Memyguitarmydogandbuddha.files.wordpress.com
JUST BE WITH H_ _.
By: James Anthony Hansen
Dedication
To Sandy, Harvey, Leona, Gene, Bill, Big Jim, Mare, Holly, Misha, music, and love and kindness.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to all of my friends and family. Particularly, Theresa, Deane, Robbie, James, Jessica, Erika, Alexandra, Bob Sewak, and Laurie Ardapple.
Copyright c 2007 by James A. Hansen
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
In whole or in part in any form.
For ordering information, contact,
James A. Hansen
490 Rogers Break Road
Jesup, Ga., 31546
(303) 775-1525
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
One Your eyes are so pretty 6
Two Some expression of love 9
Three I have so much to learn 11
Four Just be with her, but how? 14
Five Gene’s passage 15
Six No fool, like an old fool 19
Seven Are there really angels? 24
Eight Where does the love go? 34
Nine What is love? 43
Ten Sandy shows me the way 53
Eleven Emptiness 66
Twelve Honor thy parents and thy wife 76
Thirteen My brother’s wife 87
Fourteen What was becoming of my marriage? 92
Fifteen Love and kindness 99
Sixteen Mother’s lost year 130
Seventeen Finding a new home 147
Eighteen Still looking for a home 156
Nineteen Yes, still looking for a home 162
Twenty Christmas without you 169
Twenty one Mother and me going home 183
Twenty two Home again 193
Twenty three So this is home 200
Twenty four This isn’t home anymore 210
Twenty five What will the doctor say? 216
Twenty six Building a new home 220
Twenty seven Living on the new property 222
Twenty eight Visiting the nursing home and
Mount Carroll 223
Twenty nine Mother’s sister Holly 229
Thirty Let’s call this the end 234
SONGS
1. Thou Shall Not Kill 34
2. A (Thoughtless) Word 45
3. I Would Like To Stay With You 49
4. Crying Is A Good Thing 50
5. I Can Sing A Happy Song 50
6. Don’t Leave Me Alone Tonight 56
7. You Can Cry Today, But Tomorrow
You’ll Smile 57
8. I Didn’t Know How Wonderful I Was 59
9. She Will Never Be An Old Woman 61
10. Angels In Heaven 63
11. An Empty Room 66
12. My Strength To Carry On 67
13. The Empty Chair 69
14. Watching My Father Rest 79
15. Don’t Break Me 80
16. If I Had One Wish 84
17. Stroke 109
18. I Only Cry For You 114
19. Time’s All We Have 118
20. There’s An Old Black Shirt In Texas 122
21. And He Was Everything To Me 125
22. It’s All That I know 127
23. She’s Gotta Have A Reason 138
24. I’m A Big Mouth Frog 150
25. Gamblin’ My Life Away 172
26. Owls And Eagles 175
27. An Open Space 185
28. I Only Have One Heart 190
29. I Love My Dog 195
30. Days Gone By 200
31. Monday At Mayport 201
32. Too Old To Dream Anymore 217
33. I Walk Proud 224
34. That Doesn’t Mean I’ve Stopped
Loving You 225
35. Not Of This World 227
36. Suppose 231
37. Gypsy Moon 232
38. To Sing 234
39. When The Sidewalk Ends 236
40. Will My Son Be Okay 239
41. Learning To Appreciate What I Had 241
42. Yesterday And You 242
43. Mixin’ Ashes 244
44. Just Be With H_ _. 247
CHAPTER ONE
(Your eyes are so pretty)
It is Wednesday, May 10, 2005, 4:20 a.m., Kingsley Lake, Florida. My mother is sleeping in her hospital bed in the living room. It’s time for me to begin this book, Just Be With H_ _.
First let me say I have no delusions of grandeur about writing “a book”. I visit bookstores and see literally millions of books. So why do I qualify to write another one? Hasn’t everything already been said? May be.
But I see the power of the word over and over. The careless words I’ve used and the careless words others use. Powerful words which inspire, and destructive words which destroy. The name of this book could just as easily be, TURNING POINT, the simple events in life which changed everything. In this case, I am focusing on the spoken word. It’s the story of what you say to someone and how it can change a life. It could happen to you, it probably has. I know it has happened to me over and over again.
For example, my niece, Kimberly, had a boy friend. He once stated he wanted to kill himself. In an argument, she said, “then why don’t you?” He went into the bathroom, closed the door and shot himself in the head. He died. She lives with that, years later. She wishes she had seen and understood the pain he was in, perhaps she could have helped listen to her friend.
So many times we are crying out for understanding, kindness and love, but our pleas go unheard and misunderstood. To have someone really listen to you, when you need it most is very important. Most of us are too busy to listen. We simply wait for our turn to talk. I have been guilty of interrupting loved ones time and time again, as they tried to get me to understand what they were saying. Perhaps more important than pure speech is pure listening. Hearing and understanding, followed by loving action or just being available selflessly can produce miraculous results. This alone can make the space you occupy a place of peace and understanding where so called miracles can take place.
Well, the words I heard were “just be with her”. From those four simple words, my life changed forever. I didn’t know it would happen and the person who spoke them had no intention of changing my life forever.
It all started, or it seems that way, at the end of a seminar in 1991. It was a “self help” experiential seminar held in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Of course I had attended to “improve myself”. I saw myself as a poor boy, whose hard work was bringing progress in the material and spiritual world. I was an attorney in Boulder County, Colorado. I had met my wife in 1972 at a bar in Minneapolis, and by simply saying “your eyes are so pretty”, I would be with this powerful, gifted, loving, and giving woman for the next twenty-six years of my awakening life.
During those years, we both grew at a rate that was unbelievable to all those who had known us. I thought it would last forever. Silly me.
Well, let’s go back to the conclusion of that “self help” seminar in 1991. I was leaving the room and my “coach” for the course said “goodbye Jimmy”. I hated being called Jimmy, but my sister was in the same course and she had always called me Jimmy. So the whole group picked up on the word. James Anthony has such a nice sound to my ears, but to those who knew me from childhood, I was Jimmy.
Well, I knew my “coach” was a nurse in real life and without a conscious thought, I blurted out “my mother-in-law is dying and I don’t know what to do”. She advised enthusiastically and honestly, “just be with her”.
CHAPTER TWO
(Some Expression of Love)
I didn’t know what that meant, but it made me think. I realize now that most of the time I was, and am, in a kind of fog, searching for my thoughts that make sense and discarding the ones that I judge don’t make sense, but never really being clear about it. And, what’s worse, not being able to separate my own thoughts and ideas from those coming in from all the messages and noise of selling, useless chatter from television, radio and casual idle talk. But “Just be with her” stuck in my mind. Like a tune or sayings such as “lawyers are liars”, ”somewhere over the rainbow”, or “are you lonesome tonight”, or “remember the king”, “don’t trust anyone over thirty” or “look both ways before crossing the street”, and brush your teeth thoroughly before going to bed”. But this was different.
My mother-in-law had cancer but we didn’t officially know that. I guessed it from what was going on. She was elderly (eighty-four) weak, and suffered from osteoporosis. She was an amazingly “good” woman with life experiences I now see as huge tests. She had tuberculosis and while in a sanitarium, met her first husband Martin. He adored her. She had two children by him. Her son, “Big Jim”, and her daughter Sandra. Big Jim made a living with his musical talents. He played piano and sang, mostly in small bars. Sandra would become my first wife Sandy. I was positive then that she would be my only wife and that we would live long, healthy, and happy lives together, spreading love and kindness until some how it would end perfectly. Of course I couldn’t know what was to come.
My mother-in-laws name was Genevieve, Gene to her close friends. Her beloved Martin died of a blood clot following a simple surgery. Sandy was only eighteen months old when she lost her daddy. I now know clearly what a tragedy it was for her to not have him to guide her as she grew. She became more and more aware of this fact as she matured into an elegant, powerful and loving woman of unequaled strength.
It seems her own life experiences and struggles increased her consciousness and propelled her to levels of growth beyond the expectations of most.
Weeks before that seminar ended in 1991, Sandy had made a date to have lunch with her mother at the nursing home. It would fit into our schedule before we would fly back to Colorado.
It was Sunday morning. Sandy and I had made a videotape of our life in Colorado. We had made it for Gene and we wanted to show it to her during the lunch date. I called the nursing home and asked the nurse if they had a player or should I bring one. The nurse was evasive.
It turns out Gene was in a coma. Her pulse was low and her blood pressures were low. I asked, “is she dying?” The nurse said, “I’m not a doctor.”
We rushed over to the nursing home.
Entering Gene’s room I saw her roommate, a television blaring nonsense, and heard a voice on the intercom announcing information to employees. I just felt it was all so wrong. From my viewpoint, Gene was in a coma and probably dying; yet no respect was being given to her during her last moments on earth.
I touched her feet. They were hard and cold. I thought, “they are like a statue”.
Sandy went to her head and said “mom.”
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Gene came out of the coma.
She was still alive; simply waiting for Sandy to come for the lunch they had planned. She just couldn’t die without some expression of love.
None of it was about me, but I could only try to understand what to do. How could I help? Help my wife, my mother-in-law and Bill, her husband of twenty-five years, William Francis McGrath.
Bill had worked for the railroad most of his adult life. He loved working on the railroad and he loved drinking Christian Brother’s Brandy. When he was in his thirties, the medical profession informed him he had leukemia, and informed him he only had six months to live. They advised him to do what he enjoyed most for the remaining months of his life.
Bill signed up for all the overtime he could get at the railroad and increased his drinking of Christian Brother’s Brandy. He told me, “hard work and a lot of Brandy cures “leukemia”.
CHAPTER THREE
(I have So Much to Learn)
My head and mind searched for answers, for an approach to deal with what was happening. The thoughts, of what to do, ran through my mind. The observations of what appeared to be going on left me speechless. Sandy seemed sad, yet full of love. Her mother seemed near death, but happy to see her daughter. Bill seemed scared, lost, confused; and so in need of a friend. “Just be with her” kept pounding in my head. I hardly even knew where I was in Minneapolis; I didn’t know the street I was on, what the weather was like or the time of the year.
The answers I needed wouldn’t come from my mind. They would come from my heart, and looking back to that day, I believe they came from some other source than myself.
While Sandy talked to her mom, I found a phone. This was before cell phones; a different world and a different time. But death is one constant that none of us escape. I was searching for the art of dying, which I now know is the same as the art of living.
I called my friends. Sandy and I had a stop planned to see them before we caught the plane home. I explained that we wouldn’t be able to meet them, and that Gene was probably dying. I invited them to come to the nursing home.
In the meantime, Sandy and her mother had “lunch”. Gene vomited and had a bowel movement in bed. She lapsed back into a coma.
The aids cleaned the bed and Gene.
Sandy was crying. It was a silent crying, as tears streamed down her face and she tried to be strong. I now wonder what is being strong all about? Perhaps it means facing and accepting, reality.
Bill sat in a chair. He appeared old, lonely and quiet.
I now realize that Bill must have been through hell and every emotion possible during the month’s which led up to that Sunday. He had tried to care for his wife at home, but he was too old and weak to care for himself, as a result, his wife was in the nursing home. He must have known what was happening and felt he had done all he could do; yet he still wanted his life with Gene to be as it had been. There was nothing left for him to do but “just be with her” until the end. Then he would have to deal with life without Gene, but he wasn’t looking that far into the future as he sat in the chair.
Gene’s death would be the death of William Francis McGrath. It took about one year for Bill to die. I think he died of loneliness. He tried his hardest to carry on but without Gene, there was no life to live. Bill once told me, “without love there is nothing”. He also once told me of a verse he had seen written on the inside of a boxcar.
He said a hobo had written, “it’s easy to smile when life is worthwhile, and things go along like a sweet song, but the man who is worthwhile is the man who can smile, when everything goes dead wrong”. Bill would use that verse repeatedly for decades. Another example of the power of the “word”, as he once had that verse imprinted on a sweatshirt. He gave that sweatshirt to a neighbor friend who had “terminal” cancer. I saw her many times, and she was often wearing that sweatshirt. She told me the story of it again and again and told me it gave her courage to go on.
Looking back, I now see how blind and shallow I was then. And I wonder; have I really awakened at all? After all these fourteen years, am I any more conscious?
My brain and mind still has the chatter of incoming messages and a monkey mind jumping from branch to branch. Sometimes I understand that it is only chatter. Before I thought it was all so significant. Still this monkey mind fools me and I lose my course. Sandy could help keep me on course. She was my rudder for my otherwise out of control sailboat.
She would die in 1998, but how could I know that in 1991? How could I know I would have to get another rudder or more importantly, how could I develop my own rudder, especially when my ego was so large as to allow me to believe I was the power in my life. In fact, I had a lot to learn, and still do!
Our friends arrived and after some time I asked them for any suggestions. Bruce was a friend of many years. His wife, Mongalika, is a Buddhist. She said “in my religion, I believe the mind or consciousness you leave this life with is the mind or consciousness you enter the next life with. So I would simply remind her of all the wonderful things she has done in her life.”
Well, it makes sense; “just be with her” and remind her of all the wonderful things in her life. So Sandy tried it.
But her tears and the lump in her throat made it impossible for her to continue. So, she asked me to do it.
Well, sure. So without knowing what I was doing or saying, I just did and said the following.
CHAPTER FOUR
(Just be with her, but how?)
I sat next to the bed. I put my left hand into Gene’s left hand and held it. I can still fell her hand after all these years. I put my right hand on her forehead and I can still feel it after all these years. I can still see the side of her face as her head faced the concrete wall of the nursing home.
In the next fourteen years I would get better at this as Bill would die, Sandy would die, Big Jim would die, my brother’s wife would die, and my father would die, as I “helped” each pass to the next life or other side.
I suspect my mother will pass while I care for her, but that is all in the future and I am trying to deal with the present.
My mind and heart sense that it was for the purpose of “just being with her or him” that I am here at this time. I feel I must relate these events to anyone who wants to hear it, for their benefit, and for mine.
We are all so temporary, but most of us operate and live as if it is forever on this earth. What’s it all about?
I reminded Gene of the kitchen of her home in North Minneapolis.
CHAPTER FIVE
(Gene’s Passage)
Holding her hand and touching her forehead, I began by reminding her of all the thanksgiving and Christmas dinners she had held in her home and kitchen for over fifty years.
I reminded her of how the room was full of love and that only people who loved her so deeply were always present. I told her that is how this room is now. Full of love and people who love you.
I reminded her of the time when we were in the mountains in Colorado during a snow storm, when the windshield wipers stopped working and we couldn’t see any longer in the night as the windshield filled with snow. How afraid we all were. But then Deane, your wonderful loving enthusiastic grandson, so much like you, rolled down the window, and from the front passenger seat wiped the windshield free of the snow. And we could all see in the night as we safely and slowly proceeded on to our mountain home in left hand canyon, and the fear was gone, and love and gentleness brought us home safely. And that is how it is now. No fear, only love and gentleness as we travel home safely.
I reminded her of her wonderful loving children. Your son, Jim, and of how his music brings joy to the world. Your, lovely daughter Sandra, so loyal and giving and so loving, so much like yourself.
I reminded her of Danny, nick named Lucky by his father Bud Mellon, Gene’s second husband. Lucky is charismatic and kind, such a wonderful smile, so much for you to be proud of.
Her grand daughter Theresa, intelligent, courageous and her pride and joy.
I spoke of Martin, her loving husband who died so young. I spoke of what a gift it was to have had him in her life and perhaps that he waits for her arrival soon.
Then there were all her friends who love and respect her and want only the best for her.
Of her loving husband Bill who would, and has done everything in his power to love and cherish you, his marvelous wife.
Then the words “God loves you” came from my mouth. Gene opened only one eye, turned her head from the wall to look straight up toward the ceiling of the small room. As I said “and you love God” her other eye opened.
Both eyes went to a darker shade of blue; she stared intently into the space above us, and within seconds was no longer alive as we know life on earth.
Mongalika cried out; “a band of Angel’s took her away!”
I don’t know if a band of Angels did or did not arrive. I do know we were all moved spiritually by Gene’s passing. It is what happened, and what was said in that room on that Sunday afternoon.
What’s it all about, I thought. We live, we die and it seems so important to us. Six billion people on this planet. Animals of all kinds, creatures in rivers, lakes and oceans, bugs and birds. How much can we matter? One thing became clear to me; we do matter, a lot to the people who love us. And if you have enough love in you, it all matters.
Years later I would hear a man quote Socrates, “it’s not that we live, it’s how we live that matters.”
Looking back, I understand Genevieve Lee, who became Gene Engstrom, Gene Mellon, and Gene McGrath had lived splendidly. She wasn’t famous to the world, but to all of those who knew her, she was unparalleled in grace, honesty and courage. Family traits, which I grew to appreciate more and more as the following years passed.
Her daughter Sandra was my wife, and she didn’t have a clue as to how unusual she and her mother were in those traits. It was just the way she was, and she didn’t yet know herself.
I recall Socrates also said, “know thyself, the examined life is the only life worth living”.
This was a large step in that process, but all in that room that Sunday were too stunned and awe struck to grasp the lesson fully. It was as if we were all in our own way trying to “get it.” Or connect the dots, or answer “what’s it all about?”
Several years later, Deane, the grandson, the son, and then a young man, after his mother Sandra was gone for some time, asked me, “what’s wrong with just being a good person?”
I looked at him in amazement and saw the same grace and wisdom his mother and grandmother possessed. Isn’t that really what it is all about?
CHAPTER SIX
(No fool, like an old fool)
Well, we were all in a hurry, or may be only I was. There was a plane to catch taking us back to Colorado, and I had clients and appointments on Monday.
Sandy was grieving and I was oblivious to so much.
Forgiving myself for my stupidity is hard! I am hard on myself, and why not? How could I have not seen?
Month’s earlier Gene had said, “I wish I had my Sandy to help me.” Had I been more awake, I could have helped arrange to have Sandy stay with her mother during those last months. The nursing home could have been avoided, and Sandy could have helped her mother and Bill at home.
What’s more, why couldn’t I have helped more and stayed there? It was an opportunity I could not see, but I was waking up, little by little, even if I couldn’t see or know it was happening. Such an egocentric person I was and such a fool.
Years later a man would say to me, “ there is no fool like an old fool.” He was telling me to wake up to what I was wasting, but as I write this, I am just beginning to see what he meant.
Also, as I recall Bill McGrath, I once asked him for his advice. He started by saying, “I wouldn’t ever tell you what to do, but since you asked…”; then he would give me his sage advice. I want to say what I believe is the most important lesson I’ve learned. That does not mean I am able to follow it, but I know with all my being that it is a truth. So as to avoid the feeling that I am preaching, I will pretend that you asked me what that truth is.
Love and kindness are all that matters. That love and kindness must start with you, but not egotistically. That is the most important part of it, love yourself, always. How you talk to yourself, that conversation which is always going on in your mind, is how you will treat all others, be it human or non human, animate or inanimate. If you are in the habit of being hard on yourself, you will act outwardly in that same manner. If you are full of self hate, you will speak harshly and act in aggressive ways. If you are angry with yourself, you will act out and speak in angry ways. If you do not respect yourself, you cannot respect others. To be loving outwardly, you must start with yourself inwardly. Changing so as to develop love for one’s self is a challenge. If you already feel love towards your self, you are fortunate. One way to develop self respect and self love is to meditate for an hour each day, sending yourself love, for the entire time. It is called metta, and you direct it towards you. One is not trying to increase one’s ego; one is trying to develop oneself into a loving person. If one can truly practice that, one can develop a healthy respect for ones self. Kindness will become an easier path outwardly. Happiness will become easier to attain. Had I known that sooner, most of my pain could have been avoided. I didn’t have a mentor like the Buddha, and I am just now learning to love myself.
The word meditation simply means mental development. On the subject of love, the Buddha advised his young son Rahula to “cultivate a meditation on loving-kindness, for by cultivating loving-kindness, ill will is banished forever. Cultivate, too, a meditation on compassion, for by cultivating compassion, you will find harm and cruelty disappear.” I think it has to start with me, then spread outward.
The lessons would continue for me, as I tried harder to understand and grow. But growing in spiritual and emotional ways seemed to be unplanned and unexpected. And I had to pay attention, or I would miss the “growth”, and, most of the time, I was not really aware, I was getting lost. Instead of getting a smaller ego, mine was growing. The next five years were most wonderful in the material world for Sandy and me.
Our two children prospered. Theresa graduated from college, went on to earn a degree in fashion design and became a designer. She married and began her own family and had three beautiful children. Deane played hockey at Denver University, went on to play professionally and married. Both Theresa and Deane had their mother’s disposition and character.
Sandy and I began enjoying life. It seemed all of our hard work was bearing fruit. We took several vacations and we had three businesses, all doing well. We had built our dream home in the mountains. Theresa and her family came to visit one New Years Eve. While Theresa and her husband celebrated the holiday, Sandy and I took care of the grandkids. We introduced them to meditation. We tried to get them to sit in one position, without moving, and focus their attention on their breathing for one hour, bringing the mind back to the breath each time the mind wandered. They could concentrate for approximately twenty seconds before they would move, or open their eyes, or reach for the popcorn in the middle of our small group.
Sandy said it is hard to concentrate on your breath, isn’t it. James said, “yes, especially when you know there is popcorn right in front of you.”
We ended the session by expressing love and kindness to all beings, human and non-human, large and small, seen or unseen, near or far. The kids went to bed. James looked at me from the bed. I was meditating next to him. I was on the floor cross-legged and motionless. I peaked at him and he asked, “are you guarding us?” I said yes, closed my eyes, and sat there for one hour. The kids fell asleep. Sandy and I retired.
The next morning, Sandy and I awoke before the kids and I sat in the same position I had been in the night before. When James awoke he looked at me, his jaw dropped, and he looked again. He thought I had “guarded him” all night. He was a precious boy, a combination of mischieviousness, love, and rogue.
A year later, we visited Theresa’s family in Virginia. As James ran through the living room he was screaming, “I don’t want to grow up”. I don’t know what prompted him to do that. He was in and out of the room in the amount of time it took him to make his announcement. Growing up can be painful. Perhaps he understood that.
Sandy and I appeared to be two poor kids, who had “made it”. We would often jokingly put our thumbs up in the air and laugh, “te, he, he!” We were in a position to enjoy our lives to the fullest. I suppose I had always been in that position if I had seen life that way, but I was so often captured in survival that James’ statement of “I don’t want to grow up” made sense most of the time.
During Christmas of 1995, Sandy decided to have a family reunion for my side of the family at our home. She was an excellent chef. She prepared and planned for weeks. All was organized for a week of celebration. She did it all out of love and kindness.
Relatives arrived from great distances. My mother’s only living sibling, her sister Holly, whom she had not seen in twenty years. My cousin, and her family with whom we had lost touch, and my sister and her family. In all, we had fifteen guests for one week. Holly was ten years younger than my mother had no children and a husband of twenty years. He would die shortly after the reunion. She would be alone most of the rest of her life.
It was a wondrous event. Our earth sheltered mountain home, indoor swimming pool, not one, but two trout ponds frozen over with ice. I drilled holes in the ice so people could fish, and we cross country skied in our front yard.
Sandy orchestrated the event beautifully.
She hadn’t told me or anyone else that she had noticed a small lump in her right breast. After all, when she was twenty years old, she had a small cyst removed, in out patient surgery. We also had a scare of “fibrocystic changes” in the eighties that turned out to be a false alarm, or so we thought.
I had always wanted to get rid of my contact lenses. My eyes were so myopic, that I had to go outside of the United States for the laser surgery to correct the vision. So, when spring came, we went to Vancouver and within minutes a doctor corrected my near sightedness.
But my real vision was just about to change forever. More growth and the hardest lessons for me were just around the corner.
CHAPTER SEVEN
(Are there really Angels?)
Sandy had gone into the clinic. I stayed in the car and listened to the radio while I waited for her to return. After sometime, she came through the exit doors of the clinic and walked to the driver’s side of the car. As she approached, I opened the window of the car. She was not smiling.
She simply stated, “I don’t need this, I don’t need this!”
As I tried to understand what it was she didn’t need, she said, “The doctor wants to see you.”
We met in the doctor’s office; a library of surgery texts surrounded us. He stated without emotion or compassion, "I believe it is a fast growing cancer, and should be removed immediately. I would like to do the surgery tomorrow morning at nine a.m.”
I wished I had been a part of the discussion between he and Sandy. I was playing “catch up”, and I could not figure out what was communicated before I became involved in the discussion. From what I could decipher, we were not talking about a simple lumpectomy. That would have been totally acceptable to Sandy. The discussion had apparently been about his opinion that it was a fast growing cancer. The words “…it is a fast growing cancer…” had been powerfully stated, and had the destructive force which put fear into our lives. Could there have been a more caring manner to get the point across?
He explained, if she agreed to the surgery, then while she was on the surgery table, depending upon what he found, he may have to decide to take out more tissue, perhaps perform a mastectomy, or remove some of the lymph nodes. That became the area of concern. Additionally, he did not want to perform a biopsy, the theory was that perhaps a needle put into a cancerous tumor would cause it to spread.
We were shocked, fearful, and dazed. We agreed to the surgery for early morning the next day. I don’t recall what Sandy said, I recall the mood was somber.
We left.
The drive home is not in my memory.
I do recall making telephone calls. We were what some might call “health nuts”. We ate organically grown vegetables, little meat, partook in colon cleansing, regular exercise, drank only distilled water and on and on. We saw ourselves living into the future healthy, wealthy, and loving.
As we began making phone calls to various experts in health, we entered a world where nearly everyone was a “doctor” or wanted to be called a doctor. It was a world of experts in nutrition, spirituality, and leaders of various organizations and foundations.
Each of these “experts” had well reasoned opinions as to why his or her recommended course of action was the best for us to follow. We were so trusting. We were open to each approach, except, for some reason, surgery. Looking back, I still do not understand the reluctance to perform a lumpectomy, and nothing more. Perhaps it was a fear of cancer, and the use of the word “cancer”. Perhaps that fear was one of the causes of the disorder, whatever it was labeled. Also, the surgeon was a man. His bedside manner was abrupt and slightly arrogant. Sandy had had enough rudeness and arrogance from men, and I believe if we had gone to a woman surgeon, that simple factor may have changed our approach to Sandy’s decision making. Further, I suspect there was an emotional connection to her physical manifestation in the form of a “lump” which appeared in her breast.
In the end, we tried many of the approaches. The traditional approach was not followed.
We did not have a lumpectomy, in fact, that simple procedure was never offered as a possibility. The surgeon’s approach was to do surgery. I recall he said he would be with her every step of the way after the surgery and into the next treatment phases. What that would have involved we could not foresee, but chemotherapy, and radiation were never considered to be acceptable to Sandy.
Two years after Sandy discovered the lump and experienced many various approaches to “healing”, she wished she had the lump surgically removed, but she would not have agree to anything other than a lumpectomy. She would not agree to have the breast removed. But, the decision to not have surgery was not simply made that day, and not just that one time. It was a constant decision, and it was not always made easily. There was constant reinforcement and the choice and decision-making process was ever present in our minds. Her choice was constantly being reaffirmed with the help of information and the input of her other “care givers”. Often the decision was without as much confidence as at other times.
The telephone rang with people, mostly women, who had cured lumps and cancer alternatively. The advice was not to have the surgery.
My best friend stated he had cured himself of cancer using alternative methods. We had great respect for him. His advice was also for us to treat the lump alternatively. He knew we had been receiving literature from the Hippocrates Health Institute. He felt that was the place he would turn to if he were in our position.
After hours of discussion with dozens of people, it was decided. There would be no surgery now.
Sandy arranged for three week’s of treatment at the Hippocrates Health Institute. We arranged to have my mother and father come also.
We called the surgeon and cancelled the surgery. He reluctantly agreed. He again told me that in his opinion, it was a fast growing cancer. He told me that if the lump got any bigger, that I should get her in immediately. Knowing what Sandy was wanting to accomplish and having a concept of how she was going to accomplish it, he said, “maybe, you can teach us something”. We agreed and started a two year long journey towards the end of Sandy’s life.
Well, how could I see the future? We were confident that we could and would get rid of the “lump”, and even become very much healthier than we already were. My mind didn’t make a distinction between Sandy and me. What was good for one must be good for the other. Whatever “good” meant.
A friend criticized me for seeing things in black and white. For example, I saw cigarettes as bad, exercise as good. I couldn’t see anything good about cigarettes, and I couldn’t see anything bad about exercise. I had work to do. I had to see the complexity of situations and not take a stand on “truth” which was really just my opinion formed from my conditioning and resulting viewpoint.
Within the next two years, Sandy and I enrolled in and participated with all of our ability, in numerous treatments and therapies. Some were simple, others seemed extreme. Friends called us, excited about treatments they had heard of and other approaches to “healing” which they believed in. There were diets to choose from, supplements, seminars, oils, herbs, exercises, therapists, faith healers, gurus, and medical experts. There were so many treatments invented and conceived of that it overwhelmed us. We searched for the way, which made sense to us.
For me, it made sense to follow what was simplest. One lecturer stated, “avoid eating anything that has been tampered with by man.” He meant to eat what was in its most natural state. To me, it became, “embrace life”. My black and white thinking was back. But that only covered food. What about clean air, sunshine, exercise, rest and loving relationships, how would those factors fit into my search for health, and more importantly, happiness? The “food” issue was simple for me. Happiness was what I sought, and that would be my life journey.
Regarding food, one common belief among “alternative” care folks, was that the standard American diet, was a contributing factor in bad health. It has been given the sarcastic name (SAD). Further, there was a common belief that much of the standard treatment of disease by mainstream medicine was necessary to treat the diseases created by the lifestyle many of the people in our culture were following.
That didn’t mean it was true. We changed our lifestyle. The health benefits for me were fantastic. I felt like I had gotten ten years younger in three weeks. I had found something that worked for me. Something, which contributed to my health, which I believed, is wealth.
Sandy’s lump was still there. Her brother said, “why don’t you do the right thing?” He meant for her to have the surgery. It is hard to comment on. Would that have been the simple solution? She was trying to do the “right” thing. It was her approach to getting “cured”. She didn’t want to label her condition as cancer, and if it was, there were many different opinions about how to treat it. There really is no black and white on a lot of issues. The gray areas are the hard ones.
Recently, I listened to a politician speaking. His message was that in this great nation, where we have a two point five trillion-dollar budget, and an eleven trillion dollar gross national product, then why don’t we spend enough money to come up with a cure for cancer? His message was clear. He felt if more money is spent on finding a cure for cancer, then a cure will be found. That may be true.
