Daily Affirmation

The best things in life are free.
The second best are very expensive.
- Coco Chanel

Friday, September 11, 2015

My Dad

This is probably the hardest post I've ever tried to write.  It's been a jam-packed summer, full of fun activities, travel, family, and good friends.  It's also been a time of loss and sorrow.  Last month, on August 14th at 2:45 pm, my dad let go of his long, 20-plus year battle with prostate cancer.  He was a strong and valient warrior for sure.  He did not let go easily, although in the end he was able to go quietly and peacefully.  A tender mercy.

To back up, the summer had consisted of a road trip with old friends (see previous post) to Seattle and Victoria.  During that week, my dad's one remaining sibling, Uncle Nick, passed away.  That was a hard day for Dad, I think.  It meant he was the last man standing of his siblings.

A month later, and L and I were off again on a cruise with his family to Alaska.  Both of these trips had been planned a year in advance, and although I had misgivings about going at this particular time due to Dad's failing health, he encouraged me to go and do.  The cruise was so much fun - I really enjoy L's siblings - and we were able to see why people love living in Alaska. 

It is breathtakingly beautiful, and, while the winter weather is not for the fainthearted, in the summer I could picture the fun of having a house on a beach there.  Gorgeous. 

Parts of it reminded me of the rocky shoreline of Maine.  We saw lots of critters - reindeer, elk, bears, and - most important of all - WHALES.  I finally went on a whale watch where we saw lots and lots of whales.  Mama whales and their babies.  It was an amazing and awe-inspiring sight.  Being a cruise, we also did lots and lots of eating, but due to the fact that I am on a gluten/dairy/egg-free diet, I came home weighing exactly the same as when I left - BOOM!  Granted, I did not have as much fun with 24 hour dining as everyone else did, but it was worth it in the end, I say.  And L and I did discover a wonderful little pizza nook where they had - holy of holies - GLUTEN-FREE PIZZA.  It was a wonderful discovery.  It was a good week, relaxing and restorative for both L and me. 

When we got home, we spend lots of time with Mom and Dad telling them all about it.  By this time, Dad was in a hospital bed down in the family room, with almost round the clock care.  He relished visitors at any and all times, and never wanted to miss anyone who might stop by.  I'm glad I took the time to go as often as I was able to.  He usually ended up sleeping through most of the visit, but it didn't matter as long as he knew I was there.  And when it was time to go, he always called me "sweetheart," just like when I was little.  Sometimes he'd beg me to stay longer, and those visits really tore at my heart...

A few weeks after the Alaska trip, we had scheduled a four day visit to NYC to meet our newest grandson, Lincoln.  Again, I was worried about going, but plans were already set, so off we went.  We met and bonded with our little bean Lincoln and had some fun in NYC.  Thanks to Tim and Autumn for being such great hosts - and to Lincoln for putting up with many hugs and kisses.

Now THAT is a place where you can get some really amazing gluten-free and vegan food, and I was newly encouraged to learn to cook a new way.  There's an amazing restaurant on the Upper West Side called the Candle Cafe.  If you're ever there, DO stop in.  You would never know you were eating vegan food, it's that good.  Bare Burger is another.  Yes, my friends, there is still a delicious life after being sentenced to a gluten/dairy/egg-free diet.

We returned home, and Dad had started to decline even more.  Lots of sleeping, more mental confusion, lots of frustration.  Mom was having a hard time managing, but it was hard for her to want to accept/pay for the help she needed.  At one point, they both decided that they didn't need the caregivers for so many hours, and they stopped having someone there overnight.  I think that lasted for 2 nights before Mom realized she just couldn't do it alone.  She is tiny, and couldn't have handled Dad if he fell getting up, and by that time he was a serious fall risk.  She couldn't sleep well always listening for him to need to get up, and so her own health was declining.  All of us siblings tag teamed her and got her to agree that she needed the help, even though it was unpleasant to have to pay for it.  L was the most instrumental in talking to her - he is really good with her.  So patient!  There were points in time where I'd have to just walk out of the room to keep from shaking her in frustration.  I know - that sounds terrible - but she has what my sibs and I call the "Miller Stubborn Gene."  Or - she gets in the "Miller Mood."  Whatever you call it, it's a trial for anyone trying to deal with it.  I've seen it with my aunt (her sister) as I've cared for her these past 4 years.  I was HOPING it would be different with my mom, but it's not, darn it.  So L, with his infinite patience, deals with her best in the most loving way you could imagine.  And she adores him.  Win/win.

