Category: Uncategorized

“T” is for Twenty-Second

March 24th, 2023

My father passed away March 22, 2023. He and his mother were both born and both died in the month of March. March will be a hard month for the rest of my life.

Turns out I was right that Sunday we were in the “days/hours” category instead of the “one to two weeks” category.

My Godfather’s sixtieth birthday was March 21^st. I texted him after my father passed and told him I’m so glad my father didn’t pass on his birthday.

Wednesday, I got to my parents’ house around 8:45pm. My father’s oldest brother was there. He left shortly after I arrived. The plan was for my brother to leave when I got there and then I would take the night shift with my father. I had cleared my schedule to be off on Thursday, so I could stay during the day as well. After my uncle left, my brother stuck around to watch the slideshow with my mother and me. It’s forty minutes long. For whatever reason my brother decided to hang around and visit with us after the slideshow. At 10:40pm my mother walked over to the hospital bed to check on my father again before she went to bed. She looked back at me and said, “I don’t think he’s alive.” We spent a couple minutes trying to check for a pulse.

I had been warned that seeing the death was agonizing. I was told everyone either poops or pukes. For my father though, he just passed silently without any fuss while my brother, my mother, and I were all visiting, no pooping or puking. I think my brother was telling us what he was learning about drug cartels on tik tok. Lovely last conversation for my father to hear. My mother was there when her father passed and she said his death was agonizing: huge painful gasps until the end. I think my mother felt bad that she wasn’t holding my father’s hand at the end, but he passed so silently and peacefully there was no warning. My mother told me afterwards she had told my father it was ok to go shortly before he passed. In the moment, my mother and brother were both saying they weren’t ready to stop caring for him yet.

I had really mixed feelings. He hadn’t been awake since Monday and that’s no way to live. I was relieved his suffering was over, but thinking about the fact that it’s really over was tough. I don’t remember crying a lot that night, though I’m sure tears were shed. We talked about what kind of greeting he must be receiving from all his loved ones in heaven. That made me cry.

My mother got on the phone with hospice right away. My parents live out in the country, so it took the hospice nurse about an hour to get out there. Once she was there, she checked for a pulse, so the time of death was recorded as 11:50pm. She then called the funeral home or whoever contracts to transfer the bodies (I’m not entirely sure how that process works). They got there about an hour after that. While we were waiting on them, we helped the hospice nurse destroy all the narcotics. I assumed they would just take the drugs back, especially the ones that were unopened, but I guess they have to destroy them all. She had this bag of kitty litter that she put some water in and we had to dump all the narcotics in there. Then she throws away that bag. She told us no family had ever helped her do that before. That seemed odd to us. We all felt like we wanted to be doing something; not just sitting there staring at my father’s dead body.

When the people who collect the body got there, the hospice nurse said sometimes families don’t want to watch the transfer. My mother and brother opted to go to the kitchen and not watch. I stayed and watched. Because the nurse had said that, I was expecting something grotesque, but it wasn’t that bad really. They had a sort of transfer blanket they used to move him from the hospital bed onto the stretcher. They didn’t have to bend him or break anything or flip him over, which was what I was curious about since the nurse said its hard to watch. Then they covered him up and took him out.

My brother left shortly after all of that, probably around 2:00am. I told my mother I still wanted to stay. I told her I had a better chance of sleeping in at her house than my own. I had posted on Facebook, “Now the next journey begins” and shared a picture of my parents a few weeks ago on the deck in front of the sunset. I posted it prior to midnight because I wanted it to show up on my Facebook “Memories” on the day he passed. Prior to the Facebook post I had texted a few people to let them know he was gone. My mother was also texting a few people. Initially she seemed a little overwhelmed at the thought of texting all the siblings, so I said I would do it. A little while later I think she had reached the point she wanted to talk about it, so she was texting with several people. Between the texting and Facebook interactions I didn’t go to sleep until after 3:00am. I actually fell asleep with my phone in my hand trying to pray the night time prayer from the 22^nd (I’ve been trying to do the liturgy of the hours for Lent).

I had every intention of sleeping in, but I woke at 7:00am kind of startled. I don’t know why I felt startled, but I did. My stomach was really upset (stress, I’m sure), so I spent several minutes in the bathroom. Then I reached out to the church, and they asked me to come in at 9:30am. I peaked in on my mother, but she was still sleeping so I decided to go to the church by myself and handle as much as I could without her input. That all went well. I saw the priest briefly and he told me how he thought my father’s anointing was so special because of the way my father woke up to receive the Eucharist. Then, I sat down with our church secretary and started going through the details.

I went back to my parents’ house after that. My mother was up by then. She told me she’d scheduled our appointment to meet with the funeral home. We worked on rearranging her furniture and cleaning her house up a bit until it was time to leave. She had friends coming to stay the night, so she wanted the house to be arranged such that they weren’t sitting, staring at the hospital bed all night.

The meeting with the funeral home took an hour and a half, but it went well I think. My brother was invited, but his wife had plans so he stayed with his kids and just my mother and I went to the funeral home. We are expecting a ton of people at the visitation and I don’t see any way that funeral home parking lot can accommodate that, but other than that it seems fine. It was interesting while we were there how anytime we had to pick things, my mother and I picked the same things independently of each other. He loved deer, so his program/guestbook/thank-you card package has deer on it. We picked the same stain glass box for his ashes independently, and we both liked the same proverb for the programs. Because it took so long at the funeral home, my mother’s friends beat us to her house and were drinking wine on her front porch when we got there.

I had planned to go back home after the funeral home meeting, but my mother’s friends asked me to stay for a toast and sitting on the porch listening to the rain felt so therapeutic that I told my husband I was going to stay another night with my mother.

There were so many coincidences on the 23rd that really made us think of my father. My mother’s sister-in-law calls seemingly meaningful coincidences “God winks” and I really like that. A sister of one of my father’s friends from law school, who I connected with about a year ago, had been reaching out a lot lately because her father also died young from pancreatic cancer. She sent me a message at 2:00am, which I somehow missed before passing out, saying she just woke up and was thinking about me and thought she would check in. Then she sent me another message shortly after saying she just saw my Facebook post. It felt really neat that she felt called to me when I was definitely suffering through it all. When I left to go to the church, I saw a turkey crossing the road my parents live on. When my mother and I left for the funeral home, we saw a couple deer on her road and when we came back from the funeral home there were more deer (maybe the same ones) on her road. My father had spent years turning his land into his own wildlife preserve of sorts. The storms seemed very fitting for our first day without my father. We sat outside on the porch and took in the rain, thunder, lighting, hail and wind until it was too cold to be comfortable. One of my mother’s friends said the rain was tears of joy from those in heaven who were happy to see my father again.

Then, we came in and watched the slideshow together. I cried during parts because looking at his smiling face and realizing I won’t see it again in this world really got to me. My mother’s friends and I shared many memories (good and bad) of my father. One of my mother’s friends has a child who is homosexual, which is still at least somewhat unacceptable in the Bible belt area we live in. She told me when my father found out he told her, “If my child was gay I would fight like hell to make sure they had every human right just like everyone else.” That really meant a lot to her. I won’t mention that specifically, but I plan to talk about how loving he was during my speech at the funeral. He was not prejudicial toward anyone on any basis. The only way to get on his bad side was to treat him or someone he cared about badly. There were countless other stories shared and it felt so nice to be there with my mother and her friends. We were drinking, but I switched back to water for the last several hours so I don’t feel hung over today. We stayed up past midnight though and I woke up before 6:00am, so I still feel so exhausted.

Wednesday, I told several people I will sleep once Dad’s gone: “I know it won’t be long, so I’ll catch up on sleep after he’s gone.” So far, I haven’t done that. I plan to nap today. Tonight the youth group has a lock-in at our church that my daughter and I will be going to, so catching up on sleep won’t happen tonight either.

So many people have been so kind to us through all of this and said the sweetest things. Their kindness has been bringing tears to my eyes. I feel like I’m still compartmentalizing the grief though and trying to stay in business mode to get all the funeral stuff taken care of. I had already planned to be off the 23^rd and the other attorneys involved in my trial set for the 24^th called my office yesterday and said they would continue it. I told the office I would work next week, but I wanted the Monday after the funeral off. I have court, but other than those appearances, I intend to stay home. I think I’m distracting myself with the tasks and once we’re past the funeral it will hit me like a ton of bricks that he’s really gone and its really over.

