KateAndDally

Thanks to everyone who sent kind thoughts our way.  We truly appreciate them.

Adieu

Daniel Thomas Gallagher entered eternity today at 3:02 p.m.

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Shells

Later this morning I will drive my stepmother over to the nursing home and we will watch my father's shell slowly drift away from this physical life. 

Watching him go is deeply sad but it is clearly his time to go.  Watching the aides and nurses who care for him treat him gently with love and affection has moved me to tears and made me thankful for people who can do this kind of work because I cannot.

Watching my stepmother beg him to speak, or to give her a kiss, or to take some water or ice cream is wrenching.  She knows she does him no good when she tries to anchor him here, but she can't do anything else.  She doesn't want him to be alone so one of us is always with him, but when she leaves I tell him to let go.  I tell him his grandchildren love him, that I have always loved him and that my children and I will always honor his memory. His eyes widen when I say that.  Hearing is the last sense to go but I don't know what sense he makes of what he hears. 

Yesterday was Mother's Day and a particular trial by fire.  My stepmother was convinced Dad was going to die on Mother's Day because her grandfather died on Mother's Day and May 11 was her first husband's birthday.  She went in to the nursing home at 7:30 a.m.  We convinced her to take a break around 2, when I sat with him, but then she was right back there at 4 p.m. and insisted on staying until 9.  And might have stayed longer if she thought we'd let her. 

She would  be at the nursing home now, but last Sunday, in the midst of all of this, she fell, breaking two fingers and fracturing her pelvis.  We don't think she'll need surgery but she's getting a CT scan right now.  So you see, stress has been our middle name these two weeks.

I hope and pray he will go today.  He has been three days without hydration, he has a low fever and his breathing is rapid and shallow.  But he is, or was, a physically strong man, and he is afraid of the end, so he will fight it as much as he can.  And because we honor his life and who he was, in all his strengths and flaws, we sit and watch and wait.

Things that Sound Better Than They Are...

So I'm sitting here at the Holiday Inn Express on the border of Sycamore/DeKalb, IL, having driven like a bat out of hell since 8 a.m. this morning to get here at a reasonable (non-dark) hour, eating triscuits and cheese and drinking Mondavi Fume Blanc, and is quite fine.  The wine is fine; the sitting alone, family-less in a Holiday Inn in a strange town (where your father is slowly dying) isn't as great as it might sound.  Travel Moms are supposed to go a little nuts when they get out of the house -- room service, bubble baths, champagne...I'm here to tell you that's nonsense.  Well, the room service and champagne is nonsense, for the most part.

My father had a major stroke last week, exactly a week ago, as a matter of fact.  It was a big bleed, and at the time it wasn't stopping, so the neurosurgeon recommended Hospice, which officially took my father's case on Tuesday.  I haven't seen him yet but my step-sister says he did a little better today, stayed awake longer and was more alert. 

HOWEVER.  There's always a "however" in this story..my poor stepmother, betrayed by a dog, fell and broke two bones in her hand, and possibly messed up her hip.  <Insert comment about rain and pouring here. >

I am going to take my wine and take a bath.   Goodnight, friends. 

Thank God for Patty T.

Well, it's finally happened...My father had a major stroke last week.  His neurosurgeon has recommended Hospice, who make their evaluation tomorrow.  According to the neurosurgeon, it could be tomorrow or it could be six months from now.  So now we wait.

But I can't wait there, yet; I have family and work responsibilities that can't be easily set aside to hover in a deathwatch.  OK, let's be honest: I love my father; I want for him a dignified, painfree and peaceful death, since I can't restore him to vitality, and I certainly want to say goodbye before he goes into the Good Night forever, but I hate the waiting.  It's soul-numbing.  It grinds you down.  It leaches hope. It's a terrible Never-land where nothing happens except the beep of monitors and the rasp of the respirator.  I've been here before and I don't want to return, and I won't begrudge UO or my children or anyone else for avoiding the vigil when my time comes.  So I'm waiting for the Hospice evaluation and then I'll make my travel plans.  I've said my goodbyes, but he deserves to hear he's loved one more time.

And that's why I titled this post the way I did.  Patty T is a cousin; she is the eldest cousin, I think, of the 13 I have on that side of the family.  Her daughter just gave birth last week in Chicago (howzat for the circle of life?) and yesterday she and her husband left their grandbabies to drive the 70 miles each way to Dekalb to tell my father and stepmother they loved them.  She isn't sure my father recognized her but he squeezed her hand so I think he did, and I say: Thank God. 

Oh My...

Well.

I had written a poignant entry, full of wistful reminiscences about life with my parents pre-divorce; questions about God and why things happen to good people; nostalgia for a time gone by and absent doggies.

Then the Holiday Inn Express Sycamore lost its internet connection and I lost the whole damn thing, so I figured screw it and stayed off my laptop from last Wednesday until now.

