On Losing My Father

Last known photo of Arnold Zeiler

“This is the longest we have ever been apart…17 months.”  These were the words my father said to me when I first walked into his apartment on January 29^th.  I had planned to visit him last March when the pandemic broke out.  “Wayne, as much I want to see you, please do not come down, it is not safe.”  These words were repeated throughout the year.  While I did not want to catch COVID-19, I certainly did not want to be the one to potentially bring the disease upon my Dad. With the use of Zoom, we still managed to “visit” and share some semblance of in-house celebrations together.  I knew the words were not meant to make me feel guilty but a statement of fact and a sense of sadness we both felt.

Prior to this point, we had gotten calls from Alice, my Dad’s companion for these past 20 years, saying that she needed some help.  A number of years ago, our father had a series of back surgeries followed by a series of strokes.  This led to years watching as he “progressed” from walking on two feet, to using a cane, to relying on a walker, to barely leaving his house.  Regardless of the underlying conditions, we were all watching as his body began to slowly deteriorate.  I know that my family is not alone in watching a loved one lose their independence.   I have also been well aware that I had reached the age where I could have expected to have to help out with an aging parent.  Realizing and facing the reality of all this, however, are two different things. 

It became clear to my brothers and I that the time had come to determine the options to present to my father.  With decreased abilities and an increased potential for falling, we had all reached a junction where additional help would be needed.  We became the first line of defense, taking turns staying overnight.  I can honestly say that any sound heard throughout the night did cause me to think the worst.  24 / 7 care was needed within a short time as standing and moving with a walker progressed towards needing help to stand progressing towards using a wheel chair.

It is not easy to see someone who you remember standing tall, helping out when needed, provide guidance and giving support become the one who is now dependent on the help of others for the activities we normally take for granted.  Over the following 13 weeks, we watched the decline with the ability to stop the trajectory that his body was taking.  As sad as the situation was, we did receive an unusual gift.  We had all that time to reminisce together, share stories, laugh and cry together.  The 17 months my Dad mentioned when I walked into his place in Florida will pale compared to the amount of time from when he “left” until we get to be together again.  I will miss my father but I am thankful for the time we had together.

Period of Transition

Do we know when it is time to say goodbye?  On the other hand, do we know when it is time to say hello?  Our lives are filled with points of transition, whether or not we are ready for them or aware that they are happening.  Worse off, there are many times that we turn a blind eye to transitions, hoping to delay the inevitable and keeping things the same.  This is true in our work lives, our volunteer activities and most importantly, our home lives.  Sometimes, we have control of when a transition will take place and other times, we do not.

Many years ago, I was in Barbados for work.  Each morning, I was picked up by the same driver who drove me to the office that I was working out of.  Every morning, he greeted me with the daily weather report which always ended the same way.  What if every day was always like the day before?  I do not mean like the COVID-lockdown-every-day-seems-like-Groundhog-Day, but if we did the same exact routine each and every day.  We used to joke when we were younger that it was funny how cartoon characters never aged.  Think of the decades that Charlie Brown tried to kick the football Lucy held, knowing each time that she would pull it away.

Work, especially over the past year, has seen many people transition in and out, unfortunately aided by the pandemic.  Before that, how many of us had held on to jobs because we were comfortable? Many years ago, I worked for a consulting company when the entire marketplace (and their business) was contracting.  I sat there watching as people were being let go because there were no new assignments on the horizon.  I should have seen it coming, but I was not prepared when it was my turn to be laid off.  The transition occurred even though I was not ready for it.  Lesson learned – be prepared for anything and keep your head in the game, your eyes wide open and pay attention to what you are hearing.  Job/Role transitions do not always have to be a surprise. 

My life recently went through a transition, one that was impacted by another’s transition – the passing of my father.  Having been sick for some time, recognizing that he was physically failing, my Dad was prepared and ready for the upcoming transition from life.  When the moment came, he was not surprised.  Though saddened by the event, our family was also ready and prepared.  One transition can lead to another.  With eyes wide open and aware, transitions were made.  Some transitions leave us with an empty feeling, of a loss.  Other transitions lead us towards a sense of hope and opportunity.  How we face these are uniquely our own.  The key is to be aware of them and remember, this too is part of life.