My mother said basically the same thing. She said her goal for the funeral and visitation is to keep her eyes dry and remember people’s names. She said she will be compartmentalizing to keep things together. I’m sure I will have to do that as well. I want to get through my speech without crying and I’d rather not be a blubbering mess at the visitation. We talked about using one of my dad’s friends to help pull people away from my mother so that the visitation line can keep moving. The visitation will be four hours. My mother’s sister offered to get food together for the family who is staying the whole time. We’re anticipating there will be 50-60 people who stay the whole time because my father is so blessed with such a loving family and close friends.

We’re still trying to figure out what can be done about the dinner after the funeral. We can’t use our church because its Palm Sunday and we are having some difficulty coming up with another place that can hold 150 people. I told my mother yesterday it’s like planning a wedding, but I know my father would have wanted a party.
“T” is for Two Weeks

March 21st, 2023

Sunday morning my mother was reading through the hospice book and said she thought we were in the “one to two weeks” period, based on the factors mentioned in the book. I wondered if we were in the “days/hours” period when I read it.

Mother and I were pragmatic and relatively unemotional Saturday, but Sunday was a different story. We were both crying Sunday morning listening to the voicemails I had on my phone from my father. She had asked my father to leave her a sweet voice message that she could keep forever, but he never got around to it. She played me a voicemail she had on her phone from her father who died three years ago. It was great to hear his voice again. The voicemail that had us both sobbing was the one where my father had called me when I left while he was in the bathtub because I knew he wasn’t feeling good. He was crying, apologizing for not spending more time with me and telling me he loved me.

Shortly after we pulled ourselves together from that, a friend of my father’s from high school showed up with his wife. My father’s friend started crying as soon as he saw the hospital bed. I played them the rough draft I had put together of the slideshow. The sound wasn’t working, which was annoying, but they still seemed to enjoy looking at the pictures. There were a couple pictures of my father with this friend from back when they were in high school. He seemed really excited to see those.

My father’s brother came over shortly after that. Once he was there I headed home for a bit. I ordered a new MacBook to pick up from Best Buy because I was getting too stressed out at my old MacBook and the slideshow is too important to me to risk it all getting messed up by old technology. My daughter had planned to go back to my parents’ house with me for the anointing of the sick, but when I was explaining to my eight-year-old why I didn’t want him to go my daughter changed her mind and said she didn’t want to see Grandpa like that either.

So, I went to pick up my MacBook and then headed back to my parents’ house by myself. My step-grandmother and uncle were both there. My aunt showed up shortly after me and then a couple my parents are close with showed up as well. My step-grandmother then headed home, but my aunt and uncle and the other couple stayed to wait for the priest. My parents’ friends knew this priest personally from when he was at another parish, so I’m glad they were there.

While my father had been able to construct sentences on Saturday, by Sunday he couldn’t talk much. He said “Love you” and “Thank you” a lot, but that was about it. The anointing was very beautiful and I’m so glad we had people there to pray over my father with us. My father thanked the priest afterwards and when the priest heard that he offered my father the Eucharist (I had said I wasn’t sure my father would be able to receive the Eucharist, so I think the priest was surprised when my father appeared to be at least semi-conscious). My father said, “Sure. That’d be fine,” which, again, is a huge deal because he hadn’t really been able to speak much that day. So, my father was given a small piece of the host. We were all very happy about that. I was crying. All I had really hoped for was that trip to Hot Springs and that he would receive the anointing of the sick. I got both of those things. After the anointing I told my father I loved him and he was able to look at me and say, “Love you.”

As the priest was leaving, one of my father’s friends showed up. He shared with me a link to the shirts he had made in my father’s memory. That kind gesture of him putting all that together really means a lot to me. My older sons and I have ordered hoodies that he designed with a picture of my father. This friend is probably closer to my age than my father’s age. His father passed away a few months ago. He had lots of kind words and told me how kind my father was to him and how my father had him laughing at his father’s funeral, which meant a lot to him.

My brother showed up a little after that and my father’s eldest brother came down as well. It was a nice crowd and a really sweet day. My brother doesn’t start his job for a couple weeks, so he’s been staying the night with my parents. He stayed Sunday night, Monday night, and he’s staying tonight. I will be staying tomorrow night.

I had to take my older kids to the orthodontist Monday morning, but made it to my parents’ house around noon. I haven’t been sleeping great, so its been hard to get up in the mornings. Sunday night I felt so emotional it was hard to sleep. Then Monday morning I woke up earlier than I had planned and just started sobbing. I knew this was coming and I thought I grieved a lot on the front end, but this has all hit so hard.

Caring for my father Monday was really tough. I cried a lot that day. Sunday, we had been able to get my father up and to the bathroom when he needed to urinate. The first time he made it to the bathroom, but then peed on the bathroom floor before he made it to the toilet. After that, he was using the potty chair hospice provides, but was largely able to handle the back and forth without a tremendous amount of help. Monday, though, he could barely lift himself up. So, my brother and my uncle were having to do the transfer to the potty chair. At one point, my mother and I were the only ones there and we couldn’t lift him, so we had to make him use his depends. He hated that. Then, you could tell it was excruciating for him when we had to roll him back and forth to change him. It made me cry seeing him like that. The next several times he had to urinate he would start convulsing and moaning, like he really didn’t want to use the depends. My mother would stand by him and talk sweetly to him, telling him she was sorry, that it had to be this way, and that she loved him.

My mother has been so sweet and loving to my father. My aunt and I joked Sunday about how this isn’t the first time she’s had to clean my father up when he pissed himself (though the other times were related to alcohol use). We kept telling her how strong she is and my aunt pointed out how my mother’s been caring for my father very well for decades. She stands by his bed talking to him, telling him how much she loves him, how much she’s going to miss him, explains what medicines she’s giving him, and tries to reassure him she’s just trying to make him comfortable.

By Monday my father wasn’t really talking at all. I think the only thing I heard him say was “shit” when we were trying to change his depends. Our former law partner, who retired in December, came by Monday afternoon with his wife. They brought lots of food. I think he was really shocked how much my father had deteriorated. They didn’t stay long. Once my father had to urinate again and we had to go through that ordeal they slipped out. I cried as they hugged me. Lots of crying that day.

Both my father’s brothers came out Monday. I cried pretty much every time we had to go through the ordeal of changing the depends. I think it was making everyone tear up. It just hurts so much to see my father like that. After everyone else left, I started sobbing talking to my mother and brother. I told them I knew he was going to die soon, but I naively thought we would skip this stage. I guess I kind of figured he would just take too many pills at the first sign of getting to this point. My mother said he had told her he’d decided to let nature run its course. Also, the decline happened so quickly there wasn’t really any sort of warning as to what was coming or how fast it was coming.

My mother sort of asked us if we wanted to try to end things for him Monday night. It feels so awful having those conversations, but seeing him in so much pain when we had to roll him over was just heartbreaking. We decided if he wanted to let nature run its course we would honor that and just do our best to continue keeping him comfortable. We did up his fentanyl patches to 200mg today to try to help manage the pain (he was previously at 150mg) and I believe they gave him a little extra morphine last night and gave him a little extra before the nurse came to give him a bath.

Today, he seemed more comfortable than Monday and he no longer appears to be convulsing when he needs to urinate. Now, he just picks at his depends once he was gone. I wasn’t there at any point where they had to change him, but I got the impression those were going better. I don’t believe he is saying any words anymore. Saturday he was able to drink out of a straw, but by Sunday my mother was pouring a little water into his mouth, and now I think squeezing the tiny sponge into his mouth is all we can do. The hospice book says dehydration is our friend in all of this.

I had to work today. The local sewer district my father represented for years gave me a plaque/clock they had made for him. I started bawling. I pulled it together fairly quickly though. I stayed and talked with the administrator for a while. He had seen my father two Thursdays ago and had a really nice visit. He told me they prayed together and that meant a lot to me. I know my father had a rather tenuous relationship with religion the last few years, so I loved hearing about my father praying.

