4/21/10 - The Boy

The Boy is having a hard time. He’s spent the last couple of weeks throwing magnum force meltdown temper tantrums. He’s been full of anger and not at all responding to redirection well. Essentially, for lack of other more politically correct parenting terms, he’s been freaking out. And it just keeps getting worse. Until he had the mother of all meltdowns last night. My husband and I were up with him until almost 9:30pm (we typically put both kids to bed at 7pm). He spent most of that time crying, screaming, kicking, slamming his head into the wall and throwing things. He would not listen to me or his dad, he would not calm down. He was totally lost in this gigantic emotional outburst. We finally just left him in his room and told him to let us know when he was ready to talk. After another almost hour of crying and screaming he asked us to come in and talk to him. And after another almost 30 minutes of unintelligible mumbling we finally got out of him that he was just really mad and sad that his papa was going to die.

Ah. Ok. Here we go.

I’m actually surprised it took this long to surface. I was surprised with how well he took the conversation my dad had with both the kids. But there was also a sneaky suspicion boiling that he in fact did not take it well at all and was instead just stuffing all the emotions the news brought up with him. That he was hoping that keeping perpetually busy, running like a wild child with his friends that maybe the news would just go away. And then I told him that his sister and I were going back to Nana and Papa’s next week and it was all downhill from there.

He had another meltdown at school today which ended with the school calling me three times to give me updates on how he was doing.

I’m worried about him. And I don’t know how to help him. I think all I can do right now is love him and make sure he knows that he is not alone.

The Things That Go Unwritten

Why is it that there’re so many things nobody writes or talks about? Especially in regards to life changing events. After I had The Boy I remember making a long list about all the things that none of the books or my friends told me about pregnancy, child birth and motherhood. The same thing with marriage. And now, I’m finding it holds true with watching someone you love die as well.

There’s so much written about the grieving process. About the fear and the sadness and the guilt and the other well documented emotions that are typically found camped out around death. There’s less written about the process of watching someone die. But it’s still there. The process of watching the body shut down and everything that goes with that. There’s even a little bit written about how hard it is to watch someone you love diminish, decline, disintegrate, deteriorate and every other “d” word having to do with the state that occurs when one’s body betrays them and starts shutting down from the inside out.

But so far, I’ve not found much written about the horrors of the mind that come along through all of these processes. And there is so much bandying about in my mind that I just cannot hold onto anymore.

I cannot hold onto the images that float, unbidden, into my mind of my dad slowly mummifying from the inside out because his organs are giving up. The horrifically detailed pictures I have of his liver and lungs and heart slowly petrifying and then turning to dust as he wonders how to control the pain.

I cannot hold onto the guilt of wondering when my part in all of this will be done. When do I get to stop taking care of my parents?

I cannot hold onto the idea that this is all my job. That I have to be everything to everyone every time. Can I put down something down without that person or activity thinking I no longer care?

These are the things that make me feel alone. But like my Dad’s not the first dad to die of cancer, I have to know that I’m not.

3/31/10 - A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

I recently finished a new book entitled A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. It’s a memoir he wrote almost 10 years ago about the time surrounding the deaths of his parents (both from cancer and within 5 weeks of each other) and how he took on the job of raising his younger brother at a relatively young age himself (he was about 22 and his brother was 9). It was a Pulitzer runner up and I’d remembered hearing really good things about it when it originally came out. And given my current proximity to cancer, I thought it might prove a good read. And it was, but I was exhausted by the time I finished it.

It was almost 500 pages of stream of consciousness. Given the fact that I’ve cranked out at least that many pages over the last 16 months of writing this blog, I have a certain affinity for stream of consciousness writing. But this was as if he had, at some point, sat down and in one sitting written the whole thing based on recollection and how his various neuroses happened to color those memories and the people within them. It was beyond raw. It almost felt unedited.

