Death: A Memory

Today marks four years since my Dad, Pastor Bob Hallquist, passed from this life. I miss him, a lot.

October 16, 2009 my daughter, Courtney, and I traveled from Pasco, WA to Bourne, MA on Cape Cod to visit my dad. He'd been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease, ALS (Damn Yankees!) Dad was in a rehab center and was scheduled to be moved home within a few days to Pennsylvania. Mom was working to see how he could be transported at the time. That was pretty much the hold up. Regardless, Dad was doing pretty good, all things considered. The month before when the diagnosis was made, all my siblings, Steve, Shea and Dave and some of their kids went to visit Dad. Unfortunately I was in the middle of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest at the time, camping with my husband, Roy, and our kids. Because of the miss, I'd told Dad and Mom I'd come in October. Courtney decided she'd like to accompany me, and I was thrilled with the opportunity to travel with her.

At the time that the promise to travel was made, it was thought that Dad had a number of years of suffering in front of him. ALS is a hard disease, taking one's abilities, slowly and cruelly, starting with the greater motor skills. I was in a great state of anger at that time. My dad was larger than life and I hadn't signed up for this! As October was marching on, though, I'd learned through my brother, Steve, that it appeared that the disease was much further along than we'd originally been told. Steve told me in confidence the week before my trip that he didn't even think Dad would make it to Thanksgiving. I was dashed. I just wasn't ready for all of this. It just made my trip to see Dad that much more important and precious to me.

So, on the 16th, Courtney and I left Pasco, I don't remember what time, probably late morning. Regardless, it was after 11:00pm EST when we finally arrived at the rehab center, in the beginnings of a New England Nor'easter with rain and wind. Mom woke Dad up, much to my chagrin, to let him know I'd arrived. We said hello, and I told him to go back to sleep, that we'd talk the next day. I learned that lesson of life about never counting your chickens before they're hatched.

We took Mom and traveled to my Aunt Elaine's house; she lived in Bourne. She'd invited us to stay there for the few days we'd be visiting and she was helping my mom with the problem of transporting Dad to Pennsylvania, working her connections. So, the next morning, we had a leisurely breakfast while she and Mom made phone calls and we all caught up on each other's lives. We finally got our acts together, got cleaned up and out the door to see Dad. It was late enough in the morning that I was beginning to feel anxious to get to the rehab center to see Dad. I hadn't seen him in, I think, four years, and I was certainly concerned about the upcoming month or months. I wanted to talk to him.

Dad's voice was always booming. It didn't matter to me most of the time. He was a great joker, told wonderful and funny stories. But after all the fun and joking, there was Dad the Wise. He was a very discerning man, a man of God, a caring, loving and forgiving man. I just wanted to hear his voice, to hear him say, "Baby, it's gonna be alright." It's the one thing I would never hear, his voice, clearly, again.

While driving to the rehab center, just maybe 10 minutes or fewer away, Mom got a phone call from the center, telling us not to come, but to go straight to the hospital in Hyannisport. Dad had coded. His heart had stopped, but they'd revived him and sent him to the nearest hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital, Dad was in the emergency area, intubated, not able to talk. NOT ABLE TO TALK! The one thing I wanted more than anything was to talk with my Dad. That was not going to happen again with any normalcy. He tried to speak to me that day, with the tube down his throat. He attempted to say, "I love you." It ripped me to pieces. I couldn't imagine the amount of pain he'd endured attempting to slip those sounds past his lips, but they meant more to me that day than any day ever before in my entire life.

Dad's next stop was ICU. If I remember correctly, he had fluid in his lungs, I believe the onset of which was his aspirating a toast crumb or something a couple of days before. This whole episode had weakened his lungs and his diaphragm. The ALS was working on his diaphragm.

You know, you don't ever want to think about the day when you may have to make the decision to take someone off of life-support of any kind. Apparently my Dad didn't ever want any of us to have to make that decision either. He'd made it for us. See, Dad could have lived longer, if he was willing to live on a breathing apparatus of some sort. But he'd made the decision that he would never spend more than two days on life support of any kind. If he couldn't sustain life on his own, then his time was over. That was that. And as he laid in his bed in the emergency room, and my oldest brother was able to visit him, he looked him straight in the eyes, and held up two fingers, reminding Steve of what he'd told him previously. Steve knew Dad meant business. The two days was so family could gather and then he was to be taken off of support.Well, Steve complied with Dad's wishes. We called all the family together. Roy and the rest of our kids flew to Massachusetts as soon as they were able. My sister and other brother; we all got there.