The middle of August came, and Katie and her family had moved back to California - WOOT!  I had scheduled a week to drive up (about an hour and a half - two hours away) and help her get her house in order, and have some fun with the kids.  Again, GRAVE misgivings about going, as Dad had noticeably declined.  He was on morphine and another painkiller (the name eludes me now) so he slept almost constantly, and wasn't really eating much.  The hospice nurse had talked about the end coming at any time, although at times he was completely alert and functioning, and would actually eat and drink something.  Mom encouraged me to go, as Katie really needed the help, and there wasn't really anything I could do for Dad at that point.  So off I went on Monday, August 10th.  The drive up was beautiful, and I was so happy to see the beautiful new area where she is living.  One of my favorite areas of California - one I wouldn't mind moving up to one day.  We unpacked, purged, tidied, and played.  I was just starting to feel like we'd really made progress, and one more day would really do it.  This was on Thursday the 13th.  We'd given ourselves the afternoon off to go over to the big neighborhood pool with the kids.  Gorgeous day, and the girls made a couple of good friends who ended up being in their school classes.  Dresden just ran around throwing toys in the pool.  (He's happiest when he's throwing something.  Anything.)

And that's when I got the text that Dad had slipped into a coma and wasn't expected to last the night.  I lost it.  I started to cry, and Katie, bless her heart, just rushed me back to the house, packed me up, and sent me flying south on the 101 freeway toward home.  I hated to leave her and the kids, but I don't think I could have borne it if I had not gotten home to see Dad one last time.  I prayed all the way home that I would get there in time.  I stopped off long enough at home to pick up L, and we flew down to the beach where my family had all gathered.  They didn't know I was coming, so they looked a bit surprised when I rushed in.  Dad was still there, but not conscious.  So I just held his hand, and talked softly to him, and told him how much I loved him, and that it was okay to go, and that we'd take care of Mom.  And he just hung on...  Thinking he might be more at peace if we weren't all in the room distracting him from being called away, we all left one by one.  Except Mom.  Hard to leave her alone, but she seemed pretty stoic, and Geoffrey the caregiver was there for the night.

The next morning (August 14 - coincidentally my Grandmother's birthday) he was still hanging on.  I got dressed and made my sad way down to hold vigil.  One of my brothers kept insisting that we stay out of Dad's room so he would feel more free to let go.  My mother seemed to agree so I had to abide by that.  But I couldn't bear to think of him all alone, so I sat on the stairs right outside the room and listened to him breathe.  And every once in a while I'd sneak in and hold his hand so he'd know we were there with him, supporting his transition.  I had just walked away from him and was talking to another brother in the living room, when my mom came in looking noticeably stressed.  She said to the two of us "You might want to come in now."  Brent and I walked up to Dad's bedside with Mom, and watched him take two last breaths.  And... he was gone.  Just that quietly.  Just that peacefully.  I stroked his hair, and whispered that I loved him.  We had Mom sit down and just hold his hand while we went into the kitchen and got Chris.  He called the hospice nurse to come and make it all official so we could call the mortuary, and we also called my Mom's good friends to come over and give her some support and much needed love and hugs.  It was such a surreal series of events.

Eventually, the mortuary came and took Dad.  My sister in law came over and asked if we wanted to see Dad before they took him away.  I declined but I also went and got Mom, who was starting to watch them transition Dad from the bed to the body bag.  She didn't need to watch that so I took her out.  Right after they drove off, I had a moment of panic, realizing that I'd just seen the last of him.  We weren't going to have any kind of viewing, so my last stroke of the hair, and my head on his chest had been it.  I regretted not wanting to see him one last time.  But now I'm glad I didn't because now my memories are of him alive and well and alert.

Mom didn't want anyone spending the night with her, and she didn't want to come to anyone's house for the night.  Truth to tell, she was exhausted, and she had a busy few days ahead of her.  We all did.  My tasks were to contact friends and family and to write and place the obituaries.  I was touched at the outpouring of love from all I contacted - especially from old friends I hadn't talked to in years, and my cousin (daughter of one of my dad's sisters) in Utah.  She helped spread the word to family members I wouldn't have had any idea of how to contact, and she wrote me the most beautiful email telling me how much my dad had meant to her.  It was lovely to read.