There were definitely pieces that I related to right about now. And there were pieces that just made me roll my eyes. There were pieces that made me laugh out loud as well as tear up. There were even some point where I seriously considered giving up and putting the book down. The writing is lovely and smart. I alternately thought about wanting to have a beer sometime with this author (if for nothing else than to have a voice to put with the words) and wanting to send him a check for therapy.

Altogether, I’m not entirely sure what I think of the book on a whole. While I’m not sure I would ever read it again, I’m very glad that I read it. It was nice to know, once again, that I am not alone in this parental cancer journey. Also? It’s really good to know that I’m not alone in some of my more neurotic/dramatic/silly/morbid thought processes.

3/23/10 - Gratitude for Acceptance

What a lovely day. My Mom took the kids for some good old fashioned Nana/grandchildren quality time and I spent the day with my Dad. I had to follow him into town so that he could drop his truck off to get the brakes fixed (finally!). But mostly we just spent the day alternately chatting and reading. We talked about all sorts of stuff from fluffy chitchat stuff to how the kids were doing with the new knowledge of his impending death to how he was doing with his impending death. It was such a lovely day. And it was a day that I could not have had with him even a month ago.

I think I had to go away for a couple of months to do my own work. To trudge through the deep anger I had. To make peace with the denial and fear of facing my life and the world without my Dad. Now I am able to sit with him, as his daughter, and talk or just be in silence. And I cannot tell you what that means to me. After 33 years, there is finally peace in our relationship. There is understanding, love and acceptance for who we both are and what we had to experience to get here. I mean, I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. Even when I was so angry at him I could hardly see straight, I was a Daddy’s girl. But through the internal work we have both done over the past couple of months, our relationship has reached a new level.

There is a tremendous amount of freedom in this acceptance. Freedom to cry at the beauty of his life and all that he’s given. Freedom to celebrate this man who played such a gigantic role in shaping who I am and who my children are. Freedom to laugh as things arise regardless of how irreverent or inappropriate that laughter may be and because we’d both rather laugh than cry. And while I would do almost anything to be able to take this revelation far into the future with my Dad, I plan on making every single second I have with him count.

3/21/10 - Solace in Baking

I went cooking and baking crazy today. I was all twitchy today because my dad took my children for a walk to tell them he was dying. He and I had talked about the best way to break it to them, to start that conversation with them. I mean, I had started the general death conversation with The Boy already, but had not applied any of that to my Dad as of yet. And today, my Dad did exactly that.

The Girl took it all in stride of course. I think she’s still close enough to that other side for it not to frighten her or make her feel like she’ll be really losing anything. The Boy, however, had a rough afternoon. I wish more than anything that my husband had been here because The Boy latched onto my cousin D (him being the only other man here besides my Dad) and took him into a conversation I’m not at all sure D was prepared for, especially with a kid he had known for about 2 days. But they both did great. I just watched from the kitchen door in between mixing, measuring and chopping.

It was not an easy thing for my Dad either, but he did a beautiful job with it and was able to hold it together for his grandchildren. I am pretty sure I would not have been able to do that. In fact, I was not able to really hold it together much so I buried my face in lemon bars and angel food cake cookies. Potato Salad and Cole Slaw. I have never been so grateful to have such a hoard to feed with all the family here.

Thankfully tonight Aunt T set down with Dad for another round of interrogation that ended with the best story yet of how my Dad talked his high school biology teacher into letting him perform surgical procedures on a rat, namely removing one of its kidneys. Which he then had to take home for the summer as his personal charge. He hid the animal in the garage only to be summoned one day by my Grandma’s ear splitting scream. Best. Story. Ever.

Goodbye Joplin

About 10 years ago the contractor that gutted and renovated my parents’ retirement house told my mom about a puppy they had gotten and could no longer care for. So we went out to their house to take a look at her. I will never forget walking around the side of their house and catching sight of this sweet little yellow girl just as she leapt directly into my arms. It was love at first sight and a few minutes later she was riding in my lap happily licking my hands, until the car sickness sank in that is, and then I was desperately trying to get her mouth pointed toward the floor instead of my lap.

