I found out recently, not sure from whom exactly, that Uncle Frank had to return home for a few weeks while he was in the service (during WWII no less) to take care of his father, who was causing some sort of problems back in Illinois.

In looking through some old street directories I found this listing for our grandparents on Washington Street.

1922 Evanston Street Directory
You can find Frank and Josephine's name listed  in the left  column

Another Siting

We order our bulk herbs from a place in Iowa.  It takes about a week for the package to arrive.  I pull out the packing list and in the upper right-hand corner a blue arrow points to a phrase written in black ink - "2Rabbits"  Of course, what came to mind?  Yep, the picture of Dad in the Marine Corp. with Rabbit written across the top.  I hope he has my Lotto numbers....

Family!

I've thought a lot about John's post over the past couple of days.. I don't remember the conflicts because, as he said so eloquently, they don't matter. We encircled Dad and each other with the unbreakable bond that had been forged as children. I have watched the videos he so lovingly made, over and over, and each time I recognize his timing of visuals to music.. our smiles, the presence of parents, our friendship, the love.. I agree, we were separated by distance and focused on how to make our own way in the world.. just as Mom and Dad had done when they got into the 1939 Buick with a 1941 engine and headed west.  In doing so, they began their life together.. but the bond they had with their siblings never wavered either and soon, they all came together; to take care of each other and to once again be friends, raise their families together and allow us to have an opportunity to know and love our cousins on both sides. 

While living in Bakersfield on and off over the past 5 months, and most explicitly the 5 weeks before Dad passed away, I was reminded that the journey I take can never really be taken without you boys, because you are so much a part of who I am, who I became. 

Since returning to Utah and back to work, I realize I don't yet have a new normal. I am lonely now without you all. I miss the daily texts, the 10:15 am blog updates, the phone calls and emails, more updates, the conversations, the hugs, the "I love yous".  I have shared with Lee and my children.. my feelings.. I don't have a family of my own without you all.. To have everyone together in Bakersfield.. (which will always be home), was the comfort I needed to be able to grieve, to share, to hug and to move forward.  This doesn't take away from the love I have for my husband and children because to me.. I am me only when I acknowledge that I am a part of all; that is how we were raised. Mom and Dad both gave us the gift of the meaning of family. 

Continue your writing brother dear.. it is truly your gift from God.  You have a special talent.. it is soothing, endearing, funny and enlightened.  I miss you .. and will see you at Thanksgiving .. because that is our family tradition! Tom, Bill, John and Jim.. thank you for being the rocks .. the boulders! on which I can lay a shoulder. Mary, Deb, Ranae and Debbie.. thank you for being sisters - you are my gift! To your kids and grandkids - I love being their Aunt..

Life is good!

PS.. I do wish I had asked Dad, at some point when I was living with him over the summer, the story of the cookie jar..  I loved coming home to find my "Fiddle Sticks".  Until he could not drive anymore, he never forgot to stock the cookie jar for me, but I realize I was so busy putting my hand in the cookie jar, I forgot to look at it!  Now that it sits on my desk.. it's creepy! 

Growing Apart

The funeral is over.

The estate is being taken care of.

It's time to get back to our lives.

Tuesday night dance lessons remind me of Dad.  It's the continuity waltz.  Would would have thought?

Sleep is getting more regular.  Alcohol consumption down.  I no longer have that built in excuse for "another glass of wine".  Crap.  That was a handy little excuse.  I'll miss it.

Rode my horse for the first time in a month.  Churchill knew what he was talking about when he said, "Nothing is better for the inside of a man, than the outside of a horse."  (Or, something like that).

I had mentioned to Ranae (my wife) the other day how much closer I felt, not only to my siblings, but to their children and the friends of Dad as well.  She asked if I thought it would stay that way.  Don't know.  Hope so.

I think back to the first time we all left the house to pursue our lives.  To paraphrase someone special. "To go out and see the world."  We all did just that.  In our own way.  Getting together once or twice a year for the big holidays.  Did we really know each other very well a year ago?  I can only speak for myself, and the answer is not really.

It's not that I think we missed out on anything major.  We all built our respective families and the lives we now have the way we wanted them to be.  The reality is, I think it made us stronger.  When we rejoined for the common effort of Dad's care and comfort, the fact that we had a good foundation AND  independence was one of our stronger assets.  Because we had grown apart there were conflicts between us over Dad's care.  Legitimate differences of opinions based much on the life experiences we've had in the years since we left the nest.  But, because of the good foundation, the conflicts led to debates.  Everyone was heard.  The debates led to discussions.  Everyone listened.  The discussions led to consensus.  And, it was that consensus that insured Dad got the very best of available care.  Did we make mistakes?  It does not matter.  Dad was with us every step of the way.  He would not look back.  We should not either.

Growing apart and being able to still come together.  Most families are not nearly so lucky.  You gotta hand it to Mom and Dad.  Hmmm.  When I was fifteen I was sure they had absolutely no idea of what they were doing.

The Blog is Public

Dad's blog is now public and anyone can read it.

I've gone through and removed all (I think) sensitive personal information and email addresses spanning the last two-and-a-half years of blogging.  I may consolidate some earlier posts so a reader may get a better feel for the story.  There will also be a "Legacy Video" Page where all the videos will be consolidated.

If you find a post that is inappropriate, please let me know.  On the other hand if you have an idea to make this blog better, feel free to make it so.

The Radio

Ranae is planting flowers outside. It was quiet and I thought I would get the radio I picked up from Dad's workbench in the garage. I had tried it there and knew the switches were dirty so I took it in my room and sprayed some contact cleaner on the on/off and tuning switches, turned it on and, this is the absolute truth, the first song I heard was the last 30 seconds of The Wish, by Rascal Flats. I had never heard that song before Tom sent me the link a few weeks ago.

I tuned the radio to a rock station and put it outside with Ranae and came in to blog this.  She just hollered through the door that it was playing "Hell's Bells". Maybe Tom should have this radio.

Once a Marine, Always a Marine – Semper Fi

My Dad passed away peacefully in the early morning hours of October 21, 2012. It was a Sunday.

At the age of 17, he joined the United States Marine Corp in June of 1941, after finishing boot camp in San Diego, he was stationed at Naval Station, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii sometime in August of 1941. On December 7th, 1941 – William E. Harrer survived the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor where 2,403 Americans lost their life. He received an honorable discharge from the Marines on October 17, 1945.