Dad had kind of an unusual story:  he was one of a set of twins born to a couple in Utah in1930.  They were the last siblings born into that family, as his mother died the next day, leaving her husband (a sheepherder) with newborn twins plus 7 other siblings ranging from age 15 to toddler age.  My grandfather wasn't even remotely prepared to deal with all of that, so he asked his best friends, who lived around the corner, to take the twins until he could get on his feet.  Fast forward about two years, and the friends still had the twins.  They approached my grandfather and told him he either needed to take over their care, or they would be happy to take them on a permanent basis (they had never been able to have surviving children of their own.)  My grandfather told them to make it a permanent arrangement, as he wasn't able to properly care for them on his own.  What an act of selfless love!  What a wonderful opportunity for the people who were the only active father and mother that my dad and his twin brother knew.  And what an opportunity for two little boys who would never have had the advantages they did growing up without these two parents providing for their needs.  As you can imagine, however, it did cause a bit of emotional conflict for my dad, growing up with one set of parents and his twin, yet having his biological father just around the corner, plus siblings who seemed more like cousins.  It's an unusual story, and my dad was an unusual man.  Rocket science intelligent, handsome, and quirky.  As a teenager, "quirky" isn't a quality you appreciate in your dad, but I have treasured that quality as I've grown older.  Sometimes we'd all just shake our heads as we walked away, but we've also gotten a lot of mileage out of "dad stories" and our family lore is richer because of my dad and his quirkiness. 

He was a thrifty man, always conscious of a dollar.  To a fault.  He left my mother with the most generous monthly budget I could ever imagine having, yet he would always act like they were on the verge of being penniless.  We learned to ignore it.  But as he lay dying in his last days, my brother Brent asked him if he was afraid.  Dad replied that yes, he was.  Brent asked him what he was afraid of.  Dad's eyes flew open and he snapped "BANKRUPTCY!"  Ahahahahahaha... that's my dad...

Dad was always there for every big event, every milestone.  Kids and grandkids alike. 

Even great grandkids' events, such as births and baptisms did not go unnoticed.  Dad was proud of his family, and he especially loved babies and small children.  Yes, he was a famous baby lover.

The service we had for him was beautiful.  I know Dad must have loved it.  So many friends and family gathered in his honor, so many wonderful stories told.  And the music... don't get me started.  The closing song was "Nearer My God To Thee."  It started with just a violin playing through the first verse.  Then the piano joined in.  Next the organ came in softly, and then the congregation was invited to sing.  I made it through the first verse, and then my emotions overcame me.  It was so beautiful, and my heart...my heart just missed him, and I wanted my Daddy just one more time.  But I know we will see him again.  I know he is always there, right behind me, just around the corner in the next room, watching over us, his family.  I feel he will always guide and direct me, and help me.  Grief isn't like I imagined it would be.  I had thought it would be an overwhelming all-day every-day thing.  But it's not.  I am fine most of the time.  But every so often, at the most random times, something will hit me, and I am awash with tears.  I just miss him.

My birthday was on September 7th.  My mom gave me a birthday card, and one of those random times hit me.  It was the first birthday card I'd ever gotten without his signature on it.  I'll never have one again with his signature on it, and I was glad that I'd been crazy enough to save the one I got LAST year that had his signature and a message from him in it.  I will treasure that card always.  Silly little things like that.  But knowing he is out of pain, that his body is released from that horrible cancer, that he is with beloved friends and family (and getting to know that mother he never got to know in his lifetime!) - all of these things make me smile.  I like thinking of the three mothers he is now reunited with: his birth mother, his "parent" mother, and my mother's mother/my grandmother, who loved him like her own.  As I said, he passed out of this life on her birthday, and I could very well imagine that little lady elbowing her way to the front of the line to meet him as he arrived.  THAT made me even laugh a little bit.

So it's been quite a year so far, 2015.  In addition to all of the above, we have also been dealing with the relapse of our youngest son, who suffers from mental illness.  He suffered a breakdown the day of Dad's funeral, and so L and I dealt with that in addition to everything else.  It never rains, but it pours... He is currently in a facility recovering, and should be ready to take the next step to a less restrictive facility sometime next week.  He's had a hard time stabilizing this time, but it looks like things are finally coming around.  So hard to see him struggling with this yet another time, and harder still to figure out how to help him have greater insight into what he can and cannot handle, what he can, and can NEVER do.

