perhaps today is the day

we just got a call from the ryan house that dad's closure here on earth could be anytime.  his blood is no longer traveling to his extremities.  we will keep you posted.  please keep dad in your prayers, that his transition will be as smooth as it is meant to be.

love to all,
k.

hallmark therapy

tonight i did something i've never done before.

i bought myself a greeting card.  i've gone to the movies alone before, but never this.  tonight i said, why not?  everytime i go to walgreens and wait for a prescription, i peruse the cards.  i love the artwork, the sentiments.  i think of the people i love, and try to find a card that would be perfect for them.  sometimes i buy them, sometimes i just find the right fit, smile, and then put them back in their proper place.  the ones i buy, i rarely send.  maybe someday i'll be organized enough to get them into the hands of their intended owners.  somehow, though, at least at this point in my life, the picking of them seem to me to be the main point of it all.  strangely satisfying.

well, tonight, i found a card that seemed perfect for what i would say to myself if i wasn't me.  rather than smile and part ways, i snagged it.  it belongs on my refrigerator, among the collection of precious cards that others have sent me since my dad's illness.

in today's world of online communication (which i LOVE...no stamps, no strain to make it to the post office!) cards are old-fashioned and nearly obsolete.  which makes their arrival in the mailbox all that much more meaningful.  and sometimes, they're the only way to say what's on your heart.

so here's what i have to say to me tonight: 

May God not only lead you

beside the still waters,

may He give you a good long drink

of his SPIRIT.

May He fill your cup

to overflowing

with blessing

after blessing

after BLESSING.

Thinking of you

and praying

you'll be refreshed by

GOD'S PEACE

in your life right now.

Ahhhhh, see what i mean?  that's good stuff!  after recovering from the sheepishness of it all, i've actually come to the conclusion that i've just stumbled upon a great idea.  try it sometime!  your prescription will be ready before you know it.

________________________________________

Dad continues to hold on.  I continue to be grateful for the extra time.  CHERYL IS COMING TOMORROW!!!!!  How this Canadian continues to be so available to us Phoenicians, i'll never know.  but i just can't wait.  i'm ready to share this time with my sis.  my big sis, who always knows what to say, and how to help.

xoxo to each of you!  you mean so much to me.

k.

the week begins with changes

hello dear friends and family!

i've missed being here over the weekend, but wow time with best-friend-from-kindergarten laura was amazing.  i may have the opportunity to share some details from her trip (and contemplate the beauty of historic friendships), but for now i thought i'd focus on dad's current status.

i'm actually here right now at the ryan house, using their computer down the hall.  and anxious to get back to him.  so, brevity will work best for now!

monday night, dad's status changed and he entered into what i am now understanding is the "emminent death" process (the typical patient status that inpatient hospice is responsible to support).  so, thankfully, he is able to stay here at the ryan house and complete his journey.  what a privilege to participate in a natural death process.  it's still a lot of work for dad (dying is not easy on the body!), but oh so fitting and so good. 

i'm starting to think a lot about heaven.  and, thanks to my sister (who has warm-hearted, practical thoughts on the matter), it's beginning to seem like a glorius near destination for dad.

like cheryl says, we'll never have to say goodbye.  only "see you later, dad."

much xoxoxo to all, always!

k.

p.s. check out beth's beautiful comment on the last post, "hmmm how time flies."  jonathan found himself a treasure!!  thanks for your time and open heart my dear bethany!!

hhhmmmm. how time flies

well, already the Ryan House is beginning to talk to us about placement.  can you believe it?  i knew the time would pass so quickly, and from day one i have known to soak it up. 

once Dad stabilized from his bleeding incident on saturday night, i've seen the signs that his decline, while notable to us family members, is still not fast enough to warrent his ongoing stay here (the average length of stay is just 4-5 days).  i spoke at length with a very kind nurse tonight (wow, how can EVERY SINGLE ONE of them be gentle, and kind, and knowledgeable, and.....companies could learn a ton about hiring strategies from these guys!!).  She followed my lead in my line of questioning on dad's behalf, most of which tonight focused on placement plans.  she helped me realize that the role of inpatient hospice is really to be problem-solvers; they don't just give people a certain number of days to die and then if they don't, they're out (which is all the further i've understood up to this point).  rather, their job is to take in patients whose situation creates a need for more information or support.  once the unmet needs are resolved, and the family is prepared for what's next, they are discharged.  oftentimes during this process, the patient dies. 