My Dad was a humble man; he didn't talk a lot about World War II or serving our country at Pearl Harbor, Iwo Jima and Guam. I was almost 40 before be really shared his wartime experiences with his family. We planned a family reunion in Hawaii and Dad took our families, including his 10 grandchildren to the joint base Pearl Harbor-Hickam field and gave us a tour while he relived the ordeal in vivid detail with his family. For the first time we learned he had kept a piece of shrapnel which nearly took his life that day.

Dad loved the Marines. He was proud to be one of the “Few Good Men”.

When the active Marine unit in Bakersfield, California got word of my Dad’s passing, they assembled a twelve-man honor guard and helped us close a truly beautiful memorial service with a full military funeral. Two Marines lifted his flag from the draped coffin as if it was floating in air, then a seven-man team fired 3 shots in harmony for a 21-gun salute, followed by a lone bugler playing taps somewhere off in the background. At the end taps, the flag was folded and passed through three Marines, by Rank, until a Marine commander knelt in front of my oldest brother, Tom, and said:

“On behalf of the President Of the United States, the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation of your Father’s service to Country and Corps.”

It was the most beautiful tribute I could ever image.

Back when Dad joined the Marines in 1941, one of the Marine recruitment posters was, “Once a Marine, Always a Marine”. It was coined by a gung-ho Marine Corps master sergeant, Paul Woyshner in 1917. Years later, the Commandant of the Marine Corp made it official: Once the title "U.S. Marine" has been earned, it is retained. There are no ex-Marines or former-Marines. There are (1) active duty Marines, (2) retired Marines, (3) reserve Marines, and (4) Marine veterans. Once one has earned the title, he remains a Marine for life.

“Once a Marine, Always a Marine” is not a recruiting slogan today, it’s a way of life for those who serve. I did not comprehend or fully appreciate what these words meant until I felt it as I looked into every one of those twelve Marines’ eyes as they honored my father on that day. They truly lost one of their brothers as well.

God bless The United States Marine Corp, past, present and future.

John's Eulogy - Learn By Doing

Learn By Doing

You can't get Life Experience if You Do Not Live

I was fifteen and a half.  As all the Harrer boys, I had been saving my money for a car.  Dad liked auctions.  We were at the County auction as we were most every year.  It was Billy’s year to get a car.  Tom had gotten one the year before.  Mine turn would come next year.  Bill had a budget, found his car, and gave Dad the money to bid on it for him.  Sold. Dad and I sat there watching the rest of the cars move through the auctioneer’s gavel.  He asks, “What do you think of this one?”  I was 15, anything with tires and a steering wheel looked great.  Next thing I know he bid on and bought that car with the stipulation I pay him back before my sixteenth birthday.  Painful but doable.  When it was finally mine he gave me a gas credit card mainly for emergencies, but we could use it, again with a stipulation – the bill gets paid in full at the end of each month.

Things went along well for about six months when, despite the fact gas prices were under fifty cents a gallon, I managed to charge ninety dollars in gasoline.  I was studying when he walked in my room and said, “Here’s you gas bill.  It’s ninety bucks”.

My jaw dropped!  I had not kept track.  “How much?!  Ninety!  I..I don’t have it.” 

“Okay, I need the card back. Pay me what you can, and the rest I’ll take in installments.”  Nothing else was said.

Three months later I left the check for the final installment quietly on his desk – proud it was paid off – ashamed I had done it in the first place.  Later that evening he walked into my room and said, “Here’s your credit card back.”

“Oh, no.  I don’t want to have anything to do with that.  I learned my lesson”

“Not quite.  You learned how to use it the wrong way.  Now learn how to use it the right way,” he placed the card in my hand turned and left.

That’s the way he taught us – by example.  Always right there in the trenches with us.  Even these last two months.  On every day I was with him, we never failed to share a smile or a laugh together.  Even at the darkest times.  He was teaching.  By example.  We were in the trenches together. Preparing me for the last and most difficult chapter.  The chapter that doesn’t include rubbing his shoulders, hearing his voice, or sharing a game of 5-straight.

Thanks, Dad, for being a father and setting the best example for what a man is supposed to be.  For being a business partner and showing me how integrity spills out beyond family.  For being a friend and sharing tennis and dancing and even doctor’s appointments.  For encouraging me to never stop learning something new. 

You gave me the greatest life a boy could ever hope for.  Good-bye, Dad.

Tom's Eulogy - Dad's Legacy

“Hi Dad, are you coming over for Sunday Night Dinner?”

(pause)

“Mary and I are going to the Elephant Bar, do you want to come along?”

(pause)

“Grant has a two day Tournament this weekend down South.  The first game is at 8:30 Saturday morning.  Can you leave on Friday? “

(pause)

“How would you like to spent Father's Day at Torrey Pines in San Diego watching a bunch of golfers battle for the honor of lifting the U S Open Cup?”

(pause)

His answer was always “SURE”.

Those are only some of the memories I will cherish forever.

As I look back over the memories, one thing comes to my mind:  "What is Dad’s legacy?" What will he leave behind?

Out of the corner of my eye I see my sister Cathi in the dining room at Rosewood looking across at a man sitting all alone for dinner. She walks across the room, “Hi my is name Cathi, what's yours?” “Chuck”.  “Chuck, my Dad has some room at his table, would you like to join him?”  They became “Best Buddies”.

Out of another corner of my eye I see my brother Bill, walking Mary Moon, a patient we think is suffering from dementia, back to her room.  “Is this my room?”  “Yes, MARY this is your room.”  She gives out a big smile.

Another image is my brother John, he was always the first to visit Dad in morning, making sure his coffee wasn't too hot, and his scrambled eggs were cut up. I had heard of a blog, but wasn't quite sure exactly what a blog was, but oh, can the man write!  Each day we couldn't wait to read his blog about his morning visit with Dad.

Another image, it’s my brother Jim.  Just like the first couple of weeks of football practice, when Dad arrived at Rosewood it was double sessions - 30 minutes of therapy in morning and another 30 minutes in the afternoon. Jim got to know every therapist by their first name. “Come on Dad, one more for Tina.”

