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Remembering: February 28th, 2009
Sunday, February 28, 2010
I had woken a few minutes before with a sense of panic. I would like to think my subconscious heard him saying goodbye. I went to his room and Uncle Manny was reading him the lords prayer. I kissed Dad's head and went to lay back down. A few minutes later Uncle Manny called us into the room and I knew.
Michael Rico died on February 28th at 3:42am. Surrounded by friends and family, Dad left this world and went home. I'm not exactly sure what his home looks like, but I know it isn't here anymore. We all lay next to him in the bed for a long time. My father in law said a prayer, and it was reverent and perfect.
The reality of what was happening saddened me. I was beginning to sense the subtle cold that was already taking hold of his lifeless body. People always say lifeless, but I never fully understood what it meant until I saw it, and felt it. It's an emptiness in the air, like an unnatural winter. And it's just as cold. His body stayed there for longer than anyone was comfortable, and I fear it took its toll on Uncle Manny.
This next part is difficult to write and I fear even more damaging to read. When the men in suits came to get him (they really were in suits), Dad wore a stiff frown. Because of the frame in his bedroom door, the stretcher was unable to be rolled into the room. Dad had to be carried to it. Upon realizing what that meant, I ran from the room and I am better for it. Some things a daughter just can't see. But poor Uncle Manny had to help, and this is when he broke. You can't always hear when a person breaks, but you can see it in their eyes. If they are the window to the soul, then what you saw when you looked at Uncle Manny was a storm of detrimental proportions.
Once the men made their arrangements for when I would come see them, I closed the door on one problem but was quickly being overrun by so many others. Uncle Manny had collapsed right outside Dad's bedroom. Unable to return to the room, but unwilling to admit what happened and leave. It was as though his spine had become overwhelmingly dexterous and he could circle in on himself. He just kept saying:
He was my brother, my baby brother
I on the other hand couldn't stop moving. Dad liked a clean house, I had to clean. Time to strip the bed, start the laundry, do the dishes, sweep the floor. All I kept thinking was that he would be upset that the house wasn't clean. The house was clean, I just couldn't see that. I literally ran around for 20 minute before I finally collapsed in his closet, holding the new sheets with tears streaming down my face.
It was the smell of his cologne, and innocent wisp had caught the air and targeted my nose. I had been flooded with memories, and the pain was almost too much to bear. It had attacked me so surprisingly that my knees forgot how to keep my body upright. One of the most powerful memories I have of my Dad was how he always smelled so nice, I think he even sprayed his business cards. Later, at his funeral, I would spray him one last time with cologne. An innocent gesture that had the same impact on everyone that mourned with us that day.
More family arrived that day, and minutes turned into hours. I began having to play the family politics game, and I hated it. I had to pick out a casket, my Dad's final resting place and I hated that even more. My friends and loved ones offered me comfort, but I wore my brave face all day. I had suited up in the shower that morning, and my armour was thick. I had to be the strong one, lead by example. I think some perceived it as me not being as devastated as I was, but it was the only way to make the decisions that I had to and stay sane.
This day will be in two parts, because it felt that way.
Shortly after 2am, I had to help Dad out of bed so he could use the restroom. I had decided the night before to just sleep in the same bed so he didn't have to yell to wake me in the mornings. He seemed very disoriented, like he couldn't focus, but I assumed it was a combination of the morphine I had to give him and being sleepy. In fact, it was his bodies reaction as it was slipping into a coma.
After only a few moments, I heard a sound that made me shoot out of the bed. Dad had fallen. I tried my best to help him up, but he was quickly becoming more unresponsive and was unable to help me. In a moment of panic, I called several people including my husband asking for help. It was my grandma that yelled some sense into me and said to call the fire department.
I laid some pillows down for Dad and covered him with a blanket. He just looked through me. I lay with him on that bathroom floor until I heard the knock at the door. As the firemen came in, I quickly explained what had happened and that he was terminal. They were amazing, lifting Dad from that cold floor and placing him gently in the bed.
As I arranged blankets around Dad, I saw what had until then escaped me. He was leaving us, and it would be soon. His face was vacant, except for a small sadness of final realization. I don't want to remember that face...
My husband arrived a few minutes later and together we faced death head on. It was a terrifying moment, and I could not have handled it with anyone other than Micah. I've always called him my light and in that moment he was keeping away so many dark shadows. As I lay next to Dad and held his hand he began to look up at the wall opposite him. It was like someone had just come through the roof, and he could see them.
He looked panicked, and it pains me to use that word. I think it was the panic you feel knowing that death has come for you. He would squeeze my hand intermittently for a few moments and try to speak. His head would sway, and his eyes lost focused. After what felt like hours, his eyes closed.
