An Abnormal Grieving Process

            Today, June 23^rd, 2015 is Dad’s birthday. He passed away on June 13^th, 2015. Surprisingly, I’m not filled with grief on his birthday. I think part of this is that Dad never made a big deal of his birthday. He was a simple man. He usually wore the same clothes. He never was into fancy things. So, I can’t recall any huge celebration for Dad’s birthday or significant gift I bought for this day, other than the heated mattress pad I discussed in another blog. Maybe memories of gifts will come later.

            I think my grieving process is abnormal. Dad’s fight with cancer started in earnest in October of 2013. I think both Mom and me accepted through the process that Dad could die. So, I think we already did some of the grieving before he passed. Around Spring 2014, I removed myself from organized religion. I also didn’t read the Bible much through that time until now. I’m not sure I was angry at the church. I definitely was frustrated. When I read the book of Acts, I see miracles. I see people healed. I see a priesthood of believers. When I look at organized religion, I see sick people everywhere and I see an ecclesiastical structure. I believe that structure inhibits God from moving like he should. The Ekklesia needs to go through a radical transformation. I’ll have to examine that in future blogs. Dad’s death is causing me to work through my faith and my purpose. I’ll also have to think through the whole process I’ve been through the past few years and see if I was grieving and didn’t even know it. The grieving process is strange, but I need to understand it. So, these are things you’ll see me working through in future posts.

            The grieving process is one of extremes. The last few days I’ve been facing extreme exhaustion. I’ve noticed since Dad’s death, everything is extreme. One minute my stomach is upset. The next minute I’m starved. Or, I’ll feel starved and then only be able to eat a few bites. One minute I’m extremely happy. Then, I’m overwhelmed with sadness. Then, anxiety. Everything is an extreme. It’s like my body, heart and spirit have all the possibilities they can experience on a giant wheel—like Wheel of Fortune. Every now and then the wheel is spun and then whatever it lands on I experience full force.

            This is a strange post. I’m not sure I’m so much working through anything as I am just working through what I need to work through. Anyhow, I’m working on lunch, so I’ll have to end and attend to my physical needs.

Father's Day was Stolen

            Today is Father’s Day: June 21, 2015. My Dad passed away a little over a week ago on June 13^th. From the title, you may believe I’m talking about this Father’s Day. But, I’m not. Most children outlive their parents, so most face those special days (holidays, birthdays or whatever) after death. The Father’s Day that was stolen was in 2014.

            I went over to see Dad in the morning. I’m not sure if I brought him a gift or not. He was so sick, there was really nothing I could do except be with him. When I arrived, Dad was extremely anxious. He thought he was dying. I tried to talk him down, but I couldn’t. Dad was jittery and out of sorts. He couldn’t focus on anything but bad thoughts.

            As the day progressed, I found out Dad had been given Phenergan. Dad had been given that in the past to help calm his nervous stomach. He reacted poorly to it. It threw him out of whack. When I found out he had been given that, I was concerned. I was forceful with the caretakers that visited and also went out to the desk to make sure the situation was handled. His reaction to Phenergan should have been on his chart and I was questioning why it wasn’t and demanding that it was. According to Mom, I was angry about the situation. I don’t think I lost my temper, but I was forceful.

            Throughout the process of Dad’s sickness, I saw how terrible our medical system could be. I say the system, because many of the people are wonderful. I’ll go into more detail about other situations in further posts, but the system adds unnecessary stress and hardship to people who are elderly, sick or injured. The system stole the last Father’s Day I had with Dad, because it missed an important detail. I don’t want to dwell on it, but people need to understand these things happen and it’s unnecessary.

            Dad did have many wonderful caretakers. To close this post, I’d like to share an email I received from Kim Dalton, his nurse at Pebble Creek Nursing Home. She helped bring joy to my Dad’s life. Right now mom can't look at the pictures of Kim and Dad. Last night I showed her a picture of Kim and Dad and she burst into tears. In this picture, Dad is with Kim and there is happiness on his face. Mom will be able to look at it in the future, but right now it brings her to tears.  Mom and I talked to Kim for about an hour on June 19^th and I asked if she had anything she’d like to share as I am putting together memoirs of dad. She sent me an email with three pictures attached at 10:06 p.m. Here is Kim’s email:

Brett,

It was great talking to you and Bonnie tonight.  I shared with you many of my memories of your dad on the phone, but what I didn't say is what I'd like to share for your memoirs. 

I walked into Pebble Creek last March as green as they get.  I had been a nurse less than a month and I truly had no idea what to expect.  I learned many things such as how to pass pills, how to insert a catheter, and most definitely how to efficiently clean up poop.  What I didn't expect was for my very first patient to touch my life the way he did.  As a nurse, I may have thousands of patients.  Some I will remember, some I won't, but from the moment I met your dad, he had me wrapped around his little finger.  I can't really say it was one specific thing....I think it was just his presence.  The way his eyes lit up when your mom walked in the room amazed me.  It gave me hope that true love does exist.  I cared for Marv when he was really at his worst.  He was in such pain, but always found a way to put a smile on his face when I came in the room (even when I was there to scold him for getting out of bed without help!). On my birthday, he was all smiles, all day. I knew he had something up his sleeve.   I was sitting at the nurse's station and I heard him talking on the phone to your mom....he didn't know I could hear him....but he said to her "Bonnie, don't forget to bring Kim's birthday present!".  Then a little while later, I heard him again...."Bonnie....don't forget to bring Kim's birthday present when you come".  Then again later......"Bonnie....when are you coming up here with Kim's birthday present??".  I was just tickled pink that he was so excited to surprise me.  I cherish those two bracelets, two necklaces, and two pair of earrings as though they are priceless gems.  Well, to me, they are.  Marv made those with his own hands, and he thought enough of ME to bestow them upon me.   I know I'm rambling at this point, but I wanted to let you know that Marv was so much more than my patient.  He stole a little piece of my heart (as did your whole family).  He confided in me about things and we had some very intense heart-to-heart talks.  He was a good man, a good husband, and a good father.  I consider myself priveleged to have cared for him and to be welcomed into his family and his home.  Attached are the picutres I took the day he left Pebble Creek and one of the bracelets he gave me for my birthday last year.  I'll keep it forever and will always cherish my memories of Marv.  

Good night.  Rest well my friend.

Kim

Dad's Hands

            My Dad was a man of few words. If I had to guess, his most frequent words to me were, “I love you” or some variation on that theme. He said those words a lot through his battle with cancer. I think our love grew closer through his struggle and Dad’s appreciation for me grew. He developed a fondness and appreciation for the man I had become. I remember him telling me within the past month or two that I was “the man”.

            Before Dad’s funeral, Mom and I talked. Let me share mom’s recollections of the families’ last words to Dad. My last words to Dad were, “Love ya, Dad. Sleep good.” My brother Lance’s last words were, “Love you, Dad.” Mom’s last words to Dad were, “Love you. Sleepy good.” Dad responded with some variation of the theme of love to me. So, our last words were kind and that is a cherished memory.

            I wish Dad had become more of a talker or writer, so I better understood his thinking. But, Dad primarily showed his love through his action. So, I want to remember Dad’s hands—the thing he used to show his love.

