Death, be not proud

with apologies to John Donne, et al.

So part of my mean reds, by no means all, but a good portion, has to be related to the fact that today marks the tenth anniversary of the death of my father. Ten years. More than a quarter of my life now, without him. It takes my breath away to even think of it. I...ach. I could blither on, but I decided months ago that I wanted to reprint an article from the paper version of Languishing (Winter 2004, Issue 1, Volume 8) today. I wrote it just a month or so after he died, and I print it here mostly unaltered.

Mighty and dreadful indeed.

Death Be Not Proud
One woman's story of losing her daddy.

Wednesday, 24 July 2002: 7:30am: Mom called this morning. Seems dad's chest pains from last night didn't go away, so I'm heading over to Hillsboro. I talked to Jess, told her not to come. I know she feels so far away in the Cities, but this is just chest pains. She'll be home this weekend, and can see him then.

8:30am: Dad looks gaunt, almost skeletal. He always looks this way, though, in his hospital gown, when he's had a ride in the ambulance. How many times have we been here? Since I was twelve, after those first 6 months of rehab after the stroke, I've seen him like this....half a dozen times? A dozen? Too many, but it's not like any of us chose this life. It just is. I smooth his hair; what I feel towards my father, what I have felt for almost 17 years, is very much typical father-daughter love. But also motherly, because he needs care. I clip his fingernails, clean out his ears when they're dirty. I cut up his steak for him. Rustle my fingers through his beard when I try to convince him to trim it. But he is always my father. He wheels his chair out with me to the parking lot, checks my tires, makes sure the headlights work, makes me use my seat belt. He is comforting, familiar, strong. He tells me everything will work out, that I can do what I am afraid to do, that he loves me.

In this little hospital room with uncomfortable chairs and a television mounted on the wall, I talk to Jess again. Should she come? I ask Dad. No, he says, shaking his head emphatically, as if to say, Don't be silly. The nurse is in the room with us, and after a few minutes, he starts coughing, waving his hand at her, raising his voice. She doesn't understand him, and I'm still on the phone with Jess. "He's going to throw up" I snap at the nurse, frustrated that she doesn't comprehend our secret code of gestures and inflection. Jess says, "I'm on my way" just before I hang up on her, because the black bile is seeping through Dad's beard onto his faded gown. The nurse apologizes, and I do, too, because she couldn't know that this time "Deelo...deelo!" meant "I need an emesis basin."

9am: The doctor comes in. Mom is really worried, but I'm not. Jesus, he survived a massive stroke, the amputation of both legs: some little heart palpitation's not going to kill him. The doctor is short, shorter than me, and other than that he reminds me of my cousin Chad, with olive skin, dark, thinning hair, and a laid-back way. His news is not good. There's been a heart attack, of significant size, it seems. Dad's asleep now, because the nurse gave him medicine to help with his nausea. We stand over him, talk around him. Mom strokes his bald head. I ask what we should do. I get frustrated, because I feel like the doctor and we are speaking two different languages. "It's up to you," he says. Yeah, we know that. What should we do?? "Well, he has a DNR order..." Yeah, we know that too. What does this mean. How bad is it? WILL HE DIE? "We don't know yet. We could find out the extent of the damage, but he'd have to go to Fargo for that." He's sleeping now. I don't think he wants to go to Fargo. I don't know. So if we don't find out the extent of the damage.... what happens? We know strokes, we know gallstones, we know prostate and cancer and bladder infections and amputations, but we don't know heart attacks. "He could recover. The next 24 hours will be important." I'm glad Jessica is on her way. I call her cell and tell her so, and tell her that Dad's comfortable now, snoring lightly. She's scared, but our Aunt Shirley, Dad's sister, is with her. I'm glad of that too. They just left the city, and it's almost 10 am.

12 noon: Brenda, our friend and the wife of our pastor in Hendrum, stops by. She's an RN, and looks at Dad carefully. I show her his vitals, which I've been recording in my journal. Blood pressure: 90/40; pulse 120; temp 99.2; oxygen 84%. She talks to Dad, although he's not really awake at all. Tells him she's here, says a prayer with us. The Lord's Prayer hurts my chest when I say it. "Our father, who art in heaven." Brenda does a healing ceremony, instead of communion, and it involves anointing with oil. It feels too much like last rites and Mom and I both cry.