After that meeting I stopped by and sat with my mother for a bit. Then, I had to go to a trial and then another meeting. I went back out after those things and hung out for a few hours. My father’s oldest brother was there. It is really sweet how involved my father’s siblings have been and how much they are trying to be there for us now. I was less emotional tonight. I wrote out the bullet points for what I want to say at my father’s funeral and told my mom the general concept of what I plan to say. My mother wrote the obituary. She did a really good job on that.

One of my uncles had brought out a book from his church on planning the Catholic funeral. I started going through that Monday and noting which readings I approved of to hopefully narrow it down some for my mother. I still need to read through the gospel readings, so my mother let me bring the book home so I can work on that. I’ve noted the songs I want, picked out the readers, and who I want to carry the gifts.

I ordered some dresses I wanted for the visitation and funeral over a month ago, but because they hadn’t shipped yet as of Sunday I ordered a couple more from Amazon that I don’t like as much. I finally received notice the first set of dresses had shipped, but I don’t have the tracking number yet, so I’m not sure where they shipped from. Maybe my father will hang around long enough for me to get them. It’s crazy because Monday my heart was breaking for him and I was just hoping it would go fast. Tonight, his breathing was slowing way down and I kept worrying that he was going and it was such an awful feeling. My chest got so tight thinking he might be gone. Even though he’s in such a shitty position picturing him actually dying still fucking sucks.

I told my brother I had a good outline of what I planned to say at the funeral. He said he’d like to speak too, but he isn’t sure if he can get through it without getting choked up. He was kind of waiting on everyone tonight and told us he’s trying to stay busy because when he isn’t busy he gets sad. When he showed up Sunday he started crying because he was not expecting my father to have declined so drastically. His kids were playing with my father on Friday, so I think the steep decline was shocking. I told him I didn’t expect him to speak, I just really wanted to. He said he liked the idea and would like to say something too, but just wasn’t sure. My mother said she didn’t intend to try to speak because she knew it would be too hard for her.

Amid all the negative, I must say the outpouring of kindness is so humbling. I had a trial set Thursday and I emailed the other attorneys involved to see if they would agree to a continuance so I could stay with my parents that day. They not only agreed, but they offered to draft the motion and proposed order so I didn’t have to worry about, saying that was the only thing they could really do to help so they wanted to do what they could. I started crying when I read their emails because that seemed so sweet, and it was a relief to not have to rush around to get any pleadings filed. I had to reschedule another meeting and the client in that instance was also super sweet and told me to focus on what is important right now.

We are truly blessed with such an amazing support system and the wonderful relationships my father has cultivated over the years. I posted on Facebook Sunday that I was grateful my father had a beautiful place to spend his last days, and I was grateful for those who were there to pray with us. I’ve received so many sweet comments on that, most of which make me cry. I’m going to try to work all day in the office tomorrow. The thought of sitting in my office and looking at the chair my father used to sit in when he would come check in with me in the mornings makes me cry. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it together, but I’m going to give it my best shot. I’m going to teach youth group tomorrow night and then head out to stay the night at my parents’ house.

When I stayed the night Saturday night my father only woke up once. I gave him a little medicine and he went back to sleep. He did sit up when he woke up, but I was able to hug on him and get him to lay back down. My brother said he’s been waking up about three times per night for him the past two nights. I’m really grateful for my brother in all of this. I think its really important for my mother to be getting sleep. She says she’s taking a sleeping pill, which is probably good. Otherwise, she would probably be struggling to sleep as much as I am.
“T” is for Tipping

March 18th, 2023

Yesterday, my mother came into the office briefly. She indicated that my father was really struggling to stay awake even long enough to go to the bathroom or take his pills. I told her I thought it would be best if it went quick because I know my father wouldn’t want to live like this. She agreed.

A friend of ours who we’ve known since I was in high school came out to visit my father yesterday and she called me afterwards to tell me she felt like it was a pleasant visit. I believe my brother and his family and my uncle were also over at various points yesterday.

Today, my mother sent a text to my brother, my uncle, and me saying that hospice was going to be bringing the hospital bed and the morphine was going to need to be increased such that my father likely won’t be conscious much anymore. She sent that text around 9:00am, but I had just finished a St. Patrick’s Day 5k with some friends and was drinking a beer when I got the text.

It was a strange feeling because it’s obviously bad news, but I didn’t feel guilty or feel like I needed to rush down there. I just felt like my father liked to have a good time and he would be happy for me to do the same. I did text the church secretary to see if our priest could visit my father fairly soon, but decided to go about my day as planned: I hung out with my friends for a bit, went to see my cousin for three hours, went home and hung out with my kids for a bit, then took a couple of the kids to mass. After all that I headed down to my parents’ house. I told my mother I would stay the night so I could be the one getting up with Dad, since I was sure she needed to sleep.

Things have been so crazy lately that people keep making comments like, “I don’t want to burden you.” I know they mean well, but I don’t want to be cut off from things just because my father is dying. You expect to bury your parents, you don’t expect your marriage to end or to have to file a restraining order against someone, etc. As I said, I think my father would want us all to continue on as close to normal as possible and that is what I have tried to do. It was great to catch up with my cousin today and to spend time with friends.

I brought my mother dinner and we had a pleasant visit. Neither of us cried. She said she hopes he doesn’t die on his birthday in twelve days. I told her I didn’t want my younger kids to see my father anymore. I think we’re both just being very pragmatic at this point. My husband is a plumber, so we reached out to him and asked about getting the shower situated so that my mother will hopefully be able to bathe my father.

When my mother sent the text this morning my uncle, cousin, and brother all went down to help set up the hospital bed. I know that was really helpful to my mother because several pieces of furniture needed to be moved to put the bed by the window so that my father can still see the beautiful view of his property if he wakes up. My grandfather died in 2020 from prostate cancer, but he was in a hospital bed at home when he passed as well. So, my step-grandmother is going to visit my mother tomorrow and pass on her tips as to the logistics.

Our priest is coming tomorrow afternoon to see my father. I’m looking forward to that. My daughter wants to be present for that as well. My father had mixed feelings about religion at the end, but he did tell me at one point that the anointing of the sick “couldn’t hurt.” Since it seems we’re getting very close I went ahead and reached out and got it scheduled.

My father does still speak some, but its largely nonsense. He did seem to remember who I was most of the time, but at one point thought I was my aunt. At one point he asked me where I worked then said, “We need to come visit you at work.” He has to go directly from the hospital bed to the wheel chair, but he asked several times if he’d gone for a walk yet. At one point he asked me when dinner was going to be ready and offered to go get dinner for us. It’s all just a stream of fairly well-constructed sentences that don’t really make sense and don’t really relate to anything. He called me beautiful and held my hand quite a bit, which felt really sweet.

My mother is very sweet and loving to him and he has been sweet to us. I haven’t seen him get mad or upset about anything since I got here four hours ago. He thanked us for taking care of him several times. He has to take morphine every two hours and has a different medicine he takes in between the morphine doses, plus he still has the fentanyl patches.

It was very cold today, but the sky was beautiful. It was partly cloudy, but the sun shined through the clouds beautifully and I got to see a gorgeous sunset from my parents’ house. It kind of felt like God was calling my father home through the light rays. I would really like my father to get through the sacrament with our priest tomorrow, but I do hope he doesn’t linger like this long. I don’t think anyone would want to exist like this for a prolonged period of time.

It seems so crazy to think how quickly things tipped over. Eight days ago my father had a great night, taught my kids how to play pool, stayed up and had great conversations with my mother and me, and ate a full meal. One week ago he was watching TV in the living room of our Airbnb, enjoying himself after we all went to the horse races. I suppose this is the sudden drop my mother was warned about. I told the kids tonight that the priest would be going to visit my father tomorrow because he’ll probably die in a few days. My daughter said, “Days? I thought you said he’d die during summer.” I told her we thought that initially, but things have progressed faster. Hopefully the sudden change of situation isn’t too traumatic for her.