            When I was a kid, Dad had big hands. Mom on occasion would call them, “Meat hooks.” He was a small guy, but because of work (and working out through various stages of his life) his hands were strong. His hands were broad, but more than that they were thick with muscle.

            I can recall intertwining my fingers with Dad’s. He would jokingly straighten his fingers and squeeze them together. My poor hand (I think I was a teenager or maybe even in my twenties at this time) was helpless in his viselike grip. I remember doing this with my right hand, but probably did it with both. I think all this hand squeezing came out of some macho hand challenges boys that age do. I remember thumb wrestling and other stupid things boys do with other boys. Then, I would try those things with Dad. Dad was much stronger than the other boys. There was no way to beat Dad in thumb wrestling—at least I think I thumb wrestled Dad, but I’m not sure. But, either way, I doubt I would have beaten him!

            In his prime, Dad had a ridge of thick calluses just below his fingers. The ridges came up to a peak that was sharp. The calluses were rough and thick—like a type of padding that would add grip to a tool in his hand. Even the tips of Dad’s fingers had this type of texture. Dad wasn’t afraid to work until he had bloody blisters on his hands. Sometimes he did this when he was gardening.

            Dad loved gardening. I think part of it was his hyperactivity. Part of it was saving money. And, part of it was he liked to give food to his family—not any food, but food that he helped create. I suppose it was his part of the meal-making process. Mom was the official cook and we were glad of that.

            One time Mom was sick. I don’t remember her illness at the time, but Mom was and is faithful and hardworking. So, she must have had a bad bug. Dad cooked. His hands made us hamburgers. I think Dad feared undercooking them, so he did the opposite. Those burgers were like charcoal briquettes. I don’t ever recall Dad being chef again. I think I may have written some sort of funny story or poem about the day Dad cooked for a school assignment. Seems it was likely around third or fourth grade, but I don’t remember for sure.

            Wherever he went, Dad made some sort of garden. At our house on Massillon Road, Dad put in a large garden. I think it spanned the width of the backyard and was fairly deep. We probably had a big enough harvest to feed a neighborhood. I only vaguely remember what was back there. I can recall cucumbers, but I’m not sure it was that garden. I think there may have been corn back there. My foggy memories of that house (I was about seven when we moved to another house) are somewhat limited. I think there was corn, because I have a vague image of the garden having some height.

            I remember Mom telling the story how Dad dug around to help build the foundation of that house. I’m not sure why. It was probably to save money. Likely there was an expensive repair, I can’t recall, and Dad said he would do it instead of paying guys to come out and dig it out with machines. That was Dad—he was strong and could work like a machine.

            As a kid and young man, I thought Dad was a workaholic. I didn’t like that. I wanted more of him. But, now as I reflect, I can see Dad was giving us all of him in the way he knew best. Dad’s father died when he was only four-and-a-half. He had no role model to follow in terms of how to be a Dad. But, his great love allowed him to figure it out and he did well. He raised my brother and me right.

            Dad’s hands were outdoor hands. He loved hunting. He took my brother and me on a few hunting trips. It never took. I somewhat wish I would have feigned a hobby in hunting, just so I had a few more memories with Dad. He took us squirrel hunting on a few occasions. I remember Dad taking us to hunter safety courses. He made sure we were safe. I think we were only teenagers at the time.

            Dad’s hands played catch with my brother and me. I don’t have a vivid image in my head, but more of a feeling of throwing a ball back and forth in our front yard at Laura Lane. I think we may have also played catch in the lot beside my Grandparent’s (Mom side of the family) house. I remember having baseball mitts, oiling them up, putting a baseball in the middle and then putting it under the bed mattress and sleeping on it. I’m not positive, but I think Dad showed us how to do that to break in the mitt.

            In the front yard (on Laura Lane) we had this weird planter made out of a tire. I’m not sure Dad built that. I think it was made by cutting down the middle of the tread and the turning the rubber inside out. There were plants in there—planted by Dad, of course, but Mom may have helped. He did quite a bit of landscaping around that house—with bark and mulch. We had a drainage ditch to the front and side of that house. On the side between our house and the Meyer’s, Mom and Dad had a row of tall bushes planted. I think they had Donzell’s (a local nursery) plant those. There were low-lying shrubs behind them. I think Mom and Dad planted that part. Dad had a garden out back—not as big as the one on Massillon, but I’m thinking it was about six feet by ten feet.

            I know Dad planted tomato plants out there. I recall that clearly, because tomato plants attract grubs. My brother and I helped find the grubs and were paid per grub. I think it was only a nickel. We also put some pans out there with beer. It attracted the grubs and killed them.

            Dad also showed us how to hunt for night crawlers after a rain. We would use these for fishing trips. One time Dad took my brother and me snipe hunting in the backyard. In case you’re wondering, there is no such thing as a snipe.

            I can remember dad using his rototiller. Right now it’s sitting out in his garage. It is a John Deere. I think he loved that rototiller, because it helped him plant his gardens.

            Dad loved tomato plants. During our recollections over the past few days, Mom shared how Dad would love the smell of tomato plants on his hand. He would rub his hands together and smell them. Mom didn’t like the scent, but she did like the tomatoes. Right now out back of Mom and Dad’s house and in the garage are Dad’s tomato planters. I’m not sure any of the planters are out in the garage, but he does have wire tomato frames out there. He has something in the garage that looks like it’s made out of a five-gallon water jug. I suspect that either was a planter or one he was working on before he became sick. He used to like to create planters. There are some out back that are made out of blue plastic coffee cans. He also left behind several of the wire cages that help plants to grow upright. There are a few of his planters on the backside of his house that were made out of white plastic trash bins with trellises coming out of dirt. There is some giant red bin in Mom and Dad’s garage, which I suspect was something in the works. He also created hanging tomato planters. Dad’s hands liked to work and create.

            Dad loved fishing and he would take my brother and me with him. His hands showed me how to bait a hook. I think a few times Dad’s hand were impaled by a hook in this teaching process. You need to understand Dad’s kids. I was a quiet, relaxed kid. My brother was a hellion. Lance had (and still does) an internal, hyperactive motor that just won’t quit. In many ways, Lance is like Dad. So, Dad was in danger anywhere around Lance and a hook.

            I remember going out to Nimisila Lake Reservoir. I recall Dad with light fishing gear. He liked fishing for blue gills. As strong as Dad was, when he fished he used finesse. I remember sitting out at a slope near a tree. It’s weird—just a vague feeling. Maybe my brother and I will have to go back out there. Although, maybe things have changed and we won’t find the spot.

            Dad liked fishing with a fly rod. He taught me how. I picked it up pretty quickly. I also remember little casting weights we had to help practice spin casting. I have this vague recollection of setting up targets and trying to cast into them. I can’t say for certain, but I think one of these targets was a large, metal bin. With all these vague recollections, one thing is sure. Dad’s hands must have spent plenty of time teaching us to fish.