Dad's kidneys aren't working much. He's been in the hospital since 7:30, and he's made no urine. This is very bad, Brenda tells us. Her seriousness scares me. She takes mom out for lunch, and I sit with Dad, tell him about work, Shaun, our dog, our house. I tell him I love him over and over and over again. I know he knows: it just helps to say it. Beverly, Dad's other sister, who lives in California, calls. She wants to know how he is, and I tell her, as he sleeps. Dad and Bev were so close as children, practically twins. As she's about to hang up, he opens his eyes, and I say, wait, here he is. I hold the phone to his ear, and though he's groggy, I tell him it's his sister Bev. He hears her voice, and responds. He knows it's her: I don't know what she says to him, but he says "yeah," a few times, tells her he's okay, I think. I take the phone and tell her he knew it was her, and she says she knows. She's looking into flights to Fargo.

2pm: The doctor stops by again. The kidney thing has him worried. Why aren't they working, we ask.  His blood pressure is so low, they're not getting enough blood. His heart has been damaged, so it's pumping where it can. Will that get better? Maybe. Let's inject him with some saline, and some medicine to make him urinate, and see if that helps. Okay. C'mon kidneys. Mom is really quiet. I don't see why everyone has to be so solemn. It's been bad before.

3pm: Jess and Shirley arrive. They stopped in Moorhead and picked up Shaun. Dad wakes up and knows Jess, certainly, and she kisses him and cries and cries. He's hardly awake at all any more, from the medication or the effort his heart is making to pump what little it can. Mom, Jess, and I talk with Dad, who won't wake up, about how we won't resuscitate. No breathing tubes, no surgeries. If the kidneys work, they work. If not, we'll have to let him go. Dad agreed to this years ago, but we tell each other again that this is what he wants, what we all know should happen, if it has to.

The doctor comes back, and as the saline and medication have not jump-started the kidneys, he recommends we bring family in. This is the first time I'm really startled. He says "If there's family thinking of coming, you should tell them to come. Now." We use Shirley's cell phone to call relatives. I call three of mom's siblings: Bev, John, and Sharon. "This might be it, the doctor says," I tell three people, and for some reason it gets harder every time. I can't call any one else after that. Jessica calls the others, and we let Shirley call Dad's side of the family. We are very, very tired.

6pm: We go eat supper in shifts. Shirley and I and Shaun go first, to the Wagon Wheel Restaurant in Hillsboro. It feels like a VFW hall, kind of, with industrial tables and chairs. I eat fried shrimp, and the three of us talk, and sort of look at each other, surprised, kind of, by what seems about to happen. i feel like my eyes are wide open, insistently watching, waiting. Shaun feels helpless, afraid for us, and doesn't know how to help. When we get back to the hospital, Uncle Harry, Dad's older brother, is there. They have been fighting with each other for about 10 years, or maybe 15. It feels like forever, but we're glad he's there. Even Dad, I think, knows how much Harry loves him this summer night.

7pm-on: Through the evening, we have lots of company; Pastor Tim comes, and Shaun's dad, and Carla and Darrell and Janice, friends of our family. Lots of people, it seems, and we are all grateful. Most everyone is gone by 11pm, when the nursing shift changes. Our night RN must've been in the military, I think. She is all business, and her gruffness worries me a little, because Jess and I will push back if we need to, but we're not exactly strong right now. Instead, she insists on just a few things. "He must be kept comfortable. Tell your mother to get some sleep. I'll let you know if it gets close to time." Now I know there's no going back. This nurse makes no pretense of recovery, and it is just the waiting. Because the hospital is nearly empty, we get the room next to Dad's, and mom goes to sleep for a few hours. She's been up, by our count, nearly 40 hours straight. Aunt Shirley dozes in the lounge, and Jess and I stay with Dad.