Dad ended up being on life support via that tube for three days due to some Massachusetts law that required them to attempt to remove it and then put it back in place if the person was distressed in any way. (It's all a bit blurry, but that is what I recall.) So they did that and we had to wait another day. On the 20th, Dad's breathing tube was removed and his BiPap machine put in it's place. I thought he'd be on it for a while and decided I needed a break.

I went downstairs to the Hospital coffee shop with my daughter, Alanna, and then into the gift shop. We'd taken about 15 minutes to drink coffee and talk about the happenings. While walking through the gift shop a heaviness passed over me, like literally above me like a dark cloud. I don't know what that was, and really I don't care. I just know that I took one look at Alanna and said we had to get back upstairs immediately! When we got to the elevators, a family member had just come down looking for me to tell me to get right into Dad's ICU cubicle.

When I walked into Dad's cubicle, my mom, my brothers and sister were all there. No other family was allowed, as we'd previously decided. It was a shock to see my dad. Most color had drained from his face, his previously deep pink lips, very pale. And his BiPap was gone. Nobody realized I wasn't there when they decided to go the next step and remove all breathing assists. I got to the room to witness my dad take his last four or five breaths. It was surreal. I wondered if it was really happening. My mom, a pillar of faith, had believed for a miraculous healing, crumpled and sobbed. I think that was the worst moment, seeing Mom lose her mate of almost 54 years. I have to say though, Mom being Mom, was able to gather herself up pretty quickly and speak in normal tones again. Stalwart is a good word to describe Mom.

We looked at our dad, just a shell of the man we knew and loved, and we laughed. Yes, we laughed. Our dad was nothing, if he wasn't a joker. He'd faked a "death face" more than once over the years. I had no idea if he knew just how accurate he'd gotten it. I took one look, pointed it out to my brothers, and we all started giggling. Then we stopped and said how bad and supposedly disrespectful we were being, but then we laughed again. We knew that Dad would not have minded one bit, being the joker he was. Laughter was the one thing that had always brought us together over the years. We grew up in a household of laughter.

And so, on this fourth anniversary of Dad's passing, I just wanted to put some of my thoughts in print, remember the day, honor my Dad. I've missed him a bit more than normal of recent. Some things in my life have caused me to want to call him and ask for his wise words. In fact, embarrassingly, someone recently shared words of wisdom with me from their own father and I burst out crying. It was very sudden and unexpected. I apologized, explained myself, and thanked that person for sharing as well as mentioning to them the importance of valuing that wisdom for it being readily available.

I can say that as time marches on, I both don't miss Dad as much and then again, I miss him more than ever. I've told friends before that I planned on learning every day of my life, even the last day of my life. I figure, if nothing else, I can learn how to die gracefully. I never expected that I would be shown this by example, but my Dad did that for me.

Thanks Dad. I love you too.

Un-jumbling the Jumbles

Some days so many things happen to me that I feel like I've lived a whole month within the few short hours that are "today". Today has been such a day. 

Being Sunday, today started out with my getting ready for church and heading there early as part of the Worship and Arts Sound Team. My getting there early today seemed, however, to be impeded at every turn; pieces of clothing I'd planned on wearing were missing, others didn't fit right all of a sudden. I have a propensity for 3/4 or long-sleeved black crew neck or mock turtleneck tops. Even though I own several, I have a favorite. I think it might be in the laundry. The other top I picked in my mostly dark room was a new one I'd found on clearance at WalMart, not my favorite store. The top was long enough, but the arms were five inches past my wrists. Uh, I strongly dislike sleeves that even cover my watch! So, just getting ready was a challenge. 

Then, there's the puppy. You don't just walk down the stairs in my house and out the front door. There is a four-legged fur-kind to be dealt with, a 4-month old mini-Schnauzer named Duchess Georgette Bauer, aka Georgie, aka Gigi, aka George (named the same day as the future British King, and current British Prince.) Nope, Georgie needed to get her wiggling body out of that pen and she needed to go outside, so out back we went for her morning constitutional. That accomplished, I hugged her (I've been accused of replacing my youngest with her. It's just not true, I aver.) and headed out the front door to my car, only to discover my key was not with me. Back into the house, checked the key basket. Nope, not there. Up the stairs to the bedroom. Fortunately Roy had awakened already and fished my keys out of his pants pocket from the pair worn yesterday. Finally I was on my way.