So his legacy is getting a little clearer to me. One of his last doctors' appointments was with Dr. Heidari.  Dad was too sick to go, but I had same questions for the doctor, so off I went.  After all the questions were answered, just as I was leaving, Dr Heidari said, “Tom I have one more thing to share with you. I can only hope I have raised my two sons in the same manner as your Dad has raised his children.”  Now, it’s perfectly clear to me the legacy my Dad will leave behind.

So as I raise my glass and toast to this kind and gentle man, that taught me so much, I know on the other side is my Mom, also raising her glass with all her friends and family, saying “Welcome home, welcome home Honey”.

Bill & Ben's Eulogy "Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain”

I am Bill Harrer, the 3rd and middle child of Bill and Kaye Harrer and Yes, I am the favorite child.  Well, actually any of us could have raised our hands, because Dad had a way of making us all feel like we were his favorite. I would like to thank you all for coming today to help celebrate the life of our Dad.

I have also been honored to be named after my Dad, a honor that I have cherished all of my life and something that I have given to my first son, who in turn has given to his only son.  I know they will cherish that honor as much as I do.

One of the special things that Dad liked was to make birthday, Christmas, anniversary or other special day cards for his friends and family.  I had already written two eulogies for my Dad when I came across a handwritten note from Dad in a box of cards that Dad was working on.

It simply said: "Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain”.  This note from him seemed like the perfect metaphor for his life, something he did extremely well.  He loved to dance and he could always see the sunshine through the clouds.

As I watched my Dad body fail him over the past five months, I came to learn that this quote may have been as much for him as it was for someone else.

Dad's life was not a simple life, being born in 1923 he grew up during the depression era.  That coupled with the fact that his father's had a tragic accident  when Dad was 5 or 6 meant that he would grow up without a father, but he and his two brothers and two sisters learned how to dance in the rain at a very young age.

Dad never complained about not having a father, or being poor, or going into the service and being stationed in Hawaii only to have his tranquility disrupted after two weeks, on that infamous Dec 7th day. No, he talked about what fun he had with his brothers and sisters, what his Mom went through to ensure the children were raised properly and how nice Hawaii was.  He didn't know adversity because he refused to let it dampen his spirits.  When it rained in Dad's life, he just figured it was time to learn a new dance.

His life was not easy, but you couldn't tell how hard it was because he was too busy having fun living.

When my Mom, his wife, died in 2002, Dad didn't quit living, no, he dug deep and strengthened his friendship with existing friends and went out and developed new friendships.  And for those friends of Dads that played tennis with him 3 times per week and danced with him, I would like to thank you being an important part of his life.

Dad also began to travel more and see the world, something he had wanted to do since joining the Marines in June 1941.  Dad traveled to China, Germany, Austria, Italy and Switzerland.  He went on cruises to the Caribbean and from Boston north to Canada.  I was fortunate enough to travel with Dad on many trips and Dad was about loving the moment, his family and his friends.

Even in his final months as he struggled at the Nursing Home, Dad made some good friends with the other patients and staff.  They all came to know and love him because he was not burdened by caring a chip on his shoulders.  He enjoyed these new people that he met and treated them with love and kindness and in turn was treated with an abundance of love and kindness.

I am sure if Dad was here today, that he would tell you that no matter when you were born, that rain is going to fall during your lifetime and that you would be much better off learning to dance in the rain, then pretending it is not raining or trying to wait out the storm.  That it was some of those times while he was dancing in the rain that he found himself enjoying life the most.  That even though the clouds might come and block the sun, the sun still shines for us and those clouds will eventually pass.  It is what you do while those clouds block the sun that defines you as a person. 

For those that knew my Dad, knows he loved to dance, rain or shine. 

Thanks Dad for always putting us kids first, for coaching me in baseball, for exploring the world with me and for teaching me how to dance. 

Now I would like to invite my Grandson Ben up.  Ben is my daughter Sarah's 2nd child and one of Double G's 10 Great Grandchildren.  Ben last saw his Double G just about three weeks ago when my Dad's hearing had worsened and we had rigged up a set of headphones with an amplifier to allow Dad to hear us.  Ben enjoyed talking with Double G and especially liked talking into the amplifier.  Dad commented after Sarah, Rob and the kids had left that Ben was destined to be newscaster or reporter the way he loved talking into that microphone.  Dad really cherished the time he spent with his Great Grand-kids.

Ben, upon learning of Double G's passing and subsequent services today, asked if he could speak.  He was concerned that Double G might not be able to hear him, but Sarah and Rob have assured him that he will be listening and will be extremely proud to hear him talk.  Sarah and Ben have worked with the other Great-grandchildren to identify what made Double G so special to them.

Ben.....

I want to share with you the Great Grand-kid’s favorite memories of Double G.

Grant and Kyle both loved playing 5 Straight and the cad game Golf with Double G.

Hailey liked that every time she saw him he was smiling.

Drake said that he had funny jokes.

Cooper loved the cards that Double G would make him for his birthday.

Taylor said that she like his hugs.

Sam said that he was very nice and brave.

Claire said that Double G was very, very kind.

We will miss Double G and we love him very much.

Dear Dad - (Catie's Euology)

Dear Dad:



I miss you already.  Over the past 6 months, I watched you fight the battle of your life. So many times, we would gather around you thinking this was it, and yet you fought to stay, you fought to tell us one more story, to give one more kiss, to say one more “I love you.” And so now, with the reality that your final day came I say.. no, wait a minute, I’m not ready. 

To share this last month with you and the boys, by your side, learning more about you, watching your strength as you faced each day during this illness, was awe-inspiring.  To sit on the side of your bed, with my head on your shoulder while we cried together and then fifteen minutes later getting beat in a game of 5 Straight, as you bucked up for me, helped me to focus on remembering the life I had being your daughter… not the sadness of not having those moments with you anymore. 

You were the perfect father, advisor, friend and partner in crime.  Whether I was getting in trouble as a teenager ~  or moving to Los Angeles to ‘be on my own’, taking the leap to move to Utah, even though I would be so far away from family, going back to school at 50, or any other decision I’ve made, you were always there to say either “learn from it, and then it isn’t a mistake” or “go for it, you never know until you try”.  What a wonderful example of how to live life to it’s fullest.