the clarification helps.  her explanation highlights an additional facet of the role of their work beyond the understood dying part...another reflection of their care and competence to navigate the complex reality of the dying process.  but whew it sure creates more challenge for us.  dad has to sustain another transfer (i'm counting at least 7 since may 15th), and mom and i have to do more placement planning.  at this point we have only spent the "logistics" portion of our energy this week preparing for the details of his death (mortuary, casket, autopsy, burial site).  To plan the logistics of further life?  well, on one hand it does feel precious to have more time with him, on the other hand it feels like more pressure to try to get it right.  there are so many variables, it is most demanding to sort out all the necessary pieces of information.  and as you can probably tell from my posts, the Ryan House feels so safe, so simple, so just what we all need.  it's scary to be thrown back out there without their specific, perfectly-trained, family-centered, here's-how-to-create-comfort support.

which is why daniel's post on his own blog today was so perfect for me tonight.  (you can get to it by my Family Bloggers! sidebar link, "cadet daniel's briefings").  i'm tired, struggling with the "me-ness" of what i want for dad (more time in a nurturing, comfort-focused setting).  and here comes the youngster, prompting his online followers away from themselves and toward the truths tucked inside the Lord's Prayer.  ok!  wow.  try getting outsmarted by your kid brother.  feels good (but don't tell him that).

ok, so i guess i'd have to vouch for his blog.  kinda a lot going on in the heart of that cruisin' lab rat.  glad he's deciding to open it up so we can peek in.  i like what i see.  bet you will too. 

laura comes tomorrow!

goodnight and more love than you know,
k.

maybe daniel's onto something

so, i check into the blog before heading out to see dad this morning.  i note that daniel's taken a moment to address my sadness that he and jonathan will end up with so much less of dad than cheryl and i had (see sept 2nd "family love, again").  turns out he feels dad's presence every time he goes to class.  i don't know if he's just trying to make me feel better, but it works, sort of.  but still, i think, how does HE know?  you can't know to miss what you didn't have, right?

well, then tonight i run into these photos.  suddenly i'm struck by the sense that maybe cheryl and i don't know what WE were missing.  true, we got a dad who was in the height of his military career, and loving it.  but daniel and jb got a dad who was there everyday, to teach them the little things.  an axe here, a snapper there.  having an older dad may mean you spend more of your adulthood without a dad physically by your side.  but, from the look of these photos, it seems like dad made good use of his retirement time.  seems he treasured these boys, up close.  Hands on.  If time is love, perhaps all of us phil bruce kids are doing okay.

good night all.  xox k.

family love, again

ok, who knew that the dialog of a couple of every-day-great guys could bring a little tear to your eye?  well check out dad's guys: his son daniel, (gotta read aug 12, entitled welcome!) and jonathan and darren, son and son-in-law, respectively (aug 30: our weekend update).  about the homework thing, i get it.  one of my best high school memories was also surrounding dad and math.  i'd come home, lay my pre-calculus assignment on the dining room table and go find dad.  he'd take a quick look at it and say with some hesitation, "i'm going to need some time to brush up on this."  i'd head up to my room, expecting to have half the night to talk on the phone (after all, it's not simple algebra we're talking about here!).  not five minutes later i'd hear his booming voice calling up the stairs; he's fully ready to teach me everything i'd missed that day in class.  SO, MY BROTHERS....please know that some of my grieving curve is filled with you both, how you'll not get the same opportunities to soak up dad like cheryl, darren tim and i have had.  perhaps his legacy in some strange way can be fuller for you because he's left such a strong part of himself in each of us.  And truly, no one lives out unconditional family love (dad and grandpa's specialty) like those two big brothers of yours.  even if their sports of choice ARE a bit sketchy (hockey for the northerner and UFC for the arizonian).  xoxox always and forever!!

ok so today was another great dad day.  his voice is diminishing (we're almost back to a whisper) and his sputtering seems to be increasing. but happily, he continues to be alert throughout the day, and can still relate with us.   He continues to make quite an impact on those around him, even people new to his case.  An example:  take the music therapist who comes to see him this morning.  his nurse gives me the report when i first arrive (my first stop before going to his room, so i don't walk into any surprises.)  the therapist comes in to play her harp, and sing.  dad starts singing along.  and then, he is moved by the music, and he begins to cry.  and then the nurse and the therapist are holding his hands, one on each side of his bed.  and then everyone is crying together.  as she tells it i realize she is touched by the experience. it's a little hard for me to know for sure -- she shares the story in such a gentle, breezy way.  her words are brief, and then she moves on.  if i wasn't reading her face, i would miss it all together.  it's what we all seem to do around here:  we feel difficult things deeply, but quickly.  to linger in our thoughts with one another would be adding excess burden to the other's heavy reality.  maybe here, during our countless brief encounters with strangers, we're learning a healthy way to grieve.  embrace the moment, then move quickly to the next.  i see it like a gentle breeze.  It messes up your hair, but it doesn't ruin your day.  