            Dad’s hands were the ones on the oars out at Wingfoot Lake Park. Maybe Lance and I rowed on occasion, but Dad was the captain of that ship. Dad was a strong oarsman. He made sure we made it to all corners of that lake. There were little islands out there. On occasion we visited the islands. Not for a long stay, but often to simply take a leak. Dad also took us shore fishing out at Wingfoot.

            I can remember the Canteen out there. It had an eatery and a bait shop. They also had good prices. Maybe that’s why Dad liked Wingfoot Lake! We also had some nice family picnics out there. There were some nice trails and a great miniature golf course. There were some outings where we spent time in the pavilions out there. I recall there being outings with a lot of people, prizes and events. It’s those strange phantom memories—just enough memory to give an impression, but not enough for a complete picture. I suspect these were Goodyear events, where Dad worked at the time. I remember a sense of camaraderie at these events.

            Out at Laura Lane, Dad’s hands built a basketball court. We had a blacktop driveway. Dad could have just put a hoop up and used the driveway as a court. He didn’t. He made concrete blocks—probably two feet by two feet. I remember him having mold pieces. I’m not sure whether he made those pieces or not, but he used the molds to make the blocks. I think the blocks were two or three inches thick. Using these blocks, Dad built up a place beside the driveway to give us more space to play. That little court was probably twelve feet by ten feet, but it made a huge difference. When added to the driveway, we had a nice place to play. I remember a backstop behind the court—in between the giant pine trees we had out there. It was reddish and about four feet tall by six to eight feet wide. I think Dad may have put that in as well, so we didn’t spend as much time chasing down errant shots.

            Dad spent quite a bit of time putting up the pole and the backboard. He found a steel pipe—probably four to six inches in diamater. He had someone (I’m pretty sure it was a buddy of his that did autobody work) weld little lengths of steel bar at various angles on the bottom of that pole. He wanted to make sure when he planted it into concrete, that it stood strong and wouldn’t twist or turn. I think he dug the hole about two to three feet deep. That pole was immovable—like Dad’s love for his wife and kids. I’m pretty sure he was somewhat meticulous to make sure the hoop was exactly ten feet from the ground. That was Dad. Sometimes he went a little overboard, but he wanted to do things right.

            I can remember playing hoops with Dad out on that court. With Dad, hoops was just shooting around and having fun. Dad had a decent jump shoot. We (dad, my brother and I) would play games, like horse, where we’d take turns taking shots. I think mom came out there as well, but mostly it was Dad and the boys. If someone made a shot, the rest had to make the same shot or earn a letter. Once someone was a H-O-R-S-E, they were out. The games with Dad were relaxed. The games I played one-on-one with my brother were more cut throat.

            Dad’s hands put up a swimming pool in the backyard at Laura Lane. I remember he dug out a giant circle—probably about six inches deep, maybe deeper. I think our pool had a twenty-four foot diameter. So, you can imagine the size of the hole. He then dug out the center so the pool was deeper in the middle—probably 18-24 inches or so. He lined the bottom of everything with sand. I’m pretty sure he put up that entire pool with little outside help—maybe some from me, Lance and Mom, but Dad did the majority of the work. I remember him out there with a long piece of wood smoothing out the area for the pool. He also built a nice deck for that pool out of heavy wood.

            We had a swing set in the backyard. I think the swing set was before the pool. I remember when I swung really high the legs of that swing set would come off the ground. One time Lance got onto my shoulders and jumped off and tried to fly. He ended up breaking his arm. I’m not sure why that swing set was so dangerous. I’m sure Dad tried to build it right. Maybe he simply followed the instructions instead of his normal procedures of going over the top. I’m sure it was his hands that tore down that swing set—while I can’t say for sure, probably to protect my brother and me from serious injury!

            In the back corner of the yard we had a burn barrel. Dad took a fifty-five gallon drum and shot holes in it with his .22 rifle. I’m not sure where he went to shoot the holes. While my brother and I (probably more me, because I’m more the momma-boy’s type) didn’t take too much to hunting, we did like shooting. Dad took us out to target ranges. During Dad’s funeral service, there was a picture of Dad standing behind us as we were shooting at Skyview Ranch. Dad also liked bow hunting. I remember my brother and I had these little plastic bows. I don’t think they had much power. Dad had a compound bow. I don’t recall that I ever shot that. Growing up, the only time Dad was gone from the family was an occasional week or so for a hunting trip or the time he worked overtime to buy us a computer.

            The burn barrel was a place where we would burn papers. It was a fun place to get a nice fire going and poke and swirl around that fire with a stick. When my brother and I were little, I don’t think Dad liked us playing with the burn barrel. As we grew, and he knew we wouldn’t torch ourselves, he loosened up and let us burn the papers. As little boys we loved fire and matches.

            Dad’s hands worked on cars. I’m not sure he always enjoyed it. But, growing up a mechanic’s bill was an expense. So, he did his best to fix things. At times he would become angry at the car and yell at it. I remember one time he was working on the car. He couldn’t figure it out. I don’t remember what part it was, but I recall being in our kitchen-dining room area out at Laura Lane and examining it. He was turning the screw the wrong direction. That’s one way I’m different than Dad and my brother. They immediately put their hands into action. I’ll examine something and think about it first. Dad did various things around the house—plumbing, electrical, painting or whatever. During Dad’s funeral there was a picture on the slide show of Dad helping to paint the interior of Hillwood Chapel. We attended there for a while. The church moved and built a new building. They needed extra hands and Dad was there. I can vaguely recall being in the skeleton of the building as it went up and helping out as well.

            Dad’s hand helped to feed and care for stray animals. There was Spunky, a little painted turtle. I think we found him (may have been a her, we couldn’t lift the shell to check it out) at Nimisila Lake. I’m not sure if Dad was the one who found him. It might have been my brother or me. We took Spunky home and put him in a yellow plastic dish. It was probably about fourteen-sixteen inches in diameter and six inches deep. We put a rock in the middle. Spunky was probably only an inch or two in diameter when we found him, but he grew bigger. He may have been around six inches (or more) before we released him back out in the wild. His tremendous growth was no doubt due to the baloney we fed him. Between that and his “aquarium”, he probably had lost the will to live before we released him. I’m hoping we didn’t free him at Nimisila Lake, but I fear we did. I remember fishing out there and there were snapping turtles. At least I think it was snapping turtles that would eat our fish that we kept on the metal stringers. We would put them on the stringer and keep them in the water, so they would stay fresh. Sometimes, when we pulled them out of the water, they were eaten up.

            Out at Laura Lane, Dad’s hands started feeding Lady. She was a sweet, petite kitty. She was white with various tabby-like patches on her body. We noticed she started hanging around the house. We then discovered Dad was feeding her. No wonder she was hanging around! Lady started to gain weight—quickly, especially around her sides and lower belly. She was pregnant with a load of kittens. We ended up giving away most of the kittens and Lady, but one cat remained—Spike. He was a strange cat, which was probably why no one wanted him. He was both grouchy and loving. Spike resembled his mother only much larger—and longer. Spike was a tall, lanky cat. We think he may have been the kitten that received the least nourishment in the womb before Dad starting feeding Lady. In the slide show at Dad’s funeral was a picture of him holding (almost in a hug) Spike. That was Dad—wrapping his loving hands around a needy animal.

