Old Age and Death and Dying

Ready for an uplifting post?  Then don't read this one ; )

"A test of a people is how it behaves toward the old.  It is easy to love children.  Even tyrants and dictators make a point of being fond of children.  But the affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless are the true gold mines of a culture." 

~Abraham J. Heschel~

We've been dealing with some aging parent issues around my home. My mother-in-law will be 91 next month, and my father-in-law just turned 87.  My father in law has been having some dementia issues for a few years now, moodiness, anger issues, confusion. He's been in and out of hospital's and nursing homes, and it seems like it may finally be time for him to permanently leave his home. 

I have dealt with this before. Three of my grandparents ended up in nursing homes before they died. My maternal grandmother, (Nanny) had breast cancer that metastasized to her bones. She got to the point where she just couldn't be cared for in her home anymore. She went down hill pretty quickly after being moved into the nursing home. I suppose you lose your will to live a lot quicker when you realize you no longer have anything to live for. She was trapped in a bed, away from her family. We visited her, but how often can you really spend at the nursing home when you have a job and your own life to live? (and being 21, I felt my life was very important).  My mom was an only child and had big issues with her mom. My parents were on vacation in Florida when my grandmother died and my mom refused to come home. She said the service could wait until after her vacation. So my sister and I made all the arrangements. I had just turned 22 four days after her death, and my sister was 26. We arranged for her cremation, and arranged a service with the cemetery and the priest. Thankfully my grandmother already had a burial spot bought and paid for. But we still had to wait two weeks to have her service, because that is when my parents would be home.  Nanny died February 15, 1990.

My grandmother left behind her husband Harry, my step-grandfather, but really the only grandfather I had ever known. He fared pretty well for awhile, but then he too needed to go into a nursing home because he just couldn't live on his own anymore. My mom certainly wasn't going to move him in with her, she already had my paternal grandfather, Pa, living with her and my dad.  He had moved in when I was a sophomore in high school.  

In 1991, a year after my grandmother died, my parents moved from IL to TN. My mother decided she was not going to take my grandfathers with her, so they were both left behind, in IL, in nursing homes.  And then my mom pretty much never looked back. My dad was complicit in this too, he was just usually in the background of everything my mom did, which is why I keep putting this on her.

So it fell upon my sister and I to visit our grandfathers and make sure they had the things they needed. I tried to get out to see them weekly. The nursing home was about 1/2 an hour from me, but it was over an hour for my sister. It was rough going to the home every week. I was in my early twenties, when it seems you are the most alive. And every week I had to go and sit with those on deaths door. Pa was never overly happy to see us. I sensed he realized it was out of a sense of duty, not that we really wanted to be there. He was a pretty angry man, had a rough life and carried that with him.  I can't recall him ever being really happy.  But my sister and I would go anyway, we would sit with him and watch TV, or while he ate his lunch. Make sure he was being treated well, and then we'd leave. It was always so depressing. A lot of the people there never had anyone visit. They were just left there. My sister and I would talk to some of these other residents if we were in the community room. They seemed to appreciate having someone other than nurses aides to talk with.

A few times Pa needed to go to the hospital for a feeding tube because he started having trouble eating. The nursing home would transport him there and then call my sister to let her know. ( She being the oldest was the one left in charge).  They were never able to keep the tube in him, he always managed to pull it out. He had a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) on his chart, but a feeding tube isn't the same as not resuscitating. My mother also had a signed living will from Pa, and she had his medical power of attorney, so eventually she decided to just stop all means of nourishment. She was still in TN by the way, calling the shots. So even though my sister and I were there, actually caring for him, my mom got to have the final say in how he should die. 