oh, dad's tears.  in all the posts i've done to date, i've not yet mentioned his tears.  partly because they're so, well, confusing.  and so special.  a privilege.  i've felt the need to put proper voice to their presence, to do them justice.  don't know that i'm the one, actually, to paint the truest picture (karli, maybe?  or perhaps erica?  or katie?  you three have all been so amazing to absorb dad during his tears.  thank you for your strength!).  but i can say this.  it's not just one or two that escape down his cheek.  it's many.  and as they come, it looks like his heart is literally breaking.  so if you don't put them in a breezy place, and fast, your own heart will likely break as well.  i first encountered this form of his neurology last friday in icu.  thanks to mom's preparation i knew in advance that, with his aphasia (word finding difficulties) and his underlying dementia-like process, it's not possible to uncover the thought processes behind them,  and its not possible to help him work through them logically with him.  so the first time i saw them, i quickly found this wonderful place just below his right collarbone.  as soon as the tears begin, i say these words, in exactly the same way:  "ohh...daaad!!!" then as i lean around the hospital rails i find that cozy spot.  sometimes he can lift his arms up around me, sometimes not.  and i'm rambling about hugs, how great they are, how everyone needs to cry sometimes, i love you dad, it's gonna be okay....and then i'm breathing deep and slow, so he can feel the rate and pace of my breaths.  sometimes his breaths begin to match my own, and it seems to quiet him more quickly.  other times, his silent sobs seem to have a path of their own.  in time, they diminish and i brave a sneek peak back at his face.  if he still is weepy, i then make a choice: i go back into the hugging / crying / breathing sequence, or i change the tone of the room completely and work as quickly as I can to help him shift his brain to something new.  There appears to be no one best way to navigate this process, as different things have differing effects for him at different times.  So i just go with my gut and try to do what seems best in the moment.  but always, i feel the privilege.

i love to hear what you all are thinking:

WHAT DO WE NEED IN LIFE WHEN SORROW STRIKES?

to cry it out?  or to change the topic?

what works best for you? one, both or neither?

for my dad, i believe it's impossible to know.  it could be frontal lobe damage (creating an emotional phenomenon known in stroke and head injury circles as "lability": intense emotional responses that are much stronger than the true emotions of the individual).  or it could simply be dad's unique way of processing his fatigue and end of life reality.  or a mix of both, or neither.  Because of his ongoing confusion, there's so much that he cannot express or understand.  but i'm willing to act as though these emotions are his own...just in case they are the true reflections of his pain.  it only makes sense to offer him the same things that always work for me:  tears, more tears, human touch, and yes, a few good cartoon characters who make me forget my troubles for awhile.  (that acorn-chasing squirrel in ice age seemed to do the trick for all of us tonight.)

ok i end with one last thing: best friends from kindergarten.  they're not so easy to come by, are they?!  mine is coming to see me saturday morning!!  all the way from florida, two full days of travel so we can spend the weekend with each other and with dad. you have NO idea how thrilled i am. I JUST CAN'T WAIT!  i'll always remember my call to laura when dad was in his "brain death" status in icu.  i called her because i simply had to talk to HER.  no one else would do.  i didn't really consider why i had to call her, and only her, in that particular moment.  in my shock and pain i'd forgotten the truth of how interconnected we are; how one life affects another.  laura's immediate grief took me by surprise -- and then when she articulated her feelings i got it: my dad is her second dad.  yes.  of course. and her dad is mine.  we feel each other's losses, and they become our own.  that's what true friendship is all about.  all you youngsters....can you imagine it?  a friendship that is 33 years old.  she will feel my losses in a way that no one else can.  her bravery to face this monumental loss before its fully gone is sacrificial friendship in the highest form.  spending time with her spending time with dad will likely cause my grief curve to heighten, and deepen.  which in turn deepens us as daughters and as friends.  33 years, and counting.