            Two cats saved by Dad live with Mom. There is Gizmo—a grey tabby. Dad found her underneath a rail car at The National Inventor’s Hall of Fame. For some reason, I’m thinking it may have been called Inventure Place at the time. Or, maybe Inventure Place was a part of the Hall of Fame. Gizmo was only about four-and-a-half weeks old when Dad found her. He brought her home and she became Mom’s kitty. Dad was working, but Mom was at home. Mom cared for Gizmo, putting milk on her finger and letting Gizmo lick it off. Often kittens that young don’t make it, but Mom spent the time to nurse Gizmo back to health. We think Gizmo may have bonded with Mom as if Mom was her cat-mother. That cat loves to lay in Mom’s lap and purr. It’s good Mom has that companionship while going through this time of grief. She wouldn’t have that without Dad showing kindness to a stray.

            Mom also has Bootsie—so called for her white feet that almost look like she’s wearing high heels. She is a black and white cat. We think she may have been abused before Dad took her in. She has uneven pupils, her jaw doesn’t sit quite right and she has a weird knot near the bottom of her sternum. Sometimes she lays funny, on her back or side with her back legs sprawled apart. Sometimes she is on her side, but her back legs are twisted so that portion is more on her back. She has a hyperactive tail, even when relaxed and purring. Even though she has her problems, she has the sweetest temperament.

            Dad started feeding her about two years ago. She started hanging around the house. As the weather became colder, Mom and Dad built a fort for her to stay in. They laid blankets over the picnic table in their back yard. They put a box underneath there with padding for her to sleep. They put a candescent bulb to give her heat. So, Mom and Dad had an inside cat (Gizmo) and an outside cat (Bootsie). I mentioned to Mom that when the weather gets cold, Dad is going to take her in the house, which happened. I believe it was around January of 2013.

            At first Bootsie was nervous. She hid upstairs most of the time. Gizmo, who probably only weighs six pounds, was the boss of the house, even though Bootsie is a much larger (and thicker) cat. Over time Bootsie has healed and grown more adventurous. At times she’s the boss of the kitties. At times she demands attention. She is becoming an affectionate lap cat. She will be another companion for Mom.

            I remember for a period of time, Dad was away from home on a working assignment. I was probably in my early to mid-teens at the time. I don’t think he had to take this assignment, but it was an opportunity for overtime. Dad’s hands worked hard in that overtime to buy my brother and me a computer—an Atari 800XL with a five-and-a-half inch floppy drive. I remember we hooked it up to a TV for a monitor. I think Dad was working sixteen-hour days throughout the workweek and also some hours over the weekend. He was probably putting in 80-100 hour per week just to buy that computer. We did have fun with that computer. I don’t know that Dad ever fully understood that thing, but we wanted it and I was interested in computers for school. So, Dad made sure he found a way to buy it for us.

            Throughout the years, Dad’s hands changed. They were always strong, but as he grew older they became less meaty. In the late 1990’s (not sure the date), Dad had a stroke. He recovered quickly. I remember them testing Dad’s hands for grip strength. I think he was around a hundred-and-ten pounds of grip. I’m not exactly sure those grip strength tests were related to the stroke (it could have been for something else at a different time), but I’m pretty sure they were.

            Several years ago, Mom developed an interest in making jewelry. She would buy various beads and string them together. Dad became interested and also started making jewelry. Through the years Dad went through several bouts of depression that affected his health. This loss of vigor, along with age, took away some of his hand strength. But, he always found something to do with hands.

            One hard part of Dad’s cancer was he wasn’t able to do things with his hands like he wanted. Over time he grew weary. He just didn’t have the strength to go outside like he wanted and play around. I think the last tomato plants he had were last summer. I don’t think he had a chance to plant any this year. Cancer took away Dad’s hands.

            My last memory of Dad’s hands was touching them as he lay in the casket. His hands were ice cold. I was overwhelmed with grief at that moment. Through his bout with cancer, Dad became cold, and as he grew weaker, he grew progressively colder. He wore layers and layers of clothes and still couldn’t find warmth. I think the only true warmth dad received was from a mattress-pad heater my mother and I bought for him within the last few weeks of his life.

            In many ways, Dad’s hands were his life. It was one of the main ways he showed his love to me, Lance and Mom. His hands were his outlet for his creativity. He was involved in several patents while working as a lab technician at Goodyear. And, his creativity was evident in the tomato planters and jewelry he made. Dad’s hands represent Dad—a kind, humble, hardworking man. Dad’s hands were love.

A Return of Appetite

            It’s 7:56 p.m. on Friday June 19, 2015 as I start this blog. Right now I’m trying to hold onto every detail of what is happening in life. I know it’s irrational. If I try to record every detail, then my life is about recording instead of living. But, after a loss, I guess thoughts are irrational. I received a nice email from my buddy, Dennis Deegan. He is going to be a great comfort to me during this time. He wants to meet with my brother. I messaged Lance, but haven’t seen if he’s willing. I suspect he will be. Lance may be handling things better than I am.

            Today we picked out dad’s headstone. After flipping through the books to see the choices, and talking to the guy at the funeral home, Lance and mom had come to a fairly quick decision.

            Right now mom and I are talking to Kim Dalton, who was dad’s nurse at Pebblecreek. She called in the middle of my blogging. I’ll discuss what she said in a later blog.

            Anyhow, we talked to Kim for about an hour and now I’m back. So, Lance and mom came to a decision on dad’s stone fairly quickly. It was one I liked as well. It was fortunate that the stone we really liked was one of the least expensive. I would have hated to really love a stone and it was so expensive that we needed to choose something we didn’t like as well. We picked a nice image of Jesus. It looked like he was praying in the garden. Later we’ll receive a penciled image that we’ll sign off on. So, before everything is carved in stone (pardon the pun), there will be a final approval process. The stone should be done sometime this fall.

            As we were back in the arrangement room, there were all the little boxes and urns for people’s ashes. I’m so glad we didn’t have dad cremated. He had mentioned that to mom, but I think it was just dad trying to save a dime. If we had his ashes in an urn, I don’t think we could ever throw them out. Well, maybe mom and Lance could, but I don’t know I could. That urn would be a constant memory of his death. I want to remember his life. I think even the funeral will eventually become a fond memory. There were some funny and touching things that happened. I’ll discuss that in a later post.

            I still have an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. But, today I was able to eat more normally. After the decisions for the stone, Lance, Mom and I went to Hamburger Station. I ate a gyro, fries and then was looking at a cheeseburger from the six-pack mom and Lance had. I mentioned it and mom said to take one. So, I also had a cheeseburger. We all enjoyed the fries. Both my brother and me had a root beer and mom had a diet cola. I remember we went to Hamburger Station with dad. Dad loved hamburgers. We talked about that a little at Hamburger Station. Through his recovery process, the one thing Dad would have liked to eventually eat again was a hamburger. He never did get back to it. I think the closest he came was some soft meat loaf.