First, let's finish off the trip to Dekalb.  Dad never really improved, although his eye stopped watering and his face looked less slack.  We had arranged to take Vickie, Mary and Jean out to dinner our last night there, to thank them for feeding us with food and emotional nourishment on our last trip; but we hadn't told Dad about these plans, because we couldn't include him, and we knew he would feel bad and act out toward Jean, if not the rest of us.  So: not very noble of us towards him, but we need to consider Jean as well.  She is very fragile.  She was telling me about the financial arrangements, and about Dad's repeated demands that she show him his checkbook so he can see "his" money is all OK, and she started to cry saying "I'm doing the best I can."  And so she is -- she is doing all any of us can do, short of robbing a bank or winning a lottery.   But Dad can't understand any of that; trying to make him see the reality of his situation solves nothing.  I hate lying to him, it's beneath us and it betrays his dignity; but he cannot accept or understand.  And so he takes his frustration out on Jean, who deserves so much better.

A moment of grace: investigating Mary's church, a little country church in the middle of corn fields.  I'd tithe to these people; they're just worried about keeping the lights on.  Another moment of grace (and good cheer): dining out at Johnny's Charhouse in Sycamore, right across from our hotel.  It was fine-ish, suburban dining prices for the same old fried shrimp (in my case; UO really liked his steak); and their wine list was quite fine.  I sat across from Vickie and next to Mary and we had a fine old time; Vickie and I had a conversation long overdue, about other conversations long overdue.  UO repeated Dad's comment from last year, that V/M are "fine, family-oriented people, in their way," (I still can't believe he said this, and he doesn't even drink), but this turned out to be a good thing, since it spurred my convo with V.  Turns out lots of people haven't said lots of things to other people, that should be said; and may have been said by now; or not, as the case may be.  I feel for V&M, who can't be themselves in their own home; but bless them, they have told Jean they want her to stay with them, so they are willing to make the sacrifice for her well-being.  At least V&M know there is no issue on our side; and I should tell her that anything I can do to ease things with Jean (assuming I can do such a thing) I am willing to do. 

But anyway: that dinner was a lovely moment of grace, and I can't tell you how much better I felt after it.  God, or Gods, or gods, have been very kind to us, to put us next to Vickie and Mary.

Dead Hamster

So home we drove on Friday, making pretty good time; missing the snow (that's really not accurate; there wasn't any snow our way this time across the mountains), and on Saturday The Littlest Offering and I got up early-ish to go retrieve the doggusses and Cream.  And we brought all three home, except...

Cream kind of didn't wake up Saturday morning.  She wasn't quite gone, but she was never going to revive.  We took her home and Offering Boy mourned, but with dignity; and we buried her, reminding each other why we loved her so.

Not that we weren't happy to see the doggusses, but their joy paled next to Cream's situation.  And then Kate ate my Mom shoe which pissed me off.  But that enabled me to take a picture of said shoe with my new phone, a neat segue into the next entry, Phone Bling.

Phone Bling.  I did it.  The Bostonian is spinning in her grave; or she would be, if we'd buried her.  "Oh, My Gahd," she say.  All I can say is, 1) TOUCH SCREEN, BABY; 2) an iPhone is still $100 bucks more, even with the price drop; 3) VZ Navigator for $9.99/month is still cheaper than a Garmin, and the Voyager screen is only slightly smaller. 

Listen, I'm not into cars.  I'm not into houses (or at least, not when kids are still at home and I have to clean it myself).  I'm too fat for tres chic clothing.  But... I have a COOL PHONE.  I can die happy.

Imminent Diseases

Earlier, I asked you all to keep Friend B in your thoughts, if you are so inclined because he got some rotten health news.  The news is still bad -- and "Friend B" is none other than Pineapple Bruce, my goldsmith bro-in-law.  The diagnosis is confirmed: aggressive lung cancer, 9 months to a year.  Please, please, if you pray or meditate, ask your God/Gods/gods to pass some healing grace to Bruce Holmgrain, who has a family who loves him and two kids who need him.  I don't know if God is listening, and I don't know why God would take Bruce while leaving some piece of human trash, but I pray for a miracle, not just for strength or patience or understanding of the unknowable and unfathomable; I pray for Bruce to win, to beat it, because someone has to, dammit.  So please join me and perhaps we can move a mountain.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow...

Good day all around.  GIppee continues to prove its value, directing us from one place to the next with an imperious caribbean accent.  My father looks good and seems to track well most of the time, although he is not at his best after dinner.  We had a great visit with Grandma Jean, Vickie, Mary Gay, Bella and Wilson, mentioned elsewhere in this blog; rather, Bella has been mentioned, apparently I left Wilson out all together...but here he is, in all his enthroned glory:

Yes, that's a big, big cat.  I have some other cute and un-felinelike Wilson pictures, but I'm waiting to see what he'll pay me not to post them here.

Anyway, tomorrow we're supposed to get snow.  Somewhere from 5-7", over by early afternoon.  The kids are delighted; the only thing that would make it better is if they got a snow day from school.  UO suggested we take them bowling before we leave so that, when others ask us what we did over the holidays, we can say we went to Illinois and went bowling.

I need to work on the manuscript...mostly I'm just relieved the trip is working.  We are making people happy by being here.  Good stuff all around.