I’m so grateful we got that trip to Hot Springs. Those will be the last memories my younger children have of my father and they were great ones. My father did not want his grandchildren to remember him in a scary hospital bed, so I’m not going to let my younger children see him anymore. My older two are old enough that they will have significant memories apart from this ending. So, I told my daughter she could come over while the priest is at my parents’ house tomorrow. I’m not sure if my oldest will want to come, but I would let him if he wants. My eight-year-old might get something out of it as well, but with him I’m still afraid it would be the type of traumatic memory that would stay with him more than all the positive things. So, I’m planning to have my husband keep the younger children during all that.
“T” is for Ted Lasso

March 16th, 2023

Season 3 of Ted Lasso premiered yesterday. I love that show because it blends soccer and real human emotion in such a beautiful way. There are also dead dads, so that’s certainly meaningful at the moment.

During one part of the episode one of the characters talks about being so busy she schedules her cry sessions and accidentally doubled booked her cry session and her lunch with a friend. That feels pretty relatable at the moment. I don’t know that my cry sessions are scheduled, but I’m constantly trying to focus on keeping my shit together until I get to my car. In the episode the friend says crying is wonderful and that during the worst time of her life she didn’t cry at all. I really like thinking about it that way; like our happiness and stability require us to have the full range of emotions.

I woke up not feeling spectacular today, so I slept in a bit and worked from home until my morning hearings. My father called me while I was at court. I stared at the phone for a few seconds debating on whether to answer it. Prior to his diagnosis, I would have declined the call and called him back after my hearings. Now, though, every phone call feels like it could be his last so I stepped out of the courtroom to answer the call.

I had mentioned to my father yesterday that I wanted to have a staff meeting at the office because I feel like we had all just been in survival mode for months. So, I feel like we need to start discussing what the “new normal” looks like. My father was calling to see when I was planning to have that meeting because he would like to be there too. I told him it had to be Monday at 4:00pm because my schedule is crazy next week. His hospice nurse normally comes on Mondays, so I told him if he couldn’t make it that was fine. He said he would be there and then asked if he could cover anything for me next week. I politely said, “No, I’ve got it handled.” The reality though is I cancelled his malpractice insurance, he shouldn’t be driving because of the now 150 mg fentanyl patches and hydrocodone/morphine, he gets confused easily, and his appearance has become quite shocking. He now weighs 150 pounds (he weighed around 250 pounds most of my life) and is quite yellow, even his eye balls are yellow. My father said he plans to be at the staff meeting because he wants to tell everyone face-to-face that he won’t be working anymore (everyone is already well-aware of that). He made a comment about not getting paid anymore. I told him, as I have said repeatedly, that I will continue to pay him as long as he’s alive. His hard work is what made the firm what it is and I think its only fair to keep paying him. I know it won’t be long, and I also think it will be helpful to my mother for him to continue to get paid.

My father started crying saying he didn’t think he was going to last much longer. He told me he loved me and ended the call. It was so hard to go back into court after that. I took a couple breaths to try to compose myself then I went back in to the courtroom. I know a couple of the other attorneys saw the tears and the Judge may have too, but that didn’t bother me and they didn’t ask me about it. I was just trying really hard not to start audibly sobbing. I somehow powered through and made it back to my car before I started sobbing. I had the following text exchange with my husband:

I wrote my last post in between juvenile hearings, so I don’t think I was as focused as I normally am when I sit and write at the kitchen table when everyone else in my house is in bed. I’m sure it seems contradictory that in one breath I’m saying I was awkward talking to my cousin because I didn’t want to cry and in the next breath I’m saying it doesn’t bother me to cry in front of people. One major difference I didn’t highlight is that when I was talking to my cousin my father was around. I really don’t want to cry in front of my father because I really want him to believe that I am strong enough to get our family through all of the things coming. Also, while I’m fine with the tears, I have not reached a point I’m really comfortable sobbing in front of people and lately it seems like the conversations can morph into that rather quickly. As I said to my husband, I think most people would shed tears if their father was dying. I just don’t want to be completely losing it with the uncontrollable sobbing and all that comes with that (racoon eyes and black tears from the make-up; red, puffy face; dying seal sounds; etc.).

Pro-tip: when you’re car crying turn the A/C on full blast pointed directly at your face and turn the seat warmers on. The cold air helps with the redness and puffiness of the face and eyes and the heated seat keeps you from shivering. I was doing that during all my car trips today.

We represent one of the local sewer districts and the administrator reached out to me today to see if I would accept a plaque they got for my father at their monthly meeting next week. I told him I would be honored, and I would try my best not to cry. He told me not to worry about that at all. Like I said, I think most people get it.

Another of our long-time clients came in to sign some things today and I started crying all over again talking with her. I’m not sure why I even bothered putting make-up on today. I used to keep my make-up bag in my car, but just this week decided I wanted to be one of those people who is put-together enough that I do my make-up before I leave the house (instead of at stoplights on the way to work). So, my make-up bag is now in my bathroom. Terrible fucking timing for me to decide to be a grown-up. This client said her father died slowly over a period of time and her father-in-law died suddenly. She said she thought the sudden death of her father-in-law was probably easier. I am not sure what is better, but in this instance I am grateful we had some warning. I told her I wouldn’t have been able to make the slideshow what I wanted if I hadn’t had months to work on it and it would have been harder to transition the firm if we hadn’t had any warning. Watching the decay and seeing/hearing my father cry so much is really fucking hard though.

We had a great time with my parents in Hot Springs, Arkansas over the weekend. They got to the Airbnb a couple hours before us. My mother texted me to let me know the place was amazing. My father told me several times throughout the trip how wonderful the place was. It had a pool table, which I had not seen in the pictures. That was so amazing. My parents taught the older kids how to play pool and they are all hooked now. I have great memories playing pool with my father’s family, so it really meant a lot to me that my kids got to have that experience with my parents.

The next day we went to the horse races. That was a small fiasco in that I didn’t know the best place to park or what entrance the kids would have to go in (they can’t use the casino entrance). So, we had to walk more than we should have and that really took a tole on my father. We had reserved seats and my mother brought a pad for him, so he did ok once we got seated. My mother was helping the kids place bets and they loved that. We won a few times, but they were only $2 bets so I assume we were somewhere close to breaking even by the end of the day. We didn’t stay for all ten races. I think we left after race seven, but it was overall a pleasant experience. Walking back to the car went much smoother, as I actually knew where we needed to go by that point.

The Airbnb had a hot tub on the back deck that overlooked the lake. It was really great. My father got in with my kids a couple different times. One of the times my younger boys, my parents, and myself were all in together my eight-year-old started talking about wanting to go to the Kentucky Derby. I told him he couldn’t go this year because his first communion was that same day, but maybe next year. He said he wanted to take Nana and Grandpa with us next year. None of us said anything. My father eventually told my eight-year-old that his parents had gone to Church Hill Downs once and loved it. I mentioned a glass they had brought back for us that had all the Kentucky Derby winners up to that point. We no longer know where that glass is located, but I really like it. I spent a lot of time studying it. It even had symbols to indicate whether the winner went on to win the triple crown and whether the winner was a filly.

At one point Saturday evening it was just my father and me in the hot tub. He started crying, thanking me for including him in this. He told me how proud he was of me and how, as far as he was concerned, I had been a perfect daughter. All I could say was, “I’m grateful for all the time we’ve had.” Like I said, I really don’t like crying in front of him and I felt like adding, “I just wish we had more time” would make things worse. When I was talking with that client of ours today she said, “You spend your life hoping and praying that you see your kids grow up and get married and see what kind of people they become, but then you get selfish and you want to see that for your grandkids too.” She was talking about how she’s sure my father is dwelling on all the things he’ll be missing.

Two of my grandparents died before I even graduated high school. My paternal grandmother met two of my children, but I was pregnant with the third when she passed. My oldest two may have fleeting memories of her, but they were still two and four when she passed. I remember when I got pregnant as an unmarried teenager my maternal grandfather was thrilled. When my mother told him he said, “That’s great. I was afraid I wouldn’t live long enough to see any great-grandchildren.” I wish my father was going to be around for more of the big moments, but I am trying to focus on being grateful for the moments he has experience with us. I’m grateful I had children so young so my kids will have memories of my father.