Harry (my maternal step-grandfather) managed to hang on until 1995. He lived in that nursing home for 4 years. The first few years he did pretty well. He had a TV, he could watch the baseball games. He was asked to be on a major league team right after high school, but his father wouldn't let him go.  Harry never had any kids of his own, his only other relatives were his sister who was older than him and still lived back east. My Nanny was Harry's life. When my parents were transferred to IL with my dads job, Nanny and Harry moved out a year later. So our family was all Harry had. But Harry wasn't my moms real dad, and she didn't particularly care about him once she moved to TN. Harry had done a lot for me growing up. I was only 10 years old when Nanny and Harry moved to IL. He drove me places, I used to hang out at their apartment, and he taught me to drive. So I felt I owed it to Harry to visit him as much as I could. He died 3 weeks after my eldest daughter was born in 1995. My parents came back to IL and we had a small service for him at the cemetery and a small luncheon afterwards. All of that was at the insistence of my sister and I. Harry had a burial plot next to my grandmother (they both wanted to be cremated) and if it had been up to my mom, we would have just passed his ashes off to the cemetery and had him buried. But I remember that service and the luncheon. And I am glad we paid him the respect he deserved. My mom had a marker placed on her mothers grave after she died, but she never got one for Harry. She kept telling me she didn't have the money. In 1997 I received a settlement for a back injury. One of the first things I spent money on was a marker for Harry's grave.

So why I am writing all this down? Well, for one, grandchildren shouldn't have to deal with taking care of their grandparents when able bodied children are alive. My parents both completely shirked their duties as children. I realize both had crappy childhoods and had serious issues with their parents.  But they were never not on speaking terms with them, we always had them in our lives.  You just don't abandon your parents in the end.  It was really stressful for my sister and I to have to make sure our grandfathers were taken care of. We were just starting our own lives, by the time Harry died we both had small children.  It was a heavy burden. I don't regret all that we did , but I still think the responsibility should have been on my parents.

Back when all this was going on I often thought how it would be for my parents. Would I have to put them in a nursing home and watch them deteriorate too? As fate would have it, my dad died at 56 of pancreatic cancer and my mom would die 6 years later of internal bleeding at 62. Has it spared me the pain my husband now has to go through? I don't know. Death is death no matter when it happens. I was devastated when my mom died, it was quick and unexpected. I had 6 months from diagnosis to death with my dad. A little time to prepare and say goodbye, but it was still very, very hard. But my parents will be forever young in my memory. I didn't have to watch them lose their faculties and their minds. I didn't have to worry about the care they might be receiving by others in a home. Death is death, whether young or old and it is painful for children to watch their parents die.

I have a fear of death. I know I shouldn't as a Christian, but I do. So I want to live as long as possible. And I kind of hope my mind has gone when I go, so I am not aware of my death. But I certainly do not want to put the burden of my elderly care on my daughters. So it is a dilemma. Obviously I really have no say when I die. But if I had to choose early death to spare my children the pain of my care, or living to a ripe old age to hang on as long as possible, I choose the ripe old age. I just don't want to die, ever (yes, denial!)  I hope to make sure my old age needs are taken care of before I get there (if I get there) so that those decisions don't have to be made by my daughters. I'll also make sure they know that they don't have to come and sit by my bedside and entertain me. I'll have lived my life, and they should be living theirs. Not worrying about old mom in the home.

Life sucks and then you die.  Or your parents die, or are dying, or are losing their minds.  None of us expect or want this in our lives.  But it will come for all of us eventually.  C'est la Vie.  

“Parents, however old they and we may grow to be, serve among other things to shield us from a sense of our doom. As long as they are around, we can avoid the fact of our mortality; we can still be innocent children.” 

~Jane Howard~

Perfect Childhood?

Is there such a thing as a "perfect childhood"?  Is it possible to raise children who don't look back as adults and wish they had been raised differently?  I don't think so.  

Maybe some think their childhood was ok, maybe some think it was great, but I have never known an adult who didn't wish maybe something was different growing up.  Maybe it's in our wiring to never be completely happy, maybe we are always looking for something better, but whatever it is, I think striving to give our kids the "perfect childhood" with the hope that they will look back with stars in their eyes and nothing but wonderment is a waste of time. 

Now don't get me wrong, I don't think we as parents should slack off and not care about how we raise our children.  I still think we should love them like crazy and do our best, but I do think some of us need to surrender the idea that our kids might not hate us when they grow up (if they don't already hate us now!)  Of course I don't mean hate in that they'll kill us while we sleep, I mean hate as in they wish we had done things differently. 

I know many will disagree with me, and a few years ago I would have disagreed with myself.  I thought, a few years back, that I was doing such a bang up job that there was no way I was going to turn out kids who had nothing bad to say about their upbringing, hahahahaha.  I was so delusional then! 