This was too much for a pair of twenty somethings to handle, and my husband called his parents. I don't know when I feel asleep, it was probably a few hours later. I knew I should call Uncle Manny, the hospice nurse, Elizabeth but none of them could save him and I just wanted to lay there with my Dad.
Later that morning, my coffee came with the confirmation that Dad had entered a hepatic coma and it wouldn't be long now.
I decided that day that other people in Dad's life deserved to say goodbye to him. I had been given weeks of wonderful memories, but I wasn't the only one that would miss him. My sister was on her way, as was Uncle Manny. So I began calling people, explaining that he could hear them and they should say goodbye. I wanted him to hear that he would be missed, that something would be missing from this world with him not in it. I would put the phone on speaker, and shared my grief with others. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and it is something I am most proud of.
Micah's parents were amazing, and I am so thankful they were there. They made sure the house stayed a home, filled with love and support. There was so little Dad could control in this process, but in that moment I realized how his house had changed in just a few weeks. I was glad we were there. The Coopers helped with so much that day, including finding a priest to perform the anointment of the sick. Together, along with my sister-in-law Natalee, we prayed with Dad for the final time. It was an amazing moment in that bedroom.
As people called that day, I gave them updates. I encouraged as many that could to come over. I had used the word peace all that day, when people would ask what they could do. I thought if I just kept saying it, maybe it would come. And at that moment, you can't really tell people how to help. They just have to guess, and while that is completely unfair, most of them get it right.
Elizabeth arrived by noon that day, and she was lost. Children always sense that they will probably bury their parents, its simple math. But to be almost 18 and see death on the face of your father is a terrifying reality to live in. She was old enough to feel the full weight of what was happening, but young enough to not be ready for it. Uncle Manny arrived at 8pm, and I explained in detail what had happened. He removed his shoes, pulled up a seat next to Dad, and didn't leave his side until the end. It was a touching moment between brothers, and I was sorry it had not happened sooner.
Some friends and fellow soldiers came over to say their final goodbyes, and it was a beautiful moment. They started telling hilarious stories about Dad and his antics. We laughed beside him, knowing he would be equally embarrassed and proud about the stories we were telling.
As it got later, we knew the time was coming. His breathing was more and more shallow, and his heart was slowing. Someone was always by his side, ensuring that when he went he wouldn't be alone.
I slept in 15 minute intervals, trying to calm my anxiety since there was nothing to do. Once everyone had said goodbye, I said to Dad what I thought I could never say. I explained that it was OK for him to go home, that we would be fine. I confessed that I didn't have all the answers, but I was good at learning and I would do my best to not let him down. I let go of my Dad that night, hoping he would fly away home.
This was the day that dad said his final words to me. Only I didn't know that was what they were when he said them. They were simple, and escaped him light as air.
I just want to get some rest. Goodnight, Toria.
Nothing too poetic, no real sense of him saying goodbye. I was preoccupied with making some mashed potatoes that he would never eat, washing clothes he would never wear. I turned his oxygen on that night, and kissed him good night.
The day had been filled with sleep. As I explained the events of the day to my husband that evening, he recognized what it meant and packed an emergency bag. He would need it sooner than even he expected.
As I walked quietly through Dad's house, I should have felt his shifting from the land of the living to the realm of the dead. I should have heard those that, in just a few hours, would appear by his bed to retrieve him. But I heard nothing. I wonder if that is how it is for the living, so connected with life you can't see the end that is coming for us all?
Dad would stir every once in a while with shakes, and I would pile blankets and sometimes myself on him to keep him warm. I was heating blankets for his feet in the dryer and then switching them out. His temperature hovered at 96.2. I know because in my attempt to distance myself from what was happening, I took diligent notes like how I thought a nurse would. Some stranger who wasn't invested in the outcome of this losing battle.
One bright moment was when I shared something a family member sent to me. It was a heartfelt email that was meant to express in words what Dad had meant to them. And it did, as Dad readjusted himself and fell back to sleep I noticed he was smiling. I like to think his last dreams were filled with old memories of less trying times.
Amazing, that is the only word I can think of when I remember this day. Where Dad was able to triumph above his fragile, expiring spirit and was proud of what he had done with his life. After 29 years of service in the United States Air Force, TSGT Michael Rico was retiring.
He woke up with very little prodding that morning and had no hiccups until well after everyone left. Dad and I had trouble finding an outfit for him that was comfortable, we went with a blue and white button down (untucked for comfort) and blue pants. I forced him into his slip ons because at that point they were the only shoes he could wear.
