He died this morning at 2:20 am. I was really hoping he wouldn't die on the 4th...but logically I know that any day would be hard.
Jon and the kids are still in Seattle and I am thinking that I will drive back today and return in a few days for the funeral. I suppose it hasn't really sunk in yet, but I have been preparing for this day since December 21 when he was diagnosed with the three tumors. I am thankful that I got the last six months to prepare and give him extra attention.
He truly was a great and gentle man who loved all animals, was a family counselor, kept active golfing and river rafting, and loved to travel. He grew up in an incredibly racist and abusive family and overcame so much. He was the first in his family to graduate from college and create a new life. He was never abusive (never even spanked me) and went on to create a beautiful life for himself. I am astounded by how many friends come and visit him...all with stories of what a great man he was. He was so kind and I am so saddened that my kids will not know him.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I am scared
I spoke with Karen on Monday and she had said my dad was going down hill quickly but was still having moments of clarity. Today I received a phone call and she told me that he was "failing quickly" and her sister told me that he isn't responding to anyone. She mentioned that if I were to come and visit, he probably wouldn't even know I was there. The doctors have increased his morphine and he is completely unresponsive.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Trip
I had a good encounter with my dad today. True, he is stuck 24 hours a day in a hospital bed and not very communicative, but I saw peaks into him...and am so thankful.
Despite this, he held my hand (very firmly) this evening after dinner. He even told Karen, "someones cold hand woke me up!" This sense of humor has been absent and it was good to have him back. I was talking to him about coming to visit next weekend and was wondering aloud if we should stay in a hotel for all or partially all of our stay. He said, "the creatures..." and I said, "are you referring to my offspring as creatures?" and he said, "yes."
I asked him if he had a nice visit with Kari and Kevin and he said, "OH YES!" and, "Very much so." He told Kari (my step sister) today that "you were never far from my heart." I was so touched by this force of emotion with which he was able to articulate.
I asked him tonight if he believes in God and he said, "I think so." I brought up his green jeans God seeing...but he remained mute and didn't say anything.
He seems to enjoy listening to the Oldies station on the TV and it has been playing for the past two days. He points out singers, indicating that he likes Neil Diamond.
He enjoyed the strawberry pie that Karen made for dessert tonight and always drinks a large glass of milk with each meal. He eats only tablespoons of food at a time. Maybe a 1/2 cup of food in every meal.
Despite this, he held my hand (very firmly) this evening after dinner. He even told Karen, "someones cold hand woke me up!" This sense of humor has been absent and it was good to have him back. I was talking to him about coming to visit next weekend and was wondering aloud if we should stay in a hotel for all or partially all of our stay. He said, "the creatures..." and I said, "are you referring to my offspring as creatures?" and he said, "yes."
I asked him if he had a nice visit with Kari and Kevin and he said, "OH YES!" and, "Very much so." He told Kari (my step sister) today that "you were never far from my heart." I was so touched by this force of emotion with which he was able to articulate.
I asked him tonight if he believes in God and he said, "I think so." I brought up his green jeans God seeing...but he remained mute and didn't say anything.
He seems to enjoy listening to the Oldies station on the TV and it has been playing for the past two days. He points out singers, indicating that he likes Neil Diamond.
He enjoyed the strawberry pie that Karen made for dessert tonight and always drinks a large glass of milk with each meal. He eats only tablespoons of food at a time. Maybe a 1/2 cup of food in every meal.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Club
There is a weird club that I am wanting to be part of: the dying parent club and no one who hasn't experienced it is allowed. I am being melodramatic but I truly notice a deep desire to connect with others who have gone through this. I immediately feel a kinship and sense of empathy. I feel closer to them because we share this horrible bond. I look at the words that I just typed "horrible bond" and wonder if I am being dramatic again. Death is inevitable, so it shouldn't be a surprise. In the end, we all die, but it just feels so isolating to keep living long after your loved one's pass. Feeling a sense of aloneness that hasn't hit me with the deaths of other family members.