The next few hours will remain forever some of the most memorable of my life. Sitting with my father and my sister, knowing that time is so literally almost out, I feel desperate to stay awake, to soak in every second we have left together. Jess and I cry, even sob, at times. Finally, we decide to make the best of it. First we talk about our favorite memories with Dad. She remembers things I'd forgotten, and vice versa, So we tell him we love him, and why, and tell him what he's taught us, and what we'll remember. At some point, we shift, and talk about the future. Jess tells him what she hopes to name her children, and I do the same. "We promise to tell them about you, Daddy. We promise to take care of each other, and of Mom." We recognize out loud that if we'd been a TV movie, we'd have changed the channel by now.

2:30am: After taking Dad's pulse, Army nurse says we should wake Mom, so we do. But Dad has no intention of dying yet, so we sprawl around his room...in hospital chairs, across the foot of his bed, on the floor, and take turns dozing. When morning comes, he is still with us, and we joke, wearily, about his stubbornness. Sometime in the morning, Brenda comes again. She tells us an amazing story about letting go, about the path toward death as a journey, and we all cry. Brenda, Mom, and Jess go out for lunch, and Shirley goes to pick up Bev at the airport.

While they are gone, Dad's breathing gets more sporadic. He has a kind of apnea, it seems, and stops breathing for a second or two or ten...and then breathes again. Brenda told us this would happen, And that it would indicate the end was coming closer. She said it would get worse until finally the space between breaths was greater and greater...and eventually, he would just stop.

2pm: Mom and Jess come back from lunch, and walk in with Uncle Harry. Harry says, "I'll go," and we tell him he has to say good-bye. So he does. "We'll see you, Dewey," he says, shaking Dad's hand. It is one of the saddest moments I've ever seen.

Jess has to run to the bathroom, just down the hall. Mom and I sit, listen to Dad breathe, then stop. Breathe, then stop. When Jess gets back, Mom has to go. While she's gone, Jess and I watch Dad wince twice to draw breath: it really seems to hurt him. Finally, mom gets back. She sits with Dad's good hand, on his left. I sit on his right, and Jess sits on the foot of his bed. We tell him we love him, that he can go...and he does. He just...stops.

Again, if it were a TV movie, it would be too ridiculous. But that's how it happened, how we got to say good-bye, and be with him. How we watched him die. I don't have a moral to this story, and I'm not telling you this for pity, or to make you sad. It feels good, somehow to share it. It was a gift he gave us, being able to be with him. He was a good man. I miss him.

All's Fair...

We're pretty boring. Just like last year, we did the Fun Slide...

 And the Ferris Wheel....

 This year, V did a few more rides on her own....

 Because she is almost 52" tall.

She rode this Ferris Wheel all by herself....

 And Shaun pointed and waved. I smiled tightly and held my breath a little. A lot. (hello to the random family walking past in this photo)...

It was a really good day.

The Mean Reds

I know it's been a long, long time, gentle readers. I'm sorry. I think everyday about blogging, but each idea seems to have already been done, or seems to require more energy than I have to offer. Today I decided I've had a bad case of the Mean Reds, and now that I've diagnosed myself, I can hopefully figure out where to go to calm myself down.

V likes to hang on bars in a dress her grandmother brought her from Mexico. She's quite the little gymnast lately, and has conquered monkey bars from here to Duluth.

V also likes to be pulled behind a kayak, preferably one paddled by her other grandmother. Lake Belle Taine has been a source of much joy for us this summer, even more than usual.

There's no real reason for this latest funk (aside from it being how I'm wired and all): we are all relatively healthy and Shaun starts a new (non-gas station, hopefully not only overnights; not that there's anything wrong with either of those things...) job on Monday. My summer class is the kind teachers dream of: 13 very diverse students, each one committed to learning and engaged in the work we're doing together. V is loving every second of summer and even Seven seems to be having a good time. It just is.

I'll work on untangling myself, and keep taking V swimming (above, at Great Aunt Linda and Great Uncle Ken's hotel in Fargo this week), and keep thinking about blogging. May your own mean reds stay far away, or come take mine on a vacation of some sort.

Ten years

Jess played "You are My Sunshine" on her guitar as my parents and I walked up the driveway into our backyard. Beth and Steve read for us, and Pastor Tim performed the ceremony. Afterwards, we all went out to  dinner to Timberlodge Steakhouse, and Shaun and I stayed in a Honeymoon Suite at Expressway Inn that I'd won at the wedding expo in January.  It was a fantastic day.

