Can we do this???
Thoughts as we pondered…
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Early in 2022, I started to record thoughts as Kristin and I formulated plans with family to offer end of life care for Dad. This post is the archive of the Google Doc that I created before I started the Substack webblog. Newest entries at the top. If you want to read in the order in which it was written for the comprehension of logical sequencing, start at the bottom and work your way up by date!
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Dad’s Journey Home
“The purpose of our lives is to help others through theirs.”
~ Peter Matthiessen
“We are all just walking each other home.”
~ Ram Das
A journal created from love so that all others interested in Dad’s journey may have a place to remain a compassionate presence in his life—and his life and death in yours.
“Today you are as old as you’ve ever been; and as young as you’ll ever be.
Which will you focus on?”
June 2, 2022–Morning
It’s 5am and I’m about to get ready to drive over to Yakima to take dad to his final physical exam with Dr. Laskar. Called and talked with dad last night before bed—he was groggy so although he said he was just watching TV, I think I woke him. He was confused and had a hard time comprehending that Trevor and I would be there in the morning to take him to his appointment. He noted “Christmas is tomorrow.”
*Sigh.
When I woke this morning, saw that dad had tried calling three times last night all between 1 and 3am.
*Sigh.
May 21, 2022
Remember Remember the sky that you were born under, know each of the star’s stories. Remember the moon, know who she is. Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the strongest point of time. Remember sundown and the giving away to night. Remember your birth, how your mother struggled to give you form and breath. You are evidence of her life, and her mother’s, and hers. Remember your father. He is your life, also. Remember the earth whose skin you are: red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth brown earth, we are earth. Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them, listen to them. They are alive poems. Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the origin of this universe. Remember you are all people and all people are you. Remember you are this universe and this universe is you. Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you. Remember language comes from this. Remember the dance language is, that life is. Remember ~ Joy Harjo
At about mid-day yesterday, May 20, Trevor texted Clary and me to tell us Father John Murtagh, pastor of Holy Rosary in Moxee, and dad’s beloved, maybe best, friend, was in hospice and not expected to live long. Then, last night, dad called me and shared that Father Murtagh, indeed, died at about 6:30pm. Dad was sad. We are all sad. Father Murtagh was a deeply spiritual man with an easy, Irish manner, Irish twinkle in his eye, and Irish lilt to his voice. He meant a lot to dad as dad ended his tenure as parish council president—almost on par with how Father/Monsignor McGrath meant to mom and dad. Two really great men.
My last memory of Father Murtagh was at Clifford and Bernie’s home when Father came to give the Sacrament of the Sick to Dad and Uncle Paul—which was when Uncle Paul asked Father for the ticket, then, to get into heaven. Uncle Paul was disappointed Father didn’t have the tickets. I remember also when Father Murtagh came to dad’s house a couple days after mom died (and then again the time when Father visited with mom, while she was in a coma, to give her the Sacrament) to go over some memories for Father’s funeral mass homily. He was so calm, such a presence, just the right touch of love, humor, respect, and care. It was obvious, to me anyway, that he loved dad—and that dad returned that care. Dad would have, and did, anything that Father asked.
Father was also the parish priest at the Catholic church in Ellensburg when I was in college at CWU there. I was one of his eucharistic ministers for a time.
Found out the Rosary and Funeral Mass will be this coming week. I asked dad to really consider attending. I hope he does. It’s that important to dad.
And yes, Dad cried when he told me.
Singing Everything Once there were songs for everything, Songs for planting, for growing, for harvesting, For eating, getting drunk, falling asleep, For sunrise, birth, mind-break, and war. For death (those are the heaviest songs and they Have to be pried from the earth with shovels of grief) Now all we hear are falling-in-love songs and Falling apart after falling in love songs. The earth is leaning sideways And a song is emerging from the floods And fires. Urgent tendrils lift toward the sun. You must be friends with silence to hear. The songs of the guardians of silence are the most powerful— They are the most rare. ~ Joy Harjo
May 13, 2022
Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of a sixth grade student of mine from last year. She was diagnosed the previous winter (March of 2020, just as the pandemic hit us) with brain cancer of the worst kind—a glioblastoma. I mention this here because her death, and the involvement I was privileged to have with the family, by her mom’s request, profoundly moved me and solidified my passion for service of a different kind—deathcare and hospice.