So, I arrived at pre-service rehearsal a good 15 minutes late, ugh. Things were already moving along so I took my place and did my thing, which I enjoy immensely. My cohort Holly and I were on a roll today. She owns the sister of my puppy. We share "baby" stories all the time. (I have NOT replaced my youngest with my puppy.) She's making ewok costumes for them to wear for Halloween. (No, no I'm NOT!) Anyway, we've been having a grand time discussing and laughing, all while mixing sound, and taking care of other responsibilities. It was a great time. 

Somewhere in the midst of this, I caught the eye of a friend of my husband's, mine too, but he knows him better than I do. He came over and we chatted about this and that. Do you ever have a sense that a conversation is life-changing? Not able to go into details at this point in time, but I feel that conversation today will be life-changing for me. I've had a quiet excitement considering some of that conversation throughout the day, a real high.

During all of this I was thinking of my youngest, Maddie, competing to be part of this year's competition team at her culinary school. The try-out occurring during this time. I was so scattered in my thoughts, it was a little crazy. 

After church my son, Danny, and I headed to the store and bought some items for a special repast once we were all home together. We came home, put away a few groceries and Roy arrived home from the second service of church that he'd attended. We told him all about our special purchases. Then we discovered that the Smoked Salmon spread and the fresh Pico de Gallo requested at the fish and deli counter of the store had certainly been packaged for us but never handed over, our special meal being turned into a lesser snack. lol...it was still delicious. And Roy, being the wonderful guy he is, later in the day found himself at said store and purchased the two items he thought we'd mentioned, smoked salmon spread and seviche. Close, very close. 

I had some work that needed completing for a payroll weekend. Problem was, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I needed a nap. I succumbed and took a 2-1/2 hour nap. Ah Sundays. I love a good Sunday nap! Once up, it was time to get to that work, though, so I did get to it. 

I forgot that my phone had died and I had it plugged in upstairs. Apparently I'd missed a call from Maddie because she texted her Dad to let him know about it.  He later delivered the message that my daughter would like to speak with me. So, up the stairs I went, turned on my phone, newly charged, and found a voice mail. Imagine my shock when the voice on the recording wasn't hers but was my mother's. 

From that point my day changed. My mom had some not-so-great news about my sister-in-law, Nadya, a mighty, mighty, strong-charactered woman who's been fighting stage 4 breast cancer this year. All I know is that she wasn't responding well this morning and her son took her to the hospital while my brother tried to find accommodations for their younger son, Nadya's nephew and adopted son, Ilya. Ilya lost his mother (Nadya's only sister and sibling) and father in a car accident not quite four years ago and has been living with Dave and Nadya and Vasya for the last three years now, I think it's been. 

Finally this evening we got to talk to Maddie on the phone. She thinks she may have gotten on the competition team. We'll hear tomorrow. 

And that's life; highs, lows, in-betweens. Things pull me up and down, tug at my mind and heart, sadden me, madden me, gladden me. In all of it, I've had one constant, and that is my God; His steadfastness, His trustworthiness, His mercy, His grace, His favor, His comfort. I rely on Him and His goodness to carry me over and through all of life's challenges. It's because of Him that I lay my head down every night and sleep the sleep of the peaceful. It's because of Him that I know that the things that concern me have an answer, whether I know it yet or not, I know it'll be revealed. 

So, tonight I close out my day with a statement of my belief because it's what is me. My belief in the Almighty God is what settles me, brings absolute peace to my life in the middle of any trial and storm. I'm not apologetic about my belief in God, His son Jesus, the Christ and the Holy Spirit who lives in me, guides me, teaches me and comforts me, and un-jumbles my jumbles.

Acknowledge - Ten-four Good Buddy!

Today's date, when typed in numerical format, is all about acknowledgement: 10-4. 

Having grown up in the 1970's, the great age of the CB radio (that stands for Citizen's Band, for you youngin's), my mind immediately starts replaying C.W McCall's "Convoy" (Convoy). My Dad's handle was Marryin' Sam, taken from Lil Abner's Sadie Hawkins preacher. <--that's just a random aside, memories of days gone by. 