Over the hills and through the woods...

We decamp for Dekalb, IL tomorrow (or, rather, later this morning).  Over at Unqualified Offerings, UO asked his alert readers if anyone knew what to do in Dekalb.  I myself look forward to the barb wire museum.

We go to honor my paterfamilias, who had lots of company today at his nursing home and so wasn't lonely, which we'd all been fearing, and to honor Grandma Jean the Strong, who surely deserves al the peace and joy she can muster.  The kids go to look cute and maybe get more gifts.  The extended weather forcast implies that we shall skip between the raging winter storms that have been ravaging the Heartland.  Crossing my fingers here.

What did we all get for Christmas?  Among other things, the kids got a dual-screen DS LIte (Offering Boy) and a pink kid guitar with a matching fake cheetah-skin carrying case (The Littlest Offering).  I'm sure she plans on bringing the guitar to Dekalb.  It's a 12-hr car trip.  Oh, joy.

UO got a GPS, a game, a comic reissue, a nifty burgundy bath robe from the Mother of all Offerings and a gift card for Borders.  I got the Borders gift card, the Robert Plant/Allison Krause cd, and a cd by an artist I don't know, Miranda Lambert, "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend."  Just my style.  Wikipedia tells us Miranda Lambert was a finalist in the 2003 season of Nashville Star, proving that reality shows that purport to uncover new talent ultimately fail.  She shouldn't have been merely a finalist, she should have won!

Merry Christmas, loyal readers!  Thanks for spending time with me and mine in 2007!  2008's gonna be a better year!  (It has to be.) 

Notes from Waterworld

It's been raining for the the last 4 days.  This is good, in the sense that we haven't had any significant rainfall for the last five months, not to mention the continuing lack of rain/snowfall in the winter, all of which points to a chronic drought.  It could be worse, it could be SoCal. 

But today the rain ended and the sun came out. 

I didn't see it come out, since I was sleeping off my drugs, which I'm going to have to cut back on since I'm losing too many days.  I think my shoulder is slightly better but it's hard to tell.

I woke up slightly when the phone rang in the early afternoon, enough to hear TLO tell UO that it was Grandma Jean, and that she'd told GMJ that I was napping.  So I had to call GMJ back and hear the "news."

But of course it's not news when you know what you're going to hear.  My father is still considerably confused.  One of the most disconcerting developments of his dementia, to me at least, is that he doesn't seem to remember once being married to my mother, his wife of 38 years; he seems to believe that Jean and I make up his central family unit, and although that's true today, we never lived together.  The year I got married is also the year my parents divorced.  In fact, my father used the occasion of my marriage to confide in his sisters that he was divorcing my mother after 38 years of marriage.  To be fair, it's not like he announced this at the reception, but it did cast a bit of a pall.

So anyway.  My father does not understand why he can't come home.  When reminded that he can't manage simple day-to-day tasks like standing, walking without falling, managing his ablutions, he turns an indignant gaze and denies any of it, acts like we're being too protective, and says he's willing to take a chance even if we are not.  But we are not, and he has no right to ask this of us. 

And he has forgotten my mother.

 

Home Again, Home Again...

So I'm home now.  Actually, I've been home since Sunday but needed time to decompress/stick my head up my backside again, depending on your level of generosity. 

The visit ended in a fight on Saturday evening.  It wasn't as bad as it could have been -- this time I didn't get disinherited, like I did in '85 -- but we parted on a decidedly frosty note.  The essence is that Dad feels that at 85, he is entitled to a few moments of forgetfullness and is willing to take his chances with a fall or two ("you say it like I'm gonna fall every day!"  "You have fallen every day!") in order to live his life on his terms.  This is reasonable and acceptable, if it were the only problem.  I forbore not to mention the incontinence and the inability to change one's own diaper, and I tried very hard not to mention the "confusion" (or barking dementia, as I called it in an earlier post), but I did point out that he didn't have the right to impose his will to live free on Jean's emotional good health -- at this point, she's so racked up with worry about him and them that I'm afraid she'll stroke out before he will.  I asked him point blank who was going to take care of him when he fell; he answered me (with tears in his eyes) "the same people who'll take care of you -- your children!" 

Um.  No small amount of guilt there.  Let's examine reality: I'm 800 miles to the east, and Vickie and Mary Gay have a right not to be imposed on.  Both have basically told me they waive this right, but I do feel for Vickie, whose work situation is less flexible.  Mary is a pastor and as the old Hebrew National ads would have it, "Answers to a Higher Calling," or at least a more flexible one. 

Anyway, Dad followed all of this up with an accusation that I've given up on him.  I countered that, on the contrary, someone who wants to live independently but won't do their physical therapy, which offers the best chance for them to heal so they could live independently (all other things being equal, which we know they aren't) is the one who's given up.  I got a grumpy "that's one way of looking at it" for my trouble.   

The answer to all this is relatively easy...assisted living...but inattainable in terms of cost.  I wonder: what would Hillary do?

(Gosh, I don't see elder care anywhere in that plan, do you?)