Although Dad looked as sick as he was, his smile was bright and hopeful. Kipp, who is an amazing woman, was our military liaison and helped organize the day. Dad's fellow soldiers piled out of a van in their military dress blues, and stood at attention outside the front door.
The ceremony itself was not terribly long, a presentation of a flag and medal shadowbox was done. Dad made a short speech, and in it he explained that while he didn't know how long he would still be with us, he was going to keep fighting. With these words, everyone in the room was moved to tears. He was a dying star letting out his last bits of light for the world to see.
After everyone left, a friend of Dad's took some pictures of Dad, Elizabeth, Micah and myself on the couch. While these pictures show how difficult it was for Dad to smile, they are still one of my favorites. To my knowledge, those were the last pictures ever taken of my Dad.
Later that night, after everyone had gone home and it was just me and Dad again, he decided it was time to prepare his own dress blues for their final wearing. We laid them on the bed and together we pined his name, pressed his tie, and made sure his shoes shined. I did most of the work, making the process take much longer than necessary. I was in no hurry though to lose that moment. Dad beemed with pride, and it was the most life I had seen in days, or would see ever again.
This was the day before Dad's retirement ceremony and I was very busy. I was cleaning, ordering food, making sure my sister was coming, and so many other things. Dad was feeling ok that morning, but he spent more of the day asleep than awake. He would follow me into the room I was cleaning, make himself comfortable, and then fall asleep. Sometimes he would be right in the middle of explaining the best way for me to do something when I would hear him snoring.
Early that afternoon, the hospice nurse came by to check Dad's vitals. As I watched her brow furrow, I became increasingly concerned. While Dad had been remarkably peppy five days ago when she last came, his disease was quickly taking hold. She was glad his retirement ceremony was the next day. After we convinced Dad to take some oxygen and rest, she and I shared a moment in the kitchen. I looked in her knowledgeable eyes, and asked her how it would happen. She explained in detail how his ailments were going to be too much for him, and as I remember the words now they are still hard to digest.
One symptom of his degeneration was his hands shaking. It began innocent enough, a small tick here, a slight twitch there. Now, it was like his hand was predicting where it might need to be minutes ahead of time. I was concerned about how to hide it when his friends were there the next day. I decided I would just hold his hand, and be his physical and emotional support.
After the nurse left, I decided to call Dad's brother, Manny. The first day I had moved in with Dad, we had made a list of who to call when things got bad. We never defined what bad meant and I decided this was it. When Uncle Manny answered, his voice sounded so strong and similar to what Dad's used to sound like I immediately began to cry. Dad had chosen not to tell his family that he was no longer receiving treatment, explaining that they would worry and want to come out. I recognized how difficult it was for Dad to let people see him the way he was, so I never argued. But after what the nurse had said, it was time to explain things.
I gave Uncle Manny a brief synopsis of what the nurse had said, and asked when he could come down from North Carolina. He spoke stream of consciousness, already preparing how to move things around so he could be there on Saturday. As I hung up the phone, I felt glad that I had called. I knew Dad would be upset, but I would take it as it came.
Then Dad's phone rang, and kept ringing all night long. A few hours later he was awake, and yelling in Spanish that I had overreacted and everything was fine. Needless to say, he was very frustrated with me. I called Uncle Manny late that night and explained that he should just surprise Dad Saturday.
In hind sight, I should have made Uncle Manny come down that night. Maybe then he would have been able to speak with his brother before he slipped into a coma. But I decided to not push the issue with Dad, it was his decision.
There was a final bright moment before Dad went to bed, and it was while talking with my grandmother. During this whole process, I spoke with my grandmother everyday. I wanted my grandparent to speak with Dad so he wouldn't be mad at me anymore about calling his brother. As the conversation turned serious, I heard my Dad say something so wonderful I will never forget it. He said:
She has a big heart mom, and I'm so proud she is my daughter
In those 14 words, my Dad made every difficult moment that had happened and even those that I couldn't imagine yet, the least I could do for him. After a lifetime of him taking care of me, it was my turn. Dad was also acknowledging that at the end of this, I would be the only one left and I would have to bear the whole burden. And he was sorry for that. In that moment, I have never been more proud to be my Dad's daughter.
This post includes one of my favorite moments with Dad, and not just because it involves ice cream. Dad's diet was limited and depended on a delicate balance of pain medicine and luck. Late that afternoon, Dad had decided that he wanted a Strawberry milkshake from Baskin Robbins. Well, the closest one was 40 minutes away. So, we hoped in the car and Dad drove us there.