Back to the hot tub… we shared a big hug and I told him I would be able to handle things. As I say all the time, there’s nothing to worry about its just sad. I’m so glad we got this weekend with my parents. I feel like it was more than I even hoped for and I know we made memories that will last. My parents left Sunday morning. I think all the walking Saturday really did a number on my father. The kids and I stayed until Tuesday and hit up a few places on the National Parks Service app before coming home.

My mother told me today that her step-mother’s friend is a hospice worker and she said in her experience people who try to keep going like my father end up crashing hard and dying pretty quick. My mother said when she mentioned that to my father he got upset and said, “what am I supposed to do?” My mother told him she wanted him to just keep living life the best he could. If he goes fast, at least he got to squeeze as much life as possible into the last bit. They have a cabin booked in Ponca, Arkansas for his birthday weekend in three weeks. I don’t know if he’ll still be able to travel then or not.

I feel awful saying this, but at this point I think it would be best for it to go quick. This waiting game feels kind of terrible right now; watching the decay is heartbreaking; and my father hates feeling like he isn’t helping. He has always been one who was constantly busy (something he certainly passed on to me) and he was always trying to help the people he cared about. I know he hates not being able to help. That’s why he keeps offering to cover hearings for me when we both know damn well he can’t do that anymore. When I talked to my father yesterday it sounded like he hadn’t really been out of his recliner since Monday. They upped his dosage of fentanyl yesterday, so maybe that will help improve the quality of life. It’s such a difficult feeling being torn between wanting every single memory we can still get and wanting my father’s suffering to be over. God only knows the plan at this point.
“T” is for Theatrics

March 10th, 2023

Last weekend I went to a retreat with other youth group leaders and PSR teachers for our diocese. It was a pleasant experience. I feel like all the religious exposure I’ve had recently helps keep me grounded, somewhat. Though at one point the speaker showed a video that was supposed to demonstrate intimacy where they put two people together and had them stair at each other for four minutes. They had strangers, a couple who had been together for two years, and a few other couples with varying lengths of relationships. One of the couples had been together fifty-five years. They were hilarious. Everyone was laughing, but I was crying because my mother will never get that. Her and my father would have been married 38 years in August.

I’ve been working on a slideshow for my father, which will ultimately be used for his visitation, but I wanted him to see it as well. I spent hours putting the photos in order in a Google Photos album, thinking that when I downloaded them they would still be in order. They were not. So, Sunday, I got up early and slapped together a good chunk of the photos and made a slideshow with music to show the family Sunday afternoon. My father’s siblings were all at his house, along with one of his cousins, and my mom’s brother and his family. Because my MacBook is a 2012 it is a bit slower and not readily compatible with modern technology. So, everyone had to huddle around my laptop to watch the 29-minute slideshow I slapped together. I think we all cried at some point. I didn’t watch it because I had obviously already seen all of it, but I cried just listening to the songs. The slideshow is still missing several photos that I need to still download to my MacBook. I’m going to fiddle with it some more tonight so that I can hopefully watch it with my father again some this weekend.

My father is on so much medication now that he doses off pretty frequently. My mother said twice on Monday he ran himself a bath, soaked in the bath, decided to drain the bath, and then fell asleep. So, twice my mother walked in on him asleep, naked and wet in an empty bathtub. While all the family was over Sunday, my father was dosing off (several times during the slideshow), but I know he loved getting to visit with everyone. My mother’s brother made the comment to me that my father always loved to socialize. I really appreciate how everyone is making such an effort to still allow my father the social interaction in his current condition.

My cousin was relaying to me some very sweet comments my godfather had told him when they were camping together recently. I felt awful because I don’t think I demonstrated as much appreciation for those kinds words as I would have liked. I just knew I would cry if I said very much. I did text my cousin afterwards and explain that it was just so hard not to cry when talking about all of this.

I know my cousins teared up a bit during the slideshow. I have one song in there, “Even though I’m Leaving,” by Luke Combs that really makes me cry and I think it made most of the family tear up too. The rest of the songs are relatively happy. It ends with “My Way.” My mother thought that was very fitting for my father, but she doesn’t like Frank Sinatra or Elvis so I used the Seth McFarland version from Sing. My husband thought that was funny, but my mother liked it.

Before Sunday I hadn’t really thought about the fact that my father is almost certainly going to be the first of his generation of the family to pass. I have not lost any of my aunts or uncles. I’m sure that is really difficult for all of them to be faced with their own mortality like that. Also, I think my father has been very well-liked throughout his life. So, I’m sure they all feel like they are losing a very special relationship.

I joined the board of a local foundation recently, taking my father’s place. I had my first board meeting with that foundation on Wednesday. My father called me during that meeting. I stepped out to take the call because at this point I never know when its going to be my last chance to talk to my father. When I was talking to him he was crying saying my mother didn’t think he could handle coming to Hot Springs with us this weekend. After I got off the phone with him I had a bit of a breakdown. I pulled myself together and went back into the meeting. I was able to get though the rest of the meeting, but afterwards a couple people started asking me how my father was doing. I told them he was the one who called when I stepped out. Then I started to tear up.

One of the women involved with the foundation immediately pulled me into her office and talked to me. I know she’s of an older generation where I’m sure women had to be completely un-emotional to be taken seriously. So, I understand why she did what she did, but I am not all that worried about crying in front of people anymore. My father is dying, and he and I have always been close. I don’t think anyone would hold it against me if I get emotional about that. I’m glad my generation is more accepting of the human emotions.

After that phone call with my father Wednesday morning, he and my mother came into the office. He and I talked some more about the details of the trip I had planned to Hot Springs, Arkansas. He said he was going to talk my mother into going with us. My mother called that afternoon and said they would be joining us.

Last night I got a text from the mother of one of my oldest son’s friends. Apparently my oldest had invited one of his friends to come to Hot Springs with us, without asking or even telling me. I was upset, but the reality is I’m sure this is karma because I know I did crap like that to my parents. I told this friend’s mother that this was going to be my last trip with my dying father and I wanted it to just be family this weekend. I told her I’d be happy to take her son with us another time. I hated having to have that conversation, but, again, I know its deserved because I pulled crap like that MANY times.

We’re going to be leaving town in a couple hours to head to Hot Springs, Arkansas for the weekend. We’ll be meeting my parents down there. I have reserved a nice house right on the lake. I’m so excited to have this last trip with my father and hope to make the most of the time. Talking to my father is somewhat like talking to someone with dementia. I’m not sure if its because of the pain meds (he’s currently using 100mg fentanyl patches, hydrocodone, and morphine as needed) or if the cancer is in his brain now. Either way, he’s very forgetful now. We let him drive to Chick-Fil-A Wednesday and he lost the keys and then his wallet, both of which were in his pocket. Luckily, the drive went fine (it was less than a mile), but I was nervous about it for him. I’m still very appreciative of this opportunity to spend a weekend with my parents and my own family.
“T” is for Tradition

March 1st, 2023

For years now, I’ve had this mantra, “There’s a first time for everything.” Now, I keep thinking, “There’s a last time for everything.” Yesterday, my father and I had a conversation about one of his clients for whom I was going to start working. My father had a lot of things to say about this individual and tips on how to deal with this individual. It hit me kind of hard because I know I have a limited number of conversations like that left.

I’m sure I’ve said before how much I am going to miss his advice. There were points in my life I didn’t really appreciate his two cents on things. One example that comes to mind is when I got pregnant with my third child at the end of my first semester of law school. He and my mother were both furious and became even more furious when they found out I wasn’t taking any time off school. My third child is a huge blessing and easily my funniest and most outgoing child. I stand by my decisions on that. Before that though, I almost didn’t go to law school because I didn’t do as well on the LSAT as I had hoped. My father talked me into sticking with the plan though, and I’m very grateful for that. I do hate this profession sometimes, but overall it has been good for my family and I’ve made some great friends. He also talked me into going to my law school graduation. I really didn’t want to go because I had technically graduated in December and had failed the February bar exam, so I didn’t really want to go back to walk with my classmates that May. I’m glad he talked me into that though. It was a fun experience and now I have pictures to remember that moment with my father. He usually gives great advice. I honestly can only think of the one time I refused to take his advice.

