Catching you up

March 3, 2009

from March 17, 2008
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Dear friends,

I just wanted to let you all know that my Dad passed away (in the full sense of the phrase) on Sunday, March 2, at around 4 p.m. March 3 was his 82nd birthday.

I can't fully describe the peace that I feel in the midst of all of this, but I want you to know that God is good, and his mercy has been so evident in the past few weeks.

My Dad has had his share of ailments throughout the years, from an irregular heartbeat to C.O.P.D. (chronic bronchitis from 30+ years of smoking), but he has escaped death so many times (even survived falling face-first into a pile of dirt off a two-story roof) that we became convinced that God had more for him to do.

In the past few years, Dad's memory had been diminishing, but the cause was not officially determined (we think it was the beginning stages of dementia). However, it was all a part of the aging process, so we were not really alarmed. Last month (around January 19), my Dad got bronchitis and was sick for two weeks. One evening, he got up in the middle of the night, turned all the lights on, and was wandering around the house. When my mom found him, he said, "I'm lost." Although we were not certain if it was due to the sickness or dehydration, it was apparent that his dementia was getting worse. We tried to keep him hydrated and help him gain back his strength, and after a couple of weeks, he seemed to do so.

Finally, on Superbowl Sunday, I was spending the night at my parents', and I heard my dad get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When I didn't hear him return to his room after he left the bathroom, I went to check on him; I found him in the front room sitting in the dark. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "Well, I went to the bathroom, so I figured I'd follow through." I began to get very worried.

The following Thursday, I talked to my mom on the phone, and she said, "They call dementia 'The long goodbye.' " I felt like I was losing my dad before he was gone. That day, I cried a lot, but God kept bringing songs about hope to mind:

"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have called you, and you are mine.
Seek the face of the Lord and long for Him; He will bring you his joy and his hope."
- from the song, "I Have Loved You," by Michael Joncas

"You would think now hope would be tired, but it's alright.
You would think tired, ragged, and oil brown, but it's alright."
- from the song, "Go," by the Innocence Mission

The next week, I went to my Monday night prayer group and walked in as they were discussing Lamentations 3. Lamentations was written by the prophet Jeremiah after he saw the destruction of Jerusalem (which he had warned Israel about). Despite the desolation all around him, he found the strength to say: "This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope: The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the Lord.... For the Lord will not reject forever, for if he causes grief, then He will have compassion according to His abundant lovingkindness." (Lamentations 3:21-32)

The day before Valentine's Day, Dad was on the phone with my brother John, when he started talking gibberish. My mom and sister Patty asked him if he could raise his arms, and he could not (this is a sign of stroke). They called 911, and after the doctors checked him out, they determined that he had a T.I.A. (a mini-stroke) although there was no apparent sign of a stroke in the MRI or any damage to his brain. He came home on Valentine's Day, and started running a low-grade fever the next day. We figured it was because they had given him a pneumonia shot in the hospital, but after a few days with a temp of 99, his temp spiked to 102. When his breathing became labored, we rushed him back in to the hospital. The doctor said that he tested positive for the flu, and that the fever had sent him into congestive heart failure, which led to a heart attack. During this hospital stay, which lasted a week, the doctors discovered that his heart was quite damaged. This was a surprise to us, for as far as we knew, the heart attacks he had experienced (including the current one and one he had ten years ago) were quite mild. However, given his dementia, open heart surgery was not option, because they would have to interrupt the blood flow to the brain during the procedure, so after surgery he would most likely be completely out of it. As it was, there were days in the hospital that he couldn't even finish a sentence, because he would forget what he was trying to say. As the doctors said, "When the body is sick, the mind is sick;" and in a person with dementia, it is even more pronounced.

Dad struggled to get better in the hospital, and on Monday, February 25, they discharged him. We had a visiting nurse and a physical therapist come to help complete his recovery, but after five days at home, Dad's breathing became very labored again in the early morning hours of March 2. His lungs were congested, because although we kept asking him to cough to try to clear them, it was as if the dementia made him forget to cough! Mom called the ambulance again, and as the EMT's came in, they asked him his name. "Wild Bill," he said. "Did he say 'Wild Bill'?" the EMT asked. "Yeah," I laughed (for his name is Jack). They proceeded, "Okay, Bill, we're gonna put this oxygen mask on you to help you breathe...." My Dad was a comedian to the very end.