She was my husband’s and my first dog. We named her Joplin, after Janis of course. We spoiled her rotten. Although to this day she’s the best trained dog I’ve ever known.

And last night she died. Out of nowhere. I mean, yes, she was about 10 years old, but other than some arthritis, she was in great health. Unfortunately we had to send her to my parents to live after The Girl was born because Joplin got pretty angry. Actually I think she was more sad than angry. She loved both kids, but she was so sad to lose her parents to them. And more to the point, our attention. So when she started peeing every single day in the same spot in The Girl’s bedroom, we took her back to my parents’ house where she would have more room and all of their attention. She was happier there although I missed her desperately and her us. But last night when my parents got home from dinner she had lost all use of her back end and was having trouble breathing. She was gone within about 15 minutes. The vet thinks she probably had a heart attack.

And I am devastated. She was my girl. So I am just going to envision her running full out in a huge grass meadow, chasing down endless tennis balls. Young and gorgeous and lightening fast. Keep on running my sweet blonde dog, keep on running. We love you so much.

2/27/10 - To Be Expected

We’re still in CO. My dad has slept about 34 of the last 48 hours. I think it is getting to the point where it just takes so much energy for him to be awake and ambulatory. I know, rationally, that this is to be expected. And I know that this is another step downhill. Dad, mom and Aunt T all tell me that he seems to be doing a bit better today. But every time I talk to him, he’s still gasping for breath. Rationally, I know that this too is to be expected. He has lung cancer, having trouble breathing is definitely to be expected. It’s just pretty brutal to hear.

I was talking to my Aunt T the other day about all of my dad’s sisters coming to visit around Easter and I told her that she should prepare them because how he is now is going to be hard for them to reconcile against the big brother they’ve always known. I know it’s going to be hard for even me to reconcile because it’s been a month since I’ve seen him. He’s always been the robust, outdoorsy kind of guy. He does yard chores because he likes to be outside and working with his hands. He loves to see the effect his effort has on his environment. And he has a profound love and respect for nature. All of these things have always been evident in his physicality. But now, that is dwindling. A little at a time. With his strength, his vitality is also shrinking. So far, that may be the hardest thing for me to see. Watching his sheer physical presence dwindle.

I think, perhaps, that even if he does manage to rally after this jaunt downhill, that the kids and I will head down there soon. I find myself thinking about the time just flying by and then it sinks in that this will by my dad’s last February on earth. And the thought that I’m missing that, that my children are missing that, makes me unbearably sad.

I know I can’t bring my dad the peace he needs, but perhaps I can find some of my own.

2/21/10 - Digestion

Migraine. Migraine. Migraine. I’ve had a migraine since Thursday. I’ve spent all day today on the couch, moaning occasionally, watching movies. I can’t look at my computer, so I’m typing this out as quickly as possible just to get my daily writing out of the way. I know it’s a stress/not drinking enough water/not getting enough sleep thing. But seriously. I’m way over it now.

But having the time to just lie on the couch has also given me some time to think and digest. I spent most of this past week trying to re-reach out to some friends. Because I am tired of being angry. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m never going to be anything but angry. So I reached out to a friend I’ve known since the beginning of high school who is now a UCC minister to get some perspective. And I reached out to my oldest friend who lost her mother in college and her father not to long after The Boy was born. They both wrote me words that took quite a bit of digesting – in the best possible way. Words that I needed to hear but couldn’t come up with on my own. Words that provided the perspective that I needed but couldn’t get to because I was so cemented into my current angry point of view. Words that reminded me that it’s ok for this to be hard, that it’s ok for me to be angry, that it’s ok for me to not understand. But it’s my banging my head against the wall of that lack of understanding that’s creating such anger and strife for me right now. They were words I needed to hear and needed to digest and I’m so grateful for them and the friends who wrote them.