Ash Wednesday was one week ago. I think that was when the, “There’s a last time for everything” mantra started hitting hard again. My father won’t be alive for another Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is my favorite mass of the year. I went back to the church I grew up attending for mass this year because it was closest to my office. I usually go to the church closest to my house. The church is beautiful and it reminded me of growing up going to church there with my parents. My parents even paid for one of the statues in front of the church, which I believe has my maternal grandmother’s name on it. I had my youngest child with me and I showed him the statue.

This past Friday, our church youth group went to northwestern Missouri for what our wonderful youth group director has deemed a “Holy History Tour.” This is the second year she’s put this together for the youth group. I didn’t go last year, but I know they went to St. Louis. This year we visited parishes in Carrollton, Chillicothe, St. Joseph, Conception, and Gower. It was a very spiritual experience for me to see all the beautiful churches, learn about their rich history, and experience some of the more traditional styles of worship within the Catholic church. We attended a Latin mass on Sunday at a convent. I had never been to Latin mass before. I’m not a fan. It was beautiful and reverent, but having no idea what is being said distracts from that, in my opinion. I know Rome has decided to stop having Latin masses in parish sanctuaries and I’m sure that will be controversial, but I personally do not see the point in having readings being read in a language no one understands. That being said, I am glad I got to experience a Latin mass.

My daughter came with the youth group for the Holy History Tour. I feel like it was probably a spiritual experience for her as well. The second church we went in she said, “this is so much prettier than our church.” She was absolutely right and the pastor there was amazing. He was snarky and had a dark sense of humor that I absolutely loved. I would make the trip to Chillicothe again sometime just to attend one of his masses.

Getting my daughter to leave the house Friday was absolutely terrible though. I ended up in tears, so my husband went and talked to her for a while. More often than not she will have a panic attack if she has to leave the house. My husband and I both feel her depression is getting worse being home so much, so we are starting to make her participate in things. When she gets panicked though, she tends to lash out at me and decide that I am the problem (I make everything worse, I don’t do enough to help her, etc.). I know she doesn’t mean to be the way she is, but some days I have a really hard time just letting her unload on me. I finally told her if she didn’t get up and come with me I was going to have her father check her into a hospital while I was gone because I could not continue to take care of my parents, her brothers, run a business, and take her abuse. Probably not the greatest thing to say to a child, but it had the desired effect. She got up and we threw some stuff in her suitcase (I ended up needing to buy her clothes at Walmart in St. Joseph, but we managed). As soon as we got to church to pick up the other kids who were riding with us she was happy and acted happy the rest of the weekend. She didn’t have any complaints the whole time.

Today, we met with her pediatrician and got her a prescription for Prozac. Her therapist recommended medication well over a month ago, but I resisted. We tried some natural remedies that were recommended to me. I reached out to pediatric psychiatry, but they have a huge waiting list. We finally decided we needed to go to her primary care doctor to get her some help to just function. She has six classes, she’s failing all but one, and the one she isn’t failing is a D. She was doing excellent at the end of last semester so we know she’s smart enough. We think she’s just so down on herself lately she’s having trouble motivating to power through all the assignments. We’re hoping the medication may help with that too.

My father hasn’t been coming into the office much, but he came in yesterday and today. He looks very thin and very yellow. I told one of our paralegals he looks like the kind of person we would snicker about in juvenile court if they claimed they could pass a drug test. He definitely looks like someone who is over-using opiates. I know he’s using what he needs to make life tolerable and I do not fault him for that. It’s just shocking when you have a certain image in your head of what someone looks like, and when you haven’t seen a person in five days it seems kind of shocking to see that they’ve turned another color.

My father did tell me today that he still wants to go to Hot Springs with us next weekend. That makes me happy. I have been really hoping to get one more trip with him. I told him today I wasn’t worried about anything, but I’m just sad. I told him he’s experienced a lot of amazing things, but I feel like he’s going to miss a lot of things too. We shared a big hug. I know hugs like that are becoming more and more limited as well.

To end things on a slightly more positive note: while we were at Conception Abbey over the weekend one of the seminarians (from the town next to ours) ate lunch with us and walked around with us some. I had sat at the table with the kids during lunch and he sat with the other chaperones. When we were leaving the sanctuary, he asked me what grade I was in. I was so surprised by that question I just said, “I’m one of the adults.” I wasn’t quick-witted enough to say, “I’m fifteen years post-high school.” He followed up with, “so are you a mom?” “Yes, I’m here with my daughter, but I also lead the middle school youth group and teach 6^th grade PSR.” It felt like an odd interrogation. Later that night three of the other chaperones and myself were playing cards and I told them about that exchange. We all laughed really hard, which prompted one of our kids to say, “Is this what adults laugh about? I’ve never seen adults laugh like this.” That, of course, made us laugh harder. I’m glad we got to show the kids about some of the history, tradition, and beauty related to their Catholic faith, but I’m also glad we got to show them adults can have fun without drinking or taking drugs.
“T” is for Tact

February 19th, 2023

I didn’t see my father much this week. I went to visit him with my sons February 12^th. We had a really nice visit. Things almost felt normal. We sat on the back deck together and told stories we remembered about my father’s mother. She was a lot like Raymond’s mother in Everybody Loves Raymond, though she hated that comparison. It was a really good day. Then, my father took off all of this past week to camp out with his friends. They have an annual campout on property that adjoins my parents’ property.

I talked to my father on the phone a few times this week, but hadn’t seen him since Sunday. I guess because Sunday was such a good day and because I hadn’t seen him this week felt almost normal. I didn’t cry about things. I was able to talk to people about my dad without crying, even the tough stuff like the fact that my mother had told me hospice gave them something to make him go peacefully when its time. All of it was just facts. I was feeling pretty stable and thinking I finally hit a point where I could have it under control. I felt like I was reaching the point I could really be tactful about the situation.

If I back up just a bit, I did have another small breakdown on February 12^th before going to my parents’ house and having that great visit. I was supposed to lead the spiritual segment for the women’s group at church. I wanted to have us say a prayer I had found about grief. I started crying as we were going through that. The ladies were all very kind and encouraging, but I still hated that I couldn’t be more composed. It also felt like I was being a bit selfish making the spiritual segment all about me and what I was going through.

Anyway, I felt like I had been tactful this week and really kept things together and been the controlled person I wanted to be through all of this. Then today we went to visit my father. He was not having a good day. My brother and his family were staying there for the weekend. My brother had been down at the camp out with my father and his friends. My father looked miserable when he came in from the campout, shortly after I got there with my two youngest boys. I asked my brother how my father was doing and my brother said, “he seems like he’s doing fine. I’m sure he’s not super comfortable, but he seems to be having a good time.” I just don’t see how that’s possible, given the way he seemed when we were there. I suspect my brother is still in denial and wanting to believe things are better than they are.

I mentioned something about work to my father, but could tell he wasn’t in a mood to talk about it so I left it alone. Other than that, we didn’t really talk. One of his friends stopped by and I visited with him for a bit while my father dosed off in his recliner. At one point my mother mentioned something about how August would be their 38^th wedding anniversary and my eight-year-old chimed in with, “Isn’t Grandpa supposed to die before then?” My mother handled that fairly well and I’m not sure my father heard it, but it felt like an awkward moment.

Then, my eight-year-old pressured my brother and I into playing National Parks Monopoly with him. We had already played an entire monopoly game earlier today at my in-laws, but my eight-year-old enjoyed it so much he wanted to play again. While we were playing my father went to lay down and then ended up running a bath. Apparently baths are one of the most comforting things for him now. I asked my mother if we should leave. She said my father would be going to bed soon and it would be nice if the house was quiet. I wasn’t offended by that at all. I had spent a lot of time yelling at my eight-year-old to come play his turn at monopoly (he was wanting to run off and play with the younger kids in between turns). So, I knew we had been a bit rowdier than normal, and I really just want my father to be comfortable.