This was the last long drive Dad and I went on, and I think somehow we had known then what it meant. Dad had always been a driver, and he explained that he was comfortable in the seat. So we drove and talked about all kinds of things. I asked him what his favorite place to visit was (Rome), what his favorite song was (Bad to the Bone) and other such markers. I didn't know it then, but I was looking for other ways to connect with him once he was gone. Little things that would flood my memory with his smile and laughter, maybe make the heartache not so sharp.
By the time we got to Baskin Robins, Dad could only have a few sips of his milkshake so I did what any daughter would do and helped him finish it. This day was also filled with hiccups, hours and hours of them! I scoured the Internet for some sort of remedy, but all I got were half-hearted suggestions and very strange ideas. The hospice nurse explained this was likely being caused from the cancer that was now spreading like wildfire. So, we just kept Dad dehydrated, oxygenated and calm.
By now the television had been delivered so we watched Shooter on bluray. If you have never seen this movie on a huge television in bluray, you are missing out! You could see the grass moving on the screen, you could see individual facial hairs! It was nothing short of amazing and Dad loved it!
This post comes with a disclaimer: What happened on this day was not my idea, but I did enjoy it. Dad woke up this morning with some spring in his step. We had found a good routine with his pain meds, and he was tired of being in the house. So, what did he want to do? Go shopping. My Dad always loved buying things for me and my sister. It was difficult for him to be around with any consistency after he and my mom were divorced, so I think it started as him wanting us to have things around that reminded us of him. Plus, he always liked to have the best, and for us to have the same. I will admit that I did not object to this. So at breakfast that morning, Dad and I made a list. His main goal was to make his house more livable. He had only moved in a few months before then and had not spent any time making it his own. I packed up Dad's medication, and out the door we went.Dad was still driving at this point, much to my dismay. I didn't put up too much of a fight at this point since I knew how much he enjoyed it. Our first stop was Fry's electronics. Dad had decided that after 10 years of watching a small tube television, he was going to get a nice flat screen. He sauntered back to the department with me in toe and explained: I want the best Samsung television and blu ray player you have. After the saleman realized how serious Dad was, he began moving very quickly. I think the excitement had drained Dad, so he sat down on a couch in front of a television and told me to take care of it. Thirty minutes later, we left with an appointment for them to deliver the tv and more than a few blurays for Dad to watch. I really think he enjoyed the spontineity of it all. I know Dad understood what limited time he had to enjoy this television. I think he just wanted to do something grand. After a few more stores Dad needed to get home. It had been a successful day, and for a few hours we forgot how sick Dad was. We ignored what was right in front of us and lived in a consumer moment, and it was fun. Dad had over done it though. And for the first time , I had to give Dad liquid morphine. I had prepared myself for this moment, and it was terribly difficult. I kept repeating the instructions I had been given by the Hospice nurse: Fill syringe to appropriate level, stick under his tongue and shoot. As he feel asleep, the reality of how much pain he was in sunk in and all the joy we had shared that day fell away.
In this series, I will discuss in no particular order 101 different songs that are wonderful, and that you have probably never heard of!
Carnivore by Jewel
This is one of my personal favorites. I, like many others, fell for Jewel in the 90's with Who Will Save Your Soul. Her raw voice and effortless lyrics seem to enliven the spirit. My discovery of Carnivore was accidental, uncovered while searching for another song.
Within seconds of the first words, I was in love! It begins with Jewel's classic coarse vocals accompaning lovely verse. This song is about heartache, the bitterness that follows betrayal. She melodizes the classic feelings surrounding a break up, including the awkwardness and anger.
The chorus is my favorite part of the song. Jewel belts out her proclamation to the world that she "will never trust (her) pink, fleshy heart to a Carnivore". You get the sense that this is a caveat for others dealing with similar beloved beasts.
The last minute include a tirade that is my personal shield in the battlefield of love.Jewel affirms :
Well I didn't know But I won't do it again This time I'll be my own best friend And I'll take back my song and my poetry This time i won't be so easy to read
If by the end of the song you don't feel empowered to preserve yourself from the torment someone may inflict upon your heart, you weren't listening!
Having moved into Dad's house, I tried to find a routine. Dad was still an early riser then, but his motivation to get up and go depended on how he felt. By this point, he was taking Methadone twice a day. Funny story about that. When the Hospice nurse first explained his pain management, I expressed concern over the addictive nature of Methadone. The nurse stopped writing, and glared at me to see if I was serious. I looked from her to Dad, clearly missing the joke, and found a smile on Dad's face. I guess when your dying addictions don't really matter. I made orange juice for Dad that morning. My Dad being the man he was, had an amazing Beville juicer. He laughed as I got the hang of the machine and patiently waited while I pressed orange after orange. When I make juice now, I find a smile sneak across my face.