From what I had observed, there was a lot more to it. Perhaps cancer is a disease caused by a combination of factors such as genetics, exposure to carcinogens, self-image, and lifestyle.
The necessity to have an eleven trillion dollar gross national product could be one of the problems contributing to cause cancer, heart disease, strokes, blindness, obesity, diabetes, arthritis, and other diseases common in our culture.
From an economic view, the growth of the gross national product defines success or failure in America. If the gross national product is not growing, then we enter bad economic times. But to cure cancer, could a pill or surgery really do that, or would there be some other remedy?
If the “cure” for cancer meant one had to become loving, loving of others and more importantly, of oneself, and further, stop smoking tobacco products, give up alcohol, fast foods as we know them, grease, pesticides, coffee and on and on, would a whole society do that? What an argument would take place. Is coffee “good” or “bad”? What about alcohol? How about french fries? Donuts? What about war and hatred? Did our attitude about life and respect for life have anything to do with cancer and other illness? Would a study explore those issues?
What if there is no cure for cancer anyway? What if we eventually just have to die of something, be it war, car accidents, heart attacks, stroke, or simply “old age” whatever that is? What if I just lightened up and lived? My monkey mind was working over-time.
I decided to embrace life and a lifestyle for living. I was not the king of the world, or, the “captain in charge” of health in America. If people wanted to give up unwholesome foods and products, that was their choice. I had enough to take care of right in front of me, and pushing my way of life on others would not be acceptable.
Our national lifestyle, which we can do something about, may change. It is possible, and many people are concerned and are devoting their efforts towards that end.
For me, it would be best if I could learn to live authentically.
Perhaps you are thinking that Sandy should have had the surgery. Well I have thought about that over and over. Sandy and I talked about it many times over the two years before she died. At one point we met with the medical doctor at Hippocrates Health Institute, the director, and the health facilitator. They examined Sandy’s lump. By now it was open and raw. Blood oozed from her nipple. One of them felt it was “encapsulated” and not a danger of spreading. They agreed that surgery would probably not be an appropriate treatment as there was not enough healthy tissue to draw from, her body weight was approximately ninety pounds. We also met with Sandy’s treating physician in Boulder, Colorado. She agreed that surgery would be unlikely to remedy the situation. She referred Sandy out to an oncologist. The oncologist was willing to do the surgery, but Sandy was certain that surgery now would not be a choice she would find acceptable. It was too late, but we didn’t say that.
During that time my brother’s wife developed breast cancer. She undertook all of the traditional treatments. A shunt was put in her head and chemotherapy was applied directly to her brain. She underwent three years of painful and ugly treatments. She had hair loss, then re-growth followed by hair loss. She became disabled, and wheel chair bound. She underwent severe depression, took narcotic medications and went through denial.
Friends of friends near the same age as Sandy and within weeks of discovering the cancer the same time Sandy did, underwent conventional treatment and died within weeks of the date of Sandy’s death.
From age seventeen until age thirty-three, Sandy had smoked cigarettes. She also felt shame for many reasons.
All of the people I referred to above smoked cigarettes. Most of them, from what I knew about them, had poor self-images of themselves, low self-esteem. Many of their children and loved ones still smoke cigarettes. Was there a casual connection between smoking cigarettes and cancer, and if so, is low self-esteem a factor in causing illness, any illness? My black and white thinking couldn’t answer my questions, and my quest for simple answers didn’t always mean the answers were simple. My monkey mind searched to analyze cancer and its causes.
It appears to me that smoking tobacco is unwholesome. Tobacco is used as an herb, and many cultures used it as an aid in peace ceremonies. Developing cigarettes was a gradual process, and as I understand it, they are composed of many chemicals combined with tobacco. 380,000 people in America alone are employed in the tobacco industry.
Johnson said, “The chains of habit are too weak to be felt until they are too strong to be broken”, and Voltaire said, “Use, do not abuse…”
To me, smoking is an expensive way to self-inflict poor health. I can’t say it caused the cancer in Sandy any more that I could say a lumpectomy would have “cured” her condition. I have seen many old people who have smoked for years. They also drank alcohol and ate whatever they wanted to. They were usually overweight, but they had lived long, often healthy lives. It made me wonder. Was there any reason to be so concerned about lifestyle? Perhaps they would be healthier and live even longer if they didn’t smoke, drink, and eat “unwholesome” foods. But they were content to be as they were. One fellow told me “I would rather die five years earlier than give up red meat, beer, and cigarettes.”
I do wish Sandy had never smoked.
I wish she had had a lumpectomy. But she had smoked, and she did not have a lumpectomy. I also wish she had developed a sense of self-worth from the day she was born. Once a choice has been made, we live with the results. One of the ramifications of any decision is that it never really only affects ourselves. We are all connected, and I was just beginning to understand that.
She never had a sick day from the discovery of the lump until she died two years later of lung cancer. Her quality of life improved and she healed emotionally and spiritually until she died on June 7, 1998, at 2:40 a.m. Sunday morning, in her home with three of the people who loved her at her side and at her feet.
I was there along with Deane, Theresa, and of course, Sandy. I believe Sandy felt the presence of angels, but I can only speak about three dimensions. The dying, appear to see and experience more. I don’t know if it is how the mind works when the body is fading, or if it is the result of an over active imagination. I have met people who claim to experience the presence of Angels in their lives. And there are religions, which speak of Angels as entities. Some things are beyond the realm of science, as we know it today. A man I met said, “of course there are Angels, all you have to do is remove the third dimension.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
(Where does the love go?)
My first experience with dying wasn’t Sandy’s mother. Of course, I had many experiences with dying as experienced in fishing, cleaning chickens and that sort of “dying”. What I am trying to say, is my first experience of a loved one dying in my arms. Later, I would come to appreciate all life. But up to now, “Thou shall not kill” really didn’t mean much to me. There were lives I could take if I wanted to, and I could pick and choose, and, for me, there was nothing wrong with that. Gene’s death had been a spiritual moment for me, and religion had never been a “spiritual” experience for me.
Thou Shall Not Kill
I’ve been confused, since Sunday school,
Thou shall not kill they said.
Only now do I wonder, What shall I not kill?
It spins in my head.
As a child, collecting butterflies and bees in jars,
Some got damaged and were dead.
So careful to release them,
When my playing was done,
And careful not to step on ants
As I walked in the sun.
I picked up night crawlers,
After heavy rains, moved some to safety,
Saved others for fishing.
I dangled worms in the water,
Stuck on a hook,
Pulled fooled fish from the water,
Into the air, I killed them both,
And didn’t really care.
I grew older,
Watched war movies,
Played soldier as a game,
I was never the same.
Later, I spent my time watching news,
Now, too old for butterflies and bees.
Men killing women, women killing their own sons,
This news as I called it, poisoned my heart.
I studied religions, where killing was shunned,
My simple mind wondered,
How did killing animals and eating them make sense?
I was told the earth was ours as stewards, and
All on it was for our use.
Inside of me a voice disagreed.
It wasn’t true for everyone, but if I
Listened to that voice, which was talking to me,
I may be set free.
It asked me, when did you decide to watch murder in stories,
And buy tickets for more?
Were you laughing as you strung
That worm on the hook?
I looked in books, for answers, asked scholars
To explain more, was there a connection between fishing, killing and war? One man told me, it was only to
Murder, that thou shall not kill did apply, and murder only applied to humans, to you and I.
No footnote could I find,
The voice within told me don’t kill,
Respect all that lives,
But it wasn’t practical all of the time.
Monarch butterflies and bumblebees were my favorite,
Now I recall. I also liked tiny blue fireflies,
And honey bees too.
I found when I killed one, it created anger within,
I was the first victim, then it was him.
So I avoid killing, and I feel, and what I feel,
Just may be love. I like myself more,
when I don’t kill, and that makes me feel free,
I watch them in wonder,
Usually from afar,
Sometimes they land
On my hand, even my shoulder, but I don’t
Use a jar.
Seems they are born to be free,
Somehow butterflies and bees, are now precious to me.
Misha died in my arms and at my direction.
Misha was a small red dog, a cross between a sheltie and a golden retriever. She looked like a small collie, except she was red.
I first met her in 1977, when we lived in a cabin in the mountains of Colorado. It was well before Sandy and I had achieved any financial success.
Sandy had always worked hard. Why she married me was a mystery. When we met in Minnesota, I was broke, and I had not yet been accepted into law school. I was a “bouncer” in a country bar by night; and an instructor at a health club by day. I met her while waiting to be accepted into “any law school”; I had applied to twenty-six different law schools.
Once I asked her why she married me. She said, “because you wanted to make something out of yourself!”
Well, it was three years after our marriage and I was the father of Theresa, age thirteen, and Deane, age eleven. We were living in a cabin in Colorado. We had no running water, but there was a creek out side of our front door, and we had an outhouse. We had electricity, but only enough to turn on four lights and a coffee maker or toaster, but not both.
We were cozy. Deane, Theresa, Sandy and me, a lawyer without a client, but I had a night guard job. Sandy was the anchor of our family, although everyone thought I was the strength. We were a powerful team, and we didn’t even know it. However, our family wasn’t yet complete, we didn’t have a dog!
This cabin became a home. Each morning I would heat up a coffee maker full of water. The water came from the creek. I would pour the hot water into a cooler, which I had placed in the branches of three trees, which were close together. Around the trees, I had fastened a shower curtain. By adding two more pots of cold water to the cooler, I had enough water to take a shower. The drain of the cooler had a rubber shower hose attached to it and a showerhead at the end of that hose. It would give me enough time for a three-minute shower. I did this each morning for five months, until a well was finally drilled. My last shower in that contraption was done while it was snowing. The rest of the family drove to the recreation center and showered before they started each day.
Theresa hated the outhouse. Even a flashlight wasn’t enough to make the evening trip to the outhouse acceptable. We all cooperated and our new family bonded.
Often, at night, we noticed a jingling sound outside our door. We didn’t know what it was, but we wanted to find out. So, I began throwing pieces of bread out and around the cabin. Eventually, a timid red dog stepped into the light.
Once we got her into the house, everyone loved her. But the jingling was her dog tags, and she must belong to someone. So we put her out each evening so she could go home.
Each day she came back and stayed longer. Finally she slept overnight in Theresa’s bed. Her master must have missed her. One day her owner wrote us a note. It said; “you keep her.”
I never met her” owner”. She lived in a caboose in the mountains. Misha is Russian for bear, and Misha was wonderful and loved.
As the years passed, from 1977 to 1991, Misha got old. And what a life she had. Porcupine quills in her nose, gums, tongue, and the roof of her mouth. During her life, she was hit by a car, underwent surgeries and other life threatening events. She became a fearless protector of our home and drove off would be intruders, both animal and human.
Theresa and Deane grew and left home. Misha became our child. She had a stroke but recovered. She spent three weeks in the veterinary clinic. Then she came home. She lay motionless for two weeks in a walk in closet of our new earth sheltered home. One day, Sandy looked at Misha and said, “woof, woof!”
Misha jumped up and barked back! But her brain somehow got rewired backwards. If you threw the ball to the right, she would run to the left and, often she wouldn’t stop running until her head hit the glass wall surrounding the swimming pool. When I used the snow blower to create a path through the heavy snows, she would follow me bumping and bouncing off of the walls of the trench through the snow. She kept me company as I spent hours outside in the drifts of clean cool snow.
In the mid-1980’s, a friend said, she sure picked the right cabin. And so she did. In her youth, she would run beside me as I rode my mountain bike through mountain paths. Mountain lions were a danger for dogs and cats. Misha was fearless and knew so much about life. She had aged gracefully, and calmness was now her way.
In 1991 Sandy and I planned a vacation. Prior to that, we had put Misha in a kennel on several occasions only to find her depressed and weak when we returned.
Her doctor, Steve Benchite, had told me her kidneys and bladder were about to fail, so I planned her death for June 20th, of that year. I think it was 1991.
Anyway, Steve pulled down the driveway and as he got out of his pickup truck, he poked Misha in the backside with a syringe. He looked at me and said, “that will make it easier on everyone.” I thought it was meant to kill her, but it was only a sedative.
What was unusual was that Misha was now able to follow me. She had been unable to do that for the last six months. She followed me to the creek, over the small bridge to the other side and stood in the warm afternoon sun, next to the trout pond, surrounded by ponderosa pines and boulders. A small redwood coffin sat next to the hole I had been digging. My friend Keith Brown was a carpenter, and he had made the coffin without me ever mentioning it. He loved dogs and he loved Misha. Misha inspected the area, sniffed the box, and came to my side.
I had given up on digging the grave deeper since the rocks became boulders the deeper I dug. I understood why the Rocky Mountains are called the Rocky Mountains. Steve helped me finish digging it deep enough to contain the box and we were finally prepared to part from Misha.
Steve asked me if I wanted to be alone with her. I said, “no, it’s okay”. As usual, I was stuffing my emotions deep down. Throughout my life, at moments of sadness and loss, I have had a feeling in my chest, which I have tried to understand. It is a hollow feeling around my heart. There is an empty space, accompanied by the emotion of immense loneliness. It was that sensation and the sadness and loneliness that I felt, and that I was not willing to face. I was trying to be strong rather than authentic. The emptiness was growing around my heart, the emptiness that I had been running from all of my life.
Steve had shaved Misha’s right forearm earlier. He carefully injected her leg. She fought to stay up and did so on four wobbly legs. He said, “I gave her enough to kill her twice! I’ll be back.”
He went across the creek and back to his truck for another dose of “medicine”.
Misha was shining red in the sun. Her gray face showcased her beautiful old eyes, sunk in her head, proclaiming the wisdom of that animal. She was magnificent as the wind blew the long hair of her neck and tail. She swayed in the sun as if she was standing on the deck of a sailboat made of mountain.
Steve returned and gave her another injection. Her legs caved, she fell to her side as I cushioned her fall. Her head ended up in my lap. A wave went through her body from her full red tail, through her hips, torso, neck, and head. Her tongue emerged from her mouth and she licked the side of her mouth and died in my arms. My neck bent over her head as I lay my face on hers and my tears washed the life from her eyes. The life of an honest red dog that had given only love and devotion, and never expected anything but kindness in return, was over. I had experienced empathy, a feeling of fellowship with a being, a small old red dog, and that fellowship was no more. There was agony in that separation. Somehow, a part of me was gone.
How could I have done this? I was responsible for arranging her death.
Steve said, “all goes back to the earth.”
I wondered; where does the love go? My heart was so empty, yet full. It was as if my heart was pumping blood, but the blood was bleeding tears into the emptiness of my chest.
The Buddha said, “the greater the attachment, the greater the pain upon separation, and that the separation is inevitable as nothing is permanent.
But to have had that much love, without any conditions, made the pain unbearable. I wished I could have kept her alive forever, but her passage across this earth was over. Later, I would learn from Sandy, that “this too, shall pass”. The art of living was showing itself to me, and it had to do with appreciating what you have while you have it. I had not learned that lesson. I had been exposed to it over and over again. However, if I had learned the lesson, I would have changed my behavior, and I was still not appreciating what I had until it was gone. If I could learn to express my appreciation honestly, life would be so much grander.
And still I wondered, “where does the love go?”
CHAPTER NINE
(What is love?)
Once Sandy and I were at our favorite bar. It was located at the mouth of left-hand canyon. The Greenbriar Inn. We were talking over a glass of wine and a black Russian. Misha was still alive, and we were talking about her trials and tribulations. I asked Sandy, “if Misha was to be hit by a car again or you were to have something awful happen to you, what would you choose?” She said depending on how awful it was; she would rather have something bad happen to her than to see Misha suffer again. That was a silly question to ask, and alcohol had a lot to do with it, but it gets me to the question of what is love?
Is the human heart and its love so much different than that of other animals? What did Misha feel for Sandy and I? She was truly happy in our presence.
I can tell you without a doubt, I would have given my life for Sandy and she would have given her life to spare mine. This was without doubt and absolute. We never wanted to be apart from each other. We called each other, the other one. There was generosity and compassion, which expressed our love.
She said she would not want to live a moment in this world without me in it. And I felt the same. We had the brass ring of material success, and the jewel of human love.
So when we went to the Hippocrates Health Institute in 1996 we went with confidence. We followed the program perfectly. We recorded the lectures, we took notes and returned home and converted the swimming pool into a greenhouse. We lived on sprouts, organically grown vegetables, green drinks and wheat grass juice.
We did this for two years. Sandy was impeccable in her effort and devotion. As a result of this pure lifestyle, she looked as if she was twenty-five years of age. Also, in 1993, we had both become vipassana meditators. Vipassana means insight. Meditation means mental development. The gist of it is to learn to live in reality and come out of illusion, and ignorance, and develop compassion and kindness as a way of life. It was what we both wanted to do and the combination was powerful.
Sandy appeared to be getting so healthy, except for the “lump” in her breast. We had been told the lump would disappear, as the immune system would take care of it.
When I first met Sandy, she was on Valium. It had been prescribed for a constant feeling of having a lump in her throat. She often felt it hard to speak because of the “lump” in her throat. She had been married once before. Her husband had criticized her speech and called her “stupid” whenever she expressed a thought he didn’t agree with. She developed a belief that she was not smart, and that whatever she had to say was not worth hearing. As a result, she had a constant “lump” in her throat, and a feeling of worthlessness. The lump prevented her from talking, and it was a result of the constant criticism. She also had small breasts.
During our treatment of the lump in her breast, which I believe was a manifestation of the “lump” in her throat moving to a different part of her body, we met a retired medical doctor. He was now in the business of “holistic” medicine. He examined Sandy and her “lump”. His opinion was that it was benign, but he said, “it’s not much of a breast anyway, I would suggest that it be removed along with the lump.”
A (THOUGHTLESS) WORD
Many years ago,
My childhood friend Ben,
Asked me what if he married his
Girlfriend Oriene?
I said she’s wonderful,
But she has a big nose,
He said we’ve been married
Three weeks.
I don’t know how he felt,
But my thoughtless words
Made me want to die.
If I was as sensitive then,
As I think I am now,
I suppose I could have seen
A tear in his eye.
Years have passed,
I’ve lost touch with Ben
And Oriene,
Maybe that’s no surprise.
I took a wife,
We grew and made
A wonderful life.
A lump on her right
Breast, one Christmas did appear,
We waited ‘til spring,
And lived in fear.
Courageous and strong,
This powerful woman carried on,
From doctors to healers and such.
A doctor of keniesiology,
Tested her one day, in his cottage
Of love tucked away.
He advised it wasn’t cancer,
Based upon his knowledge,
But still he advised remove
The breast,
He said it wasn’t much of a
Breast anyway.
More sensitive then, I felt the
Knife go in,
And I believe cancer entered
My wife that way,
But not exactly that day.
Many careless words,
I now can recall,
Spoken by unconscious people
Like me.
Why I am mindless of my words…
Careless of my thoughts…
It’s just easy to be unaware.
Two years later she died
I was at her side,
Loving kind thoughts
Were with her that day.
I have to work hard
To undo a word
So now when I see a child I say
You are a gift so loved
So precious and pure,
Believe in yourself and
Walk with pride,
Everything you think
Will come true,
I love you.
I have to work hard
To undo my words,
Those spoken out loud,
And those I say to myself.
Forgiveness is fine,
But I wish I had started on time,
My life would be different today.
I have to work hard
To undo a word,
To empower myself, and
Empower you,
It’s a long road
Undoing thoughtless words.
Once again Sandy had been insulted by mindless speech. She felt a rush of shame go through her body and settle in her chest. The very site of her “disease”, which may very well have been only “dis ease”, caused by mindless speech and resulting insult.
At approximately age three, Sandy had whooping cough. It appeared to me that the “weak area” of her body was her chest. She had a long slender, beautiful body. In her youth, various rude people had called her a “broomstick”. It appeared to me that those insulting statements had made an impact, and it were manifesting themselves now.
I was at a meditation camp in 1997. It was June, and Sandy had stayed home in order to follow her health regimen. On the third day of a ten-day camp, Sandy called and said she had noticed more tumors, and that I should be there with her. Once more, “Just be with her “ rang in my head.
I drove home in the rain. I never left her again until June 7, 1998, at 2:40 a.m., when she had to leave me forever.
During that year so much happened. We would walk in the mountains and she would stop. On one of those occasions, she was having a hard time getting enough oxygen. She stopped, looked into my face and said, “I would like to stay with you but I don’t think I can”.
I struggled to grasp that. How could it be? We were going to live to be old and healthy together.
Earlier, I had begun playing guitar and writing songs. I wrote songs from what she would say to me. Somehow, it was helping me grasp and deal with all of the change and pain and fear and love, even if I could not sing without crying.
“I Would Like To Stay With You, But I Don’t Think I Can”, became a song, and when I sing it, I still cry. Crying is a good thing. And that became another song. “Crying Is A Good Thing”. I’ve included the songs I have written. They were inspired by mostly dying, death and letting go, so most of them deal with those subjects. “I Can Sing A Happy Song, But Not Right Now”, is as close as I could get to smiling one day.
I would like to stay with you, but I don’t think I can.
Everything is changing, and it is my time to go.
I would like to stay with you, but we both know the truth, everything changes in the eternal flow.
I have always loved you, I would choose you again. You must go on without me, live fully ‘til your end.
It is my wish, for you, to find love again, I am more than your soul mate, I am your eternal friend.
I would like to stay with you, but I don’t think I can.
I fear you may try to follow, before it is your time to go,
Please have the courage to stay ‘til your lessons are through, have faith that there is a reason, and know I love you.
Stay ‘til it is your time, live through this pain,
And, perhaps love will bring us together again.
I would like to stay with you, but it just can’t be.
You must go forward, without me.
CRYING IS A GOOD THING
Crying is a good thing,
It can ease the pain.
When my eyes see clearly,
As I know they will,
The tears will stop,
Like a cleansing rain.
And, I will find life,
Worth living, again,
When the tears stop
And end the pain.
So, if my eyes are red,
And, if I seem blue,
Please understand what
I may have been through,
And know, crying is a good thing,
And give me love we can share.
Crying is a good thing,
For you see, I still care.
I CAN SING A HAPPY SONG
I can sing a happy song,
But, not right now.
It’s always right,
But I can’t do it just now.
If you were here,
If you were near,
I could do it
Dear.
But you are gone,
So far away,
And I can sing a happy song,
But, not today.
Maybe tomorrow,
When the sun
Returns to my soul,
Maybe then, I will
Feel whole.
But, it is today,
And you are so far away,
And I can’t remember your face,
In this cold, lonely place.
So, I trust in goodness,
And cherish your love,
It grows within me, but
You seem so far away.
I have lost before, and
I look for the good.
If you were with me,
I know I could and I would,
Sing you a happy song.
So until we meet again,
However it will be,
I will keep a happy song,
Within me.
I wish we were not,
So far apart,
I would sing you
A happy song.
Maybe only humans can cry and sob, and it’s one of the most masculine things I do.
CHAPTER TEN
(Sandy show’s me the way)
Sandy began showing me how to do all of the things she did to keep us alive and organized. She showed me how to change and clean the pool filters, the business operations, and the many odds and ends, which she performed routinely. She worked forty to sixty hours a week and was very efficient. Two people could not do the work of Sandy. Without her and without my heart, how would I be able to do my own work let alone her work also? I was about to fall apart, but it would take seven years, and I didn’t have a clue of what was in store for me.
I would live ten lives in the next seven years. It would require all of my strength and courage, and the question became, could I emerge without losing my mind and myself, whatever myself was?
We were walking up the driveway one morning and Sandy stopped after going only thirty feet. Our driveway was steep, but just one year earlier, Sandy was able to run three miles up the canyon and back. On this morning, she was exhausted with so little distance. Breathlessly, she looked at me and said, "why did it have to go to my lungs?”
I did not express my thoughts about all of the negative statements that had been made about her breasts, and the lump in her throat which arose as a result of criticism, nor the history of cigarette smoking. We all have events and circumstances to endure and rise above, but the cruelty of human behavior at it’s worst made me sad. Had people only been supportive and wise, rather than insulting and rude, what would have been the state of Sandy’s emotional and physical health now?
She could have survived it if it was possible. But we are oxygen breathers, and without oxygen, it is over. We were beginning to face reality. And we were beginning to lose faith. But, the faith would come back.
Up until the last few days, Sandy still believed she would live. While she would die early Sunday morning, she tried to stay alive until the end, which was clearly near. We just didn’t want to give up.
Wednesday morning she was on a treadmill in Boulder at 6:30 a.m. trying to improve her lung capacity. On Thursday, she had her six-month teeth cleaning. She expected to live.
Theresa had planned to come to Colorado for a visit. She lived in Virginia and had a busy schedule with three children a husband and a household. She and I spoke on the phone as she thought she should come sooner than Wednesday, as was her plan.
I said “she will live at-least until Wednesday”. Sandy and I did not really think she was dying, but why did I say that? Did I know the end was so close but keep it in denial? Did Theresa know in her inner most being that her mother was really dying?
Deane was a new daddy. We visited the hospital in Denver the day after Erika was born. Sandy would hold that baby twice in her life.
As Sandy held Erika in that hospital room, she brought the baby close to her heart and said, “she is so lucky!” And she was so right. Deane and Theresa had lost their natural father to a car accident. Now, in two months, they would lose their mother. The three of us would be the remaining core, but Sandy had been the glue that held us all together. Also, Sandy knew the importance of having a father to guide a child. Her father Martin did not live to guide Sandy, and that emotional void was never filled.
Erika was about to become the most important person in the world to a loving, strong, and proud lonely father. Theresa’s three children, Robbie, James, and Jessica all had many fond memories of their grand mother. There would be no more. Deane’s children would never know their grand mother, Sandy. They would not experience all the things she would have done for them and neither would any of the rest of us.
It was six a.m., Saturday, June 6, 1998, when Sandy awoke. She had taken one twelve-hour acting morphine tablet at six p.m., Friday night. We were of the belief that no intoxicants should be taken so that one could face reality. Sandy did not want another pill, even though it would ease the pain. It would also cloud her mind, and she wanted her mind to be clear to the end.
By nine in the morning we were on the deck. Our plan was to get dressed and go to the farmer’s market and get fresh organically grown produce. Theresa, Sandy and I were talking as Deane arrived unexpectedly. He would often drive from Denver to Boulder. Once at our home, he would ride his mountain bike in the surrounding hills. He took his ride through the mountains. I think he deals with stress through vigorous exercise.
Theresa did not let her emotions control her. She remained sweet and happy, which is her true nature. She wore a smile from her heart throughout most of the day, and stayed with her mother from that moment on.
Sandy began feeling sluggish. So, we never did go to the market. The morning became afternoon and Deane had to leave at five p.m. in order to get back to his family.
Some months earlier, in order for Sandy to get solid sleep, Sandy and I had begun sleeping in separate beds.
Shortly after Deane left, Sandy looked into my face and said, “you better not leave me alone tonight.” It became a song.
DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE TONIGHT
Don’t leave me alone tonight,
I won’t be here tomorrow.
She was gone early Sunday morning,
Before the sun would rise,
I treasured her clear blue eyes,
And closed them one last time.
Even though the sun would shine.
Don’t leave her alone tonight,
She may not be here tomorrow.
Each moment is as a flower,
Brilliant, yet frail,
We cannot capture that beauty.
We can be with it as it changes,
And marvel it’s passing
Beyond infinity and eternity,
And to what must be.
Be with her tonight,
She may not be here tomorrow,
Even though, the sun will still shine,
She may not be here tomorrow.
Sandy began to get weaker quickly. Theresa helped her into her nightclothes, and made her comfortable. I called Deane at seven p.m. and said, “if you want to see her again, you should probably come back.”
Deane arrived at eight p.m.
Sandy was lying on the sofa. She had been there since five thirty and would never arise again. I was at her head and right side. Theresa was at her left side.
Deane walked into the house and came to his mother and stood at her feet. He tried to smile as tears flowed down his cheeks. Sandy looked at him and said, “you are back!”
Deane said, “I love you so much!”
His mother said, “ I like the attention.”
Deane looked at her and we all waited. There was nothing left to do but “just be with her”.
Sandy looked at Deane as the tears rolled down his cheeks and neck. She said, “you can cry today, but tomorrow you will smile.” It would become another song for me.
“You Can Cry Today, But, Tomorrow You’ll Smile”
As she lay on her bed,
My hand on her head,
She looked to her son and
Faintly said, I see you are back,
For he had left to go home,
But returned as he must,
To see her one last time.
I love you so much,
He managed to say, as
Tears shined on his
Strong face.
Then she breathed her final words.
You can cry today,
But tomorrow you’ll smile,
Your life is meant to be lived,
You have treasures to give.
Love is the answer,
To every question I had,
No reason to search anymore.
One last sigh and she left,
A quiet body so still,
Her last words, filling the room.
You can cry today,
But tomorrow you’ll smile
Your life is meant to be lived.
Let go of me now,
Love is the answer,
No reason to search anymore.
I thought, the wisdom of that woman, so pure and so true. She planted that positive thought in Deane’s mind and in Theresa’s mind and in my mind. Maybe the song could have meaning to others and bring peace to troubled minds as we all lose loved ones and must carry on.
Days earlier, she made me promise to start a new life if she died. She said it is what she would do if our roles were reversed. She was worried that I would give up without her. She made me promise not to, and everyone kept the promises they made to Sandy. She just had that effect on everyone. She could not lie, and you could not lie to her.
She began sweating from the head. She had been with her mother at the end and she knew what was happening.
There was no need for me to talk her through it. I would just be with her until it was over.
Several days earlier, she said, “I didn’t know how wonderful I was.” She finally knew herself. There was no shame, no regrets, and no anger towards anyone or anything in this world or outside of it.
I DIDN’T KNOW HOW WONDWEFUL I WAS
I didn’t know how wonderful I was,
Until the end,
It was never too late,
But I would have liked
To have known sooner,
How wonderful I was.
I would have lived with
More confidence, and
Never felt shame,
Had I known sooner,
How wonderful I was,
There is no one to blame.
Know how wonderful you are,
Before the end of the game,
Life will be so much more precious,
When you see your true light.
Do you see how wonderful you are?
It’s shining in my eyes,
You are a gift to all who love you,
You bring meaning to their lives.
How wonderful you are.