The Caregiver

When we marry, part of what the person officiating says is to the couple getting married, as part of the vows, is that this is “…in sickness or in health…”  These are important words to commit to the person we marry out of love and care.  We heard this a few weeks ago when Monica got married.  We heard this 25.5 years ago when Debbie and I got married.  We heard this 11.5 years ago when Jeff and Magda got married.

The picture above is of my brother, Jeff, who we are very proud of.  Jeff belongs to the small, and sometimes overlooked, category of people called caregivers.  My first introduction to this group of special people came when we used to walk in the Relay for Life.  A caregiver is a family member who regularly looks after a child or a sick, elderly, or disabled person.  The program spent time talking about the caregivers, had a caregiver speech and a dedicated lap for them to walk.  Today, I want to take some time on one special caregiver – my brother, Jeff.

Last week, I wrote about the loss of my sister-in-law, Magda.  During most of her battle with cancer, Jeff did what any caring, loving husband would do.  He searched out the best doctors to provide the best care for his wife.  Whether the doctor was local, in New York City, or even in Houston, they went to provide the best chances for extending Magda’s life.  Last May, while visiting my dying aunt (also of cancer) in Florida, Magda lost her balance and fell.  Unfortunately, this was a sign that the cancer she had been fighting had begun to affect her lower body, and after that, Magda no longer walked.

When married and the times are good, it is easy to live by the wedding vow “…in health…”, however, the true mettle of the relationship is tested at times when “…in sickness…” is unfortunately added the couple.

Jeff immediately learned how to move and, at times, carry Magda.  You see, years ago, in one of her surgeries, Magda had ribs removed.  While this resolved the crises at that point, she was left with constant pain.  Moving her, Jeff always had to consider how to place his arms.  My brother still needed to work, so for the month of July and August, he had daytime help – Gab (proud of her for helping).  As the summer ended, and the need to still work, Bec (proud of her) helped find and hire an aide.  Even though Jeff was the around the clock caregiver, he still needed to work and run errands.  Last year, Magda wanted to do a girls trip to Aruba.  Debbie (proud of her), was the caregiver on the trip. 

The sad thing about cancer is that, unless you are in remission, you continue to deteriorate over time.  This meant that Jeff had to take on more roles.  Laying in the same position, whether a bed, a chair or a couch, can lead to sores.  Jeff had to become the nurse.  Over the last six months, I cannot begin to list out the different things that Jeff learned in caring for Magda.  It had reached the point where no family member could help for more than a few hours.  For Jeff to go on an errand, play hockey, have band practice, etc., someone had to be with Magda.  Jeff went above and beyond what most people would do for a spouse.  Caregiver, aide, and nurse – due to the level of care provided, he learned to survive with little sleep.  When we had band practice, there was the walkie-talkie on the music stand and the running up between songs to check on Magda.  Towards the end, Debbie, or other friends would sit with Magda so that Jeff could play, as this was much needed down time for him.

When asked about bringing in more help, Jeff responded, “I want to spend as much time together as we can.” That is devotion; that is the commitment one makes in the wedding vows when they say “…in sickness or in health…”  Jeff tended and cared for Magda right up to the end.

As a family, we are all pulling together to care for the caregiver that gave so much of himself, in a truly selfless manner.  We still need Jeff in our lives.  I do not yet know if there is a cure for a broken heart, a salve to ease the pain of loss, or an ointment to make happy memories not bring on tears.  What I do know, is that like the way Magda leaned on Jeff, it is now time for Jeff to lean on us.  We are proud for the example that he provided and we will be there for him while he goes through the tough road ahead.

Another Angel Got Her Wings

Somewhere, on June 28, 2017, a bell rang a 10:41 am.  “Every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings,” was the famous line said by the angel ZuZu in the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  So, I know a bell rang somewhere.

Growing up, my parents had a clock in the foyer of our house that needed to be wound every couple of days.  When it ran, it kept great time.  You could tell when it was time for the next winding, as the clock’s time started to slow down.  All one had to do is take out the clock key, insert the key into the slot on the clock’s face and after a few twists, the clock was back on track.  Without someone to help (wind) the clock, it would slowly wind down its life, getting slower and slower until it stopped completely.