            I’m not sure why I’m want to record every detail. I’m going to eventually have to stop doing that. I still can’t stop taking pictures of everything. Later mom and I went out to Hartville, and when we came back I went out to the garage and took pictures of things out in the garage. Many of the things out there remind me of dad. I’m having a hard time letting things go. I know it will pass, but right now it’s hard. I even opened the trunk of mom’s car and took a picture of the Frisbee golf game she bought for dad. He never used it, but I want the memory. Mom was hoping Dad would use it as part of his recovery.

            On the way back from Hamburger Station, Mom and I stopped at the house my brother and I stay at, and I picked up my toothbrush, toothpaste and floss. Lance was there. We parted at Hamburger Station. He drove separately, since he is going to be spending time with his girlfriend, Sarah. So, tonight I will brush my chomper for the first time since Dad’s funeral. It’s funny how one forgets to do these things when recovering from a loss.

            When Mom and I were back at her house, I took a nap. I keep wavering between nervousness and exhaustion. It’s like waves—waves of nerves, waves of peace, waves of happy and waves of sad. Waves of all kinds of emotions keep washing over me.

            At Hamburger Station, mom and I had talked about going out to Hartville. We’ve gone out to the Hartville Kitchen several times the past few weeks. But, I wanted to be adventurous, so we drove farther down the street and found a Lucky Star Chinese restaurant. It was great! I had beef Lo Mein. Mom had beef and broccoli. We remembered the guy behind the counter. I think he’s the owner. I talked to him briefly. He used to work at a Lucky Star in the Shoppes of Green. We used to eat there quite a bit with dad. After that, mom and I got groceries at Giant Eagle and then headed back home. I guess we are starting to move on. I’m still feeling all nervous and disoriented. I don’t feel like I know what to do with myself. I can only think about dad in spurts. Then my life moves on. And then, it’s like it goes back to dad. I guess this is all part of grief.

Some Healing Today

            It’s 9:03 p.m. It’s raining like crazy. My brother just asked about what time that epitaph thing is tomorrow, dealing with the tombstone. He’s referring to our appointment to choose dad’s headstone. Mom is to my right in a tilt-back chair and Lance is to my front and left on the couch. I’m in a tilt-back chair with my laptop. We're at mom's house. 

            Mom is telling Lance about what happened at Hartville Hardware. Mom and I went there and then afterwards the Hartville Kitchen. Mom is currently hugging her cat, Gizmo. Gizmo hates the storms.

            The Hartville Hardware is huge. They have a house inside the store. And, what is set up like a little village. We ended up in the basement of the Hardware store due to a tornado warning. The sirens were blaring so loudly that mom and I stuffed pieces of napkins mom had into our ears. Water was running in through a set of doors and a guy was moving the water out with a big squeegee.

            The trip home was hectic. There were tons of branches and trees lying in the road and I was watching mom’s GPS trying to help her reroute. We also drove through some deep water.

            Today we’ve been running around and getting on with our lives. Mom just started to tell my brother about our trip out to the mall earlier today. I wanted to go out to Best Buy and get a digital voice recorder to help me record dad’s memoirs. Last night I found myself getting up and needing to turn on a light and write things down. I think the voice recorder will be easier—a way to make notes and then get back to sleep more quickly with less hassle. I also bought a charger and rechargeable batteries.

            Since Best Buy was near the mall, mom and I went out to Chapel Hill Mall. Mom wanted to shop for shoes. She found a nice pair—black leather. She is talking about them right now. She says they are quite vogue. They had about an inch-and-a-half to two-inch heel. At the mall mom explained that helped in the winter to keep the bottom of her pants out of the snow.

            We also walked around the mall. It helped to get rid of that little sick feeling in the stomach. I think it helped burn off some nervous energy. Mom made a “find”. Mom likes to look for coins on the ground and also check vending machines for change. She found two quarters in the return of one vending machine. She mentioned she asked God to let her find some money if dad was in heaven. She said she knows you shouldn’t bargain with God. I said she was given a double-assurance (because of the two quarters). I also mentioned maybe one coin was for dad and one was for Uncle Ted. She talked a little bit about how her and dad loved looking for coins. It was a hobby of theirs. I did feel some relief when out at the mall with mom. It’s like a weight has lifted.

            We did talk about dad today, but it was on and off. For me, I could talk a little while and then I needed to quit talking or talk about something else. Dad was consistently on our minds today, but yet he wasn’t the focus of the day. I feel a little better today. I think being with others help. I suspect when the Bible talks about God’s indwelling Spirit, it may have more to do with God indwelling his people corporately than each person. I don’t think I can deny that he is with individuals, but I think his presence is so much stronger corporately. Anyhow, I’ll have to deal with those issues in another post. I did make some notes about things I’d like to write about in more detail about dad. I think I’m going to have to process things in waves. I can’t handle it all at once and I can’t consistently focus on it. Tomorrow may be hard as I’ll being going to mom for a doctor’s appointment. With all the stress she’s been through, her doctor wants to make sure she’s okay. Mom says I don’t need to go with her. Maybe if I’m having a rough time, I won’t. But, I’d like to. The doctor’s appointment may not be hard, but dad’s doctor, Dr. Nemer, really loved dad and according to mom was really shocked by his loss. So, there may be some reminiscing about dad. What may really be hard is dealing with dad’s headstone—although, maybe it won’t be that bad. The thing about grief is it’s unpredictable. Some things you handle much more easily than you thought. Other things unexpectantly hit your soul like a brick.

            At 1:00 p.m. we have an appointment at Newcomers Funeral Home to deal with dad’s headstone. I mentioned to mom whether she’ll want to decide what she wants on her stone as well. I’m not sure the exact discussion, but I think she just wants to deal with that tomorrow. Actually, I think they may have one stone, since their graves will be side by side. 

            Lance was over at mom’s house in the afternoon. He left a little after 4:00 p.m. Obviously, he came back over sometime while mom and I were in Hartville. I went over to the Kenmore Branch library to picture up some books after he moved his car, which was blocking me in. I wasn’t sure if the library closed early today—sometimes they close at 5:00 p.m. I received a message that material had come in. When there, I found I had some items sent to the Goodyear and also Firestone Park branches. I wanted everything sent out to Kenmore branch and the worker at the library put that in. It shows how scattered my brain is. Of course, I may have ordered the Firestone Park material some time ago. Sometimes I’ll put in a request for material and it takes a long time for it to arrive. I remember when I recently checked my library account that I stilled had the movie Birdman on order. There must be a long backlog of reserves for that movie. Funny thing is that I’ve already watched it. It happened to be there one day when I was at the Firestone branch. For some reason that wasn’t the one I had on reserve, but I could take it out and so I did. Apparently I hadn’t cancelled the one I had on reserve. Okay, I’m getting off track. Maybe that’s part of the grieving process. My brain has been spinning. And, I keep fighting this sinking feeling in my gut.

            Mom just said, “I love you boys.” Right now a commercial for Newcomers Funeral Home came on the TV. I hope they don’t run this commercial too often! I don’t want to be constantly reminded of the funeral home that handled dad’s services.

            Later we may watch “Too Cute”. Mom just brought it up about a minute ago. It will be something good to focus our mind on.

            Part of the reason I feel better is last evening and also today I’ve been able to get some genuine sleep. It’s been on and off, but I have been finding moments of peace.