She had come full circle, emotionally and spiritually. She was healed. There was no need for a physical body any longer. We would all miss her. The grand children she had spent time with, Robbie, James, and Jessica, would have great memories of their childhood and their grandma. She had spent weeks with them on vacations at our mountain home. We spent many nights in a tent on the other side of the creek. We had been horseback riding many times and we had hiked the mountains together. She taught them to be kind and gentle. She loved them and they knew it.
Alexandra would be named for her and carry her genetics, but she would not know her love directly. Neither would Erika.
Now that may be true on this earthly plane, and that may be all there is. But Sandy had her eyes fixed on a ceramic Angel, which sat on the edge of the fireplace. She believed in the presence of Angels more and more as June 7, 1998, approached, and, who really knows the truth about such matters?
Many people who knew her and loved her have told me they have felt her presence. Maybe that is one of the places the love goes. And maybe the love is just in us if we allow it to be.
Sandy will never grow to be an old woman. She is remembered as a vision of purity and kindness, a woman who gave and received love without expecting anything in return, who died knowing she was loved and respected and was honest and wise. She knew who she was, and so did we.
She will never be an old woman.
She will always be an angel to me,
It could be said, she died before her time,
And how tragic it must be.
But, she’ll never be an old woman,
She’ll always be young, a vibrant angel to me.
Being old is just fine,
It happens to most of us in time,
But it will not happen to her.
Some say heaven wanted her to avoid the pain,
Of living a life of cancer and rain.
So she lives in the sunshine of love,
A place which is now in my mind,
She’ll never be an old woman.
For me that is finally,
Just fine.
I’ve grown to be an old man,
Since that morning she died,
It’s been lonely and at times I still cry.
But since the years which have passed,
I understand at last, that all is as it must be,
I was blessed to have loved her and I still love her so.
It is as if we both died that morning in June,
And perhaps it is really true,
And what’s left of me may join her soon.
But she’ll never be an old woman,
And this old man still has a young angel,
Who lives in his mind.
It’s all such an illusion,
This life I call mine,
She’ll never be an old woman,
And finally, with that I’m just fine.
How else could I face it?
Should I still cling to the past?
Everything changes,
Not one flower can last.
But the bloom is wondrous, and
Amazing the change we go through.
She holds orchids in my mind,
It’s lovely and true.
She sings with angels,
And dances on light,
In fields of purple flowers,
There is no night.
She is an angel to me.
As the hours from nine p.m. through two-forty a.m. passed, the room was quiet. Theresa, Deane, and I had our individual thoughts and emotions as Sandy lay sweating, eyes eventually closed. The skin on her face changed as she lost weight before our eyes, her head wet and her breathing heavy.
Finally, there was a breath and a pause. Then there was another breath. Theresa’s eyes met my eyes; there was another breath after a longer pause and then nothing.
The person we all three loved the most in the world was gone.
We sat.
I didn’t know what to do.
After thirty or forty minutes, I knew I had to do something “responsible” in the real world. I called Keith. He had been a paramedic and would know how to handle what had to be done. I called him, he called a funeral director and he called the coroner. The coroner arrived shortly after two men in white clothes removed Sandy’s body.
The coroner asked questions about the cause of death. I answered whatever he asked and finally had to answer myself, what’s next? Of course, there were many songs to write. “Angels In Heaven” came easily.
Angel from heaven,
That’s who you are.
Angel from heaven,
Heaven, so far.
Angels in heaven,
Know I love you.
Angels in heaven,
Know our love is true.
Angels from heaven,
Sent her to me.
Angel from heaven,
True love are we.
Angel from heaven,
Some day you’ll return,
Angel in heaven,
True love were we.
Angel in heaven,
Our love was so true,
Angel in heaven,
Pure eyes of blue.
Angel in heaven,
That’s where you are,
Angel in heaven,
Heaven so far.
Now it is lonely,
Down here without you,
Does an Angel in heaven
Ever get lonely too?
We organized a service. It had a beginning, a middle, and, an end. It was beautiful. It was a cloudy day. Butterflies arrived out of nowhere. The clouds actually parted and the sun shown through as each person arose and spoke of how Sandy had impacted their lives.
If she only knew how they felt, and perhaps she does, it would be grand. One person can make a huge difference in their life. She had arranged the “self” called Sandy, around kindness and compassion for the other “selves” who had come across her path. Six billion people coming and going and she had only met a few of them. Is everyone capable of being that magnificent? Can we all be authentic, loving, giving and honest? Always concerned with caring for others, selflessly?
She was a mentor to many. If only her grand children could have had her longer, if only I could have had her longer. But letting go was what I had to do. I wanted a simple life, but one of service.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(Emptiness)
It was as if half of my brain and all of my heart had been ripped out of my body.
It had been we, now it was just, me.
AN EMPTY ROOM
You were always there,
Now it’s an empty room.
Walking in brings a chill.
You laid your head
On your dying bed,
Now it’s an empty room.
You found the door
To the light above,
I miss most, your never ending love.
To see your smile,
Your shining face,
I’ve looked and found the butterflies you loved.
I see clearly your gift to me,
I trust in love that will always be.
Magic was our meeting, intimacy so sweet,
To have found compassion and joy,
In your pure love and sweetness,
They fill the empty room.
My friends and children were wonderful. They could only do so much and they did a lot.
Eventually I had to start living. It seemed no one could hear my misery. Maybe they thought I was strong. The close friends and loved ones had the same problem, how to put their lives together without Sandy in it.
Many people thought I left them. I had the same phone number but little by little the phone rang less and less. Each of my friends and relatives had a life of their own and things to do. It was impossible for everything not to change. I was not good at what Sandy had done, and I didn’t really know how much she had done.
A friend said, “you are nothing without her.” Is it true? Was I that empty? I would need strength to carry on. “My Strength to Carry On” came from that feeling of loss.
Now that she’s gone,
Give me strength to carry on.
My reason to be,
Has been set free,
I can no longer see,
And my reason for living seems gone.
Could I ever stop caring,
For all that we had?
Could I ever stop wishing,
I had gone in her stead?
Some time has gone by,
God I still cry,
For strength to carry on.
Alone again, I start once more,
Looking for eyes that shine.
And I know those eyes
Must be mine.
I’ll be mercy and grace,
It will reflect in my face,
And I will be that strength
As I go on.
I would start over, somehow.
Well, it got worse. I had undergone multiple eye surgeries for the last three years. Twenty-five to date. Five days after Sandy died, I detached a retina as I bent over to tie my shoes. That meant another surgery and another ten days at home without moving my head. Theresa would stay for awhile, but her family needed her at home. After Theresa left, I was really alone.
Sandy and I had learned a universal truth. This too shall pass. The ten days passed and I was up again. But what do I do now? The house was as empty as I was. We had a “food group” which met on Fridays, and on that Friday, they met at our house.
I looked around at the house, and I looked outside. It was wonderful, but I could not stay there for the rest of my life. “The Empty Chair” relates to that loneliness.
I look and see you there,
In the empty chair,
Wondering why and where?
I don’t want to cry,
But no matter how
Hard I try,
It’s just an empty chair.
Old friends invite me
And have chairs to hold four,
But there are only three,
Those two friends and me,
And the empty chair.
And I recall,
Less clearly now,
The time when you were there,
and we were one,
when there was no empty chair.
So brief the joy
Of those precious moments,
When love filled our life,
Man and wife.
But now you are gone,
And I carry on,
Wondering why it has to be
An empty chair.
What could I have done,
To keep us alive,
In that space of precious love?
No matter what I do,
Or what I say,
You are gone, but sometimes
I see you in
That empty chair,
With a smile as big as the sun,
And me still trying to understand
How it came to be,
An empty chair.
It was impossible to face all of the memories and what had been my precious home had become a place where I could not be happy.
I announced that ships are safe in the harbor, but that is not what ships are built for. I said I was going to sell everything and take the vessel out to sea. As I recall Pearl Harbor, I thought ships aren’t even safe in the harbor. That was the start of me trying to reinvent myself.
I wanted to start a business, a health retreat incorporating all I thought I had learned. It would be based on healthy food, exercise, meditation and healing; it would be a healing life change institute.
Little did I know that was exactly what I was doing, but at a much different level than I was contemplating.
I ended up buying the “Nemo Guest Ranch in Nemo, South Dakota. It was the center of the town, a town of forty-four people. The movie “Finding Nemo” had nothing to do with Nemo, South Dakota. This Nemo was well over one hundred years old, and real.
I put everything I had into the project. All of my financial resources, two million dollars, and every dream I had ever come up with. It would be where people come to heal; emotionally, spiritually, and physically.
I called it the Never Ending Majestic Opportunity. N E M O.
The Native American meaning for Nemo is nothing and nowhere. It’s what I was, no thing, nothing, and where I was, no where, as I was starting over. But what a commotion I made.
I remarried and brought my new wife’s ex husband along as a business manager. Their teenage daughter accompanied them and our marriage didn’t stand a chance.
The guest ranch was on twenty acres located in the Black Hills and had twelve buildings, some of them more than one hundred years old, and all of them with forty years of deferred maintenance. It took all of my money and nearly all of my new -found enthusiasm as the reinvention of “me” began.
The buildings needed a water delivery system in the worst way. Consequently, I worked on installing such a system. It was one of the top priorities on a list of hundreds of projects, all of them being undertaken at nearly the same time.
I had a two thousand five hundred, foot continuous four-inch water line installed. It was placed five feet underground and each building received a new one inch water line. The plumbing, electrical, heating, and structural defects of each building were addressed. I had fifty-eight employees coming and going, as well as contractors and sub-contractors. My goal was to get as many improvements made before the summer season began.
In July of 1999, I had a new well drilled to supply the Guest Ranch with adequate water for the new system. The well came in at fifty gallons per minute. I was elated. We had enough water to make all of the efforts worth it. All of the hard work had paid off. My plans were sound.
The well water was tested. It contained EDB’s. Ethylemethyl Di Bromide, a carcinogen, and the levels of contamination made the well unsafe for human consumption.
So much for my health retreat. Contaminated water gave the property a stigma. Marketing it as a health retreat would be foolish, and there would be difficulty, to say the least, in finding institutional financing for the Nemo Guest Ranch.
It turns out that in the 1970’s, the United States Forest Service had disposed of discarded pesticides by burial in the surrounding hills. The chemicals had leached into the ground water of the entire area. A clean-up had been attempted, but it was impossible to correct the damage. The scientists opined it would be more than one hundred years before the chemicals would eventually be less of a problem to humans.
The situation was complicated by emotional problems. I had not really grieved my loss. I had given up my law practice, my home, my businesses, every thing familiar, and I was about to enter a nightmare of litigation. One of the cases was Hansen verses The United States of America. It became a seven-year ordeal.
The defendant, the USA, has layers of officials. It seems no official had authority to make a final disposition of the matter. Filing a lawsuit was necessary to force the government to move. In my experience, the government was finally fair, but the seven years of delay was extremely costly as the stress invaded every area of my life and “contaminated” all of my personal relationships. I was becoming more bitter and angry day by day.
That feeling of anger became a problem. I was trying to become compassionate and kind, but I was becoming overwhelmed. It was a battle raging within. I tried to do what Bill McGrath had found. “It’s easy to smile when life is worthwhile, and things go along like a sweet song, but the man who is worthwhile, is the man who can smile, when everything goes dead wrong.” Another wise man added that so many times in life every thing goes dead wrong. He said things we want to happen often don’t happen. Things we don’t want to happen do happen. He said we get associated with people we don’t want to be associated with and disassociated from people we do want to be associated with.
The bottom line is, if I don’t get what I want, and if I get what I don’t want, I get “upset”, to put it mildly. Things would continue to “go wrong” at so many levels. It was happening way too much, and I often felt I was ready to break, to just give up.
As I write this book I can tell you that I can’t write the “worst” things about myself. My ego won’t let me, and it would probably not be useful to write them for the reader. Just know that I am well aware of many of my shortcomings and I would change them if I could. And that is what I am trying to do. As Deane asked, “what’s wrong with just being a good person?” And that becomes the goal for me. Getting there is the journey. I feel it can only be done in the present moment, one step at a time, and that the present moment is reality. The past is a memory and the future is an imagination. So smiling when everything goes dead wrong just means to stay calm and make good decisions and let life happen.
Well, my new wife loved Nemo. Her ex-husband loved Nemo and their daughter loved Nemo. I was beginning to have a strong aversion to all of it.
My father’s health was failing. He and my mother lived with my sister near Chicago. Further, my mother was depressed and refused to leave her room. It was obvious they needed help.
I asked my new wife to move to Florida with me. We would take my parents with and I would help them get settled in a retirement community. My plan was to start a life there within the Hippocrates Health Institute at some level.
She did not want to leave the Black Hills and her daughter.
If she was staying, and I was leaving, it made no sense to stay married. So the brief marriage ended. I believe she grew and prospered as a result of our time together. I feel I had to learn the lessons I was getting. I was the creative force behind most of it, and I am responsible for the results I created.
The complications of that business and dream lasted for years. I attempted to sell the property twice. I was finally successful at selling it on the third time. The cost of the two failed sale attempts was enormous. Financially, I lost three-quarters of my money. Within the next seven years, I would drive three hundred and eighty thousand miles as I traveled between Colorado, South Dakota, Florida, Chicago, San Antonio, and Nashville.
The simple life I was after had become very complicated. It would become more so.
CHAPTER TWELVE
(Honor thy parents, and thy wife)
My basic belief as to what constituted a useful life was to do wholesome deeds, refrain from unwholesome deeds, and purify my mind.
When I started to go deeper in purifying my mind, I began to realize just how impure my mind was. The practice I do takes one deeper and deeper in the purification process. And the deeper one goes the more deep-rooted mental defilement’s one exposes. For me, greed, fear, anger, hatred, envy, lust and ego were becoming exposed. My ego was being attacked, and I was leading the attack. The ego is an illusion, and is created out of ignorance as to the true nature of the mind and body.
I thought I had a small ego. In fact, it was large. It was growing as I was taking myself more and more seriously. I thought I was loving, and kind, yet anger and hatred were in my mind and getting worse. While it looked hopeless to me, in fact, I was just getting to the point where I could finally start making progress. It was clear that the so called, “ego” is an illusion. That is a powerful realization and the place where progress can begin.
I had believed that egotistic feelings were negative and that one should have no ego at all. I was exposed to a different opinion. Perhaps there were two types of ego just as there are two types of desire.
One type of ego may have a capital “I”. That type forgets about others’ rights. That “I” is more important than anyone else. That was the type of ego which I would “destroy”. The other type of ego is one that makes one feel that I can accomplish something. I can be of service. That type of ego would be worth cultivating, and it would be positive. Developed, it could bring about a strong determination, a strong determination to be of service.
On my visit to my sister’s home near Chicago, I understood that my parents were in worse trouble than I had imagined.
My mother still refused to come out of her room, and none of the relatives could help her. She was over weight and deeply depressed, and no one was able to address it. An argument occurred. As unpleasant as it was, the argument produced results. My father and I resolved to come up with a plan to help my mother and it involved helping him also. But the deep listening was not present, since none of us knew how to do that yet.
I went on ahead to Florida. I enrolled in a “Health Educator” program at The Hippocrates Health Institute and found a small condominium for my mother and father. It was located in Century Village, near the Institute. Courageously, they moved from Illinois to Florida bringing all of their belongings via rental truck. My sister and brother-in-law helped with the move. There was a six week security check before they could move into their new condo and the depression my mother had been in cleared as the enthusiasm of starting over in their new home brought meaning to their lives.
It was the beginning of two wonderful years for my parents. They were living independently, in a warm climate, and that change gave them new vigor. My father loved it, and once told me they should have been in the condo twenty years earlier.
It made my heart joyful to see them happy.
Of course, change was inevitable, and my father’s health began to deteriorate. He was diabetic, had prostate cancer, skin cancer here and there, had a weak heart as a result of a heart attack some time ago, and had undergone numerous surgeries over the last few years. He was hospitalized time and again over the two years they lived in that condo, but he remained determined to live long enough to care for his wife, my mother. I finished the health educator course and applied my efforts to my parents.
The Buddha said you cannot repay the debt of gratitude to your parents for having brought you into this world as a human being where you can learn to pierce the shell of ignorance and come out of the illusion and conditioning which cause us to suffer. In Christianity, one of the commandments is to honor thy mother and father. Both Christ and the Buddha stressed that much of what we do in life is of little significance, but how we treat our parents, especially in their old age has significance.
Setting aside any of those considerations, I would have done exactly what I did simply because I could not let my parents suffer needlessly. Further, I could not respect myself, whatever this “myself” was, if I stood by and watched my father and mother suffering while I did nothing to stop it. They had sacrificed their lives for me for many years and I would be beyond ungrateful if I didn’t step up to the plate in the hours of their greatest need. My “wholesome deeds” would mostly revolve around my parents for the next years. It would be fulfilling, exhausting, and costly, both materially and relationship wise. I could see no other acceptable course of action other than to do whatever it took to honor both my mother and father.
During this time, I met a woman who was so perfect for me. We were referred to as “the lovers” by many, who saw us, even complete strangers.
On one occasion, my father had asked me to help him put in a new ceiling fan. He had grown too weak to use a screwdriver or hold a hammer. I was a little late on my arrival, and he had lain down to rest and had fallen asleep. When I arrived in the room, I did not want to disturb him, so I sat on the floor near the bed and watched him sleeping.
I’m watching my father rest
Remembering him at his best
His physical prime is now past
He is living his last
I’m watching my father rest.
I’m watching my father rest
Cradling his head to my chest
His life is the reason I’m here
Suddenly everything’s clear
I’m watching my father rest.
His attitude makes him strong
Though his carpenter days are gone
He’s a man of honor and power
Now facing his final hour.
I’m watching my father rest
How quickly the years have passed
I could never have guessed
It would happen like this
I’m watching my father rest.
I’m watching my father rest,
Knowing that I am blessed
He says I have his eyes and chin
I want to walk just like him
I’m watching my father rest.
Now I’m following his advice
Recalling his words so wise
Smiling as he told me to
Doing what I must do.
I’m watching my father rest
Dressed in his very best
While friends and family and guests
Pass slowly to pay their respects.
I’m watching my father rest.
Courtney helped me write that song in April of 2001.
What went wrong with our relationship is too complicated to explain in detail, further, I still don’t understand how I screwed it up. It would be one sided for me to comment on it. I will say, I believe the stresses I was under were wearing me down as I was slowly losing the material fruits of my labor over the last thirty years. The harder I tried, the more misunderstood my position became. I do not wish to harm anyone. I accept full responsibility for my part in all I have done, the good and the bad. I just wish that I could be a little smarter sometimes. I now know that meanings and purposes organized around oneself alone are pointless.
If there were ways to undo and unsay acts and words, it would be so wonderful. But you can’t un-ring a bell, and without forgiveness and love, I find it difficult to go on, but we must. The damage caused by cruel words and actions is often severe.
It inspired many songs. “Don’t Break Me” was my attempt to communicate how I feel about Courtney.
I loved you so,
Yet I tried to change you.
You cried,
I’m begging you please,
Don’t break me.
I loved you so,
Still, I tried to change you.
You begged me,
Don’t break me.
It became a battle,
Within my soul,
As you fought
To stay whole.
Destroying the love
That we once had,
I broke us instead.
I couldn’t hear or see
Your plea to me,
Don’t break me,
I’m begging you please.
If there’s a way
To undo the harm
That I’ve done.
If I could really
Unring the bell
That I’ve rung.
I’m saying
I’m sorry,
I’m asking you please,
Forgive me,
For having harmed you.
Now I’m begging you
Please,
Don’t break me too,
But if it must be,
Then I want you
To know.
Forever I have
Loved you
And forever I will.
Even though we
Are apart,
Forever I will love you.
When there is no
Breath to breath,
When there is no
Sun to shine,
My love for you
Will be.
This love is beyond time,
So simply know that
I love you,
And live in that glow.
I have always loved you,
I just want you to know.
And, don’t break me,
Even if you must go.
Don’t break me,
I love you so.
I never meant
To hurt you,
I will always love you.
My parents were both beginning to age significantly. They were to the point where it was not possible for them to care for themselves. But no one saw it yet. My parents had made plans for their cremation months prior to this. I drove them to the office of “The National Cremation Society”. It was a sunny Florida day as they walked up the steps and into the office, where they entered into a contract for cremation of their remains. They had made their final wishes know.
My father would die on December 27, 2002. I would learn that love and kindness are what make this short life worth living each day. But my efforts didn’t always look like love and kindness. That is what I have intended. But I had a problem staying calm when faced with the outside world. The nonsense put on the news and the constant bombardment of ads. I was troubled by the selling, of erection drugs, alcohol, and food, which isn’t food. Daytime television shows with television judges sponsored by ambulance chasing attorneys and the constant dribble about the war on terrorism, the pain and hatred caused by that “war”, began to wear on me as well as all of the other issues I was dealing with. I had to learn how to be in the world, but not of the world. And that would become the challenge for the rest of my life.
`My goal was to develop love and kindness. There could be no room to be sarcastic or negative. I tried to imagine a world of love. Gandi said something to the effect of, “if you want the world to change, be the change you want to see in the world”. To create a world of love, I had to be love. Many worlds exist within the larger world. Just because there were worlds of hate and negativity, didn’t mean I had to live in that, as a reality for me. I could be in the world, but not of the world. I tried to put it into song. “If I had one Wish”.
If I had one wish, If I had one wish,
What would that simple wish be?
If I had one wish, If I had one wish,
What would that little wish be?
Imagine a world of love,
Imagine the world of love,
Imagine our world of love,
That dream can come true.
If I had one dream,
If we had one dream,
How would our lovely world
be?
If I had one wish, If we had one wish,
What would that simple wish be?
Imagine a world of love,
Imagine the world of love,
Imagine our world of love,
That dream can come true.
No more hatred, an end of evil,
Kindness towards you, and towards me.
No more taking, no more ego,
Freedom for you and for me.
Imagine a world of love,
Imagine the world of love,
Imagine our world of love,
That day will appear,
When we live our dream,
And that little wish comes true.
It had to come from within and spread out from me. To become the change I wished to see in the world. Could I develop wisdom and compassion? Would that make any difference in my life? Could I become love and kindness and express it and be it?
It could only happen in the present moment, and to stay in that moment, moment to moment was the goal. There would be short periods of success and much longer periods of unconscious reaction. The path was clear but not simple to follow.
My song writing and guitar playing became more important as a way to express and communicate. Singing would come later, as I was self conscious about singing in public or privately.
It was hard to write or sing a happy song when I was not happy. The sadness and loneliness were at times unbearable. Those songs had to be written or I would burst.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(My brother’s wife)
Well, the dying wasn’t over. My brother’s wife had breast cancer. She was in her late fifties now and had been dealing with the cancer for three years. It was a noble battle, but she would end the fight, which is what it had become for her. It proved to be an opportunity for her to apply all of her strength and determination as she tried to extend her years on this earth.
I could see her life coming to a close. I felt I could help her let go, as I knew she must do. But she would interpret any efforts of facing that reality as weakness and negativity. “Just be with her” replayed in my head. I did not want to do it, but every bone in my body told me I must.
She was a difficult person with really only two friends in the world. Her husband, and Sandy. When Sandy was alive, she had embraced Marilyn completely. She had helped Marilyn become a strong loving person simply by being respectful and loving towards her. Marilyn had transformed into a strong loving person, but one had to look past a hard exterior in order to see her inner beauty and strength. Both her husband and Sandy were able to do that.
My brother had taken a job out of town and could not be with Marilyn in the final weeks of her life. They needed the income in order to keep their home. Well, I left my new home and wife Courtney, in Tennessee, in order to be with Marilyn in San Antonio, Texas.
I wasn’t wise enough to be with my new wife and as I would leave several more times, the lovers in us would turn more and more into strangers who failed to bond even though we loved each other deeply. The communication was poor and I was blowing the marriage. A friend pointed it out to me, but I was too proud and too blind to see what was happening. It was material for more sad songs, but at a cost too huge to bear.
In September, I went to San Antonio and stayed with Marilyn for one week. She was close to dying but her denial was strong. She had strong determination and she would not weaken just yet. I left.
Six weeks later, I returned to her home. This time she had come to her end. The doctors openly told her that they could do nothing more for her. It was a matter of perhaps weeks. My brother came back, but he could only stay a few days. Marilyn told him that he needed to keep the house, thus he would have to see the job through. It was one of the terms of his employment, that if he quit before the job was complete, his pay would be forfeited. So I stayed with Marilyn in his place.
It was probably two weeks of total time until November 14, 2002, at 5:30 p.m. when Marilyn would leave this world. Her two children David and Kimberly, David’s wife Tammy, and myself would be at her side as she passed.
David had placed monitors next to each bed in the house. We were able to hear Marilyn if she needed help. When I was in my bed, I could hear every sound Marilyn made as she tossed and turned. She was a smoker, and she continued to smoke cigarettes until two days before her death. In those two days, she was too weak to lift a hand and she was usually in a sleep state, which approached a coma like condition. She was heavily drugged.
I have excellent relationships with both Dave and Kim as well as with my brother. Marilyn genuinely loved me, partly because we had been through many so called hard times together, and partly because Sandy and I had helped her several times.
I began explaining to Dave and Kim what I had experienced with Sandy and her mother Gene as they were dying. They listened and were more than receptive. I sensed they felt loved and respected and their fears became less. During the next two weeks, wonderful awakenings happened.
I had expressed my view that the passing could be beautiful and healing. The concept of arriving to wherever we go, in the best loving state possible made sense to them. We agreed, that even if life just ends and that if there is nothing else after life, that to go feeling loved and cared for was the most wonderful gift we could give their mother and, in fact, ourselves.
So we began. And the love grew daily. We became loving and kind. We applied compassion and understanding. Towards the end, when Marilyn had only eight hours to live, Kim did something brilliant. Of course, none of us knew when Marilyn would die, we just felt it getting closer and closer. It was as if you could sense a train leaving the depot, or perhaps, sense a train coming towards you and then watch it pass by, without you on the train.
I had mentioned to everyone that even in the so called, comatose state, Marilyn could hear everything that was being said. My goal was to keep all external influences pure and uplifting. Noble speech and noble actions were our goal. There would be no television, no raised voices, no anger, and no agitation from any of us towards each other or Marilyn.
Well, Kim got Marilyn’s little black book. It contained all of the phone numbers of Marilyn’s relatives and acquaintances. One problem I had after Sandy’s death was several people were upset that they were not the first person to be called after the death. They felt left out and not respected.
Kim called each person listed in that book and told them what was transpiring. She told them that if they wished to, she would hold the phone to Marilyn’s ear and that they could say anything they felt they wanted her to know. They could say any last thing they felt they wanted to express. Kim made it clear that Marilyn was breathing heavily and that the gurgling sound of the “death rattle” would be the only sound from Marilyn. Kim made it clear that Marilyn could hear and understand whatever it was they chose to say.
Kim finished the list of names and numbers. She was exhausted. She had allowed everyone to say goodbye and express their feelings to Marilyn. Kim provided the opportunity for the release and clearing for each person. It was in proportion to their own ability to love, forgive, bless, and understand. It was a loving and thoughtful process. It inspired me to see Kim’s power and love for her mother. Everyone, even my brother, was as complete as possible with what was about to transpire.
A hospice worker arrived at four p.m. Given her observations, she thought Marilyn would live until sometime tomorrow. Kim, Dave, Tammy, and myself sat around Marilyn as she lay in bed in the middle of her living room in the hills of Helotis, Texas, outside of San Antonio.
As we waited and watched, Tammy saw a change come over Marilyn. Tammy said, “she’s going”.
Dave and Kim moved quickly to Marilyn’s side.
Kim said, “I love you mom!”
Dave said, “I love you mom!”
I said, “I love you Mare!”
Tammy said, “I love you mom!”
Dave read the Lord’s Prayer from a plaque, which Marilyn kept next to her bed. He closed by saying “Goodbye mom!” Marilyn breathed her last breath and was gone.
It was over. There was a feeling of completion and loss. These events are exhausting and beautiful. Emptiness occurs as a result of the death of a loved one. I suppose it is the attachment we had to the loved one. I was trying to understand how the feelings of love, respect, and loss could all be in our emotions at the same time. It is nothing new to anyone, it is confusing to go through. It is facing reality. We all thought we were richer for the experience.
There was a ceremony the next day. I stayed for it and said a few words. I was exhausted and drove back to Gainsboro, Tennessee.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
(What was becoming of my marriage?)
My wife met me at the door of her cabin in the hills of Tennessee. We had a little Yorkie, named Gypsy. This little six-pound dog had the heart of a lion. I wanted this relationship to work more than anything I had ever wanted. Yet I was saying and doing things, which were destroying the relationship.
I could not understand what I was doing. I was sabotaging myself. I did not want to, but I was. In the end the marriage would end. I was more than half at fault, even though throughout the marriage I was positive I was giving and caring. The stresses on me were growing. I always felt I could handle anything, but I was reaching the breaking point.
It has taken all of this time for me to acknowledge my “fault”. My unbalanced mind was creating chaos. Our society has words such as baggage and conditioning which are used to describe what my problems were. The labels didn’t help much, I had to come to terms with my stupidity if I was going to be a person of integrity. That “coming to terms” is a process. I had to be willing to follow that process, no matter how hard it would be, in order to extricate myself. I was disgusted with myself for continuing to cause damage. The hardest part isn’t the desire to be a good person. I think we all want to be good people. It’s the doing of what it takes which is the problem. The “walking the talk”. Further, we don’t operate in a laboratory. The real world is our workshop.
September 11, 2001, was a tragic day for everyone. For many, it would also add financial stress. I was among those.
I had sold my home to a woman who operated a business from that home. The terrorist attack of nine eleven destroyed her business. She was about to lose her home. I loaned forty thousand dollars to a man would promised to help save her home. I had been a fool for not investigating his investment plans. He didn’t save the home or my money. As a result of nine eleven and this man’s false promises, the woman lost her investment and I had lost my money. To this date, the man promises to return my money. He is a smooth talker. I communicate with him often. Perhaps he will make good on his promise. He feels little responsibility for his actions and deceit.
The lesson I keep getting exposed to is; look more carefully into matters. Being gullible is hard for me to admit. I believed everyone at face value. Learning to be wise in judging a situation and a person was one of my biggest problems. I didn’t see it until now, as I write these pages. I am so angry at my stupidity. That anger can serve me in gaining wisdom. Why did I believe people so easily? What made me so eager to please others?