Ultimately I’m pissed off that my dad is dying. And that’s just compounded by the fact that I can’t for the life of me control or make any sense out of any aspect of that. Yeah. That just plain sucks.

So in some respects I suppose I’m glad for the space and time to reflect, even if it was accompanied by pain and strobe lights.

Literal Kinship

I am not a self help book person. At. All. They make me pretty crazy actually. But I’ve had several friends either recommend or outright give me several books on death and grieving since my dad’s diagnosis. And they’ve all ended up on my bedside table with me having little to no intention to actually read them. But one of them was written by a friend of mine who lost her mother to cancer several years ago. The book she wrote is more about her journey through the process than a guide on how to do the process, so because I know and adore this woman, I picked it up the other night. I also picked it up because I was at my wit’s end and entirely willing to get my hands on some answers in whatever way I could find them.

Her journey has been so completely different than mine that I lost hope quickly that I’d find anything to relate to. She’s a gorgeous writer and she tells a good story, so I decided to finish it for those reasons alone. But as I got more into the meat of her journey I started to recognize huge chunks. I started to recognize the emotions that go with watching a parent get diagnosed with a terminal illness and then having to watch that illness suck their bodies dry of everything that made them strong. I started to recognize her dedication to being the caretaker above her own wants and needs. I started to recognize her coming to grips with the fact that her parent was going to die and that would have ripple effects for the rest of her life. I found myself crying while reading pieces of her story. I found myself nodding and laughing at other parts. Those pieces held a kinship for me that I’ve yet to find anywhere else since this whole journey began. And that in and of itself was such a tremendous relief that I wanted to write her immediately to say thank you.

I have no idea what I’m doing on this journey. But at least I know now that I am not alone and not crazy.

The Mess That I Am

So I have this anger. This anger that I keep expecting to start dissipating as the time goes by. This anger that I’ve been diligently trying to just let be in the hopes that it would burn itself out. Here’s the problem though, it turns out when you “diligently” try to do something, you’re not actually just letting it be, are you?

So, here’s the truth. I am angry. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight. I’m angry that my father is dying. I’m angry that my father will not let me in during this time of grief and ending. I’m angry that he won’t let me help him find the answers he’s craving so that he can have some peace in whatever time he has left. When this diagnosis first happened, it brought my dad back to me. He was present and honest and actively choosing to bring me into his process. Now he’s gone back to sitting still again, in the worst possible way. There’s no peace or growth in this sitting still. Or at least there doesn’t appear to be any, but I wouldn’t really know for sure because he won’t, you know, let me in.

And I’m angry because everyone just expects me to understand. My dad expects me to take care of my family and that’s it. My mom expects me to just let them both do whatever they want exclusive of my place in this family. Our oldest family friends expect me to sit back and just understand. I do not understand. I do not understand how it’s ok to shove your only daughter away from you when you’re dying under the guise of wanting me to take care of my “own family.” What the hell is that?!? My parents aren’t my family?

To be honest I’m tired of understanding. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I’m tired of pretending like everything is ok. I’m tired of acting as if my feelings about my father dying don’t actually matter.

I want permission to be angry. I want permission to fall apart. I want permission to be the mess that I am.

The angry, tired mess that I am.

2/12/10 - Winter Olympics

The Winter Olympics start tonight! I love the Olympics. Although I do remember thinking for a long time that I liked the Winter Olympics more than the Summer Olympics only to have that soundly disproven two years ago when I got so into the Summer Olympics that I was nearly insufferable. I don’t think I’ll get that way again this time for a couple of reasons. First because the X Games were just two weeks ago and I got thoroughly saturated with Winter sports, especially the ones I really like. Although the X Games have yet to include figure skating. Or ice dancing. And I don’t see those being added anytime soon.

I was glad to see that Shawn White’s chin is almost completely healed. Lindsey Vonn is healing and getting some help from the weather by getting her events postponed. And the American athletes look to be pretty good shape.