Which leads my new path that I am on…to dad. I’m grateful to be in a position where I can resign my principalship—THAT work was becoming very difficult, as the years went by, to keep my fires of passion lit. I still loved the kids and the relationships with staff and families, but all the other “stuff,” the bureaucratic BS and the way my district was being led, made it so I just wasn’t liking the work anymore. And as I was reminded not that long ago from a spiritual mentor “NEVER do anything you don’t want to do!” Keeping at it just to earn a salary, without it feeding one’s soul, actually results in harm to the same soul. As I was discovering in mind, body, heart and, indeed, soul.
We are a month and a half away now. I have only 25 school days remaining in my career—a career that spanned 52 straight years of showing up for the first day of school in one form or another. As I release that identity, I do look forward to creating something new; something that will be profoundly meaningful and rewarding. Something that will, with little doubt, be the most complex and challenging thing one can ever do—love a loved one all the way through to their physical death.
Two weeks ago, Brookdale called Trevor to say they were calling an ambulance to transport dad to the hospital—he was incoherent and sweating profusely. Trevor was out of town so Clary met dad at the emergency room. Things proved to be not serious—I think they gave him fluids after an exam and allowed him to be discharged. Gotta get dad to the end of June.
Breathe in…breathe out.
May 1, 2022
T minus two months and counting. Told dad today on our phone call that I am now able to access his checking account and that he is giving me money now that he’ll never know about! LOL! Actually, we (he) bought a couple of things from Lowes yesterday that will aid his accessibility in our home: some handhold bars for both his toilet area and shower. And also a diatomaceous shower mat to eliminate a trip hazard and help in drying the bottoms of his feet when he steps out of the shower.
Dad sounded in pretty good spirits today—wondering where everybody’s been since no one has called him. I told him I refuse to allow him to make me feel guilty when he says things like that so he might as well stop—and stop feeling sorry for himself. All that, all this negative mindset of his, is something we will be working on to eliminate from his internal dialogue.
“Until you are once and for all dead, you are alive. So, choose wisely how you elect to live each moment. And always choose kindness and happiness.”
April 30, 2022
Thirty-five school days left of my professional education career.
This is a Saturday and the last day of April marking exactly one month now since I announced my resignation from the school district and retirement as a professional educator (I’ll always be an amateur educator!). Over the course of the month, more and more people—staff, parents, students—have come to share their admiration and respect for the decision Kristin and I, and by extension Trevor and Clary (for this never would have happened had they not given their blessing) have made. Many, and rightfully, have recognized that it is actually Kristin who has committed to the ultimate act of compassion by agreeing to allow all this to happen within our home. From the adults, every single person has expressed a truism that I have known all along but yet they feel they have to say (more perhaps for themselves than for me): that NEVER will I regret making the decision to spend this time in service to Dad in this manner—providing him with life and death care in our home among family in an environment he knows he will be safe within.
This remains as well for me a teachable moment for my students at school—since this level of care and family commitment is so far removed from their lives now, it is vital that when it does happen, that they be taught all the why’s and how’s so that they can glimpse that elderhood, and even death, is not something to fear. Heck, their PARENTS also need this kind of teaching! I’m passionate about this—about this aspect of “the village” that we, as a society and place, have purposefully (though for most unconsciously) abdicated and forgotten in new service to the gods of technology, consumerism, capitalism, politics, and tribalism (a life worth living needs none of these!). We’ve done so, all of it, at our own peril as evidenced by our unwillingness to simply grant a home to a beloved family member so that we can reciprocate, at his last days, exactly what he provided during our firsts—a warm and nurturing sanctuary for a final, peaceful existence and transition.
It really does take a village. And when we forget this, or intentionally exclude ourselves from it when remnants of the Village surface, we cause our own suffering. And our kids are the worse for it.
It also takes a Village for our elders. How else can we learn how to age ourselves to become the next generation of sage elders in order to hand down these teachings to our progeny?
“The world needs elder voices: those who can speak with the wisdom and
compassion of experience. Only those who have lived a whole life fully
understand its purpose and where it leads. Elders are natural leaders who
have earned their role by surviving. And a world in crisis requires leadership-
at the top, in the middle, and in each community and social network. Your
voice as an elder is a natural application of the Bodhisattva vow to liberate
beings. Look within, find your unique strengths, and share them.”