When I became a mom I looked back on my childhood before I decided how I wanted to raise my children.  Of course I wanted to raise my girls completely opposite of how I was raised, because I thought my childhood sucked.  Overall I think I had a crappier than normal childhood.  My parents were pretty dysfunctional, selfish, and didn't really seem to like having kids.  As I have gotten older, had kids of my own, spoken with other adults about their childhood, I have come to realize my parents did close to the best they could for the time.  (Notice I said "close", because I do think if they had actually put a little thought into the job, they could have done better).  Both of my parents' came from childhoods way worse than mine, so if anything, they did do better in that mine was better than theirs.  Plus, 40+ years ago, parents didn't really analyze their parenting like we do now.  They didn't put thought into it, they just did it.   

So with that as my background, I put a lot of thought into my parenting.  Everything I have done in regards to raising my girls was thought out beforehand.  I chose to attachment parent and co-sleep, I chose Montessori, I chose homeschooling and then unschooling.  And I chose religion.  Each one of those things was mulled over very carefully before proceeding.  I read a lot of books, I sought out what I thought was sage advice, and I tried to make decisions that I thought would be the best in the long term.  

And yet, now I have teens who look back on their childhoods and wonder "why"?  Why did I make them go to "that church", why didn't I let them go to school, why this, why that?  They aren't happy with a lot of the decisions I made, and looking back, I am not happy with a lot of the decisions I made.  

But what I have come to realize is that being a parent doesn't make us a god.  I was learning right along with my girls.  I had to learn to be a mom, I had to learn who these little beings were.  I could only do for them what I thought was best based on my own experiences.  But I soon learned they weren't little Me's, and what was best for me wasn't necessarily best for them.  And unfortunately a lot of those lessons were learned by trial and error.  I did a lot of things that I thought was good for them, that now in hindsight I realize wasn't. 

I can't change the past.  So I don't mourn it.  Because I know I did the best I knew how.  And I'm not done.  My girls are teens, we're still growing together.  I may be an adult, but I am still growing and learning too.  And I think they forgive me, because I think they know my intentions were pure.  But it still doesn't change the fact that in spite of my intentions, I think my girls still wish things had been different.  And even if they had been different, and I had chosen a completely different path in raising them, maybe they wouldn't have liked that one either.  I can only hope, that in the future, when they have children of their own, they'll realize being a parent isn't such an easy job and maybe they'll realize I did the best I knew how to do.  

"You know, the only people who are always sure about the proper way to raise children?  Those who've never had any." 

~ Bill Cosby~

My Dad

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.

~Gloria Naylor~

My dad died 11 years ago today. He was 56. I am amazed at how quickly the time has gone by. My youngest was one, today she is 12. She never knew my dad and that makes me pretty sad. Carley doesn't remember him either, she was only 3.

He was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer in Nov. of 1996. Here he is just 3 months prior to diagnosis (with me and my mom and my 5 month old, Catherine):


The doctors told him he had 3-6 months to live. He chose not to do Chemo or radiation, he wanted to have the best quality of life for his remaining few months. He did seek out some alternative remedies, and I think they helped him make it to the 6 month mark. My parents lived in Florida at the time, and I lived in IL. I was able to get down and see him twice before he died. We went down in December and again in March.

He died near midnight on the night of May 31st. I wasn't there when he died, my sister and my brother were. I had a 3 year old and a 1 year old. I was still nursing my 1 year old. I wanted to be there, but my mom and sister told me I couldn't bring my girls, that it would be too stressful on everyone. He was in and out of coherent near the end, but I did have my mom put the phone up to him and told him I was sorry I couldn't be there. I just couldn't leave my girls. I think he understood.

I didn't always have the best relationship with my dad growing up. He could be a mean son-of-a-gun when he wanted to be. But most of the time he was pretty reserved and rather jovial. He liked to read and passed that love to me. He taught me to play chess. Life was simple for my dad and he had clear boundaries of right and wrong. He was a staunch conservative and I thank him for those values. I never had a very emotional relationship with my dad, we never told the other we loved each other, although we did hug and kiss. I remember when I was really small he used to carry me to bed on his shoulders each night. And I remember even into high school kissing him good-night before bed.