It had to stop. But how could I change? Just wanting to get wise does not make it happen. It made me feel better to realize that others were just as foolish as I was, but feeling better as in “misery loves company” wasn’t the solution. Change was the answer. The financial ramifications of nine eleven were not over. I had two investments left. One was a motel, the other was a second mortgage on another motel I had sold in 1998, shortly after Sandy’s death. After nine eleven, the value of the motel dropped significantly. The debtor on the second mortgage filed bankruptcy and my net worth dropped significantly. It was enough to keep me agitated and angry.
Further, the financial costs of nine eleven are mounting for the world. The “war on terror” is a touchy subject. Some feel it is the only course of action. Others feel it is the worst course of action. Regardless of which camp one fits in, it is obvious it is costly in untold human suffering and financial ruin. As obvious as it is, the stress caused by ignorance and hatred seemed to be at the root cause of all of our human misery.
Of course every one in America was angry or upset about the events of nine eleven. Life in the United States would never be the same. The loss for the whole nation was personal for every one. I was disappointed in humanity. What were we doing to our world? I tried to find the bigger picture. It seemed hatred and anger, were the most foolish of all human flaws. Religious fanatics were full of hate. They hated other religious fanatics and anyone who was not part of their cult. Wars seemed to be commonplace. I wanted to find a way to stop my own private war within my self.
My new marriage was being stressed from every direction. My father and I spoke daily. He was getting weaker. He couldn’t care for himself any longer. I had tried to care for him. I would travel between Tennessee, Colorado, South Dakota, and back to Florida in attempting to resolve this complicated mess which had been created out of the “simple life” I was trying to find. The simple life I said I wanted to live was far out of my reach.
I made progress at fixing Courtney’s cabin. Then one day the inevitable happened.
It was in the morning, December 1, 2002. I was standing on the deck of Courtney’s cabin, in Gainsboro, Tennessee, overlooking the Cumberland River and speaking to my father over the telephone.
He told me’ “I’m sorry I’m not a better conversationalist, but I’m too weak to hold the phone anymore.”
“Would you like me to come be with you?” I managed to ask.
“Would you? Would Courtney mind?”
“She would understand. She was there with her dad near the end.”
Later that morning, I loaded my well-traveled Audi with my guitar, some food and a luggage bag.
My wife of one year stood on the deck with Gypsy, our Yorkshire terrier, in her arms.
She waved goodbye as my car turned the corner out of the driveway, and onto the dirt road down the hill and to the highway. My heart was at my feet and dead.
Two days later, at 3:00 a.m., I pulled up in front of the nursing home in New Braunfels, Texas.
I entered the building, passed the nurses station, and found room 301. I entered the room.
An old man lay sleeping in an old hospital bed by the window. An old woman was in a newer bed three feet to the left side of the exhausted old man, her husband. There was an old felt shirt sitting over the back of a wheelchair, which filled the middle of the room. There was another wheelchair, which filled the space in the small bathroom.
I leaned over and kissed my old, lovely father. He squirmed in his sleep, awoke, smiled and said, “you made it. Now I can rest!”
“Sure, let’s talk in the morning.”
There was another voice, “Jimmy? Is that you?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Oh, I thought I was dreaming. I love you, thanks for coming. He’s not doing so well, but now that you’re here, it will be okay.”
“Sure mom, as long as we have each other, what else can we ask for?”
“Well, I can sleep now, I get scared here alone. But now you are here and I feel safe. Is Courtney okay without you?”
I tried to think before I spoke. I really didn’t know how Courtney was. I was trying to “just be with everybody.” Just be with him, my father, just be with her, my mother, and just ignore her, my wife.
I said, “I love her, and it’s hard on this new marriage, but we know it’s right for me to be here.”
“We just want you to be happy, we don’t want to get in the way!”
I said, “It’s an honor for me to be here. After all you and dad have done for me, it’s my turn to help out. My life is yours and his, for as long as it needs to be.”
She sighed, and said, “I’m tired. I haven’t slept well for weeks. He’s always tossing and turning, he is in so much pain, he can’t go on this way.”
“I know, we’ll figure it out.”
The sun came up within an hour. As the morning awoke, so did my father.
He looked at me and said, “ Jimmy, I’ve been thinking. Would you still respect me if I said I have to stop all of the dialysis and other machines?”
He pointed to my mother, “I am no good to her, I am no good to myself, and I am no good to anyone else. There isn’t a chance for me to get any stronger, and I can’t even get up on my own.”
My father’s poor health had reached the point where he could no longer stay alive. He could not care for himself any longer. Simple tasks were impossible for him. He could not hold the telephone to his ear to have a conversation. He could not even hear. He could not stand. He was diabetic, and the removal of his legs was the next surgery he would face. And now he was in a nursing home in New Braunfels, Texas, in a place he never wanted to be. He was recovering from one of his numerous surgeries.
He was my loving father and I was his loving son.
It was two weeks after Marilyn’s death. Now we were having this conversation.
He said, “I don’t want to interfere any more with your life and your marriage.”
I said, “you gave me my life. If you need me, then I’ll stay.”
He said, “I need you.”
My mind went back to Courtney as she stood on the deck. I don’t know what my wife felt. She was a minister and counselor by vocation. I was torn apart inside. I had left again. I had to do it out of respect and love of my father. I did not know what was going to happen, I just knew I had to “just be with him”. I could not “just be with my wife” at the same time. Looking back now, we should have both gone to my father. Courtney later asked if she should be with me, but for some stupid reason I said, “no it’s okay”. I was playing some macho game, and still stuffing my feelings. I was caught up in a drama, and I was making it more dramatic. I wanted her with me, but I was ashamed of my family and the situation. Instead of asking her to come with me, I had just left. What was I doing? Forgive me now, but the damage has been done.
And that little dog Gypsy was confused. She couldn’t understand what was going on. The dog was smarter than I was. At least she could show her emotions honestly. I have been paying for the lack of showing my love for Courtney repeatedly.
The mind is strange. It associates and recalls consciously and unconsciously. Suddenly, I recall Misha, she is by my side looking to me for direction. If I could just demonstrate the kindness within my “soul”, I would be a light in the darkness. That would be the direction to follow. But, there are so many blockages within my mind, and those “wounds” or past conditioning seemed to be keeping me from being authentic.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
(Love and Kindness)
Nursing homes are a world of their own. If you have been in one, you have your own associations. I won’t try to describe the facility. Just know that it was only by necessity that my father was there. My mother “chose” to be there, only because my father had to be there. She was “just being with him”.
My mother had met my father when she was fourteen years old. They married when she was eighteen years old. They had been married for sixty-five years. My father had been to Alaska for three years of their marriage, then to Canada for two years, and finally in Greenland for eight years. During those thirteen years, at least one constant was present. That constant was the commitment of my mother and father to each other. Devotion and determination were the two words which best defined my father. Courage and honesty rounded out his persona. He was straight-forward and positive.
My father was in the nursing home because he had recently undergone a surgery to save his legs from amputation. He required a clean environment in which his incisions could heal. The nursing home was the best we could come up with. My mother had faked a heart attack. That was what had allowed her to be admitted into the nursing home. She would not be away from her husband one more time.
This was my father’s first, and it would be his last time in a nursing home.
I would not say he was a proud man. He was a humble man, with an inner strength. He had an ever-present joyful and witty personality.
I loved him more as the years passed. I had become increasingly aware of his determination, courage, and devotion. As I knew him more and more, I realize these were traits he had as a child, and that these traits had grown with each challenge he faced in life. He had faced hardship repeatedly and had always managed to rise to the occasion. It seemed, there was nothing he couldn’t do, if he put his mind to it. Now he was facing the inevitable.
He had come from a very poor family. They were immigrants from Norway. As a child, he had pneumonia three times in one winter as he and his family lived in a shack in Minnesota. He told me of being able to see the stars through the ceiling of his “home”. He told me of the cold rushing through the walls of the “home” which was essentially a shed.
He was twenty–one years old when he married my mother. He weighed one hundred thirty-five pounds on their wedding day. Within two years, he weighed one hundred and ninety-five pounds,
And, none of it was fat. He worked harder than any man I have ever known. He was not proud of his work ethic, he just worked because that was the only way he knew how to be. He had a limited vocabulary. But even with the lack of “a big vocabulary” as he called it, he didn’t swear. He said profanity showed lack of respect for yourself and lack of respect for the person you were talking to. His direct communication skills amazed me. He could get to the root of any idea and communicate with humor and irony. All with simple direct language.
His years of labor in Alaska, Canada, and Greenland were simply to make a living for his family. The conditions were harsh. In Greenland, the temperature was usually sixty degrees below zero. He worked twelve-hour days, seven days a week for a period of eight months at a time. He would return to Minnesota for the winter months, as the weather in Greenland was too severe to allow the men to work. He did that consecutively for eight years.
On one occasion, he spent one hundred and thirty-five days on the “ice cap”. The North Pole. It was during the “Cold War” with Russia. This part of the “Cold War” was lonely and cold. He and nineteen other men were lift there alone to start the military base. They had been flown in by plane, and left on their own to start the project.
As a kid, I recall two of his Greenland co-workers stopping by our house for a brief visit. They were obviously made of strong “stuff”. I was too young to see the difference between these determined hard lonely men and the rest of us mortals.
When I was born on June 19, 1943, my father was in Canada. My mother wrote my father and announced my birth to him. He wrote back saying, ”now I can work eighteen hours a day”.
He would do anything to provide for his family. At that time, it was my mother, brother and, me. My sister would arrive five years later.
My dad’s name was Harvey Lars Hansen. He was one hundred percent Norwegian. He was from a different time and from a different mold.
Was there any doubt as to what I had to do? “Just be with her” became “just be with him”. I was caught in the process of dying and death. Unless I was willing to “sell out” on my father, I had no choice but to see this through to the end. I did not know what he had in mind exactly, but I had a pretty good idea. I didn’t know what would happen or how it would happen. I was only a small part of the bigger picture, but my part was all I could manage to do. My mind was no longer functioning clearly. It hadn’t been under my control since Sandy died. Maybe it had never been under “my control”. I was on automatic pilot. In the end he would die, and a part of me would die with him. My desire to start my life over with Courtney would fail and I would experience grief like I had never imagined.
I didn’t invent grief. War victims, victims of natural disasters, and all of us face grief. Of course I know that. I just am amazed at how we cope with it. How humans carry on in the face of one loss after another. I saw myself hanging on to everything even though I knew I had to let go. The “good times” in life, I had thought I could keep them going forever. I couldn’t, and I was so confused. I tried forcing myself to let go.
One day a person told to me to treasure the precious moments. She said that perhaps those precious moments define our lives. They certainly bring meaning to my heart. And the letting go of my cherished loved ones brings heartache.
My father had fought to stay alive and serve my mother for the last six years. His determination was unmatched. He had suffered heart attacks, cancer, and surgeries. His gall bladder had been removed, his thyroid had been removed, and he had undergone surgeries to remove cancer, and he was now diabetic. He had been on dialysis for five years.
We spoke.
He wanted me to understand exactly what had been on his mind, and what decisions he had made.
In a very private and final conversation on the subject of facing the truth of his mortality he said, “we’ve been through it. I’m no good to myself. I’m no good to my wife. I can’t hold a phone or even sit up in a chair. I can’t walk and I fall asleep talking. There is no chance for improvement and I have always said I wouldn’t live in a nursing home as they cut off piece after piece of my body. I’m trying to think this out, out loud. Would you respect me if I just stopped all of the fighting and faced the truth?”
I knew it had to come to this, I just had to handle it “right”, whatever that means. I said, “I can’t decide for you, perhaps it takes more courage to face reality than to deny it.”
He said, “and is it still okay for you stay with me until it is over?”
I said, “If that’s what you want, it would be an honor to stay with you.”
He asked, “how will it effect your marriage?”
I said, “it will be alright, she understands and supports me in this. She went through it with her mother some years ago.”
He smiled and said, “all right then, I’ve decided. I’d like to stop all of this and let nature take it’s course. I can’t see any other way.”
And so it began.
The experts predicted he would live seven to ten days. He lived twenty-three days. In the last fifteen ten days or so, I moved into the nursing home. I spent every hour but two with him for those final days. It may have been exhausting, I don’t even know.
It might have even been enlightening at times. I find I’ve over used the word enlightenment. All I can say is that I didn’t have a choice. Many times I felt too weak to keep on. I lacked courage to stand up for my self and what I was doing. I relied on Courtney’s wisdom often, as she told me to do what I knew was the right thing.
I knew this man would have given his life for me. In fact, he actually had put his life on the line for me repeatedly. He had brought me into the world, provided for me, and protected me for years. He had sacrificed himself for his family. Now, if I had a shred of courage to match his, I would remain strong and faithful until it was over. To be a decent son, in my mind it would be necessary to honor and serve my father in this last deed. In fact, there would be at least one more deed, caring for my mother, but I wasn’t thinking beyond the present moment.
Harvey Lars Hansen, with a third grade education, the son of a Norwegian carpenter and life experiences richer than many lives. He was a man of experiential knowledge, knowledge that is real. He knew of things I could only imagine, and there was little time left for him to show me what he knew.
Before I arrived from Tennessee, a social worker had bought my father a warm black shirt. It was the one hanging over the wheelchair. The nights in Texas cooled off, and my father didn’t have any warm clothes as he had last lived in West Palm Beach, Florida. As things progressed, he used that shirt everyday. Each morning, at nearly the same time, three a.m., he would want to go outside. The temperature was usually forty degrees. That is about one hundred degrees warmer than Greenland’s winter temperature, but this lovely old man who could once endure extreme weather, now found forty degrees to be cold. His body was barely functioning.
When I was a boy, my father had taken me fishing early in the morning on probably no more than eight occasions. Each one had been on Saturday mornings, just prior to sunrise. I treasured those eight outings. Prior to what was occurring now, they were the most loving memories I had of being with my father.
Often, when he awoke early in the night he would start climbing over the rails of the hospital bed. I was sleeping on a cot between his bed and my mother’s bed. I could touch either one of them in the night without getting out of bed. It was a great comfort to both of them, as they became more secure knowing someone they loved and trusted was in the room. They slept more soundly than before and “just being with him and her” took on a whole new dimension.
Whenever they stirred, I was able to go to them, be at their side and talk gently of anything they wanted to talk about.
Occasionally, my father could not be kept in his bed when he awoke at his three a.m. “ritual”. When that happened, he would say to me, ”take me someplace special”. I would fold up my cot, get the wheelchair out of the bathroom, and I would hold him upright, and put him into the wheelchair. I would slide that warm black shirt over his frail body.
I said, “you are getting stronger dad!”
He said, “I don’t know, I just can’t stay in bed.”
I said, “let’s go outside.”
“It’s too cold”, he insisted.
I said, “Not for you.” As we wheeled out of the room, I said, “we’ll be back mom.”
She said, “I love you both.”
We wheeled towards the front door of the nursing home. Several nursing home residents were moving about the halls at these times. I never knew their stories, but I can imagine the loneliness that made up their physically and mentally painful lives. The elderly develop courage, and that courage enables them to face their situation.
My father and I would exit the front door of the nursing home. On one occasion I said, “we are going fishing!” And so we went fishing in the parking lot of the nursing home. He said, “it is cold!” I reminded him of his “Norwegian blood”, Greenland, Canada, Alaska and, Minnesota. He said, “that was then, this is now, and it’s cold!”
I said, “well, keep your hands out of the water or it will get colder.”
As we rolled through the front parking lot, he said, “you are a great son.”
I said, “maybe so, maybe not. You planted a tree. It was I. Now I’ve grown and you are getting some apples from the tree. I don’t see that I have any reasonable choice but to stay with you until it is over.”
He said, “I hate imposing on you and causing you trouble!”
I said, “trouble, what trouble? It is my honor and privilege to be with you. It might even be a duty too. How can I ever repay you for my life and all the years you gave me?”
He said, “well, you are great to me!”
I said, “maybe I never let you know I love you enough!”
He said, “not so. I don’t want to get in the way of your marriage.”
I said, “life’s weird, or maybe I am, I search for love, then when I find it, I sabotage it. I can’t understand why I mess it up.”
We continued on through the parking lot, in the early morning, before the sunrise.
He said, “I use to think I was so strong.”
I interrupted, “you were, you are.”
He continued, “But strength changes. I see things differently now.”
I wanted to know more, “oh?” I encouraged.
He took a breath and looked to the sky, “seems I was wrong about strength. When I had it, I was blind to love, blind to love and kindness.”
I asked, “how so?”
He paused, “my roughness got in the way. I had to be so strong that it covered up the gentle part of me. I was always doing everything I did out of love for everyone in my life. I never said it, I just thought everyone knew it. It was always in my mind, so I didn’t think of saying it, I was busy doing it.”
I reasoned, “but you had to be rough in the world you lived in.”
He said, “sure, but that world only works until you need help. Then what do you do?”
Without thinking I said, “I need help!”
He looked as far over his shoulder as he could to try to see my face in the night, “life’s a lot more fun if you let love in.”
I forced a smile, “I’m still learning.”
He made one of his little laughs and said, “aren’t we all.”
It was one of those moments where any words would destroy what had happened. Finally, he broke the silence.
He said, “Okay, let’s go fishing!” And so we did.
I said, “ I already put the motor on the boat. I’ve got some bait too.”
He said, “so do I! What did you bring?”
I said, “worms and some shiner minnows.”
He said, “I brought leaches and crappie minnows.”
So we went to our imaginary boat, which was his wheelchair with me pushing. While we were in the back parking lot, we saw a Save-A-Lot store across the way. It was closed for the night. It became lake Owasso, lake Osakis, and finally, lake Milacs. When the silence was broken, it was time for us come out of our trance.
We went back into the smell of the dead and dying within the nursing home.
Two years prior to this, my mother suffered a stroke. She had become difficult to deal with as she had become very angry. Anger is a common problem which stroke victims go through. During one unpleasant outburst, my mother screamed and demanded to be released. My father couldn’t take the pressure any longer and had to leave the room. I followed him. He stopped in the waiting area. After a short time, he regained his composure.
He looked into my face and waited a few moments, then he said, “no matter what you see or hear now, never forget, your mother was and still is a great woman.”
Stroke
The news came at night,
I guess that was right,
A stroke put my mother
in a chair, for the rest of her life.
They put her in a rest home,
So she could get some rest,
Her husband of sixty four years
Can’t help her enough.
His heart has had three attacks,
And his kidneys are shot,
Some cancer in his groin,
And here and there.
He got down for awhile,
Not long, just a day.
He manages to smile,
It is his strength.
She rests in the rest home,
But her mind is locked in that chair,
She needs help with her food,
And combing her hair.
It is harder than hard
Being unable to know,
Why some things happen
To those we love so.
No regrets and sadness,
Just smiles and a kiss,
Life goes on, perhaps forever,
Each moment is a wish.
For six months, my mother had been moved from one hospital to another. We visited her daily. I massaged her feet for hours. The dead skin would roll off of her feet and up past her ankles. She was confused, angry and lost, and drugged.
She wanted to go home during the entire ordeal. Whenever the visits were over, she would scream and insist on leaving. Don’t leave me in here was her message, and only one person was listening to that message.
Finally, my father removed her from the hospital and brought her back home. He simply told the doctors and staff that he was taking his wife home. And that is what he did. It was done on her birthday, October 25, 2001. Only four people; my father, my mother, myself, and Courtney, agreed with his decision. In fact, it was Courtney’s idea to do it as a birthday present.
It’s hard to see the strength of old people, or animals, for that matter. They develop courage as they face the “end game” of life. Unless we die young, as Sandy did, we all get to face the problems of old age, and the years beyond the “golden years”. I was beginning to see that it is then that they need our help the most.
My father cared for my mother the best he could. I had to leave them alone for ten days. When I returned, it was four in the morning. My father lay in his bed near my mother’s bed. He heard me come into the room and said, “you are a sight for sore eyes.” He was exhausted. He slept well the rest of the morning.
I cared for them both for fourteen weeks.
During that time, my father would collapse often. He would call 911 on his own and the ambulance would arrive. The trips to the hospital became more and more frequent. On one occasion my father went to church alone for the Sunday morning service. I was home taking care of my mother, when a pastor brought my father in the back door of the condo. The back door was right off of the parking lot and lead directly into the bedroom. I was bent over my mother changing her diaper when the pastor said; “he collapsed going down the stairs leading to the restroom. I thought it was best to bring him home.”
I indicated the bed next to him and said; “just get him to the bed. I’ll finish here and we’ll be alright.” On one meeting with a treating physician, the doctor explained to my father the costs of all of his emergency treatment. He was direct in his approach and recommendation. Finally there was a meeting with another treating physician.
DNR is the “code” for: do not resuscitate. If the treating doctor and the patient agree, a “do not resuscitate” form is filled out. It is done when all agree that further emergency care is unnecessary. To me, it was a strange document. It covers the liability of all involved. The “order” is put in a conspicuous place in the home. When emergency personnel arrive, they look for such an order. If they find it, they do nothing to extend the life of the patient.
Both my mother and father entered into the DNR agreement. The two forms were placed on the wall in the bedroom.
Fourteen weeks passed. I had to leave on personal business. My sister came to Florida and stayed with mom and dad for two weeks. Then, my niece and her husband came to Florida and took mother and father to live in their home in Texas. From then on the deterioration of my father’s health continued. That led up to his being admitted into the nursing home.
I am grateful I was able to partially repay my debt of gratitude to my father. All of his loved one’s were there for him as he faced his mortality.
For the last twenty-three days of my father’s life, we celebrated my father.
Every relative came and visited my father. They stayed in that small room for hours. We went to any place we could think of. We went to grocery stores, shopping centers and car rides to anywhere and nowhere.
He had given up alcohol thirty years ago. He wanted to know if he was missing anything. So I bought him two half pints of different whiskey and a shot glass. We would put three tiny ice cubes in the shot glass and “fill” up the rest with whiskey. It was less than an ounce, but he savored each drop. We did it “secretly” for about one week, until the bottles were empty.
He said, “get rid of the bottles, I won’t miss booze.” That was about day eight.
While in Greenland, he was fed steak three times a day. Salt Peter was put in the food to curb sexual desire. Whether or not it had any real effect, years went by with no sexual activity between he and my mother. My mother told me that had a lot to do with her weight gain and eventual stroke. The subtle connection between events became more apparent to me. Living in wisdom is so simple, yet complicated.
Now my father asked for different foods. Chicken, ribs, anything he thought of or imagined would taste good. But he was no longer on dialysis and he was becoming more toxic. His body was shutting down, and food didn’t taste the same any longer. In the end, I would give him an occasional blueberry. He would pop them in his mouth and enjoy the richness of one simple blueberry.
“Oh, the simple things in life”, he would say. “Why do we make it so complicated?”
On the occasions when I was losing confidence, I would call my wife. On one of the calls she asked, “should I be there?”
I wanted to say yes, but I said, “no, there is too much confusion, too many distractions.”
I handed the phone to my father. We were in a private area, no one could hear us. His last words to Courtney were, “I love you, goodbye!” Four simple words. The beginning, middle, and end of an entire conversation. How I had wanted to make a family out of us. I couldn’t say it or express it.
I had a conversation with a nurse at the nursing home. She mentioned that I might be keeping my new wife out. She asked if “I was treating her right?”
I said, “I don’t want her to see my messed up family.”
She asked, “who are you to judge? Are you ashamed of your family?"
I said, “some.”
She said, “It is real life, not movies.”
That didn’t have much impact on me. What did have impact on me was that I knew there had to be some deeper problem within me that was causing me shame and blocking my ability to express the love I felt. It was the same as what my father had expressed about his need to be strong covering up his love. My problem was all of that plus a lack of self worth at a very deep and real level. It had gotten in the way of me being authentic, and that was my only hope for becoming a real person. It was real life, not the movies!
Later I would write, I Only Cry For You.
I only cry at night,
And in the morning too,
I only cry all day,
I only cry for you.
I only want you back,
With me where you belong,
I only need your love,
To make my dreams come true.
Will you come back to me?
And let me love you true?
Back to my lovin’ arms,
I only cry for you.
Wish we were one again,
Just like when we began,
Could you forgive me dear,
And dry these lonely tears?
The love we had before,
Before I slammed the door,
I know that it’s still there,
Waiting for you and me.
I only cry at night,
And in the morning too,
I only cry all day,
I only cry for you.
Well, he became more loving and kind as the days passed.
Once an unkind word was said about a relative who was morbidly over weight. My father called the relative into the room and expressed love and respect for the relative and his attitude was what healed, not any word or combination of words. By simply radiating love, all of the hurt was forgiven.
My father was waiting for one last thing. For my brother to touch his hand and say “I love you.”
It happened two days before Christmas evening. Now all that was left for him to do was die.
Christmas evening came. My father wanted to be out of the nursing home for awhile. I couldn’t get both my mother and my father into the car, so I asked her if it was okay if we took a short drive. She agreed and I told my mother we would be back as soon as possible. She would be alone once again.
I got him into the car and we drove to my niece’s home. The grandchildren were there and Christmas is for children as far as toys are concerned. But this Christmas was for leaving and I was the chauffeur once again.
Kim’s children opened their gifts. Kim has very little money, but she would wrap practical gifts such as a much needed pair of shoes or a new shirt or dress in a huge box so as to make the gift big under the tree. One by one, the simple needed gifts were opened. Each child waited for his or her turn. One gift at a time.
“Thank you mommy”, Butchie would say. Butchie is a smart and funny little boy. His sister Darby is quiet and sophisticated. Darby got a dress. Pink and charcoal in color.
Leighton is the oldest. He got new shoes.
My father watched.
Everyone appreciated life a little more that night and soon it was time to go. My mother was alone at the nursing home and that bothered my father.
In the car I used the cell phone to call all of my relatives. My children, Theresa and, Deane. I had stopped sending gifts when Sandy died. I felt they resented it, but there were so many things Sandy had done so well, and without her, most of it wasn’t getting done. People like to be appreciated. I did my best to travel around the country and make appearances to people who were important to me. I apologize to anyone I have slighted. We do what we can, and that is what I doing, regardless of how it looked to others.
Getting in the car was hard on my father. He was approaching his death, and his right foot had turned in and up for some reason. I suppose it had to do with poor circulation and all of the organs beginning to shut down. It has been said death begins with the feet, and in this case it was so.
He could not stand on that foot, and getting up or down was nearly impossible. He managed to get in the car at Kim’s house and out at the nursing home.
The song “so this is Christmas” ran through my mind. “I hope you have a good one, without any fear”.
Well, my mother was happy to have us back. I managed to get my father in bed and the night passed.
Christmas day was upon us. Not much to recall. Then the next day arrived. My father said, “take me someplace special”.
We got into the car once more. I drove to my brother’s house. I felt my father’s life going and he didn’t want to die in the nursing home.
I got him into my brother’s living room and onto the sofa. He lay down and I covered him with numerous blankets. He was freezing.
Some one came in and said, “what the hell is going on?” A vacuum cleaner was turned on, and I knew I was making a mistake.
Upset, I left. I got my father into the car. He would have to die someplace else.
We drove around. I pretended to be going someplace. I didn’t know Texas and the only reason I was there was because my parents had ended up there at this point in their life.
I had two tapes in the car. Neil Young, and, John Denver. We listened to both. John Denver’s Wild Life concert hit a good note with my father.
“I’m just an old cowboy, from high in Colorado, too old to ride anymore, to blind to see. …whispering Jesse still rides in the canyon’s still lives in my heart”.
We had gone someplace special and now it was time to go home. Really home.
Time’s All We Have ‘til The Man Calls Us Home
Time’s all we have ‘til the man calls us home,
This man had a smile,
He wore it all the while,
When he told me,
Time’s all we have ‘til the man calls us home.
So, I spend my days
Comin’ out of the haze,
And I move through the nights,
Comin’ out of the daze.
Times all I have ‘til the man calls me home.
Thousands of days,
And that many nights,
Clear the way
As I roam through the maze,
This maze called my life.
Time’s all I had ‘til the man called me home.
Now I move towards the light,
As my end is near,
For I can hear,
him callin’ me home.
Time’s all I had and he’s callin’ me home.
I’m ready to go,
‘cause it has
To be so,
Time’s all I had, and I’m goin’ home.
But first, one more day at the nursing facility. December 27, 2002. I couldn’t know he would die at 11:30 p.m. this day.
He was in bed in the morning.
The nursing home had one particularly abrasive nurse. He was a male nurse, named Mike. He told me I was wasting my time on what he called my “death watch”. Just as the words “just be with her” had impact, so did these words. The impact was negative.
I questioned myself. Was I a fool again? What was I doing?
I phoned my wife, Courtney. We talked it over. She was very supportive. Finally, she asked a question directly going to the issue. “Are you going to let an arrogant stranger destroy what you know to be the right thing to do?”
That conversation and her support allowed me to regain the strength and focus I needed to see the process with my father through to the end. I had been close to giving up only because of the attitude and words of one rude and thoughtless comment.
Mike usually left work at 11:00 p.m. By midnight, the attitude about the nursing home generally became more peaceful. Not only because Mike was gone, but because that time of the evening brought quiet.
For my father, it would become more peaceful this night. For his loved ones, it would become a time of relief and loss.
My father’s breathing got heavier.
Eventually, there were only the three of us in the room. My father, my mother, and me. It has been three years since what I am about to write has happened. I realize as I write this, that I have not yet grieved his loss. I don’t even know what grieving means. I can talk about it, and read about it, but that doesn’t mean I have done it. It’s a process and I am still in it. I don’t ever want to forget my father, but I don’t want to live in the shadow of his death. Some how I must live in the light of his love and face the reality of life and death.
For years, my mother and father had discussed how it would be in the end. My father had promised not to die first. My mother did not want to go on without him. It was a promise he would not be able to keep.
My wife told me he must be released from that promise before he could leave peacefully. It was so true.
I asked my mother what she thought.
She said it would be selfish to keep him alive while he was in such pain and suffering.
She said, “Harv, I love you so much. It’s okay for you to go on ahead. I’ll catch up later.”
He sighed. His breathing became lighter and easier.
As the evening approached, he began to turn red in the face. The sweat from his head became excessive.
A wash basin in the room provided me the opportunity to put cool wet towels over his head. I had seen this sweating before with both Sandy and Marilyn as they began to pass.
I changed the towels every five minutes or so. It pulled some of the heat away. My mother and I watched as the love of her life lay dying before our eyes.
My father would never again be able to say, “I love you!”
It would have to live in our heart’s.
Oh, how he would be missed. His courage, his strength, his humor, and his boundless devotion and love.
A nurse came into the room, looked at him from the doorway and said, “oh my god!”