Except for one. The young man from the Georgian Olympic team who died today during one of his practice runs. And of course the news showed the accident. Although I do have to give it to them that they only showed it once and then pulled it in respect for the family. Thank goodness. Because it was truly brutal. I cannot imagine flying through the air at 90 miles an hour, having your body whipped out of any control by heinous g-forces only to have all of that savage movement stopped abruptly by a steel beam. The only hope I have for this young man is that he was killed instantly and felt no pain. The safety teams have been deconstructing the accident to determine how they can ensure it never happens again. I hope they succeed.

So it’s with bittersweet enthusiasm that we’ll watch the opening ceremonies. Everyone’s been wondering whether Vancouver would be able to outdo the opening ceremonies from China, knowing full well that they couldn’t. And in a breath of fresh air, the producer/designer for the ceremony said he had no intention to even try. His sole purpose was to showcase the wonders of Canada and make every single viewer want to visit. Sounds like a good idea to me!

Day in Summary

On one hand it was a lovely day catching up with my Aunt T and just hanging out. On the other hand, my dad had a horrible day. He felt like crap all day and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him look so frail. And then there is this story that I am supposed to be writing for the new blog that I cannot seem to start.

I get to talk about things with my Aunt T that I don’t really talk about with anyone else or at least not much. Educational theory and trends, our family culture and history and pop culture. So it is refreshing to change up the topics of conversation around here as well as talking about things about which I am passionate. Plus it’s just really nice to get caught up on what everyone is doing in the family since I’m not in regular contact with them.

I know that my dad is dying. I know that bad days are part of the deal. But it never fails to set me on edge, make me worry and just generally stress me out to see him like that. And it makes me sad. Because no matter how “prepared” I think I am to say goodbye to my dad, I’m not. It’s really that simple. As present and aware as I am, I will never be ready or even remotely prepared to say goodbye to my father. Until I have to. Then I know I will figure my way through it all with peace and acceptance, but until then? I’m not ready.

And I’ve been turning this story idea over and over in my head for the past two weeks. Preparing to write my first “real” fiction story. But I cannot, for the life of me, figure out from what angle I want to approach the actual character. Everything I’ve been coming up with just sounds trite. And I know I’m probably over thinking it because I’m nervous and scared and worried that I’ll suck at this after having committed to doing it for an entire year.

I suppose I should just jump in with both feet. On all accounts.

On the way to dinner

“What did you do in school today?”

“We had a sub.”

“Was Mrs. E sick?”

“No, someone in her family passed away.”

“Do you know what means?”

“No.”

This was a conversation that took place on the way to a splurge dinner out after The Boy’s winter program at school. It was a nearly tortuous event that took entirely too long given the age range and time of evening, but we showered The Boy with praise because I could literally hear him singing in the very back of the gym.

He chose to ride with me on the way to dinner and this was the beginning of our conversation about what it means to die. And as I was coming to fully understand the gravity of the can of worms my innocent questioning had just opened, I realized one of the biggest reasons I’ve been avoiding, this conversation with The Boy. I just wasn’t sure how to answer his questions. I’m not a religious person. I haven’t ever been. I just cannot bring myself to buy wholesale into any one dogma or another, so that leaves me without a religious home if you will. I consider myself a very spiritual person, especially after this past year, but not religious. So I had to kind of make the whole thing up as I went along.

“What happens when you die?”

“Well, when a person dies it means that your body stops working. But the part of you that makes you, you, your laugh, your ability to love, all the things you’re good at and all the good you’ve done goes back to the universe. To the stars and sky; it goes back to where it came from when you were born. It goes back to the beginning.”

We talked quite a bit about how your body can stop working and what parts of you go back to the stars.

“Will my toys go to the stars with me?”

“No, baby. Those stay here with your body. But remember how you gave your sister that pink bear you won tonight because you saw she was sad and wanted her to feel better? That will go with you.”