When we leave my parents house, there is a couple miles where I don’t have cell phone service. While I was in that spot I guess my father called and left me a voicemail. When I got signal again I listened to it. My father was crying as he apologized for not spending more time with me. The voicemail played through my car speakers so the boys were asking me why he was crying. I called him back and apologized for not saying goodbye. I told him I could tell he wasn’t feeling well and I just wanted him to be able to relax and rest. We had a fairly nice conversation. He was emotional at first and seemed angry that he didn’t have more energy. We talked a bit and he calmed down toward the end and we had a nice conversation. I’m trying to be strong while not seeming cold. It seems like a difficult balance and I’m not sure how I’m doing.

I kept it together, came home, told my husband about everything and watched TV for a couple hours. When it came time to go to sleep though, I was a mess. I just kept thinking about listening to my father cry. I hate how much he is suffering in all of this. I know it’s so hard for him to feel weak. He has always been the strong one who helped the rest of us through everything. I’m sure it’s an awful feeling for him to be becoming increasingly weaker.

I’m sure leaving without saying goodbye wasn’t very tactful of me. He was in the bath tub though and I didn’t want to disturb him. I also think part of me wouldn’t want to see him in the bath tub. Obviously, there’s an awkwardness about seeing your parents naked, but more than that I don’t think I want to see how frail his body has become. My mother has described it to me and I’m sure it would be really upsetting to see him so skinny. He has been at least a bit overweight as long as I’ve known him, but still healthy and strong. To see him so frail is really tough. I’m sure that is selfish of me. I’ll try to do better if I’m ever in that situation again.

In summary, after keeping it together for the better part of a week I was once again humbled by the reminder that grief is not linear and there will continually be upsetting things happening.
“T” is for Tears

February 11th, 2023

Yesterday, my father told me he didn’t think he should be working anymore. It seems strange that it was only yesterday because so much has happened since that conversation. Father came into my office first thing yesterday morning, as he has been doing pretty much every day we’ve worked together (another thing I will really miss when he’s gone). He told me he can tell he’s getting confused easily now and he doesn’t think he has any business practicing law. He was tearing up a bit during the conversation. I told him I understood and I would be fine and I feel like things are under control. We had a new attorney start February first and he’ll be able to cover the things I would have needed my father to cover.

When we first started talking my father asked where I had to go and I told him I had juvenile court. Then, a few minutes later he said, “I’m confused again. Where are you going today?” I again said I had juvenile court. It doesn’t bother me to repeat things, but I know it bothers him to know he’s slipping so much. He’s so used to taking charge and taking care of everyone I know it upsets him to be becoming helpless.

When I left for Court I knew I was feeling emotional. I try so hard not to cry in front of my father. I promised him I am strong enough to take care of my mother, my brother, and the office when he’s gone. I want him to believe that. I know it’s true. I know I can handle everything. I just get sad thinking about the world without my father. I try very hard not to let him see my tears though. As a result, when I got to Court and a friend asked how my father was doing I started crying.

I’m so tired of crying in front of people. Everyone has their own shit going on. I don’t believe crying makes someone weak, but I don’t want people thinking I need anything. I don’t need anything. I’m just sad that my fucking father is dying.

After Court yesterday my husband and I drove to St. Louis to see Adam Sandler. During the show, Adam Sandler sang his song he wrote for Chris Farley, which made me fucking cry. I was doing okay until he talked about seeing Chris’s father cry at the funeral. December 31, 2021 I went to a friend’s funeral and her father was there in the front row, sobbing. It was absolutely awful. My heart broke for him. He shouldn’t have had to bury his daughter and certainly not at age 31. She also died of an overdose, so the tribute to Chris Farley really hit home. Also, anything about death seems to hit home lately.

It was a whirlwind trip. We were checked into the hotel for fifteen hours. I had a client meeting at 5:00pm today and had tickets to a high school play that featured a friend’s (one of our paralegal’s) daughter at 7:00pm. So, we left the hotel at 9:30am, made a pit stop at Golf Galaxy for the husband, went to pick up the kids from my in-laws, then came home. I was home for about ten minutes then had to headed back out. When we were driving home from my in-laws’ house I started crying out of nowhere. My husband asked what was wrong and it took me a bit to compose myself enough to tell him, “I was just thinking about my dad again.” I reminded my husband again that I cry a lot, but I am not losing my shit. I’m still doing what I need to do, taking care of my responsibilities. I just cry in my car a lot. I’ve conditioned myself to do that because that’s usually the only time I’m alone, unless it’s one of the days I have my shit together enough to workout in our garage. Today I was in my car, but wasn’t alone. The kids were sleeping though, so it was just the husband who saw my tears today.

My father is with his two best friends from law school and the women in their lives this weekend. They are in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I know my mother was worried my father wouldn’t have the energy or feel good enough to be much fun. I talked with my godfather (one of the two best friends) briefly today and he indicated they were having a good time. I’m really glad my father is getting that time with them. I adore both of those men very much. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but my father has cultivated so many great relationships that we have so many people in our corner as we face these difficulties.
“T” is for Taney

February 2nd, 2023

Our law firm office is in Taney County, so it’s our “home court” if you will. Today was my first day going back there since finding out about my father’s terminal diagnosis. My father has been practicing in Taney County for thirty years, so he has developed a lot of relationships there and he is well-known in the community.

I live in a different county, so I have a bit of a commute to work each day. On my way to work this morning I was thinking I hadn’t really cried in four days. That felt like quite an accomplishment, given how things had been going. I had no idea how hard it would be going back to our “home” and talking to the people closest to my father. I should have known it would be tough. I cried telling the judges in other counties, so why didn’t I realize how tough it would be? Most of the local attorneys already knew because I told one of the judges and I know he circulated the message. More on him in a minute. He was the brightest star of the otherwise rather dreary day.

I had an uncontested adoption hearing first thing and that was a very pleasant experience. Then I had to go to a trial setting in a different court room. That trial ended up getting continued, which was easy enough. Then, I ran into a friend in the hallway who had been practicing in our area as long as my father. He has a lot going on in his personal life too. He told me he and my father were crying together in the hall last week. My father keeps telling people he’s had a great life and prior to this nothing bad had happened to him, but I know he’s still sad. My parents gave me an obscene amount of money for my birthday to put toward the transmission we recently had to buy for our Yukon. My mother told me my father wanted to help because he knew he wouldn’t be around to help much longer. That really broke my heart.

Part of the issue may be that I know these people well, so I share with them more than I would with the people in other counties that I’m not as close with. I started sobbing talking to one of my friends in the “law library” (in quotes because there are no books… it’s really a lawyers’ lounge, but the sign on the door says “Law Library”). She’s lost both her parents, so she gets it. She lost her parents more suddenly, so it was a different experience, but obviously still extremely painful. Her parents died within six weeks of each other. The point where I lost it was telling her that I was sad I wouldn’t be able to go to my father for advice anymore. He has helped me through the worst points in my life and I hate that I won’t have him to help me with the problems I will have in the future.

Another issue may be that when I would see people and they would ask me how I was doing I didn’t say, “good” like I usually do. Everyone knows things are tough for me right now. So, I would say, “as good as can be expected” and halfway laugh about it. “It is what it is.” I should probably get that tattooed on my wrist at this point.

“I keep thinking I’m done being emotional about it, but I’m not.” I said repeatedly today as I teared up talking about my father. Everyone was kind and said something along the lines of, “of course you’re still emotional.” I saw one attorney who I used to work with while I was in college who came over to say hi to me before he left and told me to tell my father he said “hi.” I asked him if he’d heard my father was dying. He had not heard yet. He, and everyone I have told, keep saying, “let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you out.” I told my father today it is really nice that he has developed such great relationships that there are so many people willing to help us out.

I am hopeful I won’t really need much help. I’m not worried about the work stuff. I’m just sad about the personal stuff. When my husband first came clean about his morphine addiction, my father was the first person to really make me feel better about the situation. When I told him I felt so betrayed he said, “You have to look at it like a disease. He never wanted to lie to you or put his family in a bind. The addiction just takes the judgment away.” Having worked with addicts for years I knew that was true, but he was the first person to say that to me and it really helped a lot to be reminded that my husband is a really good person who loves his family deeply. The thought of not having my father to turn to if the shit ever hits the fan again is awful.