I was at his side holding his hand as he was passing. I looked at the nurse and asked, “ why don’t you check his oxygen?”
She left, and within seconds returned with the monitor. She placed it on his finger. The usual reading was between 92 and 95. It indicates the amount of oxygen in the blood. It read 52 and with his next exhale, it read 0.
He was gone.
The nurse left.
I moved away from the body of my father, and went to my mother’s side. My mother and I moved close together.
The room was still and quiet. An hour passed.
My brother and Kim arrived. A little later, a funeral director arrived. He was dressed in a suit. It was about three in the morning. The body was removed, and my mother was really alone for the first time in sixty-five years. Even though she was drugged, she understood completely what had happened. I felt I had done all I could do. I was exhausted and so lonely.
I drove off at eight in the morning. I did not stay for the service. My wife had gone to visit her sister and family in Idaho, and I desperately needed to be with her.
Over the next year I wrote a song which sums up much of what happened. The song was painful to write and during that year my life became chaotic.
THERE’S AN OLD BLACK SHIRT IN TEXAS
There’s an old black shirt in Texas,
Where my daddy use to be.
I held his hand as he died, and
Prayed on bended knee.
Through the moments of laughter,
And the moments of fear,
It became clear he must leave,
So I stayed by his side,
‘til the night
that he died,
and it’s that loss I grieve.
There’s an old black shirt in Texas,
Where my daddy use to be,
They tell me nothin’ lasts forever
But his love is still guiding me.
I left New Braunfels at sunrise,
Across Texas into New Mexico,
North through Colorado and Wyoming.
And west into Idaho.
But I couldn’t forget
That old black shirt,
Which had fought off
The December cold,
And protected my devoted father,
Who had grown so very old.
Now I don’t know where we come from,
And I don’t know where we go,
But I know I loved my father, and
I got a chance to let him know.
Now there is just that old black shirt
In Texas,
Where my father use to be,
Just an old black shirt in Texas,
And my father now is free.
My father who art in heaven,
I will always be with you,
I keep your love in my heart,
A love so pure and true.
Ah men.
The month’s passed. January, February, and on into March. Most of us thought my mother would die soon after my father. That’s what you hear happens often.
Instead she lived. If you can call it that. Roommates came and went. One roommate couldn’t speak English. My mother only speaks English. Another roommate had a disease which could be contracted on contact.
My mother was scared, lonely and depressed. And why wouldn’t she be? Here she was in a nursing home, one visitor every two weeks or so, and no real love.
This could not be allowed to go on any longer.
So my sister began looking for a nursing home near her home in Mount Carroll, Illinois, which is one hundred twenty miles north and west of Chicago.
In the meantime, I was trying to get my life to function. But I was not doing well emotionally. The writing of the songs seemed necessary for me to process all of the changes. The first draft of the Old Black Shirt In Texas was fourteen pages long. A friend pointed out to me that perhaps it was more than one song. After month’s it became three songs. A Trilogy. My song; There’s An Old Black Shirt In Texas, my mother’s song; And He Was Everything To Me, and my father’s song; It’s All That I Know.
My sister’s nursing home search wasn’t going easy. My mother wasn’t wanted in the nursing homes. First, she only had a social security check to cover the cost. That is not a significant amount of money.
Second, it seems she had acted out by telling off a few employees of the nursing home she was in. Those “incidents” were put into her “nursing home records”, and now she had a documented history as a troublemaker and a difficult person. In fact, my mother was eleven years old when her mother died. My mother and her siblings, a brother and two sisters, spent some time in an orphanage after the loss of their mother. My mother ran away from the orphanage. Eventually, all of the children were reunited with their father and my mother took over the roll of the mother of the family. She met my father when she was fourteen; they married at eighteen and were completely devoted and loyal to each other for sixty-five years. They lived a courageous and adventurous life. Now he was gone. She was now deserted in a cold and lonely place.
Of course, no one was looking at the situation from my mother’s point of view. Her song “And He Was Everything To Me” is my attempt to do that.
I had lived without love
Until he came along,
And he was everything to me.
Now there is just an old
Black shirt in Texas,
Where my true love use to be.
Love and kindness
Were simply his way,
Of bringing joy
To each day.
And he was everything to me.
Now I am often scared
Of facing life alone,
Then I recall his smile
And I still find life worthwhile.
And he was everything to me.
I had lived without love
Until he came my way,
And he was everything to me.
And when I sleep I see
His smiling face,
To remind me that
We will meet
In that familiar place,
And he was everything to me.
So the time came
When he had to go,
And I’m all alone again.
But knowing his love
Has made my life complete
And I’ll see his beauty once more
In the end,
And he is still everything to me.
My life must go on and I’ll
Catch up soon enough as he waits
At the gate, for
I was everything to him.
The third song of my Trilogy is my father’s song. It’s All That I Know.
Born dirt poor,
I learned how to work,
And it was me who thought
I was strong.
Now an old black shirt
Is all that I have,
And that old black shirt
Keeps me warm.
Now I need more courage
Than ever before,
For this worn out body’s
Nearly gone.
My loved ones understand
And that gives me strength
To see this through
To the end.
Be love and kindness,
That’s what I have found
Make this short life
Worth living each day.
Give love and kindness
That’s all that I know
And I guess I had
To learn it this way.
I’ve got no money
Or anything left,
But I have love and kindness
And that’s all I need.
Please take love and kindness
It’s all that I have
And smile for me
And don’t cry.
Laugh if you recall me,
And see me with a smile
It’s so true that we
All must die.
Know that I found what matters
And that’s all that I need
Give love and kindness
It’s all that I know.
I found love and kindness
And now I must go,
One last time, I love you,
Goodbye.
Finally, my sister found a nursing home willing to accept my mother. My sister, her husband and I left Mount Carroll via their van and arrived at the nursing home in Texas the next evening.
We loaded my mother and her belongings into the van and brought her to Savanna, Illinois, where she became a resident of another nursing home. She was admitted to Big Meadows on March 5, 2003. At least this was close to my sister.
It was a lot better. At least my sister could decorate the room and visit often. Also, it was a private room. Sort of private.
My sister could visit almost daily, and her two grown daughters could visit grandma when they came to visit, usually once every two months.
My marriage was in trouble.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
(Mother’s lost year)
I was now in the midst of trying to stay or become whole. I had too much going on, as perhaps we all do, but I was centered on me as usual. I thought I was trying to help others, but my inner most thoughts were always about me. I was trying to simplify my life. Perhaps it was working, but I couldn’t handle much more, and if this was simplifying life then I was in trouble. As I look back, I intended to keep it simple, but there were huge events taking place, and they required all of my strength. If I had not already gotten rid of so much clutter, I would not have been in a position to deal with what had to be dealt with.
I traveled back and forth to South Dakota, Colorado, Tennessee, and the Chicago area, for this legal reason or that legal reason. I would visit my mother whenever I could. One year passed.
“Just be with her” rang in my head again.
Spring came. During my visits, I began taking my mother outside as much as I could. Once outside, I would help her to stand up. Just stand up. It was as hard for her as if she were running a marathon. Standing caused her dizziness. She complained of back pain, leg pain, hip pain, ankle pain and her legs tingled from the knees down to the toes. I took her to the side of the car and opened the window. She stood up next to the car and listened to music as she stood. Five seconds then ten. She would work her way up to standing for one minute, leaning over the car.
There was a small café about four blocks from the nursing home. We began going to the café just as a way of getting some other sights than the nursing home and the constant company of people suffering patiently.
During one visit, it was in April of 2004, my mother announced that she couldn’t see out of her left eye.
I was shocked. I asked, “Have you told the nurse or doctor?”
She said, “I told everybody, and nobody listens!”
“Well what’s wrong?” I asked.
“They just tell me I’m legally blind.”
She was depressed and giving up hope. She had been there for thirteen months. It was beginning to appear that she was just in that facility until death would come.
My sister is a loving and caring person. She visited nearly daily and everyone at the nursing home knew her. I knew she would be able to tell me what was happening. It turned out she didn’t know anything more than my mother did. So I asked the nurses and the nursing home staff doctor. I couldn’t get an answer as to what was wrong with my mother’s vision.
Over the years from 1995 until this visit at the nursing home, I had undergone a total of twenty-five eye surgeries. I hold a record for detached and torn retinas. Seven, torn retinas and seven detached retinas. Nothing to be proud of but, each surgery had an approximate 85% chance of success. All of them were successful and I can still see without reading glasses or corrective lenses. My point is that I had good doctors caring for my eyes. But my eye doctors were in Colorado and my mother was in Illinois.
I called my ophthalmologist in Longmont, Colorado. He specialized in retinas. He had performed sixteen of the surgeries on my eyes and I hold him in great esteem. I related my mother’s condition to him. He was professionally concerned. He asked who has been treating her? I didn’t know. His advice was to get her to an ophthalmologist as soon as possible.
My sister and I discussed what to do. I asked my sister to communicate with the nursing home and set up an appointment with a qualified medical doctor of ophthalmology. That was what we were intending to accomplish. However, the problems of transporting my mother were significant. Just getting her up and out of bed required a lift and two people assisting her. Once she was ready to leave the facility, it required a handicap van to transport her. That required more scheduling and personnel.
Well it turns out the town of Savanna doesn’t have an ophthalmologist. Savanna has an optometrist. He referred to himself as “doctor”. Whoever scheduled the eye appointment simply did what they thought made sense and that was another appointment with the eye doctor. I was under the impression we were going to consult with an eye doctor, an ophthalmologist.
So I accompanied my mother and sister and a nursing home employee to the long awaited “doctor’s” appointment.
As my mother was being taken out of the van, I looked at her. I wondered how could something be done to change all of this? She now weighed 260 pounds and, was paralyzed on her right side as the result of a stroke three years earlier. She was now blind in her left eye. A dentist in Wisconsin had removed all of her teeth years ago. Then I recalled, my father had all of his teeth removed by that same dentist. I found it hard to believe that between to two of them, that dentist couldn’t find one tooth worth saving. I’ll never know the truth about that, and perhaps it doesn’t matter, some things can’t be changed, and my father was dead and my mother’s teeth were also gone.
Then my mind jumped to the evening before, as I watched as my mother changed when her dentures were removed for the night. With her “teeth” removed, her entire face and personality changed. She looked older, talked with a slur and a lisp. Additionally, I began to think about her digestion issues. My mind grasped that her food was not being digested. She could not chew. It is said 90% of digestion occurs in the mouth. Without chewing, digestive enzymes found in her saliva could not be combined with the food. Thus she was bound to have digestive problems. And she was suffering from constipation, hemorrhoids, colon problems, and a host of dietary complications.
Then, my monkey mind jumped to the thought that, maybe in years to come someone will invent something like seedling teeth, but for now, flossing and regular brushing of the teeth, and proper dental visits took on a new importance for me. I was becoming aware of the needless suffering we cause ourselves.
Then I thought, why do such things bother me so. It is some how conveyed by the thought that there is so much unavoidable pain and suffering in life, and when avoidable misery happens I get very upset. Upset with myself, and upset with the events surrounding that type of preventable misery.
My mother was now out of the van. I collected my mind and we entered the waiting area and awaited the eye examination by the doctor.
I’ll refer to him as Dr. Smith. I can’t recall his real name, and I have no intent to defame him even though truth is an absolute defense in a court of law, and what I am about to relate is the absolute truth.
My mother was wearing “new glasses”. Ones prescribed by Dr. Smith. This had been done since her arrival in March of 2003.
She could see out of both eyes then or she would not have been able to partake in the eye examination to get a prescription.
Now she was blind in her left eye! What happened?
The “doctor” examined her. I watched. It turns out this was the second exam he had done on her in six weeks, it was the result of me wanting her examined as soon as possible. This visit was supposed to be with an ophthalmologist. But the closest ophthalmologist was in a town 45 miles away. That would be a long van drive and not very convenient to the nursing home. Further, no one was willing to simply put my mother into a car and take her to the further location. Dr. Smith’s office was only one mile away from the nursing home.
This exam involved very little objective observation. “Dr. Smith” announced you are blind in your left eye.
My mother insisted “I can see a little out of this side”, pointing to the left side of the left eye. Her statement was ignored.
Six weeks earlier, “Dr. Smith” had prescribed eye drops for her right eye. Drops to keep the pressure down.
My mother asked if she could have drops put in her left eye too, since she had some slight vision and wanted to keep it.
The “doctor” explained the drops are expensive. Then he looked at her with deep concern and asked: “do you pray?”
She looked at him in amazement. He said, “you should pray!”
Well, that was it.
I had quit practicing law in 1998, but I still knew malpractice when I saw it. Mal means bad, and practice means practice. This was practice at it’s worst.
I asked “Dr. Smith” what, in his opinion, had caused the blindness?
He opined one of three things:
Either glaucoma or a stroke in the eye, or the stroke three years ago caused it.
I asked him if he was a medical doctor?
He said he had years of medical expertise and hospital experience and while he was not a medical doctor, he was confident in his diagnosis.
I took his card and we all left.
In short time I called my ophthalmologist friend in Longmont.
He said the three diagnosis were interesting.
The blindness was unlikely to be caused by the stroke, as half of each eye is controlled by opposite sides of the brain. That diagnosis couldn’t be correct for she would have impaired vision in both eyes, one half of each eye. Further, it would have been found at the time of the stroke, not three years later.
The stroke in the eye was a harder diagnosis to comment on, and if it was glaucoma, the “the horse was out of the barn”. He advised again, that I get her to a real eye doctor.
So my sister made the appointment. I silently decided there would never be another van ride by my mother. I would personally get her to and from appointments in my car. Two weeks later, I got my mother into my car and drove her to the ophthalmologist in Freeport, Illinois. It was the beginning of eye treatment for my mother.
He took one brief look into her eyes. He knew instantly it was glaucoma.
He checked her eye pressures. Her pressures were above 20mm. Twelve or, below would be our goal.
My mother asked, “should I be having drops in both eyes, even though I can’t see much out of my left eye?”
He said, “even if the vision in the left eye is gone, the pressure would make the eye painful, and in addition to that, eventually you would lose the eye. So you should be putting drops in both eyes.”
So it was. Drops in both eyes with the intent of reducing the pressures. But the nursing home staff didn’t always put the drops into both eyes. It just didn’t happen all of the time.
My mother had been scheduled for a follow up exam.
It was two weeks later, back in the doctor’s office. The pressures were still above 20mm, in both eyes.
So, an additional medication was added. From the green bottle, a drop in each eye, twice a day. From the clear bottle, one drop in each eye, once a day.
One month later we had a follow up visit. The pressures in both eyes were at 18mm in both eyes. Better, but still too high.
The nursing home doctor was a kind and well-mannered man. From what I could see, he worked professionally and hard.
He had eighty to one hundred patients, and all of them had serious problems. Most of the patients were failing as old age and disease progressed. The staff worked hard at keeping the facility clean and at providing all of the necessary services. They provided food, clean clothes, housekeeping, outings, therapy, and numerous other activities. There was bingo, church services, birthday parties and whatever else they could think of and schedule.
Still, a nursing home was the last choice, as far as I could observe.
There was so much loneliness. There was so much boredom. The staff knows that and tries its hardest to design the days to avoid that.
I came to the conclusion that, without being surrounded by genuine love, from a real loved one; no one can make it alone. At least, not for very long. Eventually, hope is lost. We need a reason to get up each morning, and watching television is only acceptable for a short time. It becomes a background noise for elderly people slumped over in their wheelchairs, poor posture and more back pain for decaying bodies. Just a way to avoid life and wait for death.
SHE’S GOTTA HAVE A REASON
She’s gotta have a reason,
She’s gotta have a life,
Just breathin’s no reason,
She need’s love in her life.
I’ve always loved you,
But my pride wouldn’t let me show
The only reason for livin’,
Was hearing your sweet voice.
I never said I love you
I just thought you knew.
Now you won’t answer,
When I reach out for you.
I’ve lost you and my reason
For smiling each day.
There’s nothin’ to say, which will
Bring you back to me,
Leavin’s your reason for
Living today.
Seems breathing is all I have left,
But it’s not a reason to live.
But I’ll keep breathin’
‘til I find my heart to give.
Smiling is the answer in all these times of strife.
Smiling is my salvation,
The way to put meaning into
My life.
So when I say good morning,
And say have a fine day,
It’s myself I’am really talkin’to,
And my smile is for you.
Then, I understood what was true for me. Without love there is nothing. It was that simple.
During the month’s of May, June, July, August, and September of 2004, I visited my mother twice a day at the nursing home.
I looked deeply into the bodies of the nursing home residents. Nearly all of the residents were in very poor physical condition. Most of them were out of shape, some were obese, and most were weak and rigid. True exercise is hard to accomplish for most elderly people.
The residents with alzimers and dementia were a mystery to me. I wondered, how much do they really understand? The level of awareness seemed to vary with the individual, but if, for instance, a puppy showed up in their presence, a real physical change happened. They responded positively.
My mother and I developed a routine. In the morning, we went to the park. Usually from ten a.m. until noon. We would return to the nursing home and eat lunch. After lunch, she would nap. When she awoke, I would take her to the park for two more hours, in the evening, before dark.
I contrived exercises for her. First, we just tried to get her to stand up.
One month after the stroke, the treating physician told my father he must understand that his wife had had a serious stroke, and that she would never walk again. My father told me that and also my mother. I wasn’t so sure and neither was she. Were we going to let those words control her life? Was it the truth, or just a professional opinion?
What you believe is what you get! It is the magic of believing. I believed she could stand and from there she could take one step, and that could lead to another. And she believed the same thing. She now had a reason to get up in the morning. And I would help her. There would be no more television and avoiding life’s possibilities.
What were her possibilities if she got to her proper body weight? We decided to find out what was possible, and avoid talking about what was impossible. Her present weight was 260 pounds and her height was five feet three inches. She had weighed 98 pounds when she married my father sixty-seven years ago.
The weight was a huge problem. Up to now, it had not been addressed seriously. In fact, if a resident at the nursing home lost weight, while at the nursing home, the authorities would question whether or not the nursing home was providing enough food to the residents.
The nursing home held regular meetings to evaluate the progress of each resident. Any concerned person could attend those meetings. I attended one of those meetings.
The dietician was present along with a dozen of the staff members. Most of the people present were overweight and out of condition. I had made the observation that approximately one in ten of the people living in and working at the nursing home were in good health. I resolved to be aware of my speech and conduct, while still trying to address the obesity issue.
The dietician explained that the diet at the nursing home was based upon a two thousand caloric daily intake. I realized that, with no exercise, my mother would gain a pound a week if she consumed two thousand calories a day. And she was gaining a pound a week. It took a lift to move my mother from the bed to the bathroom. She had been run into walls while in the lift, suffered bruises, and a broken toe. The toe had healed in an upward position. The nursing home employees were doing the best they could, but my mother was becoming more obese and less mobile. The meeting ended cordially.
My mother was developing more back pain. I reasoned, if she achieved her normal body weight and became limber that would have to improve her quality of life. It became a long-term goal for both of us to work toward.
She was taking, warfarin sodium, a substitute for coumadin, which is a blood thinner. It is prescribed to keep the blood “thin”, and that is done to avoid the risk of another stroke. However, one risk of the medication is the bleeding associated with any wound. If she should fall or get otherwise injured, she could have uncontrolled bleeding. She became aware of cases where people using coumadin became disabled upon hitting their head and suffering internal bleeding of the brain. It further complicated her condition. She was taking 2 milligrams a day, once daily by mouth. I knew there were other ways of achieving the same blood thinning result, a simple diet of raw vegetables was one of those ways.
It was in June when she found out that coumadin is rat poison. It is put in bait food; the rat eats the food, bleeds internally and dies. My mother found this out and never took another tablet of it. When the medications were handed to her with her meal, she would carefully remove the “coumadin” tablet, hide the pill in a napkin, and deposited it in the trash on the way out of the cafeteria. It became obvious that something had to change if this situation was to improve.
My father would not approve of this, and he would want me to intervene if I was able and willing. I knew deep down, that it didn’t have to be this way.
But what could be done? Where do you start? Where do you draw the line?
I decided I would go one day at a time and the answer would come.
Just be with her was taking on a new meaning. Could I fulfill what I was seeing as necessary?
And it was one day at a time. The park visits became workouts. We used the playground apparatus as our workout equipment. She would hold onto the jungle gym. She would take one step to the left and sit back into the wheelchair. Then stand back up and try again. Over and over, we did the workouts, morning and evening. She worked her way up to going around the jungle gym, one complete time, with fewer and fewer rest breaks. We tried to do more and more steps each time before she sat back down in the wheelchair, which I kept moving to the side, as she moved to the side. She wasn’t walking. She was using the jungle gym, my help and a strap, which we had attached to the shoe of her left leg. As she moved the left leg, I would lift up the shoe via the strap. Without that strap, I don’t think we could have moved the leg. It was that kind of creativity, which would bring us our small victories.
In order to take care of business and personal matters, I had to leave the area for several days.
Things were not working out as I had wished in my life. I was out of control and unable to correct my course, no matter what I did, I was still making awful choices.
On each return to the nursing home, I would find my mother had slipped back into the old routine. Bed pans, diapers, using the lift, colds and sickness once or twice a week and confined to bed. She was prescribed medications for every complaint, real or imagined.
On one visit, I returned to find her in bed, drugged with a pain medication. I asked what had happened. The nurse reported that my mother had complained of sever back pain, and as a result, bed rest was prescribed for several days. I asked if my mother had a choice in the matter. The nurse said of course. I asked my mother if she wanted to stay in bed or go to the park. She indicated she would like to go to the park if she could. I said we can. It was one more turning point. I realized that I would have to be the creative force in my mother’s life and my own. Any significant improvement would only come from hard work and a commitment to stay the course regardless of obstacles, real or imagined. We agreed, once she would get out of the bed and into the park, she would get better.
Thus, we did what had to be done to get to the park.
The results of those park visits were healing. The fresh air and sunshine alone made a noticeable difference in her health, both physical and mental. She became tan and looked healthy. Everyone noticed it.
We focused more on diet. We changed to more and more wholesome foods. No more sodas and ice cream at night. Less coffee and I began to bring fresh fruit with us to the park. She began standing more and longer.
She worked as hard as she could and the results were showing.
She would exercise at the ladder to the children’s slide in the park. Putting her hands on the ladder rails, she would rise up out of the wheel chair, stand for a second, and sit back down. First once, then twice, progressively working her way up to ten, then to one hundred. It took weeks. She would do sets of ten, twenty, thirty, and forty. Then fifty, and the magic one hundred. She did this daily, morning and evening. She began walking to and from the slide, with assistance. Also, she walked to and from the car.
She had come a long way, and had so far to go. Neither of us knew how far she could improve, but we would take the improvement, no matter how slow it was or how small the progress seemed.
People began noticing her at the park. One young woman would drive by as my mother was going up and down at the base of the slide. She yelled out “go Leona!” That recognition was so important to “Leona,” some one cared and some one else believed!
She loved and needed the encouragement. It gave her strength and increased her purpose. Her purpose to walk again.
With a purpose, getting up in the morning had some meaning. The constant backache, the joint pains and weakness could be dealt with. She would stop working in an instant if I allowed it, and I became her coach. It wasn’t pretty.
I would not allow bedpans to be used, even when she requested a bedpan.
I recalled my father waking me up when I was a child. He would jokingly say, “get out of bed Jimmy, people die in bed!” I reminded my mother of this, and bedpans became things of the past.
Her legs were so huge and out of shape. Her back was in constant pain. She was facing a challenge no one but she believed could be overcome.
And she believed more than anyone has believed. I expressed belief in her, but I constantly told her only her belief could make it happen. Her belief grew into conviction. As a result she became more confident.
There were days when it seemed hopeless. There was so much pain, there was no control over her right side and there were problems just getting to the toilet on time. But she persevered. Through depression, through fatigue, and set back after set back. Minute by minute, facing fear, loneliness, pain and old age.
Her friends in the nursing home would come and go. Cancer, old age, alzimers, dementia, diabetes, blindness and on and on. The miseries of old age. My mother had dementia, and we dealt with asking the same question and addressing the same fears over and again. It was exhausting for both of us.
I saw that the elderly are extremely courageous. It seemed to me that the United States is a country largely obsessed with youth and “beauty”. Sales and marketing are directed to the young and growing. Very old people don’t buy much and they are seldom really honored. Most nursing home residents have very little contact from their loved ones and many have no one who matters in any real way. Those people were often left to stare and think.
What they thought about was private and each had a story. But, few “outsider’s” took the time or trouble to relate to them, or even acknowledge their existence. And so it was. In a year or so, one woman would capture a lot of attention.
As the summer was passing, I began making dreams for us. I would ask, “mother, what do you want?”
“To walk!”
“How do you want that?”
“I want to leave here. This is no life!”
And she was right. But how could we make it happen?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(Finding a new Home)
I would have loved for my wife and myself to take my mother in with us and live together. But that wasn’t even an option in either one of their minds.
Right after our marriage, my mother had insulted my wife. It had been two years ago, and it was an unpleasant attack. I was not present when it occurred, but it had created a wall between them. No matter what I said or did, it was not forgotten or forgiven. Neither of them would approve of living together.
For so many reasons, the marriage ended in divorce. It did not have to, but it did. If either of us would have changed slightly, it could have been different.
I was such a fool. Now I see it. I had taken so much personally, and allowed my mind to be polluted with comments and advise from so many.
Friends are wonderful. They can add meaning to your life. On the other side of the coin, they can get in the way when a new relationship is forming. I had both situations going on. It requires great insight to see what you are doing to yourself and loved ones. I did not have that insight, and even though I want to live without regrets, I have so many.
Why am I often my own worst enemy? Does everyone sabotage their happiness, or is it just a few of us? I still did not love myself. Oh, to be wiser sooner. But, that wasn’t how it worked for me.
So the divorce was final, and I was now really alone again.
Why didn’t I enjoy being alone? A lot of other people seemed to enjoy being alone.
Was I codependent? Why did I want a relationship where I could love and cherish a woman and be loved and cherished in return? And when it appears to be happening, what gets in the way? I still didn’t love myself.
So, the summer was ending. My mother had gotten her weight down to 225 pounds.
On August 26, 2004, with my remaining funds, I bought a small house in north central Florida. It would be warmer there for my mother. She still wanted to leave the nursing home, and that was what we were going to do.
Most people advised against it. They expressed opinions basically saying it would be impossible for me to provide for her twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. Other people thought it was the right thing to do.
She had been admitted to the nursing home on March 5, 2003 with a diagnosis of CVA, that stands for cerebral vascular accident. HTN, that stands for hypertension, constipation, dementia, nephrolithiasis, osteoporosis, depression, OA, psoriasis, edema, and now glaucoma. The obesity was not addressed, nor were the hemorrhoids. Also, no one had ever addressed the condition of her big toes. On each big toe the nails were one-half to one inch thick, and painful.
The medications she had been prescribed were: actonel for osteoporosis, celebrex for arthritis pain, lexapro for depression, multivitamin, sular for high blood pressure, warfarin sodium, the subsitute for coumadin a blood thinner, reminyl for dementia, furosemide, a subsitute for lasik, a heart medication, potassium for hypokalemia, oyster shell, for calcium for osteoporsis, acetaminophen, a subsitute for tylenol for pain, alamag suspension, a substitute for maalox suspension for indigestion, cetaphil moisturizing cream for the skin, double antibiotic ointment for the open sores on her face, and Travatan and alphagen,eye drops for glaucoma.
Some of the concerns with me taking her from the nursing home were about her medications, her cleanliness, her food, and personal care.
Well, what did we have to lose?
The doctor met with me. He explained the medications my mother was taking. In particular, he said I should continue with the Warfarin sodium at the exact dosage since her blood work indicated “INR” values of 2.2 for May 18, 2004; 2.1 for May 25, 2004; 2.3 for June 22, 2004; 2.1 for July 20, 2004, 2.4 for August 10, 2004; 2.1 for August 24, 2004, 2.1 for September 7, 2004 and 2.3 for September 2004.
The recommended therapeutic values for INR are: 2.0 to 3.0 for most medical and surgical thromboembolic states. 2.5 to 3.5 for artifical heart valves and recurrent embolism. The critical value for INR is 4.5 or higher. Her values of 2.1 to 2.4 were right where he wanted them to be.
I said I would keep the dose exactly as it had been. I did not feel mentioning that she had not taken a dose of the blood thinner for over three months would make the situation better.
Next, we met in the office of the nursing home. Legal forms had to be executed. Power of attorney, living will, and various social security administration documents. Everyone wished us well.
My sister was concerned with how we would handle getting in and out of public restrooms. How would we do it? Would we use the men’s restroom or the women’s restroom?
She made up a cautionary sign that read, “restroom in use.” I used it one time. From then on it was the men’s restroom we would use, and I did not need the sign. As time progressed, it would be my mother and I, going in and out of men’s restrooms, several times a day.
So we left. With enough medications through October 8, we drove away from Savanna, Illinois, on September 30, 2004. She had been in that home for one year and seven months. It was time to take a road trip.
The first night in a motel was a learning experience. My brother said to me, looking too far ahead is part of the problem. And another problem is what I call chasing your tail. As a kid, I saw dogs going in circles trying to catch their tails. Once in a while they do catch it, but they don’t stop. Tail in mouth, they keep going in circles.
Was that what I had been doing? Chasing relentlessly, one imaginary goal after another? It seems so. But how else could I live this life?
How could I learn to just take one moment at a time and appreciate what is. No matter how big or small it is. How my mind works on me. I have no real control over it. Perhaps I could learn. I wrote, “I’m A Big Mouth Frog”.
I’m a big mouth frog,
And I live in a bog.
I can’t run or jog,
But I can jump okay.
And if I jump real high,
I can reach the sky.
And if I jump that far,
I can get me a star.
And when I really do,
I will share with you.
‘cause I’m a loving frog,
and I’m in love with you.
I’m a big mouth frog,
And I live in a bog.
I can’t run or jog,
But I can swim okay.
I swim all night,
And into the day.
And when I’m feelin’ low,
Then I swim real slow.
But when I’m feelin’ good,
I’m a splash in the hood.
And when I’m on my log,
And I see the sky,
It feels like home,
And I eat a fly.
And then it’s
Time to roam.
And I’m startin’ slow,
‘cause it’s time to go.
I’m feelin’ low
But I can pick it up.
‘cause I got that star,
and I know that’s good.
‘cause I jumped so far,
Just like you told me I could.
And I’ll share with you,
‘cause you believed in me.