I remember meeting Magda about 30 years ago.  She was part of my brother Jeff’s group at Fairleigh Dickinson University.  I know that after they graduated, Magda, while still Jeff’s friend bounced in and out of his life.  Then one day, she was back in and then like a spark, their friendship rekindled at a higher level.  I am always amazed at stories where two people knew each other and then years later fall in love.  Someone recently pointed out to how this story validates the old adage - If you love someone, set them free; if they come back, it was meant to be.  It was great to see my brother so happy and Magda was truly a great addition to our family.

They say that as humans, we understand the concept of time and our movement through it.  However, we only really know and live in the now.  Yes, we have memories of what came before (filtered through our own prisms) and expectations / desires of what is to come.  But at the end of the day, we live in the now.  Magda believed in living life to the fullest, even after being diagnosed with cancer, even after the surgeries, even after the chemo, etc.  She still traveled, went to concerts and really lived life.  In Magda’s shortened life, I would venture to say that she experienced more now moments than some people live in a full lifetime.

We all know about the law of attraction, yet to see someone that unconsciously embodies that spirit is amazing to see.  Magda had the natural ability to be friends with everyone she met.  For the holidays at their house, we never knew who would be invited as a new friend.  A close friend tells the story that every time Magda visited, she would come with a well packed handbag filled with gifts for whomever she was visiting; plus a few extras just in case, as Magda did not want anyone to feel left out.  This is a great analogy showing how giving, loving and caring of a person Magda was; everyone that knew her has an experience, an expression or a simple Magda moment that they carry with them.  She was full of life, loved living it to its fullest and encouraged others to do so as well.

Magda was a strong, brave person who found a way to stare death in its face and continue to live a full life and, sometimes, exhausting life (especially to an outside observer).  A number of years ago, during one of the battles she won, she told Debbie in all seriousness not to be fooled, one day she would no longer be here.  FIFTEEN YEARS - through which she had numerous surgeries, chemo, radiation, etc. – she always had the brave face on, always was concerned with others, always lent a helping hand, and always gave us wonderful stories to remember her by.  

There is the theory called the Butterfly Effect, simply stated that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can be felt around the world.  I had the chance to see this in practice.  Over the weekend, one of Magda’s friends had reached out to her friends in the global community – the Middle East, Europe and South America.  Everyone felt the desire to connect celebrating this person that touched them so deeply.  At 12:00 pm, New York time, a global moment of silence was held.  I could feel the chill up my arms at what this meant, the impact of a single person on the lives of others.  This was a most amazing moment to behold and a true testament to what Magda meant to so many people.

The hands of time finally caught up to Magda.  The doctors could no longer find the right key to wind Magda’s clock back up.  And as with the clock in my parent’s foyer, this precious being slowly wound down.  Though I am crying as I write this, I know Magda showed us how to live and to focus on what is important.  She is at peace now, no more quiet suffering.  Thank you for being a part of our lives…You will be missed, but gave us so many wonderful memories that you will forever live on in our minds and in our hearts.

Farewell to Temie

Final Picture May 5, 2016

 “Wayne, come over and see what I am seeing,” said Gillian, the hospice nurse.

Things were stable for the moment, so I had the opportunity to cook Debbie and I a steak, sauté some potatoes and onions, and wilt some spinach.  I had just put the dishes in the sink.  We knew that it would be a long night and had thought…no, we had hoped that my aunt, Temie, would make it through another night.

I walked over and noticed the change, or in the terms the nurses used, a transition in the way Temie was breathing.  Previously, each breathe was reflected in the gentle rise and fall of her chest.  Now, it appeared as if each breath emanated from her throat.  “I got the dishes,” said Debbie on her way from the living room, starting to head down the hall to the kitchen.  “Let it go, it can wait.  It is time.” I respond.  To which the nurse responded, “Yes.”

Debbie sat on one side of the bed holding Temie’s left hand, while I was mirroring her position holding her right hand.  It was strange to see someone, who only a few weeks earlier was filled with boundless energy and always in motion, to be lying still on her back.  As the moment drew closer, I said to Temie that I believe that her sister, my mother, will be waiting to greet her, along with those that have gone before.  Debbie and I said our goodbyes and, after a few seconds, as Temie drew her last breath, told her we loved her.  “Rest in peace, until we meet again,” were the final words I said as the tears ran down my face.  I heard a sniffle as the nurse turned away mentioning something about paperwork.  Afterwards, Debbie confirmed that she heard the sniffle too.