Isn't life cool?!

xoxo tonight, tomorrow, and beyond,
k.

family love, once again

ok who knew that the dialog of a couple of every-day-great guys could bring a tear to your eye?  well check out the guys in Dad's life...his son Daniel (Post #1, ) and Jonathan and Darren, son and son-in-law, respectively (  ).  So cool to read.  I'm with you on the homework theme!  One of my best high school memories was indeed, bringing pre-calculus homework to the dining room table and saying, "Dad, can you help me with my assignment tonight?"  and he would glance at it briefly and say with slight hesitation, "I'm going to need some time to brush up on this."  Expecting to have half the night (it was tough stuff, you know!), I'd go to my room to get started on another project.  Not five minutes later he'd be calling up the stairs, fully ready to teach me all I'd missed in class.  Somehow, in his case, his smarts translated so easily to my sense of security.  Perhaps it's because he so generously shared them with all of us.  SO MY BROTHERS...about that grieving continuum you both have so eloquently discussed.  a big chunk of my linear curve is knowing you two won't have your Dad to help with all your crazy engineeering assignments.  And that he can't help you growing into your 30's, and 40's. Perhaps his legacy can give you the sense of learning to love a family unconditionally...like both your dad and your grandpa did, every day of their lives.  it's quite a giftxox

Okay, so today was another great dad day.  He does seem to be choking more on food, and his voice seems to continue to be getting weaker.  But he can still relate with us, and his impact on those around him continues: An example?  here's a great one:  I go into the Ryan Home this morning and stop at the nurses' station and ask, as I usually do, for a dad update.  They say he's had a busy few hours.  Most notable was the visit from the Music Therapist.  She was singing, playing a guitar I believe, and Dad starts singing along.  Then his nurse (a brand new one, with no prior knowledge of Dad's amazing-ness) says the music seemed to move him and he starts crying.  And she and the music therapist are each on one side of his bed, each holding a hand, and now they are crying too.  She was gently touched, it seems to me.  Kinda like I was trying to explain last night.  How everyone feels deep things quickly here in hospice, like a light and gentle breeze.  This way, it doesn't topple you.  Can't tell you how wonderful it is to know he's feeling those gentle breezes across his skin when mom and I aren't able to be there.  we are being so very well cared for here. 

Oh, Dad's tears.  Despite all the posts, I haven't talked about them yet because each time I am summarizing the day there are too many things to put out there, and this feature of Dad's current status is so, well, confusing.  And special.  I'll save the imagery for another day, perhaps.  Or maybe Erica, or maybe Karli, or perhaps Katie, three precious people who have supported me here can paint you a picture.  (Thanks to each of you for absorbing such a tricky thing.)  But the basics are this:  Dad's neurology creates a predisposition to tears.  Not just one stray tear but lots of them.  It's enough to make your heart break, so we each find a way to comfort him without letting it break ours.  I have found this perfect spot, just below his right collarbone, that feels cozy.  Just before I lean in and over for a big-time hug (not always so easy with the hospital rails, but we get by) I say, the exact same way each time, "oh...dad!!!"  .  Sometimes he can hug me back, and as I rest my head on his chest, I tell him that perhaps a hug will help, and that I'm so sorry he's sad.  I breathe slow and deep and often he matches my breathing.  this helps to diminish his silent shoulder sobs.    i let a few moments pass, then i pull away and brave a peek at his face.  if he's still sobbing i'll either lean in for another round, or i will shift gears and try to change the topic.  after days of this (mom says he's been doing it daily since a week ago sunday; i've only been working with it daily since the icu last friday.)  i figure we all need different things at different times, so why not switch it up.  Since he has word finding difficulty, and an underlying dementia-like thought process, it is impossible for him to express the cause of his tears.  And quite impossible for us, or anyone else, medical staff included, to know if it's his way to process his situation, or simply evidence of frontal lobe damage and not indicative of any true sadness (in the stroke world, this is called "lability").  sometimes i think it helps him to just cry it out; other times i think shifting gears is more helpful.  have no idea which he'd prefer...so i just go with my gut in the moment.  as sad as it is, i've gotten used to it and i mostly just cherish those hugs. and the combo breathing.  if you go breezy, you can keep hanging around. 

last of all tonight:  best friends from kindergarten.  they're hard to come by!!  mine is coming to see me this saturday and i am BEYOND THRILLED.  when i told her about dad's brain death status back in july, she was deeply saddened, and easily admitted something that had actually slipped my mind somehow:  Dad is her second dad.  As hers is mine.  and dad is the first of our four parents to suffer extended illness.  how precious that she is willing to face this tragic, if still inevitable, loss.  we get two full days together.  i believe my griefing curve will heighten, and deepen, in her presence.  because of her, i get it: loyalty is what gives friendship its staying power.  for her and me, it's 33 years...and counting.

thank you for all the time you give as you come here for updates.  time is a wonderful gift to give someone in their final days and weeks.  maybe tomorrow i'll tell my dad how many people are honoring his life each day.

love and more love,
k.
k.