And I’m a lovin’ frog,
Who gives his love for free.
If you’re goin’ to do somethin’,
Don’t worry ‘bout how big it’ll be,
For instance,
Look at me.
I’m a big mouth frog,
I live in a bog.
Maybe that’s all I’ll
Ever be,
But that’s okay
With me.
‘cause I’m not afraid to fall,
right off my log
and I still can’t jog,
but swimmin’ works for me.
Some times I blend in
Too easy,
It happens in the fog,
I can’t get off my log.
It’s all a little hazy,
It could make me crazy.
Then I get real lazy,
And I move onto a bar.
So maybe I’m just a big mouth frog,
And I live in a bog.
And if I don’t fit in,
I can live with that.
‘cause that star I caught
is really me,
And I let it shine,
‘cause that’s when I’m free.
I’m a big mouth frog,
And I live in a bog,
I don’t have to
Call it mine.
I’m okay with you,
And I’m okay with me.
I’m a big mouth frog
And I live in this bog.
We started the morning with a trip to the handicap access toilet. That was followed with a bath for my mother. It was not easy, but we got it done. She had gotten into the tub with help, and, she was enjoying the bath. She was ever fearful of how she would get out of the tub again. It was the first time she had been in a bathtub in over four years. She had been in the nursing home whirlpool a total of four times, using a lift and with two assistants standing by. But this was different; it was in the real world. And we did it over and over again. Each motel stay got easier. We stopped using diapers immediately. She would wet the bed only if I was careless about planning water intake and nighttime bathroom breaks. I got better at planning for urination stops. Most nights, we would get up twice and get to the commode. We got that under control and the bed-wetting became a thing of the past, as well as diapers.
We agreed on a plan to strengthen her legs. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, she goes up and down, we call them leg squats, ten to twenty times.
We are patiently working the legs to regain muscle tone and lose more excess tissue. We developed the attitude of taking one day at a time. One success to build on. More clearly, the goal of walking appeared possible. Sometimes, it even appeared to be likely.
We had a success when we stopped at a rest area. We decided to leave the wheelchair and walker in the car. With me assisting her, she walked from the car, into the handicap bathroom, accomplished her bathroom activities, and returned to the car. It was two less transfers for her and two fewer times I had to load and unload the wheelchair. It seemed more and more likely that she would someday be able to walk on her own.
And, if that happens, so what? Will it make life any better? Yes! She will have the ability to care more for herself. That matters at so many levels. Improved self-esteem, pride and a sense of independence. Just not to be captured in a body of 260 pounds is a wonderful happening.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(Still looking for a home)
We drove across Illinois, through Iowa, across Minnesota, and South Dakota, down through Wyoming and into Colorado. We stopped in the Bad Lands of South Dakota, and in Nemo, South Dakota. Once in Colorado, we stayed at a friend’s house. Dick Bergland. He is a good man, eccentric, and proud of it. Without his friendship and support, we would have been hard pressed to endure what was coming.
While en route to Colorado, I made an eye appointment with the eye clinic in Longmont. I trusted their opinion and both my mother and I were eager to have the examination and find out as much as we could about her potential for better eyesight.
The day finally came when my friend, the eye specialist, examined my mother’s eyes. She was treated like a princess. Several more specialists became involved. They all determined to aggressively treat my mother’s vision problems with the goal of improving her vision and saving the vision in her right eye.
They examined her completely. Numerous tests were performed. The examinations and tests revealed that the optic nerves of both eyes were severely damaged.
They explained that the optic nerve could be compared to a rope. Assume the rope has 1,200,000 strands. When there are only 600,000 fibers, or strands left, vision fails, and, we experience blindness. Over the years, let’s say on average, 5,000 strands die each year. That is for an average person without glaucoma. At age 120, the fiber count is down to 600,000 and vision fails at age 120.
But, a person with glaucoma has higher pressures in the eye. These higher pressures put pressure on the optic nerve, and that pressure causes more rapid fiber loss, say on the order of 10,000 fibers a year. At age 60, the fiber count is down to 600,000 and the vision is lost. Consequently, if one has ones pressures checked regularly, and a check of the optic nerve by a competent eye care specialist, is performed regularly, blindness from glaucoma can be avoided. Eye drops or more aggressive surgeries can be administered or performed to deter further damage to the optic nerve. In my mother’s case, her vision problems could have all been avoided, had her eye care professionals been trained to detect glaucoma. And she had gone to eye doctors for years. They all missed the obvious condition, glaucoma. As the doctor explained, the horse was out of the barn. The condition is progressive and once the damage is done, cannot be reversed.
One hope for persons suffering from glaucoma is the possibility of a cure being developed through stem cell research. There is some resistance religiously and politically to stem cell research. Each person has to figure out his or her own life.
We would do everything within our control to prevent further loss of vision.
She had other vision problems. She had cataract in both eyes.
Up until this time, no one had considered it as even a remote possibility to treat her eyes beyond glasses and glaucoma. At the nursing home, one of the procedures was to issue paper work. In reviewing that paper work, it dawned on me. While looking at “ancillary orders” it stated, “…may see dentist, optometrist, et podiatrist of choice.”
How would she ever be able to make those choices? She had dementia, and, was for all practical purposes incompetent. Without much closer care and real observation as to her needs and possible progress she would simply “decay” in the nursing home environment. The “ancillary orders” completely missed the need for her to see certified medical eye care specialists, far beyond an optometrist and eyeglasses.
I must digress for a moment. It is Saturday, July 29, 2006 as
I am writing this. My mother has been sleeping while I write. As I wrote the paragraph above, she awoke and said, “I am almost positive I see better out of my left eye.” She said, “I can see the faint pattern in the door, I can see the pattern of the window and the light coming in the window.” She said, “I can close my right eye and still see the fan in the ceiling, I can see the commode I stand at and sit on. I’m not willing to give up yet. I can close my right eye and see the tree outside of the window.” I find it strange that as I’m writing about her vision, she awakes out of a sound sleep and makes that statement. Those are the happenings that make me wonder about communication at all levels.
Two weeks ago, she had an eye exam at Shands Medical
Center, at the University of Florida. She could distinguish only between one finger and two fingers being held up in front of her left eye. Her vision in the left eye is useful to her, and she wants to keep it and improve on it if that is possible. How can she do that without help in arranging appointments and follow up with care directed at that goal? Of course, I must still “just be with her”.
Returning to the care she receiving in October of 2004, the question arose as to whether or not she would be able to undergo the anesthetic? Was she physically fit enough to endure the procedure? And was it worth it, considering all of her ailments? We had come this far, we would not stop now.
They scheduled an operation to replace the lens of her right eye. In order to be sure she could undergo surgery, there would have to be a physical examination. It was a week away and we stayed in Dick’s basement. We were desperate for entertainment. The towns of Blackhawk and Central City were about seventy miles away. They offered “gaming”, better known as slot machines. Gambling would become our main source of escape. It was expensive, foolish and stimulating to the senses. It would prove to help my mother’s focus and was a “treatment” for dementia. They became “therapeutic” visits. I got three songs in the process.
My mother’s health was improving, but her skin and underlying tissue was in poor condition. She had bedsores on her buttock. The skin was raw and not healing. It was a concern, since infection could result. I had a hospice nurse examine her. The nurse said she had patients in better condition than my mother at the facility in which she worked.
We decided to continue on and improve whatever we could improve.
The medications were in need of refilling. On October 10, 2004, I stopped the reminyl and waited to see what changes would happen. Then I reasoned, there had been significant weight loss, she could get by on less of a dose of everything. So I cut the sular pills in half, this reduced the dose from 20 milligrams a day to 10. I continued to monitor her blood pressure and pulse. Of course, she had been off of the warfarin sodium since June of 2004. It would be our goal to reduce the medications to as little as necessary.
When we left the nursing home, I had agreed to have a treating physician see my mother as soon as we arrived in Longmont, Colorado.
Consequently, I made an appointment with a physician. We agreed that since our home was going to be in Florida, that this would be a one-time visit to evaluate the medications and prescribe medications, as I did not have prescriptions from any other doctors.
We met with the doctor. She answered some of my questions, gave us prescriptions for medications, and wished us good luck. She seemed skeptical as to our ability to see our plan through. I had the prescriptions filled. The cost was one third of her social security check. I had seen my father lose his home due to the cost of his prescription medications, also no one considered the damage caused to the kidneys by the medications. The side effects of these “medications” were drowsiness, confusion and dizziness. When the chemicals combine in the body, it is impossible to know what effect they have on the physical body. My mother and I agreed, we would become less and less drug and chemical dependent. With that end in mind, we carefully decided what was going to go into her system.
The pre-surgery physical was performed by a nurse practitioner. She was a young woman and seemed very competent. It occurred to me that, as far as I knew, my mother had not had a physical concerning the “private areas” of her body. I asked her to inspect my mother’s vaginal area. She did so and reported everything seemed fine. The blood work came back normal and the surgery was performed.
My mother’s right eye became bright and clear. She threw her glasses away and could see distant objects in details I could not see. The surgery was a success and we were elated. My mother respected and praised her doctor. He was genuinely pleased with the results. She complimented the doctor numerous times. They liked each other, and I was inspired by their obvious connection. She felt respected and of value, her self worth was coming back. It gave be inspiration to carry on with our efforts.
We had to stay in town for three follow up visits. My mother took several sessions with a polates teacher. We went to a health club, and she soaked in the whirlpool and walked in the pool, all with assistance. We spent a lot of our spare time with our new best friend, a triple cherry slot machine in Blackhawk. We also spent a lot of time at a coffeehouse, “The Small Circle Café.” I wrote numerous song ideas while in that cafe. Our welcome at Dick’s was wearing thin.
My 1995 Audi had 360,000 miles on it by now. It needed some maintenance work. It would take about one week for the repairs to be finished. On October 20, 2004, it was fit for travel.
Finally, we had completed our stay and it was time to hit the road again. I tried to think of anything exciting to do on our way back “home” to Florida. We decided to visit my brother and his children in San Antonio, Texas, and then proceed on to Florida.
CHAPTER NINTEEN
(Yes, still looking for a home)
We drove south through Colorado, stopped to see my son and his girls, and proceeded south through New Mexico. In Truth or Consequences New Mexico there are some wonderful hot springs. I had a “vision” of my mother soaking in them and healing. Some things just don’t work out as we imagine. I got her into a hot spring, but getting her out was a test of patience and strength. We got out, and she simply said it was too much for her to endure, getting in and out. That plan didn’t work. Taking it one day at a time, we drove on to San Antonio.
We stayed at my brother’s home. My brother had opened a furniture store. I had supplied the “seed” money and he supplied his expertise. Without going into a long detailed explanation, just know it failed. Two years of hard work and effort by his entire family ended in the store closing. But on this visit, the store was still open. My mother visited the store, she saw many ideas for improvement, and we “vacationed”. On one occasion I tried to get away for some down time in the care of my mother. It did not work.
No one was able to get her to the bathroom. She was too heavy to move and the ways my mother and I had developed to deal with her limitations didn’t work for any one in the family. It became very clear, if she was going to stay out of the nursing home situations, it was up to one person, me. Without my help, there would be no further improvement, only relapse. I had a choice to make. It was a choice I would have to make every day for as long as I could “just be with her”. I must develop the attitude that it is a privilege to be able to serve my mother and an honor to be of service to her at a time when she could not care for herself. She had given birth to me, cared for me when I could not care for myself, and sacrificed her entire life for her family. I loved her, and now it was my time to care for her until my job was complete. What would the definition of complete look like?
There was simply no way of predicting what life held in store for she and I, and I suspect that is true for all of us, regardless of our plans and dreams. My mother was learning and teaching at the same time. She was learning that material possessions were not significant if they could not enhance her life. The elimination of nonessentials had become a reality.
The wheelchair we had been using was an extra large model. It was too big to get through most doors, and now that my mother had lost a significant amount of weight, she did not need that big of a chair. Her body weight had gone from 260 pounds to 215 pounds. Marilyn’s wheelchair was in the garage of my brother’s home. He told us to take it. It was one more step of him letting go, and the smaller wheelchair would make our job much easier.
We used up the actonel medication. I did not have it refilled. We discontinued using the celebrex. Except for her eye medications, which were specific to the glaucoma condition, I did not refill any of my mother’s prescription medications. She had enough lexapro and sular tablets to last for one year at the reduced dosages.
We concluded our visit, and drove on towards our new home in Kingsley Lake, Florida. The trip took us across the southern part of the United States, along interstate highway 10. We stayed in lower priced motels. My mother’s back pain became worse and, at times nearly unbearable.
Years earlier, in 1993 and again in 1994, my wife Sandy, my father, my mother and I had attended two ten-day courses of meditation offered at the Vipassana Meditation Centers. I had continued the practice in my daily life.
One of the reasons I selected our new home in Kingsley Lake, Florida, was I had been contacted by an assistant teacher of Vipassana. He explained that a search committee was looking for possible sights for a center in the southeastern part of the United States. One area they were interested in was in Bradford County, Florida. He invited me to be part of the center search committee. I contacted the realtor they were working with, and she found a quiet home near the proposed center site. I purchased the home, sight unseen, trusting that it would all make sense.
As we approached our new “home”, we were both fearful of how we would do this new part of our life. We only had the possessions that we carried in the car. There was no furniture in the house. I stopped at a grocery store close to the new home and bought essentials. Toilet paper, some food and pure water.
I had purchased a queen size fast-fill elevated airbed. That was it. I tried to hide my fears from my mother. I’m pretty sure she was doing the same. We only knew one person in the area, a schoolteacher, Pat, who lived 25 miles east of our new home.
The first visit to our home was filled with fear. We drove up to the front door. I unlocked the door and entered the house. It was empty. I returned to the car, got my mother into her wheelchair, and we returned to the house. I unloaded the car and brought our personal items into the house.
We set up the airbed in the bedroom, and my mother visited the restroom. It was one a. m. and we were happy to go to sleep, together, on the airbed.
Morning came. The house was quiet but comfortable. The lawn needed cutting. I began driving around the area to get acquainted. Eventually, I bought a lawn mower, cut the lawn and we set up our home, but not anything like what either of us had done in the past. We did not need furniture. My mother spent most of her time in the wheelchair or in bed and, of course near the bathroom. I spent most of my time either caring for her, playing the guitar, meditating, or writing. I had learned to travel light, and until I found my real home, I did not want to reacquire a lot of baggage. Simplicity is genius, and our home could not get much simpler. A fellow meditator and friend would later describe our house as very zen. Albert Einstein said, “make everything as simple as possible, but not simpler.” I was beginning to approach that barrier.
We contacted the meditation group. It was composed of a loosely knit group of people, all interested in respecting the peace and harmony of others, and developing insight into their own nature.
We sat with the meditation group once weekly. The house we sat in was in Gainsville, Florida, about thirty miles from our home. Our first meeting was a surprise for the six other mediators. The steps leading into the house were steep, concrete, somewhat decayed and did not have a railing. Getting my mother up the steps would be difficult and a little dangerous. She and I managed to “walk” up the steps and into the house. The wheelchair was left outside of the house and at the bottom of the steps. She went to a chair and sat with the rest of the group, for one hour without moving, something she was excellent at doing. She would now have a community of support in developing her mind.
This “Sitting” entails putting into practice the observation of reality within the framework of the body. The technique is designed to eliminate the negativities of the mind. It is a lifetime of work, just like cutting the lawn. So here we were. What would we do next?
Thanksgiving day was approaching. Pat invited us to spend Thanksgiving with her family. My mother was respected, and honored. Pat’s family enjoyed her and my mother demonstrated her gratitude with charm. Pat also had two golden retriever dogs, brothers from the same litter, Bear and Nemo. Nemo had one defect, his left front leg was missing from birth. It was a birth defect, and he had learned to compensate. He developed a personality around his “defect”. I could not help but love him, and he pretty much got his way with everyone.
A 10-day meditation course was up coming. It would be help at a Catholic Church near Jacksonville, Florida. The assistant teacher contacted me and invited my mother and I to attend. The “rules” would be relaxed for my mother, as her special needs would be accommodated.
We attended the course. My mother was able to sit seven hours a day. We returned home each evening, rather than staying at the facility. Each day, we would return. It was part of our continued “mental purification”. My mother is essentially “pure”. She has never internationally harmed anyone. She has learned to live peacefully in nearly every aspect of her life. It is remarkable to observe her strength. She deals with the reality of old age, and she has no regrets.
The property which the search committee had been interested in buying turned out to be unsuitable for a site. The search for a site would continue, but as time would reveal, it would not be close to “home”.
I lived with the constant thought that my mother could die at any time. Her heart was weak, she was aging, and even though she was getting stronger in many ways, she was lacking endurance. I exercised her as much as I could. It was a balancing act of coaching, helping, and loving.
As she slept in the evening, I would listen to her breathing. There was no more snoring. That had ended months ago, I think it had to do with her weight loss. I listened for the “death rattle” which would occasionally start. As I listened, it would increase, subside, and return. It brought to mind the passing of Sandy, Marilyn, and my father. I tried to remain calm.
I monitored her blood pressure and pulse closely. On one occasion, early in the morning, she felt very dizzy. Much more dizzy than usual. I checked her blood pressure and pulse. They were dangerously low. I called my paramedic friend. He gave his opinion and advice. I called my veterinarian friend in Colorado. I called my friend Pat and talked to her about it. Her advice was to get Leona, my mother, to an emergency facility.
I decided it was time to cut back further on the sular. I got my mother up into her commode and began hydrating her and giving her liquids with electrolytes. I made her chicken soup and she rested. It took about two days for the “crisis” to pass. Her blood pressure returned to normal, as well as her pulse. We had avoided taking her into a hospital, clinic, or emergency facility. It was contrary to what many would have done in that situation, but I did not want to get the involvement of more “experts” into our lives if it could be avoided. She was still on “DNR” as far as we were concerned, and if it was her time to finally die, she was fine with that. She lived with that attitude daily, and so did I. At the nursing home, they caution the employees to not get personally involved or “attached” to the residents, as they will eventually die. I was personally involved and attached and still trying to be a realist. My “job” or honor was to “just be with her” throughout what was left of her life.
There had been some previous hurricane damage to our trees and a slight bit of damage to our siding. We cleaned and repaired the property and on December 3, 2004, we realized Christmas was approaching. We were getting even lonelier for family. We decided it was time for another “road trip”. First we drove back to Mount Carroll to visit my sister and brother-in-law. We stayed a few days, and then we drove back to San Antonio, Texas.
The old Audi and my mother were getting a workout.
CHAPTER TWENTY
(Christmas Without You)
We had a few choices as to where we would spend Christmas. We could have stayed with my sister and her family, my son and his family or with my brother and his family in San Antonio. There was more of an emotional pull to San Antonio. It had to do with the fact that there was so much grieving still to be done, grieving for the loss of my father, and my brother’s wife, and the failure of my marriage.
I realize now that I had been longing for a relationship with a loving devoted woman. My attempts to create that had failed. It may still happen, but under the circumstances I had now created, it seems unlikely that I would meet a woman who would choose to take on the challenge. There was so little joy in what I was doing. It was a lonely holiday season. There was so much loss for everyone to face. My father had been the center of so much. He was my mother’s reason for living, he was my best friend, he was a caring grand father and great grand father, and he was gone.
Marilyn’s absence was painful for my brother, her children and her grand children.
Gifts seemed meaningless, and we were all traumatized at some level or another. It is said that misery is a communicable disease, and none of us wanted to be miserable. We all realized that no person can make another person happy, but we sure would be happier if we could just touch our loved ones again. We vowed to carry on with the loved ones we still had in our lives.
Mother’s progress was visible to all of the relatives. We had concluded the holiday, and it was time to move forward, but not home just yet.
I had been feeling sharp pains in my left side for several days. I felt something must be wrong physically, and it was getting worse. With all of the lifting of my mother, I thought I had developed a hernia. I headed back to the only place where I trusted or knew any doctors.
We arrived in Colorado, and stayed with Dick one more time. I got in for a physical examination as soon as possible. Surgery was one week later. I was told that after the surgery, I would not be able to lift anything heavier than ten pounds for a period of six weeks. That would be necessary for the tissue to heal. I was in a dilemma. Dick said I could stay for the six weeks, but he simply said “I don’t see that you have any options other than putting your mother back into the nursing home.” I would have one weeks time to consider the other options.
I contacted all of my relatives and asked for help or advice. No one was available to physically help us. I felt resentment, but as I gave it time to absorb, I realized no one was as committed to keeping my mother out of the nursing home as she and I were. I had promised her and myself, that I would not abandon her to a nursing home again. How could I keep that promise?
My friend Keith Brown could help. I visited his shop and explained my ideas. He had been a paramedic and as a gifted builder, he could grasp what I was saying with the aid of simple drawings. Over a period of three years, I had been designing a device that would, among other things, allow people in nursing homes to come home for visits. I had tried to get it produced, but for many reasons, I did not get it done. Now I asked Keith if he would help me build a working model of part of my concept. If it was successful, I could care for my mother without the help of anyone else.
I sketched out my device. We reviewed my old drawings. We finally produced a device which was essentially a set of parallel bars with a commode which could be attached to it once my mother was up and standing. She could get into the parallel bars with very little assistance, and from that point on her bathroom needs could be fulfilled easily. It took us three days of interrupted work. We were prepared for a test.
I brought the device into the basement apartment. It worked without any problems. My mother was now a little more independent, and I had solved the dilemma of the ten-pound lifting restriction. I was prepared for surgery.
It turned out to be a double hernia. I was released to go home that day, but I didn’t have anyone to care for me. I missed having Sandy in my life. She would have given me tender loving care.
I was beginning to experience more anger. I was basically doing what everyone said could not be done, not only caring for my mother without assistance, but caring for myself post surgery, also without assistance. The loneliness was the constant problem. We spent more time at casinos lost in the sensory stimulation of color, noise and activity. An unwholesome activity was giving us a release from being captured in our loneliness. And, there was unexpected support from unusual circumstances. When I would be weakening in resolve, I would get what I interpreted as a compliment. People would see me pushing my mother in and out of the “men’s” restroom. I found it interesting. Without solicitation, occasionally an unexpected comment from a complete stranger would give me strength to continue on my course. Once I was standing in line at a casino cashier’s window. A large black woman tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and looked at her as she said, “Atleast, you didn’t let her rot in a nursing home! God will reward you for that.” I smiled back. I thought, God wouldn’t want me to be in this casino, but your words may carry me through for a little longer. It was the power of the word, and once more I would find strength to “just be with her”.
The sensory stimulation of the casino atmosphere was causing a change in my mother’s attention span and in her awareness. The usual frustration of not getting a “reward” was mixed with the occasional “payoff”. It was a fool’s game with some positive results. The Buddha had asked, “what is better, to look for sensory stimulation, or find yourself?” The activities carried on in casinos are graphic examples of people “pointlessly stampeding after pleasure, which can only frustrate and impoverish”. The cravings leading to addictions. We enjoyed all of the activity, which had started out innocently enough, but was now becoming a problem. Gambling could not be allowed to become an acceptable method of dealing with our loneliness.
GAMBLIN’ MY LIFE AWAY
Gamblers are losers,
Drinkers are boozers
It’s not about you
It’s all about me.
I lost my family
And harmed those I love,
Gamblin’ my life away.
Most gamblers are losers,
Most drinkers are boozers,
Throwin’ what’s good away.
Trashin’ what could come true,
Gamblin’ my life away.
I’ve stopped a thousand times,
And asked you to forgive me,
But I never quit
Gamblin’s my life away.
It takes courage
To do what is right,
And it is a rush to
Give in to gamblin’
My life away.
Call it addiction,
Call it pleasure,
But the pain is what’s left,
After I gambled my life away.
They said it was fun,
But stress is what I lived
As I gambled my life away.
No one could tell me,
And no one could stop me,
As I gambled your love away.
I begged, is it too late,
If I really change,
Could you love me,
As I build from what is left,
Would you take a chance on me,
And gamble your life on
What is good about us,
If I quit gamblin’ my life away.
I asked one last time,
But with all I had put her through,
It wasn’t meant to be,
I don’t deserve the slack,
Guess it’s ALL a form
Of PAYBACK.
I had been told many times to look for the log in my own eye and not the speck in the other persons’ eye.
I had also been warned not to try to change anyone else.
I had been told by a fortune teller that, “the world will get along just fine without you!”
It was enough to make me want to give up writing this book and keep my opinions to myself.
So if I can write without “proselytizing my way of life”, or “seeking to save those who don’t want to be saved” that is my intention. The book is for anyone who finds it of interest, for any reason. The process of writing it somehow helps me deal with my loneliness, it gives me a sense of “someone may care”. Also, I am writing it because I have to, there is something inside of me pushing me on. If no one ever reads it, at least I wrote it. If it offers anything to anyone, even only me, then I’m okay with that, just like the big mouth frog.
During a session at a casino, I overheard a conversation between two gamblers. Owls and Eagles came from that.
OWLS AND EAGLES
CHORUS
They say you can’t hoot with the owls,
If you want to soar with the eagles,
You’ll run with the rodents instead.
VERSE
I say, you can hoot with the owls
Asking who,
Get lost in the night,
And soar with the eagles
At morning’s first light.
Then run with the rodents,
If you can keep up the pace,
“til it’s time to rejoin the
human race.
CHORUS
He said, you can’t hoot with the owls,
If you want to soar with the eagles,
You’ll run with the rodents instead.
VERSE
I can hoot with the owls,
And soar with the eagles,
And run with the rodents,
Too,
And when I find who I am,
Or crash if it’s my time,
I’m in the race ‘til it’s over,
And I cross the finish line.
CHORUS
She said, You can’t hoot with the owls
If you want to soar with the eagles,
You’ll get caught with the rodents that way.
VERSE
The eagle’s eye
Told me no lies,
The owl’s howl
Brought me home.
The race with the rodents,
Slowed me down, and I
Was glad to come in last.
TAG
Who says you can’t
Hoot with the owls,
And soar with the eagles,
And, run with the rodents, too?
‘til you find your way through.
It’s the way that I traveled,
From darkness to light,
And it brought me to you,
As we soar ore’ mountains
Covered in white,
Two eagles,
In a sky of pure blue.
The Christmas journey was getting out of hand. While I was recovering from my surgery, we scheduled the cataract surgery to my mother’s other eye. She had another pre-surgery physical and blood work. By now she was taking only sular, lexapro and eye drop medication for glaucoma. I reduced the sular and lexapro dosages again by cutting the tablets in half again. She was now taking 5 mg of each, once a day. Her blood pressure was generally 110/70 and her pulse was 65 beats per minute. Occasionally, after eating red meat, or salty popcorn, and not getting enough sleep, the systolic pressure would spike to 175. A technician from the clinic phoned me with the results of her blood work. She was excited to report that the blood work was excellent. I was encouraged and happy for my mother.
She underwent the cataract surgery and had an excellent result. Both of her eyes were now seeing at their best. There was nothing left to do but monitor the pressures and hope the glaucoma was not progressing.
Her pressures were nine in the right eye, and eleven in the left eye. Our goal is to keep them at twelve or below. Her next eye examination was set for August.
While I was waiting for my recuperation, I decided to make an appointment with my dentist. She was in Denver. The examination revealed that I had six teeth that needed immediate care. It would require approximately two months of intermittent appointments to complete the dental work. Dick was a patient man, but his patience had reached the limit. He wanted his privacy back, and, one day he asked me to plan our exodus within a week.
Well, my brother had taken a job in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was four hundred miles south of Denver. We traveled to see my brother in Albuquerque, and stayed with him between doctor and dental visits. The Christmas vacation had started with a visit to my brother, and was now ending with a visit to my brother. It was just in two different cities.
While I was waiting for my appointments to pass, I decided it would be wise to put a trailer hitch on my Audi. Keith had a small trailer, which was an ideal size to haul my few remaining personal belongings that I had stored at Dick’s house. It would also make it possible to pick up my mother’s hospital bed if we would pass through Illinois on our way back to Florida. I had wanted to get her bed for her and this had been on my mind since she left the nursing home. It was a plan, and I would be able to care for my mother much better in that bed.
While in the motel room in Albuquerque, we watched the constant television coverage of the Terri Schivo saga. My mother had been out of the nursing home for eight months. We did not have television at our house so it was a “treat” to divert our minds to the “news”. We watched the Terri Shivo coverage from day to day. Many questions arose for both of us.
It was hard for us to function in the motel room. It was not handicap accessible. My mother is such a “trooper”. She put up with adversity at every point along the way since we left the nursing home. She never complained, even though I was pushing her to her limits.
While watching television, my mother wondered if the demonstrators visited and helped residents in the hospital and surrounding nursing homes. She asked me if the demonstrators came to visit “Terri” often? I couldn’t know for sure, so I said probably. She said the residents would love the attention, and she said, “they really want attention, that’s mostly what is missing. The residents need some of the attention the demonstrators and television personalities are getting all of the time.” She said, “they want love and attention, some recognition, anything to make their lives have meaning, so they feel loved.”
After watching the coverage for several more days, my mother concluded; “most of those people are not about helping anybody. They just want to be seen on television and show their signs which simply promote their religious beliefs and their points of view about life and death.” She asked me, “how many people are watching this coverage?”
I said, “I don’t know. It has to be millions of people at various times throughout the day.”
She thought and then said, “I wonder if this coverage will make a lot of people start going to nursing homes and even get some of them to take people out of the nursing homes?”
I said, “it could happen that way, maybe some people will look beyond the signs the protestors are carrying and look at the residents and their wants and desires, and try to show them more attention.”
My mother knew what it meant to live, and what the inevitable entails. She knew that all of us die, and she had been on do not resuscitate orders for three years.
As the Pope died several days later, television coverage of Terri Shivo stopped, and the media attention changed over to the Pope.
My mother is mostly of polish dissent, with a little German also, and she is two years older than the Pope. When he finally died, she was relieved for him and his suffering. She said, “I was brought up catholic and so was he. It was his time to go.” She said, “it was just a happening, I don’t know for a fact if there is anything to religion. I was catholic and it never helped me. If it helps him and the people who are still catholic, then that is good for them. There are no answers to some questions.”
She said, “I’m still alive even if all I have to care for me is you. He had all of the support of the Vatican. I’m ready to die anytime. At my age and in my condition, I understand we are all temporary, and, I have had a full life.”