This was the fifth time I have been in this position.  I have heard, “It must be tough on you,” “Isn’t it creepy,” etc.  It was neither of those.  When you love someone or are very close, being there for them at those final moments is precious and kind of beautiful.  When my grandmother died, my mom told us she was alone and that she always felt bad and asked that someone always stay with her when she knew she was dying.  I was there when the moment came.  No one should be alone when the moment arrives.  The hospice nurses told us, that unfortunately, that happens more than we would think.

And, as for hospice?  Temie made the right decision.  The group of nurses that we saw over the last few weeks showed a high level of compassion (i.e., the nurse sniffling), care, consideration and comfort (to us).  They are the unsung heroes that dedicate their life to providing an atmosphere of comfort and dignity during those final days.  They watch and monitor the situation around the clock and have the knowledge and experience to know the various signs and phases we go through as we near the end of our lives.

I am sad my aunt is gone, but happy for the life she led.  She was a liberated woman before it became fashionable.  She lived life on her terms.  For a small, petite woman, she lived life large, calling the shots all the way to her final decisions on how to end life.  In the end, there was no pain and she went peacefully. While Temie is no longer physically with us, she will live with us in our hearts and minds.  As Tasha Yar said in one of Temie’s favorite TV shows, Star Trek the Next Generation, "Death is that state where one lives only in the memory of others, which is why it is not an end. No goodbyes--just good memories." 

One Day, You Too Shall Pass

This past summer, while we were in Dublin, we were waiting on a street corner for a tour bus to take us on the adventure for the day.  About a foot away, in the street, was a group of pigeons pecking happily at the street.  The cars drove around the pigeons as they went by, until all of us watching (and not watching) heard a loud popping sound.  Gab and Bec went pale as it took a few seconds for the entire crowd to realize the sound went along with what we saw – one of the cars rode over one of the bird, and the popping sound was its body.  The other pigeons scattered immediately, and then about 5 seconds later flew back to their same spots and continued pecking at the ground as if nothing had happened.  We tried to make light of the situation, but there was nothing humorous about seeing a life blotted out in that manner.  The short-term goal was for this not to become a traumatic event and ruin the day. 

In the midst of all of this, a little child walked to the end of the curb, pointed at the mess on the ground, and began to ask innocent questions, fascinated by what happened.  The “adults” all tried to hide the child’ eyes and change the topic, only to have the youngster break away and look at the dead pigeon.

The interesting thing is that child most likely saw death for the first time that day.  There was no tempering of society, religion or family to dissuade the child from being aghast at what they saw.  Here was a circle of life event, natural all living beings on this planet, yet minimally discussed.  We have a tendency to make up euphemisms for things we are uncomfortable to name outright.  For example, we have a friend that referred to a certain body part as a WooWoo, where the “oo” part rhymes with mu-mu, instead of the longer train sound.  Euphemisms for death / dying / dead include:

• He’s in G-d’s hands now
• She has passed
• They’ve gone to a better place
• Rode off into the sunset
• They are with the angels now
• Sleeps with the fishes
• He bought the farm
• She is on her last legs
• Take the last train to glory

Really?  If you look at that list, or any similar one, the phrases, taken at face value, would be humorous. 

Last Tuesday, Debbie and I went to a panel discussion with her mother on how to discuss death.  The basis for the panel was that we tend to avoid this conversation.  I have made no bones about it (pun intended) to our girls that when I die, put me in a plain pine box and stick me in the ground.  However, we did not have a discussion on where I end up, how the ceremony should be held and the what-ifs related to me being hospitalized and unable to make decisions for myself.  Most of us do not want to die.  Most of us do not want to see other people die.  Most of us do not want to focus on death.  We value life, so death, as the absence of life, is not desirable. One point that the panel made had a big impact on me – when faced with heroic measures / resuscitate decisions, do we decide what is our best interest or the patients?  At some point, we all have to face that tough question.