This parent dying thing sucks. Death forces most to look at their mortality, but a parents death causes you to examine deeper. You are now alone in the world, without your parents (hopefully) undying support and love. It feels very isolating. The ripple's of their death go far beyond me and touch my children's lives. This is one of the aspects that hurt the most. My youngest children will never know the man who was my father. They will always be grandfather less on their mom's side. It isn't fair and my heart aches for their ignorance of this great man.
This parent dying thing sucks. Death forces most to look at their mortality, but a parents death causes you to examine deeper. You are now alone in the world, without your parents (hopefully) undying support and love. It feels very isolating. The ripple's of their death go far beyond me and touch my children's lives. This is one of the aspects that hurt the most. My youngest children will never know the man who was my father. They will always be grandfather less on their mom's side. It isn't fair and my heart aches for their ignorance of this great man.
Scared
Though I am scared and terribly saddened by my dad's upcoming death, I am also frightened by how it will change me.
Will it make me colder, less flexible, less compromising in life. Will I live life with a, "Life's too short" philosophy; abandoning my marriage and cares? Or will I secretly begin to resent my husband more; for all of the ways he is unlike my peaceful and centered father? Will I seek out men with these qualities, hoping to feel a piece of my dad surrounding me? I am fearful of the unknown and concerned how his death will rock my world.
I can't lose this loving man in my life. He is the opposite of all the masculine cliche's. He is calm, fun, open minded, and settled. He doesn't make jokes about politics, hunting, and women (at least never in front of me). He may laugh at some jokes...but he never initiates. He is patient with kids, spending much of his career counseling young kids and teens. He is goodness and I always knew he would become a better grandfather than father. He doesn't have the chance, now, and that makes me so mournful for all of us.
Will it make me colder, less flexible, less compromising in life. Will I live life with a, "Life's too short" philosophy; abandoning my marriage and cares? Or will I secretly begin to resent my husband more; for all of the ways he is unlike my peaceful and centered father? Will I seek out men with these qualities, hoping to feel a piece of my dad surrounding me? I am fearful of the unknown and concerned how his death will rock my world.
I can't lose this loving man in my life. He is the opposite of all the masculine cliche's. He is calm, fun, open minded, and settled. He doesn't make jokes about politics, hunting, and women (at least never in front of me). He may laugh at some jokes...but he never initiates. He is patient with kids, spending much of his career counseling young kids and teens. He is goodness and I always knew he would become a better grandfather than father. He doesn't have the chance, now, and that makes me so mournful for all of us.
Hospice
This picture was taken of my dad in August 2007 at our first ever Linville Family Reunion. He looks so happy, don't you think?
I just received a cell phone message from Karen telling me that she needed to talk to me and that my dad was now on hospice. She said his health had really declined and needed to let me know what was going on. I called her back, but she didn't answer.
I had a mini breakdown over this. The kind where the sobs come out in whimpers. I feel so anguished and alone. I am frustrated with myself for not spending more time with him in January, asking him all the things I had to time to ask him then. He isn't able to hold a coherent question at this point and I missed my window. I wish someone would have told me to stay with him. I wish someone would have insisted on this.
I plan to travel back down this weekend. The question becomes as to whether I should take the kids or not. I suppose he I will ask Karen about this and proceed from there.
It is interesting how I avoid calling. Maybe because I don't know her that well, possibly because it is painful to face, and I will let myself off the hook a bit and say that I am busy with three kids and a family. I know that I will read this words months and years from now and frown at how little I called. I don't forgive myself for this.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Confused
Why haven't I written? Sometimes it is too painful, sometimes I am too busy, and sometimes I just want to be "normal" and not deal with such writings and thoughts. When I say this I instantly feel remorseful, since I know the day is fast approaching that I won't have the option to write about my experiences with my dad...while he is still alive. I follow this with: "Is he really still alive?" I am unsure how to answer that. He certainly is half alive, if there is such a thing.