            Mom and I talked that the three of us (my brother, Lance, me and mom) will grow closer through this. I do think I’ll get to the point where I’ve completely made it through the grieving process. I think I’ll be a better man. I noticed today that I just felt more kindness to people. Today I’m still taking pictures of everything. I took some pictures around mom and dad’s house. I took some pictures of dad’s tomato planters and his riding lawn mower. I even took some pictures of the stains dad left on his bedroom floor before mom cleans it up. She’s already cleaned up some of his messes. I don’t won’t to forget how much pain he suffered. It sounds weird, but I never want to think that dad was a weakling for wanting to die. I want to remember the struggle, so I can recall how tough he was. As I mentioned this to mom, she said dad’s toughness came from her. I would agree with that, but I told her that toughness also had to come from within. She agreed.

            We didn’t go into deep detail of anything with dad. Mom mentioned maybe we’ll need to make a trip down to Amish country. I remembered vaguely we went there with dad. Lance mentioned that he is aware of dad’s energy in the house. He is into ghost hunting. He said it isn’t always the person, but sometimes a person leaves an energy behind, particularly where that person spent a lot of time. I don’t know about that.

            Lance just asked mom for the pillow on dad’s bed. He said he might as well use it. He says he won’t get sad about dad’s pillow. “Dad would want us to”, Lance said, as he talked about using dad pillows.

            Mom is talking about how dad loved us so much. With everything Lance went through, mom said dad didn’t feel condemnation, but wanted Lance to be as he is today. Lance celebrated a year of sobriety this last Sunday.

            Today mom and I talked a little bit about New York City. We have both been there and we both find it fascinating. We talked about maybe going out there with Lance. We are starting to make new memories.

            Mom is now talking about throwing out some of dad’s clothes. Lance and I say it’s okay. I just don’t want anything thrown out if it was something that had special meaning. Today mom and I talked about a purple suit she made for dad. She put a lot of love into making that. Her love was in every stitch. This is something we want to keep, because she made it specifically for him. She said she thought about burying him in it, but we both agreed it wouldn’t have been good. The suit had a disco-vibe that was cool twenty or thirty years ago. Had we buried him in it, it would have looked like we just put the oldest thing in his closet on him.

            On the way back from Hartville Kitchen, mom noticed a restaurant she had never seen before. It was in the plaza across from the McDonalds on Arlington Road near I-77. Mom said it looked like the restaurant was closed. I said it may be a restaurant that hasn’t opened yet. She had this weird feeling. She said she’s missed the last nineteen month in that house (referring to her and dad’s home on Evergreen). She described it as a weird feeling. I said that it was like the world was changing around her while she was standing still. She agreed with that assessment. It’s weird, because I was noticing things like that restaurant and the newer lighting in the McDonalds. Things just keeping moving and changing, but mom (and also me to a certain extent) weren’t aware of changes—and then, all of a sudden you start noticing things. For me, it shows how short life is. That’s one of the difficult things about dealing with loss. You need to deal with your own mortality.

            Mom just mentioned the restaurant “Tommy’s” or “Tammy’s” (* as I’m editing, let me clarify this was the restaurant mentioned in the previous paragraph that mom originally thought had been closed). She asked Lance if it was a new thing. Lance didn’t know. Right now I’m writing while I’m with Lance and Mom. So, as they bring stuff up, I’m just incorporating it into this post.

            Right now Dirty Jobs is on the TV. Lance is playing on his phone. Mom is comforting Gizzy (her cat Gizmo) who hates storms. She said, “Gizzy, it’s okay.” Gizmo went out to the kitchen. Bootsie is lying on the floor. She looks pretty relaxed. I think I’m going to end this post and do some editing and proofreading. The internet is out, so I probably won’t get it published until tomorrow. I also think I’m going to have to spend less time editing and proofreading these post in order to expedite getting these thoughts down. So, if you’re a Grammar Nazi like me, you’ll have to forgive my little errors.

Random Thoughts

            Right Now I’m sitting in a tilt-back chair. Mom is to my right. In their (her and dad’s) living room are matching burgundy chairs. It’s really weird that I keep wanting to use present tense when talking about dad. The Grammar Nazi side of me wants to keep going back and changing that. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe flipping verb tenses is fine in this situation. It shows where my mind is.

            I’m working on a poem to help share my thoughts and honor dad the day I buried him. My brain started working on that poem the day before his burial. However, I just didn’t have the time or energy to complete it. If I had, I would have probably had pastor share it at his service. But, I had to just choose something else I had written and save that writing for later. I worked quite a bit on the final words pastor would read and went back and forth between two pieces—one based on my blog post, ALL GOD’S LOVE, and another based on my blog post, The Fragility of Memory. I eventually felt the latter one was more personal. Mom liked both.

            Yesterday, after all the hustle and bustle of today, is the first I’ve really gotten some peaceful sleep. I may have to write a little and sleep on and off as I go through the process. I mentioned in a previous post my struggles with organized religion. It may be helpful in this post to somewhat summarize them. Dad’s death is both pushing me back to a faith that began in childhood and is forcing me to also evaluate it. I don’t think I’m losing my faith. I think I’m figuring through what it really means as well as what the Ekklesia means. Later I think I’ll have to expand these threads. Right now, in the middle of the post, I think I’m going to try and get some more sleep and continue later.

            Writing through this is a weird process. I’m thinking about dad, but yet I’m also focused on the writing process. It’s almost both a way to remember and a way to provide my mind a needed distraction. Anyhow, I said I was going to try and get some more sleep. So, nighty night post.

            It’s 9:01 a.m. now. I was able to get some deep sleep. I did change positions a few times (between the tilt-back chair and mom's couch) and also left a few notes to remind myself of things to work through with dad. I think I’m going to need to buy a voice recorder so when thoughts come in the night, I don’t have to turn on a light or my computer and write something down.

            I did have moments where I could hear dad, mom and my brother talking throughout the night—just floating images in my mind. Some of the words weren’t even words they were saying or would say. I think my mind was just putting words and sometimes my thoughts into their mouth. I can't really remember those words.

            Let me sharing some of the things I wrote down on a notepad I was keeping by my side. Mom gave it to me a few days ago as I asked if she had a notepad and she is also going to jot down notes we will talk about as I put together memoirs. These little notes are things I will be talking about in future posts:

Kissing dads forehead of his cadaver

The way he felt

wrinkly skin on his hands

Something on dad’s hands

Remembering dad’s sickness/health problems doesn’t diminish him. Shows his strength through how he connected strongly with others even when he wasn’t his best * < this is a post that will deserve some attention

If I can get the clothes dad was found in from the funeral home, I think I will to help jog memories

            On the note on dad’s sickness, I did put an asterisk and an arrow connecting the comment about that post deserving some attention. I have been thinking and will need to share some of the deep struggles dad faced. I don’t think he would have wanted me to share those with others while he was alive. It would have embarrassed him. But, I need to work through them. And, I think sharing these things will help others. In the long run, if dad knew sharing these hard memories could help others (particularly his sons), he would have reluctantly given permission to share and then as it brought healing he would have been so glad he did. Before going through and editing this post, I talked to mom briefly about this idea. She said that she had told dad that when he got better he was going to share his story and it would help others. Then I said something to the effect that dad is well now and his story will go on through me telling it.