My oldest sibling, and sister, Patty, and my oldest brother, Mike, followed the ambulance to the ER. Although Dad still might have pulled through at this point, the doctor was very candid with them about the shape his body was in; it was just a matter of time before he caught the flu or some other sickness that would tax his weakened heart and lungs and send him back into congestive heart failure. I texted some friends and people from church and asked them to pray; at the end of the message I wrote, "God have mercy."

Midday, Patty and Mike returned, and then the doctor called; it was looking pretty grim, and we would have to decide if we wanted to put him on full life-support or if we just wanted to make him comfortable. Dad had a living will, so we decided that if he was going to pull out of this, it would not be by artificial means.

Before we went to the hospital, I hugged my brother Stephen and cried, "We've been so lucky!" for the past ten years with my Dad have been truly blessed: Four years ago, we discovered the house my grandfather was born in (and my great-grandfather built) on Cape Breton Island in Arichat, Nova Scotia. In the Spring of 2006, Stephen and my brother John surprised my Dad and bought it. Since then, Dad has traveled up to visit the house five times (a beautiful historical home right on the ocean) and was able to make memories there with every one of his children. If you would like to see pictures and hear more of the story, visit: http://www.flydesignstudio.com/arichat/index.html

When I got in the car with Patty and my mom, I said, "I'm ready to let him go." My sister cried, "That's a miracle, Cari! If you can let him go, (being the baby in the family) then we all can!" In room 303, Dad's eyes were closed and his breathing was as bad as ever. They say that the hearing is the last thing to go, so we held his hand, told him we loved him, reminded him that his sins were forgiven, and that God keeps his promises. ("God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16) We even put a laptop on his lap and played a video that my niece Abi had made of his 27 grandchildren wishing him a happy birthday. We didn't know if Dad would pull through, or, if he was going to die, how long he'd hold on, but we didn't want him to be alone, so we decided we'd take turns staying with him. Stephen and my brother Paul volunteered to take the first shift as many of us had barely slept the night before. So at about 3 p.m., the rest of us went home.

An hour later, there was literally 18 of us in my parent's living room (me, my mom, Mike, Patty and her three children, my brother Jeff's wife Wendy and their 10 children--yes, 10). We began talking about what we would do if there was a funeral but agreed that we might be jumping the gun. Dad had pulled through so many scrapes before, and he might do so again. I said, "If there is a funeral, it is going to be the best funeral ever, because so many people love Dad!" Minutes later, the phone rang (as it had been doing all week), and Patty walked into the room with the receiver to her ear. "Okay," she said with her hand on her chest. When she hung up she said, "He's gone; he's passed." And we all cried together; IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. We cried and talked about how lucky we were to have had such a great Dad and Papa and how we would miss him, because we loved him so much. My niece, Katherine (8), said, "I'm gonna be miserable all week!" I assured her that this was normal, and she went on to say: "We're so lucky we still have Nana!" Touche.

I think when I heard the news I actually breathed a sigh of relief. It was so difficult seeing dad go in and out of the hospital and not knowing if he was going to live or die. Certainly, I did not want him to die, but I wanted him to be either well on this earth or well in heaven. In the end, my prayers were answered, and I knew that this was God's mercy for my dad. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the news, I was able to say, "This is both the saddest and the happiest day of my life." My dad was at peace, and so was I.

Here is an excerpt from my journal dated February 11:

"I can't tell You how thankful I am (in light of recent developments with my Dad) for the memories I have of our drive to Arichat in 2007. It is one of the MOST PERFECT and MOST BEAUTIFUL memories of my life. I cannot find flaw with it, for You have allowed me to preserve only the good, priceless moments and that is the feeling THAT LINGERS. It's so delicious, if it were a fruit, I would be remiss not to eat it. It may be one of the greatest gifts You have ever given me. Thank You. I am also thankful for the opportunity to let my heart overflow for my Dad. I'm sure I won't be able to say everything I ever wanted to say, but it will be a start."

He knew we loved him, we knew he loved us, and he loved Jesus.

What else is there?