April 18, 2022
When I re-read what I wrote yesterday about having a new WHY in my life, I’ve reflected further and discovered the two WHYs are not that far apart actually—the WHY we created as a staff at Cascade View Elementary, and this new WHY with Dad.
About a decade ago, I was introduced to social scientist and researcher Simon Sinek who, among many other things, had studied what set certain, multi-billion dollar companies, like Apple, apart. He surmised it was because they were able to create, manifest, and/or articulate a profound WHY that resonated at deep levels with consumers. This notion of WHY—why does a company or individual exist—extends beyond a mere mission statement. It is what resonates deep within the human being—ie, their soul.
So, at Cascade View, a leadership cohort team I was a part of created the school’s WHY that allowed us to frame all decisions through something I (we) found inspiring every day: “At Cascade View Elementary, we are passionate about meeting all learners where they are in service of each realizing their innate and extraordinary human potential. Care to join us?”
I’ve internalized this as a meaningful and integral part of whom I aspire to be every day—in every interaction with any individual soul. And now, even Dad: “I am passionate about meeting Dad where he is in service to his realizing his innate and extraordinary potential.” Even his potential to live, age, and die with grace, peace, satisfaction, and joy—all with little suffering.
“There is significance to each soul encounter.”
April 17, 2022 (Easter Sunday)
I’ll return to this theme again and again in this journal knowing who might be in the audience of readers.
When I announced my decision to retire after 33 years as a professional educator, I shared I had a new and more personally profound WHY—the end of life care of Dad. I also shared that families used to do this as a “normal” part of life—that is, provide home and safety for their dying family members, especially their elders. So, intuitively, within our bodies and souls, we know how to do this even though the path ahead, with all it’s unknowns and scary “what ifs,” is so uncertain. The only thing we know with 100% certainty is that each passing moment with Dad, through the daily supports he needs of toileting, showering, personal self-care, nutrition, movement, spiritual support, etc.; as well as the major and unexpected events that likely will occur (falls, injuries, medical crises, further physical and mental diminishment, joys, happy moments, laughter, and celebrations), all will be new, unique, and unpredictable. To best live through them, for him and for us, will be to surrender all notions of expectation; all the plans and suffering and pain and “hopes,” to fully let go of all that and embrace each and every single moment for what is. And in doing so, bring a sense of great peace and even joy.
Dad hasn’t aged well and is not dying well either. In a sense he doesn’t realize or understand, (but one in which I intend to serve and guide), how his current being in the world, and his active dying (‘cuz this is what we all are doing no matter our age anyway, right?), are not serving well as the dignified elder and sage model he should be for his family—especially his grandkids. There were times generations ago where this was a rare thing…this unskilled way of living with dying—elderhood and death were, at one time, normal as part of a family who maintained intimate bonds of relationship across generations. But, nowadays, we no longer do death well. We’ve become fearful of it and have abdicated our responsibility to both bear witness to it, and to experience it fully ourselves either as the person dying or their family, surrendering it all to the anesthetized world of professional, Western medicine. I think about this often when reflecting upon mom’s death and wish dearly we could go back in time to do that differently—not so much for mom herself, because things happened so quick for her and she was not in pain, but more for her legacy, for our capacity to “do her death” differently that might have allowed for something more deeply profound, shared, and soulful.
And so I shared with my colleagues that I was resigning to do exactly this—to both share and receive the true gift it is to bear personal witness to the end of a life that had great meaning, in his own very quiet yet dignified way. Leaning fully into this, we know, is a gift to Dad so that, existentially, he can begin to experience the peace he deserves and so that he can trust he will not die alone but will be with the family he loves and depends upon to sheppard him on to the next phase of his existence. In this way, I can remain a teacher—just how good a student HE will be remains to be seen. But, lord knows, it is absolutely worth the effort.
And although he doesn’t realize it, Dad himself has so much to teach us. Those capacities just have to be unlocked and remembered (for his body knows how to do this—it’s just his mind that is tormenting him. “Just” his mind.)