This was also the day I saw through my Dad's mask. He had been wearing his brave face for weeks, but he finally became too tired to hide his illness anymore. A dying body is a sad thing to witness. I saw the first sign of that with his confusion. It started with him asking the same question a few times a day, usually about the time. It was like he felt the seconds slipping away but he never knew where they went. It was only subtle at this point so I just answered his question like he had never asked it before.
The hardest part about living with Dad again wasn't his super high standards of cleanliness, although that was difficult. It was knowing that this would only make things that much harder when he was gone. But I tried not to think about it too much. Instead, I reveled in every smile, complied with every request and helped my Dad make his house a home.
It's no secret that I love to read. Give me a good book and a comfy couch and I am good to go, no Snuggie required. What have I been reading lately?
Wake by Lisa McMann
Disclaimer: This is a trilogy. The third book was released February 2010, so you can go buy them all now.
Be prepared for this book to start off slow. You immediately discover what Janie feels like when she "enters" a person's dream, but initially it isn't terribly exciting. In fact, her gift doesn't seem to be as exciting as other special characters in the genre are. That doesn't mean the book isn't good. So what is the focus, the love story of course!
Keep in mind thatlike many popular characters of this genre, they are in high school. That means you do encounter the occasional cliche banter that made my eyes melt away from the page. But, if you look past that, the characters are quite good.
Janie's love interest, Cabel is a more interesting character than most. There are cute little tidbits throughout the book that make you fall for him. Of course, the author does play with his motives and make you question him. But in the end, your left satisfied and smiling!
The best part about this book is the tone behind the story. It's about not being helpless despite daunting obstacles, and being willing to take on the burden of others. All in all, a great start to the series.
This was Elizabeth's night. She had stayed with me the night before and I decided she would spend this night in Auburn with Dad. I knew what was going to happen for the rest of Dad's days and nights. I was going to take care of him, and do whatever I could to bring him comfort. But this night was Elizabeth's responsibility.
I realize now my reasoning was selfish. I knew once I went back to his house, it would be for good. I wanted her to know first hand what I would go through with him. I had hoped it would show her that she could be there for Dad, that it wasn't too late.
I had already labeled Dad's medication based on what symptoms it would alleviate. Red for pain, yellow for nausea, blue for swelling, green for sleeplessness. I made a list of when he could have what medications, and which ones required food. And then I drove home.
My sister was scared, and I knew it. But I had been scared for two years. I wanted to be able to say that I made her try, that I gave her every opportunity. I also think I wanted to give Dad and chance to say anything to her that maybe he couldn't say in front of me. I set the bar pretty high for my sister, and I know it isn't fun trying to live in someone's shadow.
She called multiple times that night, checking dosages and rechecking which ones he could take. I may have got more sleep that night had I been there. But that wasn't the point. I knew the next however many days Dad would be with us would be my responsibility. She needed to feel a small amount of my burden.
What my sister got from that night, I don't know. I've never asked.
I think this was the only day dad was angry. We sat at dinner with his friend Eric and as dad realized he had no appetite to eat the food before him, he became angry. You could see the bitterness on his face, behind a slight hint of tears. He looked at us and all he saw was life, and he was resentful. This was the only moment I remember my Dad being truly angry with me. And I didn't begrudge him this anger, I would have been too. He scowled at us and made veiled attempts to keep polite conversation. He would have none of my silliness that night, and I didn't push it.
As his anger swelled, he sharpened his tongue and lashed out at my sister. To be fair, that argument/confrontation was a long time coming. My sister and him had never had a great relationship and they relied for too long on me to keep them together. He asked Elizabeth why she never tried, why she waited until it was too late. He never got an answer. At that point though, the answer didn't matter.
As I sat there, playing referee I saw just how weak my Dad had become. Weeks in the hospital and a deteriorating ability to eat had not been kind to him. What I remember most, was his neck. He sat at the kitchen table, beaten by disease, and I could see it. He had lost so much weight, and he was yellow with jaundice. I think after this, I will choose to forget what Dad looked like at that table. This won't be the only image I have to forget.
When I envisioned this project, the upcoming days are the ones I was thinking about. It will not be easy to tell this part of the story, but I hope it will be beautiful. It is meant to be a living memory of the dead, and it is all I have left to give my Dad. I can't know if the decisions I make are what he might of wanted, and I can't live for him. That has been a hard lesson to learn. I hope to leave on these pages some of the burden of my sorrow, and the heartbreak of its reality. These things happened to me, and I am profoundly changed as a result. But some parts, most, remain the same...sane.