Dad, I will always cherish the memories I have of you with my children, whether it was playing tennis or just hanging out, you gave them someone to admire, to love and to learn from. And I have a favorite memory – when we went together to visit Jim in Bend. We decided to drive home down the Northern California Coast where the roads were wind ee  ...a dadism, "man, you can see yourself comin and goin on this road”  We decided to spend the night so we could enjoy Mendocino the next day, but because of a big reggae festival we couldn’t find a hotel room anywhere.  Finally, after over 12 hours on the road we pulled in to a Denny’s parking lot and slept in the car.  You never complained, even though the quarters within the Ford were small and the weather was cold and dreary.  We got up early the next morning and went in to Denny’s for a hot breakfast. As we were having a cup of coffee, you lifted your cup for a toast and said, “Hon, next time we want to do a bed and breakfast, let’s not get it backwards, okay hon?” We laughed, finished our breakfast and went off on an adventure to find the glass beach. You sent me down the side of a cliff to pick glass pebbles and then held out your hand to help me  back up. You were always doing that, Dad.  It was a perfect vacation.

So, THANK YOU Dad, for being the person who set the bar for the man I wanted to marry and the sons I wanted to raise.  Thank you for being someone who would inform my daughter on what to expect from a hard-working, honest and decent man.  Thank you for always looking forward and only looking back with gratitude, love and fondness for the opportunities you were given and the choices you made from those opportunities.  Thank you for giving me the strength to spread my wings and explore what life had in store for me, it took me around the world and settled me exactly where I was meant to be.  I am grateful that you are you and I am blessed that my eyes were open enough to recognize the true sparkle of you.  You are truly a one-in-a million man.

I am deeply proud of your accomplishments, your service to family, God and Country.  And finally Dad, thank you for providing us with a strong, loving home where now, we can all face this difficult time together.  That home is always in my heart, no matter where I am or how far away I might be and because of you, I know we will all make it through this painful experience together, with love and comfort. Give mom a hug and kiss from all of us and remember your promise. It was one of the last nights we had together while you were still able to speak, you told me not to worry, I said, But Dad, I’m, scared.. and after a few minutes you said, Don’t worry hon, I’ll always find you”.  I love you Dad, with all my heart, and then some.

Your Daughter, Cathi. 



Remembering My Dad - Jim's Eulogy

Good afternoon, it’s nice to see so many of my dad’s friends and family gathered here today. Dad loved family gathers more than anyone. As someone remarked hours after his passing, “We’re all brothers and sisters on this earth” – I can’t think of a better way to simply say, “Welcome Family” - we’re privileged to have you share this time with us, as we celebrate a truly remarkable life.

I’m Jim, the youngest of five siblings. I was born 54 years ago, when my dad was 34. In 1958, 34 was considered well past middle age, and in that period, pretty old to be having your 5th child. Dad proved the skeptics wrong as he was active in all-of-my life. He watched me turn 50, watch my kids, Nikki and CJ, grow into adulthood and got to spend time with my grand kids Hailey and Drake. This was not unusual, Dad was active in all of our lives.

This afternoon you’ll be hearing from each of the five kids, along with a couple of surprise speakers I think you’ll enjoy. We each feel the best way to honor our dad is to share with you just a few stories and lessons learned. I’m blessed to have an amazing sister and brothers who are unique, yet similar in many ways, as you’ll see today.

Dad had cancer; we don’t know how long exactly, it was sneaky, appearing as extra fluid around his belly, ear aches, and other problems that caused recent hospital visits.

In the end, Dad figured out how to stop cancer from stealing valuable time from his kids. I believe he added 5 years to his life, however those 5 years were condensed down into months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds and divided into 5 for each of us to spend with him, one-on-one, over the past several months.

Cancer also brought me much closer to my siblings; something I didn’t think was possible considering how close we have all been throughout my life. We rallied behind dad, teamed up to watch over him with the doctors and hospital staff. No one touch dad without our watchful eye. We all loved caring for him and he loved seeing us all together.

So no, cancer did not win. Dad won. Family won. I won.

Four months ago, he took me out for tacos and a margarita to celebrate my birthday. Just two men, sitting in a booth, slowing down time. We sat for hours, we talked about life, being a dad, work, love, and memories of my mom. It was magical and the best birthday I could ask for. I got to express how I really felt about him, as a man and as my dad. Before we left that booth, he grabbed my hand tight, looked me straight in my eyes and said, “I’ve had a good life, I have five great kids, happy birthday.”

I responded, “Dad, one last question, who’s your favorite?” He just gave that grin, nothing more.

Dad was born in 1923, his first refrigerator was an ice-box. No, that isn’t a brand name, it was an insulated box that had a block of ice in it to cool it down. His first phone was a party line, he would pick up the phone and the operator would connect his call. He didn’t learn to drive until his twenties, they would gather around the radio, not the TV, to be entertained.

I asked him what technological advancement he appreciated the most and he told me: carbon fiber and titanium.

That makes sense I said, you used those materials at Valley Machine Shop.  “I’m talking about my tennis racket, they’ve come a long way since laminated wood”, Dad said with another grin.

As I looked at thousands of family photos over the past month, it dawned on me that I was taller than him. I found that funny, as I always thought of him taller than me. That will not change.

I always described my dad as a quiet man. What I came to understand was, he's simply an intense listener. He didn’t duck a hard question and would offer advice when asked, but he preferred to listen. I would like to be as good as a listener as him someday.

His roots grew deep. 47 years in the same home on Christmas Tree Lane, the only home I remember growing up in. I celebrated 41 consecutive Christmas Eves in that home, it’s full of memories. I’ve come to appreciate everything about the home this past year, like sitting at his roll-up desk that I used to do my homework on in high school. He told me a few weeks ago, “oh you’re going to have a lot of fun going through the house when I’m gone, it’s full of treasures.” He wasn’t kidding. I opened his main dresser drawer and right next to his underwear were hundreds of postcards, from each of the kids over the past 40 years. He kept them all, right next to his tighty-whities. Hand written postcards, with a picture that speaks 1000s of words. Postcards are so underrated in today’s text message society. When you leave here today, pick up a post card and send it to someone you love. If you get one, stick it in your underwear drawer.

Be kind and watch what happens. Dad never held back a thank-you, regardless of his poor health or lack of strength. He found the strength to say it…often. I got to witness the power of those two words, over and over again and how it truly touched his doctors, staff at memorial hospital and at Rosewood. I learned that "Thank You" is an expression of love, be generous with them.