We all look like babies to me, now.

 Ten years ago today. It really doesn't seem like it's been a decade at all.

Then again, it feels like we've always been together. In a good way, I mean. I can't really remember life before. 

So much has changed for us, and our families. And marriage is hard, hard work sometimes. But this photo here, my favorite of them all, is still who we are.  Two dorks who really love each other very much. He is my sunshine, indeed.

For more photos and nostalgia, see here, or here. Or come on over and look at our photo albums.

Pretty is as pretty does

Even if I think something's not very pretty, I try to take a close-up of it anyway, especially if it's a bug. There is beauty in texture and seeing something familiar in a new way, no matter what. I tend to find Dragonflies infinitely beautiful, but this one was gigantic and sort of sluggish and overly fond of our trash can (above). I love the lace of the wing, and the focus point in this photo, though, and if I'd gone with my instinct (ew), I never would have taken this photo.

 

I have thoroughly photographed Army worms (see here, and also here), and they still make me feel kind of ooky, but I find them to be dreamy photo subjects. Look at those long hairs! And the electric blue coloring! So pretty. 

I am constantly stopping myself when I say "yuck" or "ew" in my head and making myself fish out my camera. It's a good exercise in appreciation. 

Summer excitement

Oh, bloggie. I know I've been away so long. V was done with school on May 31, and since then we've had so, so, so much quality time together. Like, so much. On Wednesday, my mom took V to Hendrum for a few hours and I almost ran away to be a Vegas showgirl. I had forgotten what it was like to not have a six-year-old with me every. single. moment.

I think about blogging every day, though! So you'd think I'd have some great ideas lined up for you! But you'd be wrong about that too!

Instead, just some photos from Friday's swimming excursion with the girl, the niece, and the nephew. And the grandma. And the dog.

Unplanned, all three kids brought the towels our friend Kathy made for them. Aren't they pretty, all lined up? Each with their name. I love them.

 V, having completed her first round of swimming lessons on Thursday, offered to teach her cousins how to swim.

 They looked on in appropriate awe.

 Seven got off leash at one point, and V and I followed him for 8 blocks before we caught him. So he was the same.

Trying to get a Christmas card photo is hard with a Grandma and three kids, because at least one of them is almost guaranteed to be crabby. But we had fun trying!

Lessons at 39.

I've learned two important things this week.

1. Do not take the dog along for a car wash.

 2. Even if it's only 59 degrees out, and you need to wear a sweatshirt to be comfortable,

let the girl run through the sprinkler if she wants to. She'll stop if she's cold, and she'll probably have a really, really lovely time.

Our song (Today is the 23rd of May)

My dad loved Bill Cosby, the Smothers Brothers, and Allan Sherman records (and other racier ones that we weren't allowed to listen to, as you can imagine). Still, it was my little sister who noticed, circa 1978, that both of our birthdays are in this Allan Sherman song. Twice a year, one of us calls up the other and sings our birthday song. I like it.  

Our song starts around 4:42. And the video is just a shot of the album cover and the vinyl, but I'm just lucky I found it online at all, peeps. 

I'll probably post more later today. Until then,and/or if not, happy birthday to me, Jeff Kolness, Diane Nelson, Barney Selzler, and the rest of us May 23rders. I think I'll go find me some liverwurst.

Name that flower!

I took pictures of some wildflowers this weekend, but I only know the name of one of them.  Why don't you show off your vast plant knowledge and educate me?

I think they're all pretty awesome, whatever they're called. As I came up out of the ditch, a woman walked by and said "You know, that ditch is full of poison ivy." Thanks for the (too late) heads up, lady. Still, I must've avoided those nasty leaves of three, because nothing itches today. And the ditch is clearly not FULL of poison ivy, because if it were, there would be no room for those pretty flowers.

First swim

The new yellow swimsuit, in action yesterday at Lake Belle Taine. It was windy and cool but she was sure she'd have fun. 

 She was right. 

 It was lovely weather for ducks, too. 