I arrived at Dad's house that morning to find that it was all business. The nurse was coming and Dad wanted me to be prepared. I think he temporarily forgot how super organized I was. As the intake nurse explained what services Hospice provides, I saw sadness in my Dad's eyes. He was never one to admit defeat, or that he needed help from anyone else, and this woman in his living room signified both. I asked my usual barrage of questions and after some vitals were taken, she took her leave. There was a heavy feeling in the house once I closed the door behind her. She never said end of life care, or death, but we all knew what she meant. Everything has an ending. We didn't know when, but we knew it was coming.
My Dad had always been religious. When I was younger, we always went to midnight mass for Christmas if he was in the states. I think Dad found comfort in his faith, and that would become important in his last weeks. We decided to go to church that night, and it was a moment I will forever remember. My Dad and I didn't always get along. And being family, we both made mistakes that hurt each other. But that night in church, with the priest speaking a language I barely understand, I found forgiveness. This post may seem cryptic and for that I apologize. But, when you offer someone forgiveness it comes with a certain amount of discretion. What was said will matter little to you, but know that it closed a door to a dark room in my past.
Dad and I were a part of the service that night, although I didn't know it until Dad got up and beckoned me to follow. That's how I want to remember it, but in reality I had to help him walk there. I think part of it was his illness, and part of it was what he was experiencing in church that night. Knowing he was going home soon had rallied his faith for its final stand.
This was Friday the 13th, and we were to have no good news this day. In fact, Dad was told what I had known for weeks. There would be no more chemo, nor lab tests, or doctor appointments. Hospice was coming the next day to discuss his future care and comfort. I didn't know Dad had just been told this when I answered the phone with a joke. I immediately regretted it, his tone was serious and stern. He explained that I needed to get up early and be at his house when the nurse came. There were important things to discuss, arrangements to be made. What he didn't say, was that there were goodbyes to be uttered as well. Final apologies for a life that would soon come to an end. He didn't say it, but I could hear it in his voice. The next day, I would see it in his eyes... I remember listening to Devotchka's How It Ends over and over again that night when I couldn't sleep. I was forcing myself to prepare for what was coming. Bracing myself for the predicted unpredictable. I had lost people before Dad, but never had death been so close to me. I have included a drawing he made that day, no doubt it was therapy for him. He drew where the cancer was, he listed his meds, and subtly laid out how his body betrayed him. He had fought so hard for so long, and he wanted that struggle to be acknowledged. Everyone knows someone that has had cancer, but only those that have battled it themselves trully understand the struggle. When I look at this now, I wonder how he felt once he finished it. He would use it to explain to people his prognosis. And after he passed, I would show it to his family hoping to help them find comfort.
My husband and I have been conducting an experiment by not having cable. I call it an experiment because I have always had cable. As a kid, I never understood why most of my friends couldn't watch Fraggle Rock in their rooms. Well, not all kids were spoiled enough to have a cable box and tv where they sleep. I doubt I am better for it. When my husband first proposed that we not have cable, I was concerned. He would say I was devastated. I try to avoid talking about sticky issues like religion and politics with most people, but television is conversation gold. I was also more than a little disappointed about possibly missing So You Think You Can Dance in the Fall. As I began formulating a plan to convince my husband just how drastically our lives would change without cable, I had an epiphany. My unreasonable reaction was exactly why he didn't want us to have cable. I was too dependant on that form on entertainment. And he was right.
We are now 6 months into our experiment and I couldn't be happier. We didn't have to give up watching the shows we enjoy like The Office or miss the premiere of great new shows like Modern Family. We just cut down turning the television on just to watch something. Instead, we use Hulu and Netflix to catch up on shows and movies that we have an genuine interest in seeing. We are more actively involved in our decision of what to watch, rather than following whatever the networks have deemed worthy of a particular time slot. I will admit this transition was difficult at first, but not for the reasons you might suspect. First, some people just can't understand not having cable. They would repeatedly ask why, and explain that it really isn't that expensive. Well, it wasn't a matter of not being able to afford it, it was more about not always doing what is expected. That's when I realized why it bothered some people so much, we had jumped ship and they were too connected to follow.
It is also amazing how much people love commercials and reality television. There are many reasons to watch reality television and I will not attempt to breakdown the psychological rationals here. Suffice it to say, people love watching other people do stupid things. I am proud to say that I have never watched an episode of Jersey Shore. As for commercials, I do miss those a little.