Dessert. My dad NEVER passed on homemade desert and we learned at an early age that a meal was not complete without desert. I going to miss hearing him say, “What’s for dessert?” Start enjoying dessert again and think of my dad.

I didn't doubt that my dad knew that I loved him. These past weeks allowed me to have moments of true clarity with him. I wanted him to know I was struggling with what my life would be like without him, when he had been there for me, my entire life. It’s not that we talked all the time, we didn’t, but he was there when I did call. He always greeted me with a hug and got choked up, in a cute way, when it got time for me to return to Oregon. Now I can talk to him without picking up the phone and I fill his presence all around me.

As I am standing up here today, I realize how fortunate I was to have him as my Father and am thankful for the influence he had in my life.

As I close, if there is one thing that I would want you to remember about my dad, it would be that he loved us, with all his heart. As we gather here today to celebrate his life, I know there is not one member of my family that wished Dad had loved them more, we simply wish we could have loved him longer.

Good Bye Pop – Give mom a hug for me.

...Jim

The Funeral

What a day!  This house is so crowded.  People sleeping everywhere.  Why do I always have to sleep next to Billy?  He never stops poking me.  There is lots of crying.  Whenever I cry grownups always tell me, “Big boys don’t cry”.  Well, you can not say that for girls.  Grandma has been crying her head off.  I have never heard anyone make so much noise when she cries.  I wonder if that helps.  Maybe I should try it.

They say we have to go to the funeral.  I heard Dad tell Mom it would be good for us.  We need to pay our respects.  I don’t know.  I don’t really want to see a dead person even if it is Grandpa.  I've never seen one before, except in movies or on our trips to Corriganville.  The dead guys always got up after they died.  What if Grandpa gets up?  I’m staying right next to Billy.  If he runs, I am right behind him.

The cemetery is so close to the house. There sure are a lot of dead people.  I wonder how many cemeteries there are.  Are all those people really under there?

There is nothing to do.  We can’t play.  Mom doesn't want us having fun.  She says it’s time to be sad.  She wants us sad?  That has never happened before.  Not sure why, but I guess it has something to do with Grandpa being gone.  He was pretty old.  Isn't that what’s supposed to happen when you get old?  Wonder where you go?  They say heaven.  Grandpa was a good man.  I’m sure he went to heaven.  Although, Sister Mary said if you are not good you go to the bad place.  No, Grandpa was a good man.  I always heard that.

Dad says we have to be sad, but just for today.  And not even for the whole day.  After that we are supposed to smile every time we think of Grandpa and remember all the fun we had when he was around.  

We can’t play so we've been fighting.  It’s not really my fault.  Billy started it.  I’m almost sure he did.  Dad took us aside and said, “Try and behave…for your mother.”  We were trying.  If Billy would just stop looking at me like that….

The funeral was scary.  The rooms were all kinda dark and the place had a smell I never smelled before.  Maybe it was the flowers.  All those flowers.  I don’t think I have ever seen so many flowers.  I don’t think Grandma stopped crying for a minute.  Mom cried a lot too.  So did Aunt Lee.  Everyone is sad.  I guess this is the time for being sad.  I really don’t like all the crying.

Looking at Grandpa wasn't as scary as I thought.  He just laid there in the casket.  There were flowers all around him.  Mommy said I should kiss him on the cheek.  He did not move.  He was cold.  But then, the room was really cold too.

We finally got to go outside to see where they would bury him.  It must be dark down there.  Oh, he is under a plum tree.  Mom said he liked plums.  They say he will be here for the rest of his life...or forever.  That’s a long time.

Then we went back to Grandma’s house.  She was still crying.  I wonder when she will feel better.  I hate to see her so sad.  Nothing Mom can do makes Grandma feel better.

The house is really crowded now.  It’s sort of like a party, but everyone is sad.  Lots, and lots of big people.  It’s like walking through a forest going from room to room as Billy and I try and grab as many of those candy covered almonds as we can.  Some of the big people I know, most I’m not sure of.  They all get me confused with Billy.  Billy is the troublemaker.  If he doesn't stop poking me…

This isn't a very fun party and we kids are kinda picking on each other.  Hey, I’m only ten, well more like 10-and-a-half.  Bill is eleven and Tom is almost fifteen.  Cathy is fourteen.  Jimmy is only seven.  Dad comes around and gathers all five of us up and says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Really!  We can do that?  I didn't think we were supposed to have fun today.  We walk past the cemetery and cross the big street to the cliffs.  “Try not to get dirty.  Your mother will kill me.”  Sure, Dad, nothing but dirt and foxtails over here.  How far do you think it is down there?  Is that the river?  How many oil wells do you think there are?  This was a great idea, Dad.  How far do you think we can see?  Is that a hundred miles?  That looks like a long way down.  What do you think we look like from down there?  Can we go down there? 

And, before I knew it, we were down there.  How do we get back up?  “Same way we came down.”  Really, Dad.  “Really son”.  

You know what?  It’s a LOT easier going down a hill than it is going up.  We had to stop a lot.  Was Dad carrying Jimmy?  I wonder if I could get him to carry me.  Man, this is fun!  Sure beats listening to all that crying, although most of us are whining about how hard it is getting back up this hill.  I think that’s different.  We are still a long way from where we started.

It was a good feeling finally making it to the top.  We were all breathing pretty hard.  I was hungry.  Sure could use some of those almonds.  My legs feel rubbery.  We stayed there for a while and caught our breath.  Dad said we better get back.  We had been gone a long time.  I’m not sure I wanted to hurry back, but I was hungry.  I realized we had not thought about Grandpa or the crying for hours.

We must have been pretty dirty because Mom did not look happy.  It was a different “not happy” than the “not happy” we had seen earlier in the day.  She was wondering "where the heck we had been".  He said for a walk.  She said we should have stuck around.  He told her you can’t expect five kids to be couped up in a house full of crying people.  Then he smiled at her and said, “Well at least, I think they will sleep good tonight.”  Yeah, me too, if  someone can Billy to stop poking me.

Next weekend is Easter.  I hope things get back to normal.  I don’t think I like these funeral things.  Too much crying.  I think Dad knew that.  The walk though, that’s something I’ll always remember.  

Public Speaking Tips

As we look forward to our roles on Friday, I thought I might share some public speaking tips I've learned.  I would appreciate it if anyone else has any suggestions, too.