The judge I appear in front of the most was the judge for four of my hearings today. My father was his RCIA sponsor when he converted to Catholicism. He told me a while back he was making me a pocket alter and he had texted me last week and told me it was ready. He gave it to me after our first hearing this morning. It definitely made my day. I had told him last week he finished it with perfect timing. Catholics are something of a minority in our area, so he and I bond over our faith, among other things. I sent a picture of the pocket alter to some of my friends from church and we have plans to have the youth group prepare some for the home-bound members of our parish. He tells me the pocket alters are a Latino thing. They include a candle, incense, a piece of silver, an image of your saint, a prayer card and a rosary. I have been so excited about mine all day.

It was tough going back “home.” I had no idea it would be as tough as it was. Despite the fact that I felt like a total basket case crying so much, it was kind of nice to be reminded we have so many good friends who care so deeply about us.
“T” is for Ten

January 28th, 2023

Yesterday, I was talking about my father to my CASA supervisor and he said something that made me feel better about the situation: “As a father, I want to be the first to go. God and I have an understanding that I cannot live without my family.” I’m sure the same is true for my father and I found it comforting to hear those words.

Another interesting conversation from yesterday occurred with my middle son. We were discussing where we would go on our next family vacation. I told him I wanted to travel for Christmas and that we would be taking Nana with us. He got really excited, “Yay! Nana’s coming! Wait, why not Grandpa?” “Because he will be dead by then,” was my response which had my son sitting in silence for several minutes. Silence is very abnormal for this kid. He will literally still be trying to talk to you when he’s taking a drink. “There’s no cure for his cancer?” He finally asked after a couple minutes. “His type of cancer is not treatable. That’s why we’re going over there every Sunday now. We’re trying to spend time with him while we still can.”

I’m not going to say I handled that conversation well. I don’t know that the cold hard truth is the best way to go with eight-year-olds. I’ve always tried to be honest with my kids, even about the big stuff, but I will not say that is the best approach.

I was ten when my maternal grandmother died of cancer. My kids are 13, 11, 8, and 4 currently. I was very close with my Nana. I was homeschooled, but one day a week I would go over to my maternal grandparents’ house while my mother went to painting class. In hindsight, my mother probably did more than just painting class because it seems like we were at my grandparents’ house most of the day. I’m sure she needed the “me time” or maybe she just used it to grocery shop without us kids or to run other errands. It didn’t matter to me. I loved spending time at my grandparents’ house.

My Nana and I were really close. She’s the one who taught me how to tie my shoes. She bought my first communion dress. I was her first grandchild and first granddaughter and I’m sure I have more memories of her than any of my cousins. When her breast cancer came back, she fought hard but did not buy herself much time. She did all the treatments, and, knowing her time was short, she tried to take me on a lot of adventures. She would take me to shows in Branson, Missouri. She started teaching me to knit, but unfortunately died before I ever finished learning. I should probably try to pick that back up sometime. One of the girls I teach in Youth Group brings her knitting to church and it always makes me think of Nana. I remember Nana’s last Christmas she had got all of us a bunch of Christmas presents and tried to get us things that would last a long time and remind us of her. I know she bought us all suitcases, and I think I got a dalmatian stuffed animal, but I don’t remember the other things.

My uncle and his wife had struggled with infertility and when they finally were able to get pregnant they suffered a miscarriage. So, when they got pregnant a second time they kept it a secret. They told Nana though. I’m not sure if it was because my Uncle wanted his parents to know or because he knew his mother was dying, but for whatever reason my Nana knew they were pregnant again. She told me too but made sure I knew it was a secret. I remember I would ask to talk to Nana every time she called the house. When I was on the phone with her I would stretch the phone cord (yes kids, phones used to have cords) into the bathroom and lock the door (the bathroom was the only room in our house that had a lock on the door). Once I was in the bathroom, I would ask her for updates on the pregnancy. There were never any updates because there really aren’t that many updates in pregnancy, but I was nine and didn’t know anything about pregnancy.

My family went camping with my uncle and aunt at Table Rock Lake the summer my aunt was pregnant and still keeping it secret. She kept an oversized tank top on when she was in the water and no one thought anything of it, but I knew what was up. I felt so cool knowing that secret. Eventually, they reached the point they were willing to tell people. I remember my uncle sitting at the kitchen table at my grandparents’ house and halfway whispering to Nana that they were ok with telling people. She then yelled to me across the room, “our secret isn’t a secret anymore!” My uncle seemed really surprised she had told me, and probably more surprised that a nine year old had managed to keep it secret. I remember my aunt telling me she was shocked I knew during the camping trip and never said anything.

Nana was unconscious in a hospice bed by the time my uncle’s baby was born. They told us they thought she could still hear. I remember sitting next to her bed telling her about my cousin being born and telling her I loved her. She died that night. They let me stay the night, so I was asleep on the loveseat next to her hospice bed when she passed. I remember my Papa waking me up in the middle of the night and having me move to a different room. I’m crying now as I remember all this, but at the time I never cried about any of it.

I woke up the next morning and my aunt was crying, making the calls to let everyone know Nana had passed. I don’t know why I didn’t cry. Maybe I felt like I had to be strong because everyone else was sad, but I really don’t know. I remember my aunt telling me how hard it was to call my great-grandparents and tell them their daughter was gone. At the time I don’t think the weight of how hard it is to lose a child was something that resonated with me. I remember my aunt reading a letter she had wrote Nana at the funeral. I don’t remember everything it said, but I remember her talking about heaven and Nana getting to hold the baby my uncle lost. I vaguely remember sometime after the fact having a breakdown and telling my mom I missed my Nana, but while everything was happening I never cried about it. I also remember having diarrhea after her funeral. It’s so odd the things we remember. I guess my body may have been grieving in a way other than crying; or maybe I just ate way too much from the fruit platter.

Now that my children are losing their first grandparent, I’ve been thinking a lot about Nana, trying to compare my response to what their responses seem to be. Obviously, my daughter is having a tough time. She’s eleven, so a bit older than I was when I lost Nana. My thirteen-year-old cried when he first heard about it but hasn’t really mentioned it since. My parents have eighty acres, and he loves that property, so I think his biggest fear is his Nana selling that land after Grandpa dies. I have great memories on that property too, but my husband and I plan to buy land of our own soon so I’m trying not to be overly sentimental about it. I just want my mother to do what is best and easiest for her. My four-year-old doesn’t understand what’s happening at all. My eight-year-old is the one who is harder to figure out. He’s obviously processing it because it prompted him to silence, which is an extremely rare state for him.

There’s not a lot of new updates on my father. My mother told me a couple days ago that my father will just sit in his chair and cry a lot of evenings. She’s not sure if he’s sad, or worried, or in pain, but I know it’s awful for her to watch. My father was sitting in my office yesterday, talking to his brother, and started tearing up asking his brother to pick up a fifty pound bag of corn and put it in the barrel in my parents’ barn because my dad can’t lift those bags anymore. When my father got off the phone I told him my husband would be happy to help him with the corn or any other chores. With tears in his eyes, my father said, “it’s just embarrassing needing help with your chores.” I told him the usual mantra, “It is what it is. You’ve helped all of us and we’re happy to help you.” My uncle was obviously happy to help. My father needs the corn because his favorite hobby is feeding deer and watching them eat from his bedroom window. I think deer are a nuisance, but my father has always believed they are the most majestic creatures.

My father did start the twenty-five milligram fentanyl patches two days ago and was actually able to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was also able to eat a significant amount of food yesterday. My mother worries a lot about his pain, but I suspect the starvation is what is going to kill him. Apparently that is exactly what the oncologist told them. So, I tend to worry more about my father’s ability to eat. Though, seeing him in pain is not easy either.

I told one of the Judges we appear in front of about my father last week. He called me back in chambers and was very kind to me. He said he always liked my father and didn’t really know what to say other than that. He said he would be praying for my father. I told him I am grateful for the warning and the opportunity for closure, but watching the decay is tough.

I’m still not thinking my father will be up for the trip I planned to Hot Springs, Arkansas, but the fentanyl seems to be helping. So, hopefully that will improve his quality of life for his remaining time.