Here he is on a Fathers Day when I was about 20 (that's me on the right):


Just before he died I wrote him a letter. I wanted him to know that I although I had blamed him in the past for screwing me up, that I no longer did and that I knew he had done the best he knew how in raising me. He had a horrible childhood with a very abusive father. His childhood was worse than mine. I thanked him for being my dad and told him I loved him. I waited for a reply and finally my mother called me and told me that my dad had read the letter and cried. My dad and I never spoke about the letter and we didn't need to. He heard what I said, it made him cry, that was enough for me.

Time lessens pain but doesn't remove it. I don't think about him everyday anymore, but I do think about him frequently. And I still remember the day he died. Most of all I look forward to seeing him again one day.

Here's a picture of my dad and mom in the bar in the house I grew up in. They had their issues, but I always knew they loved each other:

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.
~Madame de Stael~

What is Really Important?

My youngest daughter (Catherine) has been funny lately. It's like she suddenly realized how the world works and knows we tend not to live the "normal" way.

Last fall I taught a class at our homeschool co-op on painters and styles. One of the subjects was Jackson Pollock. I took the classes into the parking lot of the church where we meet and got them large pieces of paper and buckets of different colored paints and sticks and brushes and they went to town, a la Jackson Pollock. It was so much fun. I made a few paintings myself. It was such a free way of doing art. One didn't have to think about an end result, the art was in the doing.

Recently Catherine asked me if she could "Jackson Pollock" one of the walls in her room. I told her she'd need to clean it out a bit, so we could move all the furniture so she could have access to the one wall, and how we'd have to get some drop cloths to cover everything so she could splatter away. She laughed at my answer. She knows that not one of her friends would ever be allowed to do that in their rooms. She marveled that I didn't even bat an eye or give it a second thought. And why should I? It's her room. She wants to do art in her room. How cool is that? Currently she paints and draws on her walls, mostly by her bed. She has been using black, which I know will be a bit tough to cover, but when you walk into her room, you can see her personality all over the walls. I love that she knows she has the freedom to be herself in her room.

Another example: A few days ago Catherine was complaining about her hair. She wants to get it cut. We have been bartering haircuts with our neighbor whose dog we care for when she flies (she's a flight attendant). I haven't been able to set up an appt. for Catherine's hair, so she was complaining about it. And so she asked me if she could just cut it off. I told her she could, but she might not be happy with the results. She looked at me and laughed. She did not expect me to say she could cut her hair off. It's her hair and it's ONLY hair. Go ahead, cut it off. If it looks horrible, we'll just try to hurry that appt. along with the neighbor. She decided against cutting her own hair, but she genuinely appreciated that I didn't care if she did.

Why do some parents choose to control their children just for the sake of control? Who cares if kids paint their walls or cut their hair? I watch families a lot when I am out. I am always amazed at the battles I see going on between kids and parents. And so much of it is over the most trivial things. What shoes to buy, what jeans to wear, etc. I think it's just common sense to give kids respect, to listen to their opinions and feelings. I certainly wasn't raised that way myself, my parents would have killed me if I had drawn on my walls or cut my hair. I see a lot of sad kids in my day to day travels. Teens/tweens who are just beginning to have a sense of who they are away from their parents and yet they have no ability to control anything in their lives. They aren't allowed to voice an opinion or able to make the smallest or even the biggest of decisions. My eldest daughter has made the decision to go to high school next year. Some fellow homeschoolers are frowning on me for "allowing" her to make that decision. I'm not the one going to school, who else should be allowed to make that decision. She will be 14 1/2 when she enters high school. Isn't that old enough to decide for oneself?

What is the magic age of allowing children some autonomy over their lives? How about from birth? Listening to a babies cries and responding accordingly is letting them make decisions. I was never that parent that let a baby cry. They cried for a reason and I listened. As toddlers they got to to pick their own clothes and choose what foods to eat. As my kids got older they got to decide (age appropriately) what they needed. We did the family bed with our girls. At 5 years of age, Carley decided she wanted her own room. At 8 Catherine still shared a room with us (she had her own bed by then). People found it odd that I shared a room with my 8 year old. I wasn't about to force her to leave, she had the right to choose what she was comfortable with. At 10 she moved into her own room and loves it. I've never had night issues with my kids, nor sleep issues, because I've allowed them to make choices for themselves.