Seven looked on with concern. 

About ten minutes after she got out of the lake, the thunderstorms began, and stayed the rest of the weekend. I hope it wasn't because we offended Mother Nature by swimming before Memorial Day.

Thrift Score: V edition

Oh, summertime! So lush and green and hot and full of bugs. I finally signed V up for swimming lessons: they start in June. So the girl needs a swimsuit. Since she continues to grow at remarkable speeds (she looks like a 3rd grader, and the people at the Snap Dragon, where kids 6 and under eat free on Sundays, think I'm a terrible liar of a mother), last year's swimsuits will only carry her so far. Target has adorable swimsuits, I know, but they are at least $10 each. There's so little fabric, and for just one summer's wearing, I can't stomach it! (I did buy her a cute orange and turquoise one last year, so the girl knows that new Target smell of clothes. I swear I'm not depriving her). I buy almost all my own clothes at thrift stores, so I figured it was worth a try. At the same time, swimsuits, esp. for kids, often get worn hard, so that when I have found them, at Saver's, for example, the seats are usually too pilled or threadbare to be really worth buying. Knowing all this, I went to our local Boy's Ranch, hoping against the odds for something good.

And I was not disappointed! A brand new cotton dress, two new swimsuits, an Amelia Bedelia book, a music game for the DSi, and sneakers a half size bigger than her current shoes, all for under $20. I win!

A brief note about thrift store clothes: I know some people find it kind of icky to buy previously worn clothes, especially those that go right next to the skin, like under things or swimsuits. I respect and understand that reaction, but I don't share it. Well, I do for panties: panties should be a one-owner product. But brand new clothes are often covered in all kinds of germs and pesticides, and if you buy them in stores they were likely tried on before you got to them. Swimsuits, bras, and socks all strike me as worth saving money on if they're in good shape, and after a good washing don't bother me at all. Bake a pie, eat a pie, as it were. 

All thrift stores sometimes get new items donated, though, and if the hang tags are still on an article of clothing, I have no qualms about paying thrift store prices for a brand new item. The pink swimsuit in the photo, bottom right, still had the store tags on it, and it was a $24 suit, marked down to $3.99. The yellow one piece, above, still has the protective panty liner in it, and was donated by Target (which I can tell by the Target brand tag, marked through with a permanent marker), and was $2.99. The girl gets 2 brand new suits for less than the price of one! 

The shoes and dress were likewise Target donations, as was the video game. I don't normally buy V shoes when she's not with me to try on, because she wears braces in her shoes that can be tricky to fit. But she tried on some size 2 Converses just the other day, and though she didn't like the look of those (a boring pink pair), the braces fit just fine, and I'm pretty sure the addition of sequins and hearts will win her over to these. And if not, my little niece, a fashionista at only three, will love them in a few years. 

Whew. It was a big triumphant thrift store day for me, so I thought I'd share it with you. The book is already in the library, the video game in the gift closet (sh!), and the clothes are in the washer. Good luck in your shopping today, gentle readers! And happy, happy summertime.

Rage Against the Flying Machines

I don't fly much, because I am a simple, driving woman. But when I do, it's most often from Fargo, and most often to Vegas, which means I fly Allegiant Air. They have recently changed their carry-on policy, so that carry-on bags, which used to be free, now cost $24.99 in advance, or $34.99 the day of the flight. This would be fine, of course, if ticket prices dropped accordingly, but they haven't, and so this new policy really gives me pause. More than pause, it pisses me off. So I thought I'd find myself a way around it. From their website, passengers are still allowed one personal item free of charge. And I quote:

Examples of personal items include:

1. Male or female purse
2. Briefcase
3. Laptop computer
4. Camera case
5. Portable electronic devices of similar or smaller size to items listed above
6. The exterior dimensions for a personal item must not exceed 7" H X 15" W X 16" D (this measurement includes wheels, pockets, handles and decorations).
7. The personal item must be placed under the seat in front of you.
8. An oversized personal item may be considered a carry-on bag (fees apply).  Please measure your bags carefully.

So...if I were to have a purse or some other bag that measures 7x15x16 or less, including all hardware and handles and stuff, and I could fit all I needed for a trip in there, well, then, I would save myself $25.