First, we're speaking because we want to, so enjoy it.  We are doing this to honor Dad.  The worst that can happen is we breakdown.  As a friend once told, "It's not like they can take your birthday away if you falter."  And, we're together.  Saturday the sun will rise and we will be here to see it.

Tell your spouse or loved one not to be offended if you don't look at them.  The natural tendency is to look to them for support, but they are the closest person that truly knows the depth of your pain.  Look at them if you must but, if you feel too much emotion welling up, check out the stranger in the back of the room running the audio equipment.  Speak to him.

When practicing, there are parts of your talk that will undoubtedly be very emotional.  They are usually not at the beginning.  Our tendency may be to practice our talk from beginning to end and try to plow through the emotional parts.  My suggestion is, at the start of your practice, read the MOST emotional part of your talk aloud first, then the third paragraph, then bounce to the end again.  This will take a lot of the emotion out of you, but not out of what you are saying.  Spend some time reading sentences out of order.  It will help you work on the inflection you were going for when you wrote it.  At the end of your practice, read it aloud from beginning to end and note where you have the most trouble and save that for the first part of your next practice.

You'll be surrounded by people who love you.

Hope this helps.  I know we will make Dad proud.

October 22nd Brothers and Sisters

It feels weird not heading to Rosewood this morning to see the gang.  It was nice to have the light moment with Chuck.  After Catie had gone in to tell him Dad had passed, they were comforting each other.  I walked in behind Bill just in time to hear Chuck ask him how Dad was doing?

"Sorry.  We lost himthis morning Chuck", Bill said.

Chuck replied, " Aww, darn she lost her father this morning too", indicating towards Catie.

Bless her heart, Catie tried to clear things up, "No, Chuck we're brothers and sister."

Chuck look a bit confused for a moment and then announced. "Yes dear, we are all Brothers and Sisters in this world!"

I noticed before I left the room that he had a coat hanger redesigned to be his "grabber".  Not sure what hapeened to the brand-new store-bought grabber the family bought him.  I think Chuck just likes making things himself.

And, there may be some weird things that happen.  We can choose to take comfort, scratch our heads, or just ignore them I suppose.  This is one of those.  Our home phone has not rung in the middle of the night in I can't tell you how long. Of course, two mornings ago it rang about 4:15 am with Jim's call.  When it rang at 5:17 am this morning, just 25 hours later, it was a mix between deja vu and "what the hell?!"  I reached over Ranae to pick up the phone and a Hispanic voice on the other end asks, "Is Angel there?"  Stunned for a moment, but it was then I knew, yes, yes he was, I just could not put him on the phone.

October 20th - Not a Tug-O-War But a Marathon

Can it get much quieter?  Dad his sleeping soundly on his left side. The hum of the oxygen machine and the air mattress drone on. My guess, who knows, we'll have this with maybe intermittent spurts of discomfort. It's up to the drugs now.

I was thinking of a tug-of-war analogy. Sometimes the rope went through his hands so fast it has burned. Other times, he has been able to get his feet under him and dig in for the long fight. Now, hands full of sweat, he can no longer maintain a grip.

But, the analogy does not work. It implies HE lost. In a game of tug-of-war, there is a winner and loser. From the beginning of the game there is an equal chance for either side to win.  No one has ever won against Dad's opponent.   If the only possible outcome is the one he is experiencing, how can we call it a loss?

While he may not feel like it, he should be doing a victory dance.  Think about the runner at the end of a marathon.  Tired, spent, usually down on all fours gasping for air.  This does not look like a winner.  But, by the time they get to the podium they are composed, refreshed, and filled with vitality.

Dad has just finished his marathon.  It has taken him to some very wonderful places. He has climbed some hills and has enjoyed coasting down the back side. (Side note:  That last sentence reminded me of the times Dad would turn off the car engine and coast down a hill to save gas and scare the crap out of Mom. Where was that?).  Anyway, he's at the end of the race now. If he looked all fresh and shiny it would have only been because he strolled the whole way.  He did not stroll. He might of danced a bit. He definitely stopped along the way to make friends. He enjoyed himself. He did not stroll.

More importantly, Dad never lost his mental faculties. I know that was one of his greatest fears. Likely all of our greatest fear. (Vanny has come in to turn Dad so I've moved to the garden). That's quite a race. Eighty-eight and he had it right to the end. I know after he has crossed the finish line he will look battered and beaten. Entirely spent. He should. He has had a good race. Don't worry. By the time he gets to the winner's podium he'll be composed, refreshed, and full of vitality.

October 19th - You Need a Handbook?

I got nothing.  Thought I could come up with something clever.  It would have to be good, just something.  I could touch it up a little with a sharp metaphor or insightful analogy.  Nuthin'.

He's still going.  Slow.  But going.  He hacks up a little phlegm from time to time and tugs lightly at his oxygen tube.  He's on his back again.  I asked Mary Beth about it and she sent for the CNA's.  Is it important?  Sure it is, right?  It'll make him more comfortable.  Can he still feel comfort?  It's an exertion to raise his hand, what's the cost of turning him on his side?  Exhaustion?  Still, in the long run, he'll be more comfortable.  Wait do we still have a long run?

While waiting, I tried the mouth swab wetters.  He turned away a couple of times.  He did not want to have anything to do with it and I took it as a sign to stop.

Sonia came in and she and Mary Beth put him on his right side.  Good.  He gets to face the window. He laid there quietly for the next hour.

I noticed the Hoffmann paper work near the bed and casually leafed through it.  Here's a good quote,   "Serious illness is the hardest crisis we will ever encounter."  Yep, truer words were never written.  Hmm.  They call it a "handbook".  There's some good info in there.  I suppose we should all know the stuff in the "handbook", but somehow I think I liked life a little better when I didn't.  The owner of Hoffmann Hospice is Tom Hoffmann.  I wonder if that's the same Tom Hoffmann I spoke with back in August about Dad's home health?  There is his picture on the cover of their little magazine.  Can't say if it's the same man or not.  August seems like ages ago.

October 18th - Old Habits Die Hard

Dad is resting comfortably this morning.  I got a little moan from him on my arrival.  He still likes his shoulders rubbed.  Good job, Bill.

For four or five months now we have tried to monitor his vitals as if we were operators at a nuclear power plant. What is his B/P?  How much kidney function remains?  Where are his red cells today? What about his white cells?  Check his hemoglobin. Don't let his platelets get to low or his potassium get to high or we'll have a meltdown that will make Chernobyl look like a backyard barbecue!