Too many people have stuck in their minds the way they thing things "should" be. Who said things need to be a certain way? I say make up your own rules. Live a life of joy and love instead of rules and boundaries. Be free.

I wish that every human life might be pure transparent freedom.
~Simone de Beauvoir~

Helping Our Kids

My oldest daughter had a martial arts class tonight. She has it every Tuesday and Thursday from 7-8pm. It's only about 10 mins away, so not a huge deal. I asked my dear husband to take her tonight. At about 4 mins till 7:00 he calls, telling me dear daughter forgot her belt. Belts are important in martial arts, it lets everyone else know what your rank is, as this is a mixed rank class. So, I grab the belt and hop in the car and make it to the class by 7:03. Dear hubby was standing outside ready to grab the belt and run inside. Hopefully the class started a little late and she didn't have to do any push ups. They have to do push ups occasionally for minor infractions. It builds character, or so they say. But I digress.......

So while I was driving home, after dropping the belt with dear hubby, I started thinking about how my parents never would have done that for me. They would have said too bad, so sad, you forgot the belt, you deal with the consequences. It actually never would have crossed my mind to even call my parents to ask. I knew the answer would always be no, so why call? My parents very rarely drove me anywhere as it was. Luckily I had an older sister and brother and friends willing to drive me places.

Some people say you shouldn't bring things to kids who forgot them. I know people who have let their kids skip lunch rather than bring it to their school. Moms who have let their children get detention rather than bring an important book or paper they have forgotten. I know people who know their kids have forgotten stuff when they are leaving the house, and let them forget the stuff anyway to teach them a lesson. What kind of lesson is that? That you are a mean mom?

What's wrong with helping out our kids?

I have brought my eldest daughter things she forgot for sleepovers more than once. One time I brought a teddy bear to her at 11:00 at night. It was 20 mins away, so 40 mins round trip for me. She was 10 or 11 (can't remember) and I knew she couldn't sleep without her teddy. This same daughter has forgotten games she wanted to bring to game night at the library, and when she was younger and in Montessori school, she occasionally forgot gym shoes for gym or some other pertinent item she needed that day. I ALWAYS have taken the item to my daughter. Youngest daughter seems to have a bit of a better memory. She likes to be prepared so she thinks ahead before leaving the house, or she remembers soon after leaving the house so I just need to turn around and go back home for a second. But on the rare occasion she forgets something, I will go home and get it for her.

I still forget stuff all the time. I very rarely leave the house and leave for good. I would say 9 times out of 10 I come back in because I forgot something. My kids laugh, because they just expect me to come back in now. Did my parents never bringing me my stuff teach me not to be forgetful? No, of course not. That is a punishment, not a lesson. How did some parenting "experts" decide that not helping out our kids is helping them?

Forgetfulness to me is a personality trait. Sure there are tricks to help people remember. Lists and notes and things. It is not a big issue here because we don't have to get out of the house for school everyday, with backpacks and a million other little things the schools require kids to have everyday. If we did maybe we would try lists and notes and things. But if either daughter still forgot stuff, I would still be ready to bring them what they needed, no questions asked.

It all goes back to that respectful living thing. If I have the ability and the time, and because I love my children, why wouldn't I help them whenever possible? It would never even have occurred to me tonight to say no, I will not bring your belt. I just grabbed it and ran out the door, doing my best to get there before the class started. Isn't that what being a mom is all about?

Mothering circa 1938

So while I was at the antique shop with my daughter last week I stumbled upon some old pamphlets. I found two that I just couldn't resist buying. One was written by a doctor in Wisconsin, and mostly concerned mothers postpartum care. The other was written by a doctor in London, and mostly concerned the baby. Both were dated 1938.

The first pamphlet, by the doc in Wisc. is just entitled "Postpartum Instructions." Some of the information was just common sense. I have pulled out the things that made me laugh or gasp! (I put my comments in italics : )

"Now that your baby has been born, you need and deserve a good rest. You may turn onto your stomach 24 hours after delivery and should do so at least 15 mins everyday. (do you think that was to help flatten her stomach?) You may use a backrest for meals by the 3rd day and you may sit in a chair on the tenth." ( You may sit in a chair on the tenth day? How many days did these women stay in the hospital?)