Anyway, back to Ten-Four/copy that/Roger. Those words are acknowledgement of words spoken or actions taken. How many of us go about our days really, really wanting someone to acknowledge us, our person, our existence, the fact that we exist and breathe air? I think most of us desire that in a great way, others maybe don't much care. All I know is that I like acknowledgement. I like knowing someone's paying attention to me. I like that.

How does one acknowledge another? Perhaps you could try looking them in the eye. I know this is a very brave thing to do, because in so doing, you chance them looking back into your eyes. And given that eyes are supposedly the window of your soul, you risk being seen, truly seen, pulled from your own place of hiding. You might be drawn in or drawn out. You may meet with eyes that are almost dead, and you may be who causes light and life to enter them again. 

Another way to acknowledge is through touch. Have you tried touching someone on the arm, on the shoulder, patted them on the back. These various touches acknowledge an understanding or an empathy for another one's current plight in life. It can mean, "I love you", or "I hurt for or with you", "Hey, job well done!" An appropriate hug goes quite a ways also. 

So, today, "ten-four good buddy" someone. Be genuine. Change their life, and change yours.

Death and Life, in that order

There is a verse in the Bible, "I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels--a plentiful harvest of new lives. (NLT)", that points out that unless something is buried and dies, it remains just singular. But in allowing the seed to be planted, then the option for life, expanded and multiplied life, occurs. 

I experienced a kind of death. I'd sent my last child to college, left her there, planted at culinary school. I thought I'd handled things well, until we'd finally arrived home on September 30; that's when I wanted to dig up the "seed" and see if it was growing, taking root. Not being there with my daughter, hearing all of her wonderful and insightful commentaries on everything going on with her life, left me feeling bereft, adrift and somewhat without focus. I was exhausted, beyond myself. My husband hugged me, made tea, listened, watched with genuine concern. (I love that guy!)

She's not my only child; I have four, one is still living at home (although not for much longer.) But this one, this is my youngest, the one most like myself, no less, the "baby". If all four of my kids read this, they'll understand I love them all equally and individually. I love who they've all become and are becoming. But this particular change has been different than when they struck out on their own. When they left, I always knew I still had this one at home to pour into. (And no, the new dog does not replace the youngest kid.)

So, September 30 I felt a little bit of me had died. It was hard. I just needed to go to bed. I have found when dealing with death, the best thing for me is sleep. Sleep allows me to put things away and start anew the next day. Sleep is such a blessing. And on the other end of my sleep that night was October 1, a day of birth and life. 

Nine years ago on October 1, I left being a stay at home Mom of 21 years, and entered business ownership. I opened a cart business in the mall and proceeded to work at least 13 hours a day, 7 days a week, for the next 15 months. After a few days into this new schedule, my husband sat my then 9-year old daughter down and told her they needed to make a menu and make meals or they were all going to starve, or something to that effect. Our youngest had already shown a propensity for the kitchen at an early age, so this idea didn't seem out of place. 

Sometimes our life's path doesn't make sense. I have wondered at times why on earth I jumped on that business so fast, why God allowed me to take that path, which was both fulfilling and painful. So many times it hasn't made sense and I've wanted to turn back the wheels of time and do over, deleting that action. However, today I have skills I never had before. Why? because I learned hard lessons. And those hard lessons prepared me for my current employment and promotions and positions within that employment. My husband retired early. If I hadn't gone that route, what income would our family have at this point in our lives? So many variables, so many questions, so many lessons.

So, on October 1, 2006, whether she knew it or not, a chef was beginning to be produced out of necessity. Mom stepped aside, doing her own thing, right or wrong, and God was molding something in a young girl that would take her places unexpected by her family nine years later. October 1, 2013, that girl took her first culinary courses at the Oregon Coast Culinary Institute (http://www.occi.net/), a birthday of sorts. I'm celebrating!

I'll finish off with another Bible passage, Psalms 124:3-5a: …3Behold, children are a gift of the LORD, The fruit of the womb is a reward. 4Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one's youth. 5How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them;".

Today, I'm a proud and happy Mama. I have four wonderful adult kids, all going in so different and right directions for each of them. I am looking forward to the times to come, and the unfolding of more treasures for each of them. One does not supersede the other. One is not more talented or more important than the other. One is not more loved than another. One's purpose is not greater than the others'. 

It's a new day. It's a new life. Fly straight and true. 

And oh yeah, your Mom. @;-D