Really!  Did we EVER need to worry about his heart?  Was it all a ruse?  Did we ever need to worry about his kidneys?  Dad never seemed to be very interested in the numbers.  Sometimes I even think the lymphoma is regretting the day it chose Dad, likely mistaking him as an easy mark.  Silly lymphoma.

I would say this has to be the ultimate lesson we learn from Dad, but quite frankly, I'm not sure how deep this well is anymore. We might be drinking here for some time.  Dad has a lot to teach us it seems.

For awhile now Dad's physical assets have slowly dwindled away.  Yet, each morning (although now I think it's just every time he wakes up) he inventories what is left and uses it to his best ability.  It's not "he doesn't want to quit".  It's "he cannot quit".  Someone once said, "You cannot live your life in a manner inconsistent to who you really are".  For eighty-eight years Dad has done just that -"What have I got today?" and acts accordingly.

It doesn't mean don't plan for tomorrow. Dad is a Boy Scout.  He knows "Be Prepared". But, he also knows there is no tomorrow if you don't get through today.  Just today.

It doesn't mean he won't get down. We all know first-hand how angry and frustrated he got as his "major assets" depreciated rapidly.  But as long as he sees the balance sheet has not reached zero, he keeps going.

This morning, during his morning wash and shave, he helped Vanny, the aide, by lifting his arms to get in and out of his shirts.  And, also by turning his head so she could see to shave the other side of his face.  He is still in there, even if only for brief moments, constantly checking the inventory of what's left.

It's kinda funny in a way. For the last few mornings I wake up wondering, "Is today going to be the day?"  I'm sure he wakes up wondering, "Will tomorrow be the day?  'Cause it looks like I got everything I need for today".  Old habits die hard.

October 17th - Years, Months, Weeks, & Days

Dad is resting comfortably. No IV stand, but oxygen to make him comfortable.  I guess it's "days" now.  It did not seem that long ago and it was "years". Ah, the good old days.  We knew this was inevitable.  We knew we could not stop it.  "Years" was something we could live with, though.  "Years" was down the road apiece.  A comfortable distance we did not have to think about too often.  Even when we started to think the "years" were getting few, they were still "years".

The hardest transition for me was "months". "Months" just does not have a good ring to it at all.  Far too vague for my liking. If you're not careful your "months" could be a year.  I know that may sound contradictory, but once you get to "months" you are in trouble.  To have that trouble extend to years well, that would not be good.  "Months".  It's just too wishy-washy.  "Months" scared the crap out of me.

When "weeks" came around I was almost relieved.  Don't know why, but I kinda like "weeks". The uncertainty of "months" was behind me now. I did not seemed to mind if "weeks" went longer than a month for some reason.  It was still "weeks". And, the inevitable marched on.

Unfortunately, "weeks" did not hang around long at all. It bowed out way too early to "days" now.   Maybe that's what I liked about "weeks", it knew when to leave.

"Days", it is on you now.  How long will you stay before allowing "hours" to occupy Dad's room?  "Days", "hours", "minutes", and "seconds".  I hope you have your act together.  I'm depending on you to not muck up the whole process.  We had a pretty good run with "years".  We want to finish this strong.  We need your help.  Please "days", "hours", "minutes", and "seconds" take you cue from "weeks" - know when to bow out gracefully.  Let "inevitable" do it's work.

October 16th - He Never Sleeps

Nothing much left to say now I suppose.  We can only wait.  Wait and remember.  I set the chairs up so I could recline next to Dad's bed with my hand under his shoulder.  Once I was fairly certain I was almost as uncomfortable between those two chairs as he was on the bed, I closed my eyes and tried to think of my earliest memories of Dad.  Two came to mind.

I was having a bout of nightmares.  Little creatures disturbing my dreams.  I was young, not sure what age, five maybe, and the first time it happened I woke with a scream.  Both Mom & Dad came in.  Mom went back to bed, but Dad listened to my explanation, stayed awhile, and let me know that nothing could hurt me as long as he was around.

The next time it happened I did not wake screaming.  I knew I was safe.  Still, I felt the incident should be reported to my protector.  I walked into Mom & Dad's room and whispered, "Dad".  It was as if he were lying there with his eyes closed, not asleep, but on duty, "What is it son?", he said instantly.

"The monsters came back."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, but I thought you would want to know."

"Thanks, let's go make sure they are gone", as he walked me back to my room, checked under the covers and around the bed before letting me crawl in.  From then on I slept with the knowledge that HE never slept.  He was just laying in bed resting, listening for the call for help, and those nightmares never came back.

While I write this he has stirred a couple of times to scratch is neck.  I take his hand and put it in one of mine.   With my other hand I rub gently where he needed to scratch and, the need being fulfilled, he drifts off again.  He moans gently while I rub his shoulders and I stop writing to rub his lower legs and feet.  There is a response, but I can not tell if it's from the rubbing or the thoughts roaming free in his head.  We settle back down to the previous level of our discomfort.

In the second memory I'm a little older, maybe eight or ten.  I had come down with the flu and late at night had to get up to puke.  I was losing dinner in a most violent way and somehow he had heard me and was in the bathroom in a flash.  I should have remembered...he doesn't sleep.

The puking came in waves and went on and on long after I had anything to offer.  My body kept contracting and I hurt everywhere.  After a brief break it started up again only this time I felt a palm cradle my abdomen.  Honestly, my first thought as he knelt beside me was, "What are you doing down here?  Just the smell of vomit makes me want to hurl.  This can't be part of your job too, can it?"  But almost immediately the pressure of his palm, so big and warm, so reassuring supporting me, made everything a little bit better.  Once things had calmed down he helped me back to bed.  Unlike the nightmares, I would puke again, and almost every time for years to come I would think of him and that great big hand supporting me.

He is stirring again.  I cup my hand around his ear and said, "I love you.  Everything is going to be okay."

He stirred and mumbled, "I wanna get up."  He gave a great heave to pull himself up and then relaxed back into the mattress.  I reached for his hand and rubbed his shoulders and could feel him squeeze my hand.  I rubbed his belly, then tried his legs and feet again.  It's difficult to tell what he is enjoying now.  One of the aides came in to clean the room.  It was close enough to the time for me to go anyway.  I gently said good-bye trying not to wake him even though I know he never really sleeps.