Here's what it says about going home:

3rd week: "Stay in your nightclothes and remain on one floor and be in bed at least half the day. You may get up for meals if you like." (Quite the life of leisure. Did these women have household help?)

4th week: "You may now go to the lower floor, but not more than twice per day." (Have they gone stir crazy yet?)

5th and 6th week: "You may go out and get fresh air and take short walks, but do not drive in a car. Your first drive should be to my office at the end of the 6th week." (It doesn't say do not drive A car, it says do not drive IN a car. Are we to assume women weren't supposed to drive at all?)

"You may take a shower anytime after the twelfth day and a tub bath when your discharges have ceased to be bloody." (TMI! No shower for 12 days?)

I've got to tell you , this first booklet was cracking my daughter and I up at the antique store.

Here's more concerning caring for the baby......didn't find this info quite as funny:

"Now on to care of the baby: "Keep to your schedule-Do not decrease the interval between feedings and do not feed for more than 20 mins. Do not handle your baby anymore than is necessary or let others do so. A baby must cry some and if you pick him up to stop him a habit that may take months to break will be quickly started. Turn the baby occasionally, but avoid picking him up too often. The less the baby is handled and stimulated, the better he will sleep, eat and grow. " (I feel sorry for those babies.)

Now onto the next booklet written by the female doctor in London. It appears there was a series of these pamphlets given out for each month of a child's development. I could only find the one concerning the babies fifth month. I can only imagine what the other pamphlets had to say.

This booklet was entitled "Baby Care, A helpful guide for mothers on the care of Infants, Fifth Month."

The book covers the basics. A lot is very similar to things we do today. I will touch on the things that made me open my mouth and go "wow".

Here is the schedule the booklet says the mother and baby should be following:

6am: Baby's feed. Change him and put him back to bed.

8am: Baby's orange juice. Sun bath for half an hour, if summertime. Mothers breakfast.

9:30am: Wash the baby's face, hands and buttocks and dress him for the day. Baby's Cod Liver Oil.

10am: Cereal feeding. He should then be put outdoors, given his half hour sunbath (unless he had it earlier) and then left in his carriage. Mother may find it convenient to take him for a short walk in the morning.

12noon: Mothers lunch. Offer the baby some water.

1pm: Mothers rest.

2pm: Baby's feed, breast or bottle. Change him and put him outdoors again. During the afternoon he should have another 1/2 hour sunbath.

4pm: Offer the baby some water.

5pm: Undress the baby, leaving on his diaper, and leave him lying on the bed for his daily exercise.

5:30pm: Baby's bath.

6pm: Baby's feed. This may be breast or bottle, or towards the end of the 5th month, a second feed of cereal.

6:30pm: Mothers dinner.

10pm: Change and feed baby, breast or bottle. He should now sleep all night, and if he wakes up, should be only offered water.

Here is some additional info regarding the schedule:

"Baby should be receiving 1 teaspoonful of cod liver oil once or twice a day depending on how much fresh air and sunshine the baby is receiving."

"Cereal should be thinned with milk so that it can be given in the bottle."

On weaning: "If the mother keeps well, there is no reason she should not continue nursing up till the 10th month. Nursing beyond the 10th month is unnecessary and may even be harmful as by that time the natural nursing period has passed and the milk loses it's nutritive value."

And this next part cracked me up:

"Taking baby to the seaside: When the family spends a vacation at the seaside, the mother should avoid taking the baby to the beach. Small babies, bare heads bald and wobbly, bright pink under a scorching sun, eyes screwed tight against the glare of the sand, fretting against flies, grit and heat, must be miserable at the beach. Even when the baby is placed in a bassinette, which is shaded by an umbrella, and covered with mosquito netting, there are still many objections to his being on the beach. He is in the midst of and surrounded by far too many people; he may even be jostled by them, sneezed over, coughed over by them, splashed with salty water dripping off their bodies, sprinkled by sand flung up in their games. He is exposed to too much heat, too much light, and too many germs. No, the beach is no place for the baby."