She had looked at the Pope before he died. She wondered how much longer he would have lived if he had gotten his weight down to “normal”. Did it really matter? We didn’t have enough information to talk intelligently about the health of the Pope. She wondered what all of the commotion and drama was about. She said, “there was too much hocus pocus for me with altar boys, huge buildings and all of the ceremonies.” She said, “I thought I believed, but that was because so much had been preached to me in church and at home. When it came down to my mother dying and all of the things after that, religion didn’t comfort me. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or condemn their beliefs. At the same time, I don’t want them telling me to believe their way and judge me. I don’t want anyone putting their religion in my face, and I don’t do that to anyone else.”
She concluded it sells and that is what the television coverage was about. We were not going to solve anything by dwelling on it.
It opened a whole new area of discussion for my mother. She wondered about humility and honesty, and where they had gone in the last fifty years. She thought the “now generation” as she called them, were more centered on themselves than her generation had been. She was concerned as to what our society had become, and she expressed concern at the “future of this country.” We concluded it would keep changing as it always had, and that we had our own work to do.
Eventually the Pope died; billions of people mourned his death. A new Pope was selected. It seemed the world would get along just fine without any one particular person in it. The Pope, Terri Shrivo, or me and my mother, none of us seemed more important than another.
I wondered about celebrity. My mother would probably not get much recognition if she died soon, and neither would I. Gene McGrath was fine without recognition. I suspect, so was Terri Shrivo, and the Pope was probably wise enough to have given up that kind of ego long ago. It was all speculation, and my monkey mind was fast at work. While we are each just one among many, and while our lives seem to be short, it seemed to me that what we do, say, and think, somehow plant seeds that bear fruit long into the future.
My college major was psychology. I don’t recall much of that education as it was back in 1961 and the years following that. I recall studying a little bit of Freud. Years later, I read a little more about Freud. As I understand it, he was straightforward. His view of organized religion is blunt. He opined that all humans felt small and helpless against the power of nature, and most of all about death. He felt that the thought of dying “wounds” the individual’s sense of narcissism. He felt that all of us are, to some extent like Narcissus. If I remember correctly, Narcissus is the mythical Greek figure who fell in love with his own reflection. Freud said that the narcissism in each of us is “wounded” by our awareness of time and death. He felt humans bond together in “collective narcissistic excitement” with the result of forming organized religions and nation-states, which are attempts to heal the “wound” by giving self-proclaimed self-importance. It is “herd drama”, which helps the individual feel that even though he will finally die, at least he is part of something that lasts and is powerful. I think that is what my 87-year-old mother was trying to say.
It was time to load up the car and drive.
We had one last eye exam for my mother, and April would be over. Our Christmas trip had taken four months.
I had loaded the trailer eight weeks earlier and left it loaded in Dick’s yard. It was a warm hello. I attached the trailer to the Audi, said goodbye and headed for Illinois to see my sister and family and get the hospital bed out of storage and onto the trailer.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
(Mother and Me Going Home)
We arrived in Mount Carroll, Illinois, and were greeted with love, cookies, and chess games. My mother was able to function much better than she had been at the last visit. People who saw her proclaimed it to be a miracle. We both knew it was taking everything we had to stay sane and calm, and I was not sure that I was sane or calm. I put on a good front most of the time. Inside, I was still dying of loneliness, but if I expressed it, it was unheard. I loved my mother, that love was all that I had to keep me going day and night with constant attention to her bathroom needs. For five days, my sister gave me some relief, and cared for my mother in the night. It allowed me some alone time. More loneliness, but time for some space. We stayed for several days. My brother-in-law helped me build sides around the trailer, load and secure the hospital bed on it, and he tried to beat me at numerous games of chess. My “narcissistic excitement” raged on as I won nine out of ten “matches”.
We loaded the car again, and headed east and south back to Florida.
June came and it was time for another ten-day meditation course. We followed the same timetable as before. My mother was able to sit better than the last time. Her back and neck were held straight throughout most of the time she meditated, and she sat for approximately six hours a day.
The lexapro tables had been cut into fourths, about 5 milligrams per quarter depending on my accuracy in cutting them up. Next, I reduced the lexapro medication from every day to every other day. After two weeks of every other day, I reduced it to every third day. After two more weeks, I reduced it to once a week. Finally, I stopped giving her lexapro at all. There was no change in her mood. She was getting stronger and more alert. From what I could observe she had not been depressed for months. Her life was not easy, yet she was in generally good spirits most of the time. I was the one with the mood swings. At times I would go into rage over the smallest upset. I was close to overwhelm.
I had been working on a device to help handicapped people function better in the bathroom environment. I called it the “E-Z-UP”. It can be attached to the wall behind a standard toilet. In the up position, it looks like a towel rack. In the down position, it is a set of parallel bars to assist a person to get on and off of the toilet. The idea came to me over all of the times my mother and I used the public restrooms, and later, the restrooms of private homes.
A similar devise for the shower is also possible. I am trying to find a way to bring it to a reality. A friend said, “necessity is the mother of invention, but in your case, your mother is the necessity for invention.”
Somehow, I lost my motivation on getting the device marketed. I worked on it for two years, then I put it in a closet. Will I find a way to rekindle my enthusiasm for that project? Perhaps I will regain the momentum. I feel these devices could help many people overcome physical obstacles to basic needs.
On July 16, 2005, we stopped taking the sular. I had followed the same approach of every other day, every third day, and then stopping the medication altogether. Her blood pressure remained unchanged. She was now taking only eye drops for glaucoma.
August arrived and it was time to drive back to Colorado for eye examinations of both my mother and myself.
I called Dick and asked him if there was “room at the inn?’ I explained we would only be there for a little while. He was more than happy to invite us to stay with him. While driving to Colorado on one of our trips I wrote
AN OPEN SPACE
When you drive through the South,
You can taste the Civil War.
When you get to New York,
You can feel nine eleven.
When you get to the West,
You can see the truth,
When you lose what you had left,
You are finally free.
An open space can let you see.
Love is all that matters,
And all I ever wanted.
The rest of my days
Will be unhaunted.
Love is all that matters,
And I love you.
Let’s keep it simple,
Keep it open,
An open space and
Your smiling face.
When we arrived for our eye appointments, I got an idea. My mother had been wearing a brace on her right leg since her stay at the nursing home in Texas. Since she had lost so much weight, the brace was now much too large for her. I recalled seeing a “foot and ankle specialist” sign, in Longmont, Colorado.
I made an appointment with the medical doctor. He examined my mother, and gave her a prescription for a new brace. I asked him where I should go to get the prescription filled.
Well, it turned out that the facility, which made them, did it “custom”. I thought it would be simple. I was wrong again. It took eight weeks, the cost was eight hundred dollars, insurance paying most of the bill. Of course, I did not know exactly how long it would take. I simply waited for the phone call for the final fitting. Dick was fine with us staying that long, even if we could not say when we would leave exactly.
Also, my car now had 401,000 thousand miles on it. It had been starting to overheat occasionally, as well as having a “shimmy” at certain speeds. I had bought the car new in 1995. It was one thing I had not yet let go of. I saw a poster once. It had a cat sliding down a pole, long scratch marks made on the pole by its claws as it is shown sliding down the pole. The caption reads, “everything I have let go of has claw marks on it.” It appeared time to let go of “Audi”.
Tom Mooseberger is a mechanic. He had worked for the Audi dealership in Boulder, Colorado, where Sandy and I bought “Audi”. He had been taking care of “Audi” since the day Sandy and I bought her in 1995. He was a small man, but they called him “Moose”. He was a genius with cars. He had become a friend over the years, and he knew things about me by his simple observations of the contents of my car as he worked on it over the past ten years. He had transferred to the dealership in Denver, Colorado, some years ago, and I followed him. Whenever I came back to Colorado, I would set up an appointment for “Moose” to check out “Audi”.
He had seen the transition from “lawyer”, health food advocate, guitarist, and all three marriages. He was well aware of my situation with my mother, as he had met her several times. For most repairs, my mother and I would sit in the waiting area and drink coffee as we waited for “Moose” to do his magic on “Audi”.
Tom and I examined “Audi” from front to back, inside and out. He smiled at me and said, “I know you are on the road a lot with your mother, and this is an Audi. If it breaks down in some place like Nebraska, you would be out of luck.”
I said, “So what do you think?”
“It will cost more to fix her than she is worth. Sell her for a couple of hundred dollars and buy something dependable and functional for your mother.”
I asked him if he knew of a good car.
He showed me a 1998, Audi station wagon, which a mechanic was working on, and when it was completed, it would fit my needs well. He didn’t have a financial interest in it; it was just one possibility.
I spoke with the other mechanic. We reached an agreement. I would buy the car, and he would call me within two weeks, when it was ready to go. My mother, Audi, and I drove off to Dick’s house in Longmont.
When we went to the eye clinic for my mother’s eye appointment, they had good news. For several years, they had been trying to find an expert in glaucoma to add to their staff. Two weeks prior to this appointment, they brought in that specialist. He did not yet have a full schedule, so he was able to see my mother that day.
My mother underwent a battery of tests. Considering the damage to her optic nerves and her age, her eyes were doing as well as could be expected, but it would be our goal to keep her vision as long as she would live. The pressures were still a little high, but close to where we wanted them to be. We would work at getting the pressures below twelve in each eye.
My exam was with the retinal expert. He examined me and my retinas were in as good a condition as they had been at the last visit. However, he had always felt my optic nerve in the left eye was suspect. He explained that glaucoma is an inherited disease, and with my mother having the condition, and with his examination of my optic nerves revealing "cupping" greater than what it should be, it would be good to have the new doctor examine me. He introduced me to the glaucoma expert.
The glaucoma expert wanted to do a full exam of my eyes. He reviewed my chart, examined my eyes and stood close to my side.
I asked him what he thought.
He was straightforward and kind in his approach. “You have advanced glaucoma in both eyes. More severe in the left eye.”
My mind went back to 1995 and the meeting with the surgeon and Sandy. But I was alone now, just myself and, my mother, and she could not help. I asked him what my options were.
He explained that surgery should be done to both eyes. The procedure would take twelve weeks for each eye, a total of twenty-four weeks. During that time, I would have a lifting restriction of ten-pounds. He would need to see me regularly during the twenty-four weeks.
I was lost for what I should do. How could I care for my mother, and have the surgery? Dick would not want me around for six months, so where could I live? I did not want to risk having more optic nerve damage, with the possibility of going blind. What could I do? What should I do? Confused and depressed, I smiled “like the man who is worthwhile.” But the smile was fake.
I asked how long I could think about it. He said it is critical to take action as soon as possible.
Even though I didn’t know the doctor, I talked to him as if he was a friend. I said we were just back in Colorado for these examinations. I explained that I did not live here any longer. He asked where I was now living. I said Florida. He inquired as to where in Florida. Our discussion got more interesting. He said his mentor, Doctor Sherwood, was at the Shands Teaching Hospital, in Gainesville, Florida. I told him my home was about thirty miles from Gainesville. We had come across a solution.
He arranged to have my file faxed to his mentor. In his opinion, that doctor was the best person I could have as a physician, and his treatment would be the best I could find in the United States. I was relieved, but my prognosis was not any different. I left the clinic with a plan. Go back to Florida, get an appointment with Dr. Sherwood, follow his advice, and deal with it one day at a time.
My mother and I waited until the new brace was ready. Finally, the day came to try on her new brace. It was small enough to fit inside of her old brace. Her weight loss has reduced the size of her leg to near normal size below the knee. Above the knee, there was still a lot of fatty tissue, which was interfering with her ability to move. The therapist was delighted with her work. The brace had a hinged ankle. It was to facilitate movement of the foot, which, up until now, was not provided for.
The movement was possible, but the ankle swelled with even very slight use. It would take time and patience for the progress, which was about to come.
I was depressed. I confided in Dick. I said, “up to now, I felt I could handle anything. But this glaucoma is something I can’t do much about.” My heart was as heavy as it had ever been.
I ONLY HAVE ONE HEART
I only have one heart,
How many times can you break it?
I have been betrayed before,
But never by you,
I only have one heart,
How many times will you break it?
Once is enough,
Two is too many,
When it mends again,
I won’t be back my friend,
My heart is strong,
But I won’t take it.
I only have one heart,
How many times can you break it.
I only have one heart,
The one I gave to you,
Since you won’t be true,
We must be through.
I’ll take back my heart,
It’s all I can do,
It belonged to me
Before I gave it to you.
I only have one heart,
How many times can you break it.
This time it’s too many,
When it mends again
It won’t belong to you.
We can’t make it,
When you break it,
I won’t take it.
I only have one heart,
The one I had given to you.
I needed the surgery. Without it I would go blind, and that would be the end of my broken heart and any love songs within it. But I could not figure out how to care for my mother for six months without lifting more than ten pounds. During the healing time for the hernia surgery, I didn’t avoid lifting anything over ten pounds. I was just careful. This situation was different. The surgeries were designed to lower the pressures in my eyes, and any exertion would risk blindness. Even eccentric old Dick was moved.
Dick asked what I was going to do with my old car. I told him the mechanic said sell it for a couple of hundred bucks and move on. He said, “I’ll give you a hundred bucks for it right now.”
I had thought about keeping the car, leave it in Colorado and just get it sometime in the future. Then I thought of all that I had already let go of. This was not the item to get wrapped up in sentimentality. Dick had been my friend throughout so much. I smiled and said, “It’s a deal.” He was happy with a one hundred-dollar luxury car, and I was happy to see him so excited about his “bargain”.
The Audi station wagon was ready. It was time to return to Florida.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
(Home Again)
Going home is not much fun when you don’t really want to be there. I longed for the days when I could not wait to come down the driveway of my mountain home. I longed for that feeling of being connected to something. I had found it on at least three occasions in my life. One of them slipped away; the other two, I destroyed. All of them had to pass, as nothing is permanent. I had still not learned to enjoy the moment, and be peaceful with change.
Once at home, I finally decided to face what had been on my mind constantly. I called Doctor Sherwood’s office for an appointment to have him exam my eyes.
I also scheduled an appointment for my mother. Doctor Sherwood would become the treating physician for both of us.
I got in to see Doctor Sherwood in October of 2005. The examination took four hours. We started off with chitchat. He asked how I came to see him. I told him of the referral. He said the referring Doctor was a nice fellow, and an excellent student of his.
He went through the records meticulously. Finally he turned his chair towards me, sat back, and put his hands behind his head. “You are a difficult case,” he smiled. His eyes glanced at my file and then back to my eyes.
“With sever myopes, I throw all of this stuff out of the window. Let’s just say you are suspect for glaucoma. Live your life and enjoy it.”
I was relieved. But I had questions to ask. The “bottom line” was that severely near sighted people have larger eyes. Thus the cupping of the optic nerve is proportionally larger. Additionally, I had undergone twenty-five eye surgeries. My retinas had a lot of scar tissue and my peripheral vision was impaired because of that. Our treatment would consist of eye drops to control the pressure, and perhaps surgery, but only if he found it necessary in the future. And that may not be necessary, as I may not even have glaucoma. So I was relieved, but cautious.
My mother’s pressure in her left eye managed to creep back up. We were scheduled for eye appointments in January of 2006.
Concentrating with what was at hand; which was, my mother’s optic nerves had to be protected from further loss, or she would be blind. That would be very hard to accept since she was already dealing with enough physical and emotional problems, not to mention deteriorating mental faculties. We decided to diligently do our best. That was all we could see to do. And, we vowed to enjoy life, even when it seemed overwhelming and lonely.
We agreed, so many problems are not necessary in life. Surely, we get old, encounter this disease or that disease and eventually die. But why do we make it so much worse than it has to be? My mother’s obesity was a complicating factor in all of her bad health and restrictions. It was time to resolve to do even more to overcome that one problem. It was the source of physical and mental suffering, and it was something we could do something about. But we would have to do it skillfully. That meant to deal with it in a way that did not develop a complex.
We received a phone call from my cousin, Holly Lee. She said Holly, my mother's sister, had moved into assisted living. She thought we would like to drive to Oregon and reunite with Holly. It was of interest to both my mother and I. We spoke with Holly later. She was interested in what my mother and I were doing, however, she said she would not like such a regimen. She was overweight, loved candy bars, and disliked exercise. She joked about me coaching her. I said it works if it is something you want to do. It may not be as much fun as not exercising, but the results may well be worth it. We talked about taking a trip to see her in the summer, when the weather would make traveling easier.
I recalled a guest lecturer from the Hippocrates Health Institute. He was in his late seventies. He was trim and fit. Some of his message was that he had suffered a back injury in an airplane crash. He had been bed ridden. Somehow, he was introduced to yoga. The net result was that his discovery of and following of yoga cured his physical ailments. He demonstrated his mobility and strength. While performing extraordinary moves, he stated the following: “fat people are poor people, skinny people are rich people.” He was not trying to insult anyone. His statement was thought provoking. I have remembered it for fifteen years. I have repeated it to my mother. She understands what he meant, and she is trying her hardest to overcome her physical ailments. We agreed, some of life’s problems are unavoidable, but we would deal joyously with the problems we could overcome. We understood; health truly is wealth.
We decided that even if the country is experiencing an epidemic of obesity, and even though snacks are available day and night, we did not have to be part of it. Years ago, while Sandy and I were at Hippocrates, I wrote one of my first songs. It’s called, “I Love My Dog.”
I gave my dog
A french fry,
I gave my dog
A coke,
I gave my dog
A donut,
I did it for
A joke.
It looked a little crazy,
When I taught
My dog to smoke.
She got real
Fat and lazy,
Until the day
She choked,
That’s the sad day
That she croaked.
We had a celebration,
Chips, wine and beer.
I miss my old buddy,
She always brought me cheer.
I fed myself
The french fries,
I fed myself
The coke,
And with that
Some donuts,
Until I had
A stroke. –Now-
I’m in the hospital
On oxygen,
I’m not allowed
To smoke,
They say I need
Open heart surgery,
If not, they fear
I will croak.
So, they cut on me
This Thursday,
I wish it
Was a joke.
I’ll be out of here
By Tuesday,
Assuming that
I live,
A party
On Wednesday,
Is what I
Plan to give.
We’ll have a celebration,
Chips, wine and beer,
Ya know, I miss
My ole buddy,
She’s been gone
One whole year.
CHORUS I love my dog
I love my dog
I love my buddy
I love my friend.
My monkey mind started at it again. We looked at the abundance in the United States. Super sized drinks, super sized junk food, it is destruction for the body and profit for a few. The true cost is alarming. Diabetes, heart disease and heart attacks. Sickness of all kinds. A nation of largely out of shape citizens. The leaders declare a war on drugs, a war on terrorism and wars on crime and so on and so on.
The real war we are waging seems to be against ourselves. We all know the statistics. Cigarette and tobacco related deaths are over 1,100 daily, just in the United States. Consider the entire world population, and multiply that by twenty. We should declare a war on our own ignorance and greed. But, using the word ignorance causes more hatred. Why do we avoid embracing life and peace? Why do we embrace violence, war and hatred? A friend told me, the frame has a lot to do with the picture. Using empowering words and deeds create beauty.
So, I will work at using more noble speech. I do not want to come across as a person with a savior complex. My observations are that we can be healthy and strong, if we do deeds and think thoughts which create that. Then, my monkey mind jumped to the “war on terrorism”.
It appears to me that war and hatred cause more war and hatred. We have 12,000 to 14,000 felonious homicides each year in America. That means we have 12,000 more murders each year while felonies are being committed. And we have a “war against crime”. Terrorists have not claimed nearly the number of lives that we have claimed on ourselves.
My mother told me, we make entertainment and news out of the spectacular awful events and cause them to multiply. She thinks it is madness and wonders what we are doing. I couldn’t answer her. My monkey mind would have to deal with my self, and I would have to help my mother in the ways that I could. I would not declare “war” on anything. I would declare peace to me, peace to the world, and in particular peace with my mother and be support to her as she faced her reality.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
(So this is home)
I had still not found home. It was one of the things I had left to do in my life. To be part of creating a space where people could work at improving their lives at the deepest level. It would also be valuable to myself, and, my mother, on our journey. As she had brought me into the world, I would “just be with her” until the end of one of us. I was overlooking that she was “just being with him”, me. As is true with all of us, there was no way to foresee the future. We spent a lot of time talking of the past.
DAYS GONE BY
Makes no sense to cry,
For days gone by.
Looking back and longing for
Days gone by.
How it ended and why?
I long for days gone by.
You were always in my heart,
Then tears filled my eyes,
You brought me such joy,
In those days gone by.
It is only your smile I carry today,
It fills my heart, and always will.
You live not as a memory,
But as grace divine,
Days gone by,
But not lost in time.
At “home”, we bought a small DVD player and five movies. We watched the same five movies over and over. Those movies were Miracle, Hoosiers, The Green Mile, The Emperor’s Club and Sea Biscuit. Eventually, we only watched Miracle, Hoosiers, and Sea Biscuit, over and over, hundreds of times.
My mother watched them time after time. We did not want to bring television into our life and risk watching the mindless chatter. I usually practice my guitar, workout, write songs and this book while I stay close to her. She stretches and moves and sits in the device I “designed”. It allows her to stand, stretch or sit while allowing her the freedom to relieve herself as the need arises. It has been one of the main aids we have, and without it, our work would be overwhelming. We probably would not have been able to continue on without that contraption.
Boredom was my constant companion. Loneliness was his brother. All of my noble intentions had come to a head of depression and, now, an inability to face reality. I wanted an escape. But there really is no escape. There is avoidance and ignorance, but no escape. We found gambling cruise ships. They left Mayport, Florida, twice a day, Monday through Friday.
Monday at Mayport.
At a small table,
On a casino boat.
A stranger told me,
The story, of the life
He had wrote.
Three times he had mortgaged,
His wife’s dream home,
As his heart turned to stone.
He said, “I knew I’d
End up alone.”
Looking for love,
In that deck of cards,
His addictions made him hard.
He said, “I didn’t
Appreciate what I had,
And I was helpless against myself.
He told me of the times he had won,
And, of how innocently it had begun,
Fifteen years of Blackjack,
His wife had enough.
So many broken promises,
She called his bluff.
“Innocently” he said,
“That’s how it had begun,”
He took a drag from his cigarette,
A sip from the plastic cup,
But he couldn’t look up.
Now I’m helpless against the house,
There is no more fun.
He wanted to quit,
But didn’t know how.
Seems all he could seek
Was a winning run,
As he chased twenty-one.
He knew, he was helpless against the house
And himself too.
Another drag from the cigarette,
One more sip from the cup,
He said, “I know I have to quit
But this is what I do,
We are all helpless against the house
And ourselves too.
I left the stranger, as the boat
Pulled into dock,
He wished me good luck,
It was Monday at Mayport,
Just another gambler chasing a buck.
But his face was familiar,
And as I looked into the sea,
I saw that stranger’s reflection
Looking back at me.
I was helpless against myself,
Until that day,
When that stranger introduced
Me to me.
It happened that way, one Monday at Mayport
On a casino boat as I decide to change
The life I had wrote.
Years later, at a hospital,
I met an old man,
We spoke for a while,
As strangers sometimes do,
He said, “I know you from somewhere.”
A smile came to his face, he said
“That Monday at Mayport,
on the casino boat!”
I asked if he had quit,
And he said with that smile,
You know I was helpless against the house
And now myself too,
He reached out and pulled
My head closer to his,
Whispered, could I ask a
Favor of you?
Sure, what can I do?
No matter who came into my life,
I was always alone,
Now with this cancer,
I’d like a headstone.
I’d like it to read,
Blackjack is always twenty-one
And, he has cashed in his chips.
He took a drag from his cigarette,
A sip from a cup,
And quietly said,
“We could have been friend’s.”
I got him his headstone, and
I visit his grave,
He had been my best friend
Since that Monday at Mayport,
He just didn’t know.
In our search for excitement, my mother and I continued to do whatever we could. With her paralysis and our lack of family, that meant we went to the movies and the casino boat. We took another trip to Illinois and then back home. My mother’s pressure in her left eye had increased to twenty, and the doctor said, “we can’t keep her vision long with pressures that high.” He scheduled her for a laser surgery. The technical name for the surgery is “trabeculoplasty”. It involves creating more drainage for the liquid creating the higher pressure.
My car had been overheating since the last long trip. I had taken it in to the mechanic for his inspection, but he was too busy to get to it until later in the week. The surgery was to be done on the following day.
We left the house early the next morning. The doctor’s office was approximately forty miles from home. The temperature was above ninety and of course the humidity in Florida was high. The car began to overheat. I pulled over and added more water to the cooling system. As I drove several more miles the car overheated again.
I called the mechanic on the cell phone. After explaining my situation to him, he said if I would turn on the heater and keep the windows open, the car would probably make it to the appointment.
Well, the car continued to overheat. I pulled over to the side of the road to collect my thoughts. It was not wise to continue on, and by the time I could get a taxi, it would be too late to keep the appointment. I called the doctor’s office and canceled the surgery.
I was relieved, but not happy with missing the surgery. I turned around to go home. I drove slowly.
It wasn’t long and the car engine stopped. I pulled over to a stop in front of a small U-Haul rental business. I opened the hood, checked with my mother to see if she was okay, and opened the front car doors. I journeyed into the rental office.
I was improvising. First, if I could rent a small truck and tow bar, I could tow the car to my mechanic, his shop was sixty miles away. Second, I could find a local mechanic to fix the car.
The owners of the U-Haul business were inspiring. The wife ran the office, which was three wobbly steps above the shop. The husband ran the shop. But their duties crossed over whenever it was necessary, and they communicated by a sixth sense which seemed to have developed over their time together. A granddaughter was present, about age six.
We started looking for help in the phone book. Eventually we decided to call for a tow truck. The wait would be one and one half-hours.
I went to the car, got my mother into her wheelchair and brought her into the small shack, which made up the office. It had air conditioning, and that was enough to change our attitude.
The little girl kept whistling. Her grandmother told her to stop it, as it was annoying. I didn’t want that rebuff to inhibit her gifts, so I said, “that was pretty! I bet you can sing too.”
She said, “I can.”
I said, “I write songs, I bet you could do that too.”
She said, “I could write a song.”
It was getting interesting now. “What would you write your song about?”
Without a pause, she said, “I would write about my baby sister who died.”
Her grandmother changed the subject, and the little girl started to whistle again.
I said, “I really like your tune, and good luck with your song.”
Time passed. The tow truck arrived.
As I was getting my mother down the stairs to the ground, the husband arrived. He handed me a coin, but it wasn’t money. It was a plastic coin, with the words to the effect of grant me the wisdom to know the difference between that which I can change and that which I can’t change, and give me the courage to change that which can be changed.
I thanked him and we parted.
The tow truck driver was a young man, small, but strong and aggressive in an entirely acceptable manner.
He said, “where do you want the car towed to?”
I said, “to my mechanic in Jacksonville, about sixty miles from here.”
He said it would cost approximately two hundred fifty dollars, and it had to be cash. I told him I would stop at an ATM on the way. I also asked if my mother could ride in the cab, and we could drop her off at my house on the way to the mechanic. Surprisingly, he agreed.
Getting my mother into the truck was going to take all of my strength and creativity. The seat was four feet off of the ground and the step to it was hard to negotiate for a healthy person. When I approached the passenger side of the truck with my mother, the driver walked back to the street, about one hundred feet. It was clear he wanted no part of this, and he was about to call an end to it.
` Our effort was the maximum my mother and I could exert. If the step had been one inch higher or if my mother had weighed one pound more, we would not have made it. But we did. My back was aching, my mother was exhausted, and the tow truck driver entered from the driver’s side.
He said, “I am impressed. I didn’t think you two had a chance of getting her into the cab!”
I said, “the owner of the U-Haul rental gave me this coin. It’s about knowing the difference between what we can do something about and that which we can’t. I have a feeling most of us draw the line way too low.”
I recalled a quotation which goes something to the effect of we don’t know what we can do until we are called upon to perform. It is from Dickinson. “We never know how high we are, till we are called to rise. And then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite, would be a daily thing, did not ourselves… fear to be a king.”
We drove by the ATM, dropped my mother off at home, and delivered the car to the mechanic.
The mechanic inspected the car. The cost of repair would exceed the value of the car. It was one of my easier decisions.
I bought a 2004 Toyota and moved on with my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
(This Isn’t Home Anymore)
One day a fellow meditator called. He was on the center search committee.
The committee had found an eighty-eight acre plot of land for sale in Georgia, one hundred and twenty miles from my house. The center search committee wanted to buy forty acres of the land. He thought I would be interested in buying the other forty-eight acres and develop it into a community for the center.
That same day, January 17, 2006, my mother and I drove to Georgia and met the owner of the land. It was raining. I stepped out of the car looked at the land for a few seconds, and told Charlie, the owner, I’d buy the remaining forty-eight acres.
We all drove to town, ten miles away, and met at Charlie’s
Attorney’s office. I gave Charlie a check for a small down payment, the balance due in ninety days, signed the purchase documents and drove back home.
There was some tense time as I scrambled to liquidate all of my remaining assets to come up with the final funds to purchase the land. On March 17, 2006, I paid the balance due on the property, and listed my house in Florida. It sounds so simple as I write this, but it was not simple.
People were interested in the house, but intermittently. The months passed, the house was shown again and again. Finally, we had a contract, the closing was set to occur on or before the thirty first of October, 2006.
We spent more time trying to get my mother into shape. She began working out each day. Sometimes she would workout twice a day. After lying on an inversion board for about twenty minutes and lifting small weights, her workout involved rolling over across the floor of a small bedroom, then back again. She would do yoga and stretching movements, followed by crawling on her hands and knees. She would rest when she became exhausted, then finish by putting her legs against the wall and moving them up and down the wall. Then she would stretch her legs apart, then pull them into her chest and rest. She lacked endurance, but she was getting into shape.
It was four o’clock Sunday after noon, October 2, 2006. My mother had finished her workout. As we were trying to stand up, her ankle collapsed. She fell to the floor screaming in pain. I lifted her ankle into my hand. It was limp and felt as if it could come off in my hand. I realized how strong she was emotionally. I was not as composed.
I called 911. The rescue team arrived, we temporarily stabilized her ankle and put her into the rescue unit truck.
The drive behind the truck was lonely. I knew now how lonely it would be for me if and when she would die. My reason for living had been to be with her. I could not even imagine what I would do if I had to carry on alone.
The emergency room was full. A baby was in an incubator, which passed by my face. Then a man who had been in a rollover accident was brought into the area. My mother was the oldest person in the emergency room.