This would not be a good post, and I would not be a good wife if I didn't quickly discuss the sacrifice my husband made with this move. While Hulu, Fancast and other sites post television shows, there is currently no reliable online viewing forum to watch sports. That's right, my husband gave up College Football, NFL, Basketball, Baseball and any other major sporting event that air exclusively on the major networks(which is mot of them). This makes my concern over missing So You Think You Can Dance seem trivial.
All in all, I feel great about not having cable. We didn't have the option of watching the Super Bowl at home, but is it worth spending almost $2000 a year for a game that is aired at every bar, restaurant and friend's house? No longer am I subject to the "news" the 24-hour networks deem important. NPR gives me more than enough information about topics that may not be as flashy, but have much more sustenance. And now when my husband and I sit down to watch something, its a decision we are both happy with.
Looking for that good guy voice accompanied with a lovely melody? Then you will love Greg Laswell.
I discovered Greg Laswell when "And the You" was played on Grey's Anatomy. One of my favorite ways to discover music is through television shows. You usually get 15 seconds or less playing the background of some dramatic scene, but that can be enough for me to fall for a song.
Mr Laswell has a deeper voice than you would expect for such soft melodies. "Comes and Goes(In Waves)" is a great example of how well this combination works. In the first few seconds, his voice almost disappears behind the instruments. As the first chorus concludes, his voice begins to dominate all sound. However, he provides only enough power to seduce the mind and drag you into the song. A wonderful four minture experience.
My favorite song is his rendition of "Your Ghost". The song itself is beautiful no matter who sings it, but Greg Laswell's voice brings a bit of magic to it. His intonations bring a sense of true sorrow and a hint that we all have ghosts. I find myself listening to the song over and over again.
Interested in hearing more? You could go to iTunes and pay $.99 a song. Or, you could create a playlist here !
In this world of hurry, hurry I have decided to dissent and do things on my own time. This isn't as easy as you might think. It's a fine line between over eagerness and laziness. There is always the assumption that you are getting to a grand goal, but when have people every been happy with where they currently are in life?
It's understandable where this drive started from. Life is about moving forward, continuing to improve, learning more, becoming better. Everything is designed around this idea of more, which makes sense if you want a society to be motivated. Then the Internet arrived on the scene and gave us everything we wanted at our fingertips. Google became a verb, a easy way of finding any answer you seek. Cell phones invaded our lives and with that the circle of connectivity was complete. We are now all on the fast-track of life, accessible to everyone from almost anywhere.
Television and other media sources have not helped us any. We expect life's problems to be solved in 20-40 minute intervals because television has trained us to expect that. We anticipate finding out enough information in a 30 second commercial to make a good decision. Life's most difficult decisions shouldn't have an egg timer on them. Some shouldn't have a timer at all, except the one you make.
Well, I have been trying to take life at my own pace, a little rebellion in a big world. My journey began as an unconscious one. It started with my enjoyment of sites like woot.com in which you get one deal a day(unless it's a woot off!). This slowing down has expanded into me not defining things in such strict time lines. I am a very excitable person, so when I am really motivated I want to finish things as quickly as possible. I find my stress levels go through the roof if I can't finish quickly, especially if I have to wait on others for input. My rushing sometimes results in the sacrifice of a better product for the sake of accomplishment. While in some settings it is appropriate to finish quickly, this shouldn't be a philosophy of life. I wonder if one underlying cause of our economic troubles is the assumption of continued growth?
The point of all this, take a deep breath and relax. Let some things wait a few minutes or a few days. In the end, I don't want to be so consumed with getting everything done so quickly that I small details. Don't let this be an excuse to not get things done but rather to do things when you are ready to do them.
This was an exciting day, because Dad was released from the hospital. No more paying to park, white walls, sick people or really gross food. The doctors came by in intervals explaining where he had to go the next few days for tests and that we would know more soon. But their tone meant that this knowledge would provide little comfort. They only wanted the numbers to show what they already knew, my Dad was dying and there was nothing more to do.
I got up early that morning and picked up my sister to come with me. We went to the hospital and waited for the nurses to check all Dad's vitals. He would light up anytime a new nurse came in so he could introduce his other daughter, Elizabeth. He always loved introducing us to people, particularly women. I used to think it was a way for him to hit on women. Now, I realize it was because he was always proud to be our Dad. The swelling in Dad's legs had moved to below the knees. This made it uncomfortable for him to walk. But when they said he could go, he moved like lightening to get out of there. He wanted to go home and rest so my sister and I decided to go back to Athens. Dad insisted on driving himself so he kissed us goodbye and sped out of there. This was the last time Dad would be in a hospital. And as he drove away, I knew that. And instead of being happy that he was driving away, I was moved to tears. Doctors save lives everyday, but they weren't going to save his.