This past weekend Jon, I, and the younger kids went down for my step sister's baby shower and to visit with my dad. I am ashamed to say that I don't know what to say to him as he reclines in his leather chair, watching baseball games all day long. He smiles at the kids playing, seeming to take a special liking to Georgia and her exuberance. I want to ask him what he thinks, but fear he won't be able to articulate what I am hoping for. Instead, I feel comforted that my kids have brought him joy during these days. It breaks my heart that they won't know him...truly makes me so sad that I can't begin to address that at this time. I push that to the back of my thoughts.
I am saddened to report that my step mother is feeling burnt out. She doesn't want to undergo another chemo round for him, beginning next week. She mentioned that she doesn't want him to die during Christmas, which is the timeline the doctor's gave him. I don't think she expected to be married to a man who refuses to use the toilet because he is too weak or gets confused and pees in bed, thinking he is in the bathroom. I get the sense she wants permission from me to forgo the chemo. I gave her this permission with a heavy heart. As his primary caregiver, I feel she is best suited to make the call. However I can't help but feel that I am cheating myself and signed his death certificate. My heart aches to imagine a world without him.
He ate fairly well this weekend, enjoying KFC and an extra helping of mashed potatoes and gravy. I hear that he scarfed down a large portion of clams at a clambake they held the night we arrived. His diabetes is worse and his numbers are too high which is causing him to have to take extra shots of insulin. He is stubborn and keeps eating licorice and cookies.
I write about his food habits because I want to remember every minute detail of him. Possibly I will feel lonely and want to eat what he enjoyed, thinking that this will bring me closer to him. I fear these small proclivities are what will be lost in time and I need to document them with these words. I may look back 15 years from now and realize how naive I was. Regardless, it is all I know how to do.
I can write about his dirty and jagged fingernails, but those remind me of his sickness. His hands seem tiny and frail, more like a preteens hands than a man's hand. His eyelashes are sparse, probably as a result of older age and chemo. His teeth embarrass me with their yellowness and obvious crowns. I am ashamed of myself for thinking such thoughts.
Food is easier to write about. I want to remember him and his preferences. I want him to be human, alive, and available. The closest that I can come is through his food.
This past weekend Jon, I, and the younger kids went down for my step sister's baby shower and to visit with my dad. I am ashamed to say that I don't know what to say to him as he reclines in his leather chair, watching baseball games all day long. He smiles at the kids playing, seeming to take a special liking to Georgia and her exuberance. I want to ask him what he thinks, but fear he won't be able to articulate what I am hoping for. Instead, I feel comforted that my kids have brought him joy during these days. It breaks my heart that they won't know him...truly makes me so sad that I can't begin to address that at this time. I push that to the back of my thoughts.
I am saddened to report that my step mother is feeling burnt out. She doesn't want to undergo another chemo round for him, beginning next week. She mentioned that she doesn't want him to die during Christmas, which is the timeline the doctor's gave him. I don't think she expected to be married to a man who refuses to use the toilet because he is too weak or gets confused and pees in bed, thinking he is in the bathroom. I get the sense she wants permission from me to forgo the chemo. I gave her this permission with a heavy heart. As his primary caregiver, I feel she is best suited to make the call. However I can't help but feel that I am cheating myself and signed his death certificate. My heart aches to imagine a world without him.
He ate fairly well this weekend, enjoying KFC and an extra helping of mashed potatoes and gravy. I hear that he scarfed down a large portion of clams at a clambake they held the night we arrived. His diabetes is worse and his numbers are too high which is causing him to have to take extra shots of insulin. He is stubborn and keeps eating licorice and cookies.
I write about his food habits because I want to remember every minute detail of him. Possibly I will feel lonely and want to eat what he enjoyed, thinking that this will bring me closer to him. I fear these small proclivities are what will be lost in time and I need to document them with these words. I may look back 15 years from now and realize how naive I was. Regardless, it is all I know how to do.
I can write about his dirty and jagged fingernails, but those remind me of his sickness. His hands seem tiny and frail, more like a preteens hands than a man's hand. His eyelashes are sparse, probably as a result of older age and chemo. His teeth embarrass me with their yellowness and obvious crowns. I am ashamed of myself for thinking such thoughts.
Food is easier to write about. I want to remember him and his preferences. I want him to be human, alive, and available. The closest that I can come is through his food.
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