            It is amazing how much dad impacted others even while he was sick. One of his nurses, Kim Dalton, just adored dad. He was also adored by Joe and Ben who helped him with hyperbaric treatment. He had two speech therapists, Sarah (at Pebble Creek) and Jessica (later when dad was home), who connected with dad—especially Jessica. According to mom, she took it pretty hard when she heard of dad’s loss. Mom said Jessica said she had learned so much from dad. Yes, she had learned from him! For me, knowing how much dad touched others, even the sick dad who wasn’t at his best, is testament to his heart. Even in his sickness, he brightened other people’s lives.

            I know my thoughts in these posts are somewhat disjointed at points and I may start ideas and not complete them. So, I think I’m going to end this post now. I need to go back and edit and proofread and then I’ll post. I’m going to have to grieve in waves and will share what I want when I want to deal with it.

Trying to Hold onto Every Moment

            Today I buried my father. I have this feeling that I want to hold onto everything. I just asked mom if we can get dad’s medical records. As I’m putting together his memories, I want everything. What I really want is a giant record of every moment of his life. I know it’s impossible and irrational, but it’s what I want.

            I set up two video camcorders to record people coming in for calling hours and also record the service. I want memories of everything. I tried to record audio on all discussions on my phone, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t want to let go of anything. I’m probably going to become that person that takes pictures of everything, just so this doesn’t happen again. As the video slide show of dad’s life rolled, I didn’t see any pictures of our trips to Cedar Point. That’s a great memory and I don’t know if we have any images to record it. I may have to reconcile with just putting the memories in writing.

            When no one was looking, I was curious if dad’s mouth would open. It wouldn’t. I didn’t pry. I didn’t want to do anything that would spoil the way his body looked. I never really got a good look into his mouth to see the hole in his palate. I know it’s morbid, but I’m curious. It’s not a happy thought, but it’s a detail I don’t have. Right now, I want every detail of his life. Today I was taking pictures of everything—the rooms of my parents’ home, outside around their house, their cats, family members, our limo driver, Dwight Ellis (who I had a brief talk with. He was from Thomas Limousine, so I think we worked together for a short time), the limo and the flowers. I pretty much got everything but pictures of everyone that came to calling hours. I’m hoping that came through on the video I recorded. I just couldn’t talk to people and snap pictures. I did get a few, but not everyone. I don’t want to let go of anything. It’s irrational, but it’s where I’m at.

            I cried harder and more frequently than anyone. Funny, because I’m supposed to be the strong one. When we first went in and saw dad before everyone arrived, I cried seeing his body. Of course, cries came with hugs and then telling people, “I’m okay”. I think that’s a lie. I’m not okay. I’m an open wound.

            One of the biggest cries came when I touched dad’s hands. He was ice cold—probably just room temperature, but he felt like ice. As dad went through treatment with cancer, he got to the point where he was always cold. According to mom, he was cold through the whole thing. I remember him being cold as he went through hyperbaric treatment. Mom thinks the coldness began after the surgery. And then, according to her, he got colder and colder. Dad’s cold hands were too much for me to bear.

            I remember mom and I got dad an early birthday/Father’s Day gift. Both mom and I agree that we ordered dad his gift on Tuesday, June 2^nd and it arrived Thursday, June 4^th. I think it cost around $90 and was over a $100 with shipping. I threw in half--$45 and mom covered the other half and shipping. I usually don’t have much money in my wallet, but had $50 from a third place finish in a comedy competition out at Slim and Jumbos in Garrettsville, Ohio on May 16^th, 2015. I somewhat wish dad would have been able to see more of my comedy performances. And, I kinda of wished I had taken up hunting. I don’t like it, but dad loved it. I know dad and I couldn’t share every moment of our lives together, but I kinda wish it would have been more. I think this loss is going to change how I approach life. I kinda wish I would have just paid a little extra to have Amazon one-day delivery on the gift. It was a heated mattress pad. I just asked mom if he had it soon enough for Thursday when he went to bed. Mom said he did. That helped him sleep warm. He actually became too warm and had to turn it down. I’m so glad we ordered it and didn’t make him wait until his birthday or Father’s Day. His birthday was June 23^rd. Father’s Day this year is the 21^st. I just found myself correcting the previous sentence from “is” to “was”. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. We ordered the heated mattress pad in between appointments at his prosthodontist. It wasn’t a surprise gift to dad. It came up in discussion between dad’s morning and afternoon Prosthodontist’s appointments. He had a 10:00 a.m. appointment and then one later in the afternoon—I think originally scheduled for 2:00 and then changed to 1:30 p.m. In between appointments we went to Red Robin. We ended up in a private booth where mom could tube feed dad. I think we started at a table, but then moved. On our appointments the following week, dad wanted to again go to Red Robin. There was something he liked about it. I think the environment was a little dark and secluded and he was self-conscious. I think he may have felt his surgery left him deformed. It hadn’t. His left check was slightly sucked in, but hardly noticeable. He also had a hardly noticeable scar that went around the left side of his nose and down the little indent on the top of the lip. It was more noticeable after surgery, but it eventually healed to the point where someone would have to look closely to even see it. He also had some mild lines on the left side of his neck where some lymph nodes were removed.

            Because of the surgery, dad couldn’t talk well. He was receiving therapy to recover his speech. At times I understood what he said. At times his speech was garbled. At times we sometimes shaked our heads, pretending to know what he said. Or, dad would just give up trying to explain. He also drooled some. The little stains he left around the house drove mom crazy. She wasn’t mad at him. It was just the situation. At times he lost pills out of the corner of his mouth. I remember finding one in my car. I don’t remember when. It may have been an Ativan. Mom told me over the past few days that she found quite a few pills in his room when she cleaned it up. I think she cleaned it up Sunday or Monday. She couldn’t stand the smell. His room smelled like vinegar. This was due to the cold. He wouldn’t let mom give him a bath. He was often both cold, but also sweating. His body was just all out of whack. I noticed the smell particularly this past trip to the prosthodontist. Mom gave him great care. He was just so cold, he wouldn’t let mom bathe him. In a future blog, I’m going to have to discuss the smells that cancers leave. Maybe it will help others understand.

            Mom told me today she was giving dad enemas. I would have quessed maybe she had given him one, but apparently he had quite a few more as well as some accidents. I think mom somewhat protected me and my brother from all the details of the illness. I’m not sure if this was good or not. Dad probably wouldn’t have had us worrying. But, mom needed the help.