I am grateful for good friends.  I am grateful for family.  I am grateful for the feelings of unity my dad's passing has had on our remaining family, and especially on me.  I want to try harder to stay connected to cousins and those who loved my dad, and who still tell the stories of those of his generation.  I want to do better, live better.  Have greater patience and unconditional love.  And I suppose those are common reactions to the death of someone close to you.  Life is precious, and
tenuous.  And I don't ever want to look back and feel like I've wasted a day of it.    I miss my Dad, but he taught me so many things that will make my life more rich and full.  Love your family unconditionally, work hard, never lose your curiosity, never stop learning.  Thanks, Dad, for a good life.  For being my first love.  For being my champion.  Until we meet again...


  1. I often thought of you and your family this summer and wondered how your Dad was doing. I'm so sorry for your loss. He sounds like he was an awesome Dad and a wonderful man. You're very lucky to have had him in your life for so long....however, it doesn't seem long enough, does it. When I saw the picture of him and your Mom when they were young I had to take a breath...he looks so much like one of my son's best friends from their high school days...amazing resemblance! Your tribute to him was wonderful and brought tears to my eyes. Take care and I'll keep you and your son in my prayers. So much to handle all at once. I'm glad you did have some happy times this summer. Jack and I went to Alaska a few years ago and I loved it. I would go back in a heart beat! (probably not in winter though!) Hugs to you and to your Mom also...take care Karen.

  2. What s beautiful post, Karen. Thank you for sharing. And I'm sorry you're missing your dad.

  3. karen, I am terribly sorry for your loss. Through you I came to know and admire your dad. Fortunately he was surrounded by his loving family when the moment came for him to leave this world and he slipped away in peace. Thank you for telling us about his earliest years raised by neighbors who essentially became his mother and father. Your dad was a great man and this was a fine tribute to him from you, his great daughter. God bless.

  4. Honestly I don't know what to say. This was such a beautiful yet heart wrenching post. I'm so very sorry for your loss. Losing a parent leaves a hole that never quite heals. We go on but are changed. Hugs xoxox

  5. So very sorry for your great loss Karen... I know how much it hurts. What a wonderful tribute you paid to your dad with your words .... he truly was a remarkable person so he will leave a large empty space... Love never dies though and he will be so very close to you when you need him to be.... but in a different form. So hard though. I feel as the time goes on the nearness of those I love so dearly who have passed are even more a part of me... but I wish you and your family comfort as those times come when the tears just can't help but flow....

  6. Karen, what a wonderful portrait in prose you painted of your beloved Dad. I am glad you were able to be there with him, I found it a gift to be able to be there with my parents and grandmother when they were walking that path. Saying goodbye is so hard but knowing i only have the next corner to turn until we meet again comforts me. It is a GREAT LOVE between a father and his daughter. I'm so happy you had yours. Big hugs~all my love

  7. You had many things happening in the past month. It is better in the upcoming time. I hope you will be healthy and happy.


  8. Hi Karen, sad post. You do not know me but I occasionally read your blog and thought this might be of help. I remember you suffer with arthritis but is it really arthritis?

    Up to last October I was as fit as a bull, but after doing some heavy work in September I started to ache, as you do. The thing was it did not get any better it got worse and worse I was convinced I had arthritis bad really painful.
    I had been seeing the doctor twice a month until at the end of December I was at the end of my tether and told him so.
    He told me what he thought it might be, PMR
    Polymyalgia Rheumatica it takes a blood test to diagnose it. I had the test and sure enough that's what I have.
    The good thing is it is treatable but it takes time, but the treatment takes effect immediately.
    I know you are not one for taking pills, but I feel great now and feel I should share my happiness with the world.
    If you google the complaint it will not stop you sleeping or upset you in any way, it is not fatal or gruesome.
    I hope this is of some help to you or anyone you know.
    Dave from Yorkshire England.

    1. What I have is not normal arthritis - it's rheumatoid arthritis. And yes, I've had the blood tests to confirm that. I've had it for over 12 years now, and I doubt that I'll ever get to the point where I don't need medication. The goal is to take as little as possible, and I've gotten some relief through essential oils and herbs. Glad to hear you're feeling better - that's always good news!


Sit down, have some red punch and cookies, and tell me EVERYTHING...

FEEDJIT Live Traffic Feed