The treatment was painful for my mother. Her right leg was broken in two places, as well as the talus bone in the ankle. The orthopedic surgeon explained he would normally perform surgery and place rods into the leg. However, my mother had osteoporosis, and the rods would not have solid bone to enter. Further, the leg was paralyzed, and with her advanced age, he felt it was wise to set the fractures, and let them heal, and leave it at that. And so he did set the fractures.
He injected the ankle joint, and my mother, while on morphine, endured painful manipulation of her broken leg, as it was repositioned and finally splinted, but not casted.
At eleven in the evening, I somehow got my mother into the front seat of our car and drove her forty miles to our home. We got her into the house and into bed.
The next day, I had the pain medication prescriptions filled. Those medications caused her to hallucinate. I stopped giving her pain medications after the third day. She complained of pain, so I gave her one half of a pill and then stopped them completely. I am not sure as I write this, as to whether or not she will come out of her hallucinations. One expert thinks it is sudden onset dementia. Time will tell.
One week has passed. It is nine a.m., Sunday morning. I have given her all of the aid I can think of. My relatives seem concerned, but not to the degree I would have expected. Their lives are full and they don’t have a desire to come be with her. I can't explain what is going on, as I really don’t know. This Wednesday morning she is scheduled to have a cast put on. I am hoping she will come out of her hallucinations by then so we can get into the car. As it is now, she is too weak to be able to get into the car.
As Wednesday arrived, I was able to get her into the car. Getting up and into the car actually seemed to strengthen her. It was a combination of the movement, a goal and the clearing of her mind as the drugs seem to be wearing off. She still imagines non-existent people and places, but it is tolerable.
The orthopedic surgeon finally removed the wrapping to the splint. He was most concerned with how the skin would appear under the bandages. He felt the skin looked excellent.
We discussed the situation. If the leg heals, it will take three to five months. It may not heal. During that time, we will exercise the rest of the body as best as we can. I will remove the bandages once a day for an hour or more to allow the skin to get air. We will come back in one month to check the progress.
It is Friday, October 20, 2006. I have given my mother repeated enemas, the bandages are open, and she is sleeping like a baby. Her skin on the leg is beginning to look like leather. Now I will learn to accept the things I can’t change.
We have been going to movies in the evening. The outings seem positive. Her birthday is next Wednesday, October 25. She will be eighty-eight. I hope to come up with some kind of a birthday party.
It is Friday, October 27, 2006. My mother is resting in the early morning. The bandage is open, and to my eye, the skin is beginning to become too leather like. My imagination is working overtime. I would like to know for certain as to whether or not the bones are mending or decaying. Her next appointment with the orthopedic surgeon is the Wednesday after next. X-rays will probably be taken and that will give us information we need to have.
Her attitude is excellent. I would say her emotional and spiritual health, are the best they have ever been in her entire life. This Wednesday, she has an appointment with an Internist. That should clarify many unknown issues concerning her physical health. My mother has been through so much misery in the past twenty-seven days. I can only be with her. Last evening she said she would be afraid to face this if I were not with her. That was enough to give me the strength to continue on.
I am learning. Just being with her means so much. So much to her, and, so much to me. As emotionally, and physically draining as it is, I would not have it any other way.
The appointment with the internist was uneventful. My mother is in good health. She sees the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow and will have a bone density test the following day. We are basically waiting for time to pass, as this too will change. She is spending a lot of time sleeping. My intuition tells me to let her rest and heal. I hope that intuition is correct. I have been giving her daily enemas followed with wheat grass juice implants. She appears to be healthy, but tired.
It is Wednesday, November 8, 2006, 4:30 a.m. Kingsley Lake, Florida, and my mother is sleeping in her hospital bed in the living room. I am on the floor next to her bed listening to her sleep as I write these words. It has been one and one half years since I started writing this book, and my mother is sleeping as she was on the first early morning when I began writing this book. There are many differences between then and now. One obvious difference is she has a broken leg. A not so obvious difference is my frame of reference. At that time, I thought I was saving her life. Now I realize she was saving my life. Caring for her has given me the opportunity to come out of selfishness and self-centered egotism. “Just being with her” has given me the opportunity to develop compassion, kindness, and joy. True happiness. Not the happiness of getting all of the pleasant sensations I can accumulate, but the happiness of knowing that I don’t need to accumulate pleasant sensations in order to be truly happy. In a word, I had found freedom.
Freedom from craving; chasing incessantly that which I desire, but can never attain. I understand that most of my life I was striving to get that which I really did not want. It was craving for craving sake, not the object of the craving, but the craving of bodily sensations, which arose as a result of the craving. And I have the power to break that cycle of craving. Caring for my mother was a vehicle which is allowing me to escape the endless cycle of chasing the pleasant and avoiding the unpleasant. I had found something more important than my own desires. Giving rather than taking, being kind and loving rather than consuming.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
(What will the doctor say?)
`We arrived at the clinic. X-rays were taken and we waited. Finally a doctor entered the small examining room. It was the doctor who had set the leg on the evening of October second.
He remembered us from the emergency visit. He had the x-rays with him. We looked at the x-rays. The bones had not stayed aligned, thus the fracture was displaced. It was decided to leave them displaced and cast the leg.
A technician, not a doctor, casted the leg. He was a young black man. We were concerned that he was not a doctor. I asked him if he had set many ankles in the past. He told me “quite a few, and in fact, three within the last thirty minutes.”
He introduced me to a doctor to whom he was teaching his casting techniques. I was impressed at his skill. He casted the leg with fingers caressing the wounded limb. I could see him feeling the bones beneath his hands and placing the layers of casting materials, one after another, over the break.
My mother selected purple as the final color of the casting material. We left the clinic. The next day we would have a bone density test at another facility.
The results of the test revealed osteoporosis. Of course, we already knew that, but now we could have data to relate to.
Time passed. It is the morning of December first, 2006. My mother is sleeping and I am writing.
The closing on the sale of our house has been rescheduled twice. It is now set for this Thursday, December 7, 2006. My mother’s leg has now had nearly nine weeks of healing. The next doctor appointment is December 20, 2006. X-rays will then reveal if there is calcium forming at the breaks.
In the meantime, we are moving forward. We plan to move to the land in Georgia and make that our home. I have been looking at heavy equipment to use in clearing the land. We are entering into a new space and a new activity. My mother and I will be living in the woods. Pioneers. Six months earlier, we spoke of dreams.
In June, of 2005, I woke my mother to start the new day. I asked, “did you have any good dreams?” She said, “I am too old to dream anymore.” That inspired the song TOO OLD TO DREAM ANY MORE.
This miracle of life
With all of our
Struggles and strife,
Will we get
Too old
Too dream anymore?
My mother awoke, and
As I put on her shoes,
I asked, did you have
Any good dreams?
She looked in my face,
Said where is this place,
I am too old to dream anymore.
And if that is true,
What does it mean
For me and for You?
This miracle of life
With all of our struggles and strife,
Will we get
Too old to dream anymore?
She smiled and said,
I was just down,
And now that I am up,
I’ll find a dream
Worth living for.
I know there is a reason,
And I’ll find the good
In today,
I’ll make dreams
Come true that way.
Seems I am not
Too old to dream anymore.
This miracle of life,
With all of our
Struggles and strife,
I’ll dream evermore,
Finding reasons to give,
And reasons to live,
Seems I am not
Too old
To dream anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
(Building a new home)
The President gave his State of the Union speech last night. The state of my mother’s leg is wonderful. The December 20, 2006, doctor’s exam showed that calcium was filling in at the breaks. It has been sixteen weeks since she broke her leg. The last exam was last Thursday, the break is still fragile, but she is now putting 25 to 50 pounds of weight on the leg. We feel we are through the most difficult time with the healing process.
We are living in motels. I am clearing the land at the property. The plan is to live in a 24-foot long travel trailer, as the development proceeds. I bought an excavator. It is a machine which, moves dirt, pulls up trees and digs holes. I intend to use it to create a small island surrounded by water. We will later build a small house on that island.
The travel trailer has been delivered to the property. A well has been drilled. Now we need a septic system and electricity. My mother is going to rest for today, as I will make plans to situate the travel trailer in a manner that allows my mother access. I am feeling stressed out. I trust all will work out for the best. We are creating one moment at a time.
Well, it has now been twenty - one weeks and three days since my mother broke her leg.
The development of the land is moving forward. One buyer has appeared. She bought a lot quickly and without reservation. All of the other potential buyers are being very cautious and slow at committing. The meditation center is behind schedule in its building and at this moment I am losing a little faith.
The Anna Nicole Smith drama is coming to a close, the war in Iraq is still raging on and my mother is still alive and she is getting cuter and cuter. I haven’t written a new song in months, but my guitar playing is improving. There is a stress within me that I can’t describe. It is February 28, 2007, and I must now build a house, submit my subdivision plan to the Wayne County Commissioners and finish developing the subdivision. Money is becoming an issue. This too shall pass.
It’s 9:00 a.m., March 7, 2007. We have been living at the Days Inn in Jesup, Georgia. It has been 23 weeks and three days since my mother broke her leg. Today we meet with the doctor in Gainsville, Florida at 2:30 p.m. The leg may be strong enough to bear full weight. We will know shortly.
I have decided not to live in the travel trailer. We will erect a 30-foot by 46-foot metal building and convert that into a home. Hopefully it will provide plenty of room for our simple lifestyle.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
(Living on the new property)
It is July 30, 2007. It has been forty-three weeks since my mother broke her leg. The house is complete enough for us to live in and we moved in about three weeks ago. Our stay at the Days Inn was approximately seven months long. We will not risk traveling to Oregon to see my mother’s sister Holly.
We are alone on the property, except for a stray dog, which shows up occasionally. He is a Golden Retriever. My mother loves him and so do I. We will not make him “ours”.
The whole development will take some time to get momentum. The meditation center will start courses in January of 2008. Rarely, visitors come by and examine our home. No one knows what to call it. We call it home. We enjoy showing them what my mother refers to as our “Tom Sawyer” lifestyle. My mother is truly an exceptional woman. She is a pioneer at the age of 88. She spends most of her day taking care of personal matters, working out, sleeping and eating. We spend nearly twenty four hours a day together. I sleep on a low bed next to her bed, so as to be able to arise in the night as she frequently needs the use of the bed pan. It allows me the opportunity to develop patience and tolerance, and loving-kindness.
This home is a peaceful place. We both sleep well, and enjoy the privacy. We have the time and energy to take another road trip, but not all the way to Oregon.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
(Visiting the nursing home and Mount Carroll)
We drove back to Mount Carroll, Illinois, a distance of twelve hundred miles, to visit my sister and her family. We arrived on Saturday, August 4, 2007.
During our visit, we visited the Big Meadows nursing home. It had been two years and ten months since my mother and I left the nursing home.
When my mother left, there were between eighty to one hundred residents. As far as we could determine, only two were still alive.
One was a middle-aged woman. I had spoken with her often. She was “mentally challenged” and physically handicapped. Her parents had cared for her as long as they could, and now she was in a nursing home. The other was a woman three years older than my mother. She was intelligent and capable. She had needed a hip replacement. She had no one in her life that would, or could, care for her, consequently, she had checked into the nursing home and stayed there out of necessity.
Counting my mother, that made a total of three still alive from the original group of residents. The staff doctor was new, and only three of the original staff and employees were still working for the nursing home. There may have been more working on the other shifts. We stayed and visited for one-half hour and journeyed to my sister’s tearoom.
We discussed the nursing home. My mother felt that if she had stayed in the nursing home, she would have first gone blind and then died while over-weight and bed ridden. My mother’s statement was it was “a smelly place.” She said the smell was of urine and perspiration. She could also identify the smell of fecal matter. She was amazed she had been able to endure staying in the facility for over one year.
I WALK PROUD
I walk proud, even though I am old,
‘cause my story is true,
even if it’s not told.
I see courage in all these old eyes,
Old souls facing life and
Ready to die.
Facing each day without complaint,
Knowing night will come
Without restraint.
I have value even though I am old,
Something youth just
Can’t see.
I am proud of who I am,
And proud of what I have done,
I am amazed at how
Far I have come.
It’s so close to the end,
Yet there is something undone,
It’s that final step,
When the bell is rung.
I’ll face that moment without complaint,
For it will arrive on it’s own
Without restraint.
During our visit with my sister, we were introduced to a wonderful woman named Marie. In the course of our conversation, she told me of how she had cared for her disabled son for forty years. She finally was unable to care for his physical needs, and he had become too aggressive for her to handle. She had recently put him in a nursing home. I asked her about how she came to that decision, and how she was able to handle it all. The song THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’VE STOPPED LOVING YOU came as a result of meeting this loving woman.
It just takes some
Getting use to,
This being without you.
There’s a lot of freedom
In my life,
That I never had before.
Forty years,
I cared for you.
There’s a lot of freedom
In my life,
That I never had before.
Those years of caring love,
Created spaces for the new.
That doesn’t mean
I’ve stopped
Loving you.
Sometimes you have to
Say goodbye.
That doesn’t mean
I’ve stopped
Loving you.
Sometimes you have to
Say goodbye,
That doesn’t mean
I’ve stopped
Loving you.
I wondered how much caring does it take to show someone how much you care for and love him or her? People, who care, have to care so much. And so many people have no idea how much the caregiver gives. They give of themselves, and get something great in return. It seemed to me that everyone has at least one person in the world that could care for him or her when the need arises. If each person stepped up at that time, “like a bridge over troubled waters”, then, each of us could feel loved and cherished as we face the end game of life.
On August 18, 2007, we got a phone call from my cousin. My mother’s sister Holly had checked into a nursing home. You may recall she is ten years younger than my mother. She was at the reunion Sandy arranged for my mother’s side of the family many years ago. We were planning to get together with her again when the “time was right”, then my mother broke her leg and it seemed unwise to travel such a distance with my mother’s various needs.
Holly has no children, her husband is gone, and her niece is the only person left who cares deeply for her and who is capable of helping her. Holly has had a slight stroke. She is approximately ninety pounds over weight. My cousin has tried her best to assist Holly in getting into good physical condition. Holly will still not change her eating habits and will not embrace exercise. She simply will not change her habits. The skin of her legs has broken down and infection has set in. Hospice has been attending to her. My cousin said she would arrange a phone call between my aunt and me before she passes away. I offered to care for my aunt as well as my mother, but she does not want accept my offer. She is most content with finally facing her death.
Approximately two years ago, on October 14, 2005, while visiting my sister’s Mad Hatter Tea Room, I wrote NOT OF THIS WORLD.
Mother’s in bed,
Covers her head,
Dreaming of life
As it was.
It’s reality
Today,
The past is far
Away,
Her mind is
Taking her home.
Home,
To the place that
She loved,
Not spoken of,
Found only in
Dreams.
Soon the illusion
Will cease,
She hopes to find
Peace,
As her mind
Takes her home
To the place
That she loves most,
Found in a poem,
Not of this world,
But home.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
(My mother’s sister Holly)
It is Wednesday, September 12, 2007, early afternoon. My mother is in the bath and the phone just rang. My cousin called and told us that Holly is still being treated by Hospice. She is heavily drugged and non-responsive. My cousin believes she will be gone within the next two days. It has been twenty-five days since Holly entered the nursing home.
We did not get our last telephone conversation with Holly. My cousin will tell Holly that we are sending warm thoughts.
You may recall, my cousin’s name is Holly Lee. She was named after my Aunt Holly and my mother Leona. She said she and Holly had written us a letter, and sent it via snail mail. The letter came Thursday, September 13, 2007. It was addressed to my mother and stated that Holly felt she had a full and rich life, and that my mother had been part of it. There was a small note attached to it, written by my cousin, which said…”Aunt Hol is sleeping more now and is difficult to talk with.” She felt there was not much time left, and, that Holly had enough pain meds to keep her comfortable. She said she would keep in touch.
On Friday September 14, 2007, at nine o’clock in the morning, Holly died. At the time of her death, a hospice nurse accompanied her.
My mother has taken it somewhat hard. She is sad. There is very little to say. No relative other than Holly Lee had been “there for” Holly. She had been married for twenty-five years and her husband was gone. His two children by a previous marriage and the four grandchildren from those two children did not visit Holly.
I asked Holly Lee how does it make sense that so few people show up? She said, “it is just the society we live in. Everyone is concerned with his or her own life.”
Holly Lee had a lunch in honor of Holly. She intends to clean out her room and process the remaining paper work. She would like to do a ceremony with the ashes, and have a time for reflection. She will get a gift for the staff at the nursing home.
So it is, my mother is now the last living member of her family. All of my father’s brothers and sisters are also gone. She has very few people who can relate to her life as she lived it. I will vow to be the best son that I can be, so as to bring her as much joy as I can.
We spoke of the attention Terri Shrivo had at her death, and we spoke of how Holly had died without much attention. We left it as one of those areas we would simply ponder, not expecting definitive answers to everything in life and death.
I asked my mother how Holly got her name. She searched her mind and recalled a Saturday eighty years ago. She recalled Holly Lindstrom was a woman who lived two doors down from my mother’s family home at 532 First Avenue, in South St Paul, Minnesota. She recalled that Holly Lindstrom was making cookies, and that it had to be a Saturday, as she worked at the dime store during the week. She liked to make cookies and used them much as greeting cards are used today. She made a cookie with an image of Josie, my mother’s mother, made from frosting. The image was of a pregnant woman. That’s how my mother found out that she was going to have a little baby. When the baby was born, it was a girl. Josie named her Holly after Holly Lindstrom.
I asked my mother about Josie. She said her full name was Josephine. Then my mother switched the subject back to that Saturday, eighty years ago. She said I made up a song that day. I said, “oh?” She said yes, “I remember the name of it.” “Well, what was it,” I asked. “Suppose”, she said. “Do you remember how it goes,” I asked. “I think it was about an ice cream cone.”
Then she sang,
Suppose I had an ice cream cone,
And I had a little hat.
Suppose the hat had a brim,
Suppose the ice cream fell
To the ground.
Suppose my dog Jeff ate
My cone,
And the hat brim hid
My eyes,
Suppose it rained and the
Hat brim went limp,
And hid my face as
I cried.
She then recalled that Holly Lindstrom would often make fudge and let the kids lick the pan. We both became very silent.
We went outside and looked to the sky. It was evening and the moon was bright. We talked of my father’s death and Holly’s death. My mother missed my father the most, but felt it was best that he had died, since he was in such misery, and she could not dwell on his loss, as it would make her too sad. My mother wondered how she would feel being the last of her family. She wondered when she would breathe her last and what it would be like. She looked to the moon and was silent. I did not interrupt.
GYPSY MOON
She sat in the dark,
Feeling her very soul,
He left her for the
Gypsy moon.
Traveling alone
He followed his heart,
It’s last beat,
And the ever changing
Gypsy moon.
Gypsy moon,
Lighting the way,
A solitary journey
Allowing none to stay.
Forever changing,
The beginning from the end,
The gypsy moon.
Holding his memory to her breast,
With frail hands he had loved so,
She was finding her truth,
Struggling no more.
Her youth came and went,
Her life finally spent,
She renewed with the
Gypsy moon.
It would be,
One last breathe,
And together at last,
He and she and
The gypsy moon.
Several minutes passed. My mother turned to me and said, “I am glad he is resting in heaven.” I smiled at her and said, “so am I. I love you. Are you ready to go in?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
(Let’s call this the end)
When I began writing this book, I thought the end of the book would occur when my mother died, and the description of her death would end or resolve the book. But I see that we create in the present, and the future is the unknown, to which we are going, and that becomes the present. She is alive and well. If she is cared for, I see a long and healthy life still ahead for her.
I also wrote this book for me. I have imagined you, the reader, as my friend. You have been my companion on this journey. You have been my “bridge over troubled waters” when I needed a friend and when I was desperate.
I have written hundreds of songs over the past dozen years. It brings meaning to my life. Let me conclude with a few that I wanted you, my new best friend, to hear.
On April 30, 2004, I was particularly depressed. I wrote TO SING.
To sing when you are fearful,
To sing when you want to cry,
To smile when you feel
Like running away,
Away, from what
You have done.
To sing when you
Can’t find the
Strength to talk,
To sing when it
Takes all your
Strength to walk.
To sing when that one more
Thing happens;
THAT which you THOUGHT
You could not take;
That’s the time to sing
Your finest,
And find the joy in life.
Little babies laughing,
Ducklings following mom,
Springtime which was
In your heart,
Even if it’s not
Right at this time.
Bunnies and bumble bees
In a flower bed,
Honey bees and flowers,
And dragon flies on cattails,
In a pond of lillipads.
These little wonderful things
Bring song to my soul.
The joys of graceful beauty,
And loveliness fills my heart,
Tiny and loving, these joys in life
Calm the noise in my head.
Perhaps no one can sing your song for you. Perhaps it comes from your spirit.
And, perhaps this book can help people who are alive learn how to embrace life, and at dying, learn how to die. I feel that is what has been occurring with me. Perhaps it can help loved ones, step by step, to find comfort and closure.
By just being with my loved ones, I may have helped my loved ones and perhaps, be helping others to understand what it is like to die.
It seems to me that there are significant levels of dying and the after life, whether it is nothing or so much more.
When we are clear about our dying, we may be better at our living. Could death be the final stage of growth in this world?
It has been shown to me that my mother wants to know that I am okay when she is gone.
On May 26, 2002, in a conversation with a friend, she said…”when the sidewalk ends”. It gave me the concept of the parting of two friends.
WHEN THE SIDEWALK ENDS
The choice is clear,
When the time to change
Is finally here,
Is there ever a choice made without fear?
When the sidewalk ends,
A pavement of love begins,
and the path continues on.
What has no beginnings,
What has no ends?
A mother’s love,
A son’s obstinate ways.
The years pass,
The mother’s love grows,
The son transforms into
A devoted man.
The time comes,
For the son to take a wife,
He searches for
His mother,
The first true love
Of his life.
And when the
Sidewalk ends,
And there is a
Parting of two friends,
Whether mother and son
Or husband and wife,
Or any true friend,
When the sidewalk ends,
Is where
A deeper love begins.
I see I have been teaching myself about how to die and how to express the grief and acceptance of the death of loved ones.
Music can heal the soul, or help grieving, these songs are of that, and from my own experience. With the passage of Sandy, I was guided to grow in deeper wisdom. I was moved forward to become a more spiritual person. I will be with my mother to complete her last breath. This book, the music, and my mother are all where they are supposed to be. And perhaps, I won’t work with death forever.
Perhaps this will complete my growth and allow me to accept my own end, and find the meaning of life. It is a transition in my life. To be a wiser person and perhaps closer to the “light of the universe”.
My mother has done whatever she needed to support me. Now as always. Moving to the woods of Southern Georgia has brought her back to nature, and keeping life simple has value. I feel she sees it as beautiful to be with her son.
It is precious that my mother and I have this special time to share together. It is sacred to be with her. For me, to have that sacred experience is wonderful. When this part of the journey ends, or when this sidewalk ends, I will start over at a whole new spiritual level, and the path will be paved with a deeper love.
It has taken me this long to heal the loss of Sandy and there is a higher wisdom that guides us all. This writing, my meditation, music, and these relationships will all come together, and I’ll be wiser and happier.
I see the gift that is here now for my mother and I. I am honored to be with my mother in her old age. I am inspired by that gift, and I have been guided to that. I am moving on to a greater, simpler life. Many people love taking care of the older people. I don’t think I could do it again. Perhaps Sandy, Marilyn, and my father are in spirit, closer to me now, and are helping to guide me. There is a fine line between imagination and visitation.
When there is divine light, I will connect and see the perfect with the imperfections. The grass is just as green where I am, it is just the change that I long for and still fear. When my mother is gone, if there is another side, she will be able to do more for me in spirit than when she was in flesh. She will probably be closer to me than many others. This is a completion of my karma with my mother.
WILL MY SON BE OKAY
Will my son be okay
When I am gone?
I’ll wait for him,
When he can let go
Of my hand.
Only when he is ready to stand,
Will I let go of his hand.
I’ve been waiting for
You to say it’s okay,
And I need to know
It’s okay when I am gone.
I know you need me,
Yet I don’t want
To be a burden,
When it’s time for you
To be alone again,
It will be time to let go
And move on.
It’s not far away.
I am grateful to you
For I would have died
Alone in a nursing home.
Do you see you can
Create, into old age,
We have value right to the end.
These have been
Wonderful times
We have become compassion,
We will both be okay
When I am gone.
I was always attracted to elegance. Sandy, Courtney, my home and, even in a small way, myself. My mother had been elegant all of her life until the years just prior to her stroke. The obesity diminished her elegance. I have been instrumental in resolving that and she has regained her elegance. It was far beyond physical beauty. While we were at the mall, a young black man came over to my mother and said,” now that is a beautiful woman!” My work was complete at that moment.
No one is independent. We all need each other. No one is an island. The Buddha said, “make an island of yourself that no flood can overwhelm”. Yet, even monks and nuns relate, perhaps not sexually, but at many levels of intimacy. They share beliefs, dogma, cultural and sociological events, chanting, food, mores and more. It’s not codependence, but interdependence. My goal is to do that artfully and gracefully, building and not destroying. Being supportive each step of the way. No clinging, but dancing with the flow, continually building on love, the ego in abeyance with the higher self, not as a child acting out and at odds. I now see it was elegance and beauty, which attracted me.
LEARNING TO APPRECIATE WHAT I HAD
Learning to appreciate what I had,
Seeing what I let slip away.
Learning the hard way,
A broken heart with a prayer,
For her to forgive me.
Learning to appreciate what I had,
Seeing what I let slip away.
Someone to love,
The love of my life,
Seeing what I let slip away.
You can live
Without love,
But you cannot
Thrive.
Learning to appreciate what I had,
And what I let slip away.
Without love there is nothing, now I
Appreciate what I have,
And rebuild if I must,
Knowing I won’t throw it away.
I have a friend in Colorado. He is ninety-one years old. He told me there is a big difference between age thirty and ninety. He told me, as a young man he had worked for ten cents an hour. Now, a young man often earns fifty dollars an hour. That is 500 times more pay. And my friend use to work hard for his ten cents an hour. He explains it is not just a generation gap.
Further, he instructs me on looking for true love. He told me I didn’t have to look further than my mother. Then he said do you know how many diapers she changed for you? He said all mothers should be cared for as I was doing.
I tried to calculate how many diapers she must have changed for me. From day one to age four months, six during the day and three or four at night. Then at four months, potty training, three times a day on the pot before putting me to bed, and then she would wake me up to nurse. That goes on to age six to eight months. Then walking is encouraged. Then we start to do all of the other activities, which bring us to young adults. To say the least, perhaps there is a debt to be repaid.
YESTERDAY AND YOU
My mama told me
When your daddy was
Alive, and we
Were young, we
Were happy with just
Each other, in rain,
Or in sun.
Then she called me
By his name.
Seems now they want the world,
And are happy only when
Things go their way.
That’s what was different
When I remember yesterday and you.
We kissed in the morning
And worked all day,
Kissed in the evenings,
We did that each day.
When you said I love you,
I knew it was true,
That’s what was different
When I recall yesterday and you.
Those days are over,
It’s more complicated now,
I don’t have a web site,
Or a cell phone,
Your kiss still carries
Me through the day.
That’s what makes my life
Have meaning, our
True love lasting that way.
That’s what was different
When I dream of
Yesterday and you,
And our love that was true.
She looked into my face,
This time called me
By my name,
And said I pray you find a love
Like that too.
We then spoke of her last wishes, of which I thought I already knew. My father had been cremated, and it was her wish to do the same. My sister maintains the ashes of my father, still waiting for a final decision as to where and how they should be dispersed. In the past, both my father and mother had asked me to put their ashes at separate spots by a particular tree on a property I had owned in Colorado. I no longer owned that home and things had changed. Mixin’ ashes came from that conversation.
MIXIN’ ASHES
He’s been gone over two years
Everyone thought she’d go soon,
Since so many years together they had been.
No one thought she would survive,
But she did.
So I keep her with me,
Out of a nursing home,
As we roam.
She was In deep contemplation,
I dared to intrude,
“What’s going on within you”?
So honestly she asked,
“how long do ashes last?”
“Close to forever,
they are part of the past.”
“Is there any reason,
I can’t mix his and mine?
We were together most of
The time,
The better part of
Our life,
Why should we separate now,
I am still his wife.”
“No reason I can think of”,
As a tear came to my eye.
“Then that’s what I want,
when I finally die.”
“I’ll see that it happens,
if I am still around.”
She glanced at me and said,
“Okay it is settled, where are we going now?”
I said we will keep movin’,
Then I asked,
“Do you know
Where you want your
Ashes to go?”
“As long as we’re together,
I don’t really care.
When we were young,
I slept on a bed or rocks,
Just to be with him,
Nothing about that has changed.”
She turned her head, and closed
Her eyes and said, “I feel better!
Now I’ll get some sleep.”
A smile came over her sleeping face.
I knew I had made a promise,
One I would keep.
In the meantime, I would just be with her. She needed help in every meaning of the word, and she is my mother, and she loves me and needs me. In addition to that, what is so important, I now was beginning to respect and love myself.
JUST BE WITH H_ _
When I cared enough about myself,
I could care
For another,
And just be with her.
When I held her hand,
She knew I could feel it,
When I looked at him,
He knew I could see him.
When she spoke to me,
She knew I could hear her,
When I told him I dreamed of love,
He knew he was in that dream.
When I cared enough about myself,
I could be love.
When she revealed her heart,
She knew I understood her,
When he felt alone,
He knew I was there.
When I needed love,
I allowed her to give it.
If someone needs me,
But is too shy to let me know,
I’ll be with him or her,
For I care enough about myself
To let it be so.
Satisfaction means literally “to feel you’ve done enough.”
I have tried to speak from my heart and listen to the messages of others.
So, at this point I feel I’ve done enough. I’ll call this the end, knowing it is not. We live in the present creating our futures, which are unknown. My mother still lives, and so do I.
And finally to you, my companion and friend, if we never meet, know that you are my friend, and if we ever do meet personally, I will thank you again. May your life be blessed and full of love.
Respectfully yours,
James Anthony Hansen, child, son, husband, father, and friend.
THE END ?
................
................
In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.
To fulfill the demand for quickly locating and searching documents.
It is intelligent file search solution for home and business.
Related searches
- wordpress passing data between pages
- wordpress business templates
- wordpress rss feed not working
- wordpress jquery is not defined
- create wordpress blog
- wordpress roles editor
- wordpress full rss feed
- wordpress rss feed settings
- wordpress rss feed plugin
- wordpress display rss feed
- wordpress rss feed link
- wordpress rss feed to post