This day was another one spent in the hospital. By now, I was working one day and going to see Dad the next. We knew Dad would be getting out soon but we didn't know when, or in what condition. By now, it was clear the tumors were going to win their battle to take over Dad's liver. But, we all wanted him comfortable so his last days would be better. I find very rarely do you get what you really want from life. That doesn't mean I'm not thankful for what I did get, I just wanted what wasn't possible anymore. Dad's legs had begun to swell. It started with his feet, they became enlarged and uncomfortable. We found out this was because the kidneys were starting to have trouble functioning. I could go into detail about how all this works since I insisted on learning it from the doctor. Suffice it to say, this was the beginning a multiple organ failure. But death, like life, takes time to happen. This was just another uncomfortable thing Dad's body would put his spirit through. He was brave about it, he still had hope. I had not told him what the nurse at his onchologists office revealed to me. It wasn't my place. We could see the reality of the situation. but we both wanted to hope. So we did. We talked about options if the liver stints worked. We laughed about how the swelling made him have monkey feet. And we ate lots of gross hospital food.
Dad was becoming a particularly grumpy hospital guest, so I have no doubt some of the nurses were ready for him to go home too. Gladys, Dad's girlfriend, stayed with us most days. While I was glad he always had company, it was difficult since she spoke no English. My last name may have been Rico before it was Cooper but that is about the extent of my Spanish vocabulary. Sure, I took 2 years of college level Spanish. But a steady diet of denial and aging stripped from me what little linguistic talent I had for the language. But tears and saddness are the same in every language. So are smiles.
This was the day I was tired of not getting the answers I wanted from Dad's onchologist. He was very nice, but he always seemed to avoid answering my questions and I was tired of that. I understood where he was coming from, Dad's was a difficult case from the begining. But no one seemed to be saying what I needed so desperately to hear. I wanted someone to tell me he would make it through this, that he would fight like he had for so long. But, that wasn't how this story was going to end. And if that was the case, I needed to hear that too. In the days to come, I got very good about assessing for myself what people meant with the words they didn't use.
The onchologist's office was in front of the hospital so I told Dad I was going to drop off my FMLA paperwork, this was a half truth. My other intention was to ask what I couldn't in front of my Dad. I always tried to not burden Dad with too much of my sadness. Partially because I wanted to show him I was strong, and the other part was because I didn't think I could stop drying when he told me I would be ok. Maybe becaue it was true, I would be ok, but he wouldn't.
The doctor wasn't in but the nurse offered to speak with. As she lead me into a side room, I was immediatly aware of what was about to be said when the woman pointed to the chair in front of the only tissue box in the room. She had clearly done this before. I can't remember how I asked her my questions, I may have said them really quickly in a hushed mumble. But she answered them honestly, guiding me to the realization that I needed. I remember her face when she said the word dying, it was like it burned her to say it. Little did she know, the word crushed me.
As the nurse gave me a minute to collect myself, I felt the saddness of the room. I knew that I wasn't the first person to hear this news in this sterile room, and I wouldnt be the last. That's the thing about cancer, everyone knows someone that has had it. And more people than should know someone that has died from it.
This was also when I started becoming angry at my sister. Angry that she didn't answer her phone when I called, upset that when I did see her she was rude; frustrated that she couldn't understand the situation. I would eventually get over my anger when I realized that it was she who was missing out. Even as I write this I feel that same saddness. She doesn't have these memories to share, good and bad.
Now before you call in the doctors with the long needles and funny jackets, hear me out. In this internet based world websites like Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, and many others have taken over our lives. The idea of privacy has been redefined; as has friendship. While I don't mind occasionally spying on people I have not spoken with in years, they should.Through friends of friends, I can peak in on the lives of people I hardly know. I have the best view of the birthday cake, and can see the smile on every face. I think there is something to be said about not sharing every picture you take, not exposing yourself for the sake of being known.
I also hate the pressure I feel to check these programs for updates. If you had 5 minutes to kill and internet access, would you, and more importantly should you, spend it finding out what your "friends" are thinking. I feel like I am missing something if I don't know what everyone else is doing with their day. I find that sometimes I think in status messages, and that makes me feel a little dirty. When I was researching information for this post, I found that I am not the only person questioning the real value of my digital social life. Would ending it all be that detrimental to those I genuinely care about?
I have to wonder then, would my obituary include the death of my blog? I would think not. I don't write on here in the hope that everyone I know will read what I say and think: BRILLIANT! I write for the process, the purging.
If your considering Social Suicide, know this:
There are millions of us out there
And there is help.
If you can't do it yourself,
go here: http://suicidemachine.org/
Will you commit?