            Often when I would help out mom and dad or drive dad to an appointment, mom would treat me to a meal. I have mixed emotions about that. I guess I feel a little guilty, because at times I found myself hoping dad would go to bed early so I could have time with mom. It was like our little date—a vacation away from the situation with dad. At times we would talk about him. Never in a mean way, but we were both frustrated. I guess we had to blow off steam. For a while, I think dad was jealous of mom and me’s little “dates”. But, he later accepted it and then started telling mom to make sure to take me out to eat. I think he started to accept the closeness between mom and I as helpful for mom and he loved mom with all his heart. He also wanted to die and was fully convinced throughout the whole ordeal that he was going to die. I think both his desire to die and his conviction he was going to die came in waves depending on his pain and also the weakness he was feeling. He talked often about being weak, tired, or cold. By often, I don’t mean incessantly. At least to me, he wasn’t constantly talking about it. But, it was a continuous thread of thought that came out. I think this caused a level of frustration between dad and the family. I say frustration, because there was constant love and I don’t think it was grounded in anger. I think at times I may have felt something similar to anger, but it just felt similar. I don’t think I was angry at dad. I may have been the kindest person in his life. Although, my brother Lance is also kind. It’s a trait dad had and a trait my brother and I have to carry on. Mom was more frustrated with the situation, but she had to deal with it 24/7/365.

            As dad was going through radiation treatment, which I think started around November of 2013, just shortly after surgery, he became weaker and weaker. I think it was later in February of 2014 that dad developed cellulitis in his face. If I recall correctly, it was shortly thereafter that he was put in the nursing home out at Pebble Creek. I’ll have to talk with mom to get all these details correct. I think after that point, he started to go downhill and lost his will to live. I believe in June of 2014 he came home from Pebble Creek. He did seem to gain some strength, particularly as he was able to go for walks with mom out at Lake Anna in Barberton, Ohio. I went over there for a few of those walks. He was also receiving therapy and was getting stronger. I think he regained a little will to live, but I don’t think he ever fully believed he was going to make it. With all the pain he was in, that’s understandable. I think later I’m going to have to talk to mom and record all the random hospital visits and the medications he was on. I think it might give me some comfort. In the future, if I don't record these memories, I might think dad was being a big baby for not wanting to live. He wasn’t. He was in great pain. I want to record the pain, so I can appreciate how much of a fighter dad was. He was tough to go through everything he did and keep on fighting. There was a noble strength there to face everything he went through as he did. I think my brother appreciated dad’s willingness to fight more than I did, so I may need to talk to Lance.

            I think it was in the Fall of 2014 that dad took a spill. He was feeling stronger and went out for a walk. He went too far and ended up falling and cutting open his head. Mom noticed he was gone for too long and went around the neighborhood in the car to find him. I remember receiving the call that dad was again in the hospital. I think I’ll save a description of that sinking feeling when I received “the call”, which happened on several occasions, for a future post.

            I remember dad going to Akron City Hospital. His head was pretty cut up. Just yesterday I was looking on my cellphone of the stages of grief. One of those stages is anger. I’m not sure if I was looking this up to or from Hartville Kitchen or maybe both. Mom and I had a dinner and we were talking about and looking forward to the Cavs game. Yes, we watched and enjoyed the game together. We also talked about everything with dad, but the Cavs game was an escape from our grief. When I think about some of the treatment dad received, there is some anger. The medical system can be brutal. I think I’ll have to have a future post about the anger. I’m not just angry at dad’s care, but angry as I think about how our elderly are cared for. I talked to my friend Kevin a few days ago who also shared similar concerns. He called me around 10:44 (according to my call long) p.m. on June 13^th. He was returning a call I made at 11:24 a.m. on the same day. He shared some of the struggles he’s going through with his parents’ failing health.

            When dad was at the hospital, they asked about a Do Not Resuscitate order. We had been asked that before during another one of those terrible calls. I’ll talk about those terrible calls in future blogs. On this particular occasion, it didn’t fully hit me at the moment. The family (as I recall both mom and my brother were there) were handling the immediacy of the situation. He went through a battery of tests. They checked him for everything from concussion to a broken neck. Eventually they treated him by stapling the wound. He wasn’t in the hospital long. I’m not sure, but I think we may have brought him home the next day or it may have been a stay of a couple days. So, we had an opportunity to get away from the situation for a short time while the hospital staff cared for him. I remember it hit me. Why were they asking about a Do Not Resuscitate for what amounted to a bump on the head? It just wasn’t appropriate to the situation. I later mentioned it to mom and she agreed. She remembered dealing with her mom’s deteriorating health and there was the eventual point where they were dealing with not resuscitating. But, in grandma’s case, the situation was appropriate for it. For this particular hospital stint, it just wasn’t appropriate. We talked about how things had changed in recent years and not for the best. 

            Kevin, a good friend that I met at Cedarville, said his mom had something similar happen. We talked a little bit how the so called “death panels” may in fact be a reality. I think we’re both a little angry at the care loved ones have received. When I say this, I don’t take anything away from all the wonderful caretakers dad had. But, the system is corrupt.

            One of the things I’m struggling with is my mortality. I’m 45 and still single. I want a wife and kids. I want to know if I’m ever in the situations that dad was in, that someone will be there to care for me. I’m praying that God will give me a wife and kids. There may be a few things I’ll have to deal with in a personal blog. I really want a more personal encounter with God—to know for sure he is real. I believe he is, but I want something more powerful than what I’ve experienced. I did experience a peace during dad’s service, particularly when pastor was giving the message. I do think this was God’s Spirit, which is real. But, my brain and emotions right now are shaken.

            Last night I requested some information online from Denver Seminary. I think all these situations are pushing me back towards God. I’ll have to share in more detail in later blogs why I’m thinking of Denver. I’m already dealing with that through another blog I’m writing, but it hasn’t been published. So, eventually you may get to hear the tale. Over the past few years I’ve lost my confidence in church—or, it may be more accurate to say the institutional version of church. I have already completed most of an M.Div degree. However, if I go back for training, this time will be different. I will be less inclined to believe what I’m being taught. I really want to get a hold on God and start shaking through my whole belief system and see what remains as true and what is man-made traditions and rituals that man has added. As I go through this, I may need to reconnect with my religious roots. I’ve already contacted Rabbi Eric through email at the Messianic Synagogue I used to attend and left. I thought there might be bad blood (my fault for not handling things well), but from his email, I don’t think there is. I think he and Tikvat Yisrael may play a part in helping me through the grieving process. I also think my friends at Real Life, the singles group (probably 30’s-50’s, but most 40’s) I used to be really active in will help. Real Life is part of the Chapel, which started in Akron. I may also need to connect with Pastor Glenn and Temple Baptist Church. This is my mom’s home church, but I attended there for many years, sang in the choir, preached and taught various classes. I may need to connect around the fringe at several religious groups to help me figure things out. I may even go out to Faith Family Church in Canton. I have had some involvement with a writer’s group out there. I think I’ll have to figure out all these details in a future blog. One of the things I’ve done in the past is to connect and then become committed to one congregation. I don’t think I can do that. It won’t be enough. I’ll deal with my issues with organized religion in other post. However, I do love Christian people and do need Christian fellowship. As I was sitting through dad’s service, it gave me comfort that Christianity is real. I could feel it in the love around me. I also want to work through my faith and make sure I’m right with God. I believe I am, but I want to be sure. For the remainder of my life, I’m going to have to find God in a more powerful way in my life.

            Anyhow, this blog is getting pretty long. So, I’m going to have to start editing and proofreading and then publish it. I’ve worked through enough for the moment. I just have to write, because it brings me some comfort. I’m starting to feel a little better about things.