October 15th - The Pit Crew

Vanny, the aide, was in his room when I arrived and I got to see her dress Dad.  What a machine!  Smoothly and efficiently she moved, asking if I wanted Dad to wear this or that, and talking to Dad the whole time.  It's hard to gauge Dad now.  Sometimes I think he is off with the fairies and then he makes a comment, "What are we doing now?"

"Getting ready for breakfast."

"Oh, okay, that's good."

At breakfast he drank all of the apple juice, half a glass of water, and three or four bites of some pudding Maria had brought by the table.  Chuck arrived late, but was in a great mood as he shouted "GOOD MORNING, EVERYBODY!" at the entrance of the dining room.  Whoever fixed his grabber deal is a hero in Chuck's eyes.  That's about all he could talk about.  He would occasionally shout something at Dad and Dad would reply, although the response was rarely relevant to what was said.  This is nothing unusual at Rosewood.  I was sitting between two people, having two entirely different conversations...entertaining to say the least.

I have a feeling Dad will say yes to almost everything.  I asked if he wanted to go back to the room at 8:15, he said yes, then picked up his water.  When it got time to leave, I asked if he wanted to go to bed and he said yes, then I waited a moment or two and asked what he wanted to do next.  When he said "Go to bed." I got the feeling, at least, he was understanding me.

Most of the morning he was seeing things and I'm not sure what to do about that.  Sometimes we talk about them, sometimes I just follow his eyes and try to imagine what he is seeing.

After putting him in bed, he went almost immediately to the breathing with the sigh on the exhale.  I put the headphones on and said good-bye.  He said, "I love you, too.", then something caught his eye.

October 14th - Strength in Numbers

Dad hasn't seemed to move much since I saw him last night.  Tom and Bill have spoken with Dr. Memnon who believes time is short with Dad. 

We are all here now.  Jim came in last night.  Good thing.  If Dr. Memnon is right, the days will get tougher.  If Dad can take it, we can, right?  It's simple math.  We each have half of him in us.  There are five of us.  When we stand together, that is two and a half of him.  And we know he is strong.  Strength in numbers.  We can take it.  Simple math.

While sitting here Dad has shadowed a tennis swing, occasionally points around, or tries to grab at something.  He has not said much.  Remembering how he liked the foot rub from yesterday, I moved to the end of the bed to rub his right foot.  As I began he let out a moan that startled me and I paused to look at Dad's face.  He hugged himself and gave a mild wide-eyed wiggle - obviously the universal sign for "That feels good, don't stop".

I spent about five minutes on each foot and at one point he was waving at me then opening and closing his hand.  This time I think he was just signalling that he was in a world all his own.  I wondered if he could be comforted by familiar images and played the "Family" video for him on the iPad.  He gave out a couple of groans and sighs at the early photos and another when one of his Mom went by.  He mumbled, "That's good, John", and put his hand up to touch the screen.  I am not sure how much he actually saw or understood as he turned away and disappeared near the end.

Another 10-15 minutes went by and he woke with a start, "Oh no.  I don't know where I am."  I rubbed his shoulder and he was reassured.  He would ask me this once again later, when the headphones were on.

Chuck knocked on the door for a visit.  He rolled in, "How's my buddy doin'?"

"Not too good."

"Did you leave this?", holding up the card Catie had had us all sign.

"My sister dropped it by last night."

"Cain't see good enough to read it, but thanks"

"Want me to read it to you?"

"That would be nice."

I read him each comment, describing each of us who had signed it.  He said, "That really warms my heart."

I winked (Chuck has taught me the power of the wink) and said, "That surprises me 'cause we are a cold-hearted bunch."

"That's bull!", pausing for a second before saying, "I missed him at breakfast.  I wanted to see how he was doing.  Did he eat?"  Then he barked a "Hello, Buddy" down to Dad.

"I doubt he'll be seeing too many more breakfasts."

A sadness came over his face and he dropped his head, "That's too bad."  He went on, "Where ya takin' him?"

"Greenlawn."

"That's a nice place.  I'd like to be there - not as part of anything - just to say good-bye to my friend."

"That would be nice."

We talked a little more, then said our good-byes.  He yelled at Dad, "Take it easy Buddy".  Dad grunted back "okay".  He had not had his headphones on all morning.

Sonia brought in breakfast.  I asked Dad if he wanted apple juice.  "Yes".  Note to self: pour out half the container so it doesn't spill on the poor man's shirt.

A bit later he gave me the headphone sign and I put them on.  Mary Beth came in for eye drops.  She said she woke up at midnight and felt the desire to pray for Dad.  "I got down on my knees and started praying and I was crying too."  Dad grabbed her hand.

After she left, I asked Dad if he wanted water.  As I sat on the side of his bed helping him sip, he looked up and asked, "What time is it?"

"Nine"

"Did I go to breakfast?"

"No."

In a rather stern tone he said, "Why not?"  Huh?  Why not?  Really!?  I was back peddling now.  Hmmm.  What's a good answer? C'mon, John, think!  I got nothing.

"Sorry, Dad, I did not have the heart to wake you up.  They brought breakfast in for you, jello and oatmeal, but they took it back.  Do you want anything?"

"No", sounding disappointed, "That's okay."

Sometime around ten he needed to use the bathroom.  I peaked down the hall, but there wasn't an aide in sight.  I managed to get him to the porta-potty.  He was having a hard time getting up.  Finally, I was able to round up Mary Beth and we got him cleaned up and back on the bed.  He was near the foot of the bed and Mary Beth called Sonia and the two of them did this pull-slide-rollover routine until they got Dad back to the part of the bed he would be most comfortable.  It was far more strenuous than the Physical Therapy I had seen Dad do and he was out of breath and complaining he could not breathe.  Mary Beth came in and took his BP which to no one's surprise was high.  Then she took his O2 level.  It was 37 and she had a very concerned look on her face as she said, "We need to get him some oxygen."

She hustled, got the machine hooked up and on Dad in a few minutes.  By this time his breathing had improved but his levels were a roller coaster.  She came in about twenty minutes later and took his BP again, peeled the monitor off his wrist, looked at it and smiled.  Back in the normal range.

Bill had come in near the tail end of all this.  Tom and Mary followed.  It was time for me to go catch up on a few things.