It must've been hard to be a mother 70 years ago. There were so many rules. How about one rule....ok, maybe two: Love your baby and follow your gut. The stuff about not picking the baby up makes me so sad. The schedule for feeding makes me sad. I can't believe those mothers didn't really want to pick their babies up. I wonder how many actually followed these booklets?

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.

~Rajneesh~

Death

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.

~Madame de Stael~

Today is the 4th anniversary of my mothers death. May 31 was the 10th anniversary of my fathers death. This time of year is a bit depressing for me. My dad died when he was only 56. Pancreatic cancer. We found out 6 months before he died. My mother would die 6 years later. She lived pretty recklessly after my father died. They had known each other since they were 14. I think in the end she wanted to die. Her life did not go well after he left, she was never really happy again. While they had their problems it was obvious to everyone they loved each other.

There's quite a long sordid story involved around my mothers death. Suffice it to say, it was unexpected, sprung upon us quickly. We knew she was sick, she had been in the hospital for some time. but we never thought she was near death. At least not until 4 days before she died. She was in Florida, my sister and I are in Illinois and my brother is in Arizona. In retrospect we should have gone down to see her well before she became so ill. We thought she was being taken care of. No point in looking back now. She ended up bleeding internally, and it could not be stopped. When they found her she was already in kidney failure. By the time we got to her late on a Saturday night (midnight actually, after flying most of the afternoon, or really sitting at O'Hare airport most of the afternoon) she was near death. All of her organs were failing. She was on life support. They were pumping bags of blood into her. It wasn't pretty. After talking to the doctor, we ended up taking her off life support at 7 am that Sunday morning.

It's a funny thing when your parents die. I wasn't particularly close to my dad. I loved him, but he was an emotionally closed man, and it was hard to get deep with him. I had a few conversations with him as I got older, and I suspect that had he lived, our relationship probably would've deepened. I was still greatly upset at his passing. I was only 30 years old. My kids were only one and three. They would never get to hear his laugh, (he had a great laugh). They would never get to hear his jokes, or listen to his political views. He was a smart man and had a lot of good thoughts on a lot of things. It's a loss I feel for my children but they'll never know. Recently we watched an old home video, and my youngest didn't even realize it was my dad (her grandfather) in one of the videos. That is sad to me.

When my mom died I not only mourned her, I mourned my dad all over again. Something happens to you when you realize both of your parents are gone. Maybe not for everyone, but I re-lived my whole life. I flashed back to my childhood, to stories my parents told, I thought about my grandparents and living in New York and moving to Illinois. Everything kind of came back in waves. I couldn't stop thinking of my life with my parents and how now they were gone. I was 36 and I was an orphan. I know it seems weird to say, I was an adult with my own family, but I still felt like an orphan. No parents, no grandparents, everyone (besides my siblings) from my family of origin was gone. Both of my parents were only children. Maybe if they had siblings that were still alive I wouldn't have felt so alone. I don't know. It was a very lonely time. I cried a lot after that. The first holidays with no parents were very lonely times. Even though I hadn't spent all of those holidays' with them, especially since they lived so far away, I couldn't call them or talk to them. I used to call my mom every Thanksgiving to talk with her while I made her Thanksgiving stuffing. I knew how to make it, but I was always afraid I was going to forget something. So I would call her to make sure. It was weird to make it that first year and not be able to call her.

So here it is, 10 years since my dad died and 4 since my mom. Time goes by so very quickly. It just doesn't seem that long ago. The pain has lessened with time, but I do still really miss them. It makes me worry about my own children. I don't want them to go through this pain when their father and I go. Maybe if my parents had been older it wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe if they hadn't died when they were still relatively young and healthy. It seems a blessing sometimes when older people go. They are unhealthy, or in pain, or forget who they are. People grieve then, but also feel relieved. I never felt relieved after my parents died. I felt cheated.

Despite my sadness, my parents live on. They are still alive in my memories. They are in the pictures I keep. They are in the stories I tell. I see my own mother in my face. I hear my father in the things I say. I see my father in my sister and I hear my mother in my brother. As their parents lived on through them, they now live on through us.

So here's to you mom and dad. I know you must be together, I can't believe God could be so cruel to keep you apart. I hope right now you are walking down a sandy beach picking up shells and watching the sunset with a martini in your hands. I look forward to the day when I will see you both again. I love you.

Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.

~Albert Einstein~