I've been to Vegas three times, and each time we flew out on Monday and came home on Friday, so we spent 4 nights away. Now, camping for 4 nights and 5 days, I could wear the same clothes most of the time, and would only need to pack sunscreen, bugspray, and a few sandwiches. (You're not going to invite me to go camping with you, are you?) But in Vegas, I like to dress up a bit, wear a little make-up, maybe some earrings...could I pack for all of that in just a 7x15x16 bag?  I decided to try.

 I should mention that we have no real plans to go to Vegas right now: I'm teaching summer school, and Shaun's still got this new-ish job, and we're not financially in a position to wander off to Vegas willy-nilly. Quite. I'm working on it. Anyway, above, the bag from the side: you can clearly see it is less than 7" here, thanks to my handy Hendrum Grain Elevator yardstick.

 And though this one is harder to see, trust me that this side is only about 14". This bag is, by the way, a prototype, made with my less-favorite fabrics to just try out the idea/refine my pattern. The navy is very strong nylon, double thickness, and the zippers (there are two) are from our local hardware store, at 80cents each. If I make one again, I'm thinking of using a lovely sparkle vinyl, maybe.

 And this side is under 16". And it's packed. With everything I need for 5 days in Vegas. I swear!

The rear-end, measuring in at just over 6". Whee! But wait. Maybe you still don't believe me. 

 Here it is, unzipped for your voyeuristic pleasure.

 My liquids bag, in a front pocket for easy access. I've packed 5 prs of one-a-day contacts, a small tube of sunscreen, toothpaste, lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner, and my 2 inhaler canisters (which are technically considered liquids, apparently). It's all there, baby.

 Let me prove it to you: unpacked, above, are five shirts of varying sleeve lengths (I'll wear a lightweight jacket, because, though it's the middle of the desert, the A/C can be fierce in some casinos). I'd only need four tops, but I'm a sloppy woman, and I like to have options. The patterns on the shirts help to hide the sloppiness, too.

Basic things: my Nintendo DSiXL, which has 100 classic books locked and loaded; my sexy carpal tunnel braces; and my make-up bag, with my remaining make-up, my pills, and my Maalox, which mama needs in Vegas. And my eyelash curler, which is really unnecessary, but again, it's Vegas.

 But wait, there's more! Above: my swimsuit, a black skirt, a white skirt, a gray skirt, a brown pink and cream skirt, and brown pants. I could totally leave out two of those skirts and double up, but if I have the room, why not?

 Then, at the very bottom, my extra shoes (I'll wear the bulkier, less-practical pair on the plane), with my undergarments. That's right. I"m not afraid to post photos of those on the internets. And that is all. See? Everything I need for 5 days in Sin City. Not pictured: a small purse, which will easily fit, as will my camera and charger (I can't take a photo of the camera with which I'm taking a photo). And the cell phone and charger. Ta-da!

I feel vindicated, and if I ever fly to Vegas again, Allegiant Air is simply not getting an extra $24.99 from me.

Now I just have to convince Shaun to come with me. And we'll live happily ever after.

What are your favorite packing tips?

Wildlife photography

As a little girl, I was never squeamish around bugs. I rather liked them, actually. Potato bugs, though, were one of the banes of our existence, and the half-acre of potatoes my mother regularly planted were at risk, always, from these varmints. Our parents would pay us 1/2 a penny per bug, during peak season. 

 Perhaps because I had a hand in killing thousands of his brethren, this little feller showed up on my windshield one day last week. Instead of gathering him into a tobacco can with 1/2 an inch of gasoline, as was our wont, I just took his picture, and then drove him away from our yard, where he blew off somewhere near the fire station up the street. He's kind of pretty, though, when he's not decimating our winter's food source.

 In not really related news, this little inchworm found her way unto my shirt this afternoon. I know that inchworms can cause massive devastation to plants and trees, but I have no charming childhood story of massacre for this one. I just thought the baby inchworm was cute.

I took her outside for better light, got some extreme close ups of my thumb, and set her free. I hope she's not in cahoots with the potato bug family. I'll be so disappointed.