I recognize the temptation to think this a selfish or egotistical thing on my part—who am I to project these values upon dad or anyone else in the family? I’m compelled to firmly believe otherwise however; there is a different way to do this so that dad suffers less. In this life, pain is inevitable, suffering always optional. And the degree to which one suffers is completely correlated to how much we resist, deny, avoid, medicate, or struggle against the pain. Ironically, this can be quantified mathematically: S = P x R where S equals suffering, P equals pain, and R equals resistance in all its forms. P is the constant; R is the variable dependent solely upon our ego/mind. All resistance is in the mind. Resistance is not real—it is created in our minds out of fear and a strong yet false understanding of what safety is. If there is no resistance, look at what happens to S: anything, even pain, multiplied by zero, equals zero.
Approaching Dad’s death, for all of us, with reverence, can mean less suffering. And he can live, then, a higher quality of life with dignity and grace. We all need to support and sheppard each other toward this way of being.
April 16, 2022
I think this was a tough week for Dad as Brookdale notified Trevor on two separate occasions, one in the early morning hours, that dad had fallen and that they wanted to send him to the hospital. Fortunately, Trevor is able to visit and assess. We are lucky in that it seems dad’s been none the worse for wear after each fall. But…wow, this has to be scary for him—this proud and private man who wants so much to be independent and not bother others yet who is alone in that apartment even though he is a necklace button push away from help.
It also seems like cookies have magical properties as Clary and Gloria are keeping his supply stock of chocolate chip cookies full. This is good to know—Kristin is honing her baking skills of late and WE are enjoying the medicinal qualities ourselves of vegan peanut butter, oat, and chocolate chip cookies! We are, of course, testing these in anticipation of dad’s arrival so that they are of the highest medicinal quality.
We, here, continue to get his space prepped—I was just recently added onto his Banner Bank account so that we can continue some of the necessary upgrades to our home to better accommodate his lack of mobility and independence. His bedroom is ready for moving in; the bathroom needs just a few more things: support rails in the shower and toilet area and new mats so that we can take out the rugs which are trip hazards.
April 6, 2022
A day Dad and I have been looking forward to—when I drive over for a quick visit and to be added onto his bank account which has to be done in person. He was in good spirits—eating at his counter when I walked in. Clary joined us a few minutes later to say hi, give me some of the account cards and info we might need, and then visit a little before heading off to an appointment.
Despite the fact there was a Banner Bank branch less than one mile away from Brookdale, Dad wanted to go to the Terrace Heights branch to complete this process. The longer drive would allow us some more time to be together so that was completely all right by me. It was a beautiful Spring day in Yakima.
As luck would have it, a personal banker that needs to do this transaction was not at the bank this day so we ended up leaving to go to another branch—the branch that was less than a mile away from Brookdale!
But, before we did that, we decided to drive past a couple of the old houses to conjure up some memories—the old house on Duffield that we moved into in 1978 from Toppenish, then the two newer houses off of Postma. I think Dad takes satisfaction that each of the new owners don’t seem to take as great a care of these places as he did when we lived in them—as if ANYONE could from this “perfectionist!”
After the bank visit, we stopped for the promised iced hazelnut latte—his perennial fav. Dad stayed in good spirits the whole day (well, the few all too short hours we were together as I only intended to have a day trip). He didn’t want me to leave right away—he just craves someone to be with him. On that point, here’s a man that cannot help but smile, wave at, and say kind words to ANYONE he passes whether it is on the sidewalk walking into the bank or the staff or residents of Brookdale. Dad thinks he’s too shy and can’t get out to visit with people at the residence EVEN though we believe his character is more outgoing then he gives himself credit for. So, he could HAVE that sense of community whenever he wants—it’s just a few short shuffling steps away from his room. And he would enjoy that; but he doesn’t seem to even want to put in the effort. He doesn’t engage in any of their activities and he doesn’t even eat in their cafeteria despite his lamenting the fact he gets charged extra for every meal they have to bring to him in his apartment. This is good for me to know as I am considering doing the exact same thing if he won’t move his bum up stairs to eat with us at the dining room table!
Leaving him is always hard as it is always emotional. I don’t do this nearly as often as both Clary and Trevor whom experience this every time they visit—multiple times a week so I do appreciate what happens there on every visit.
April 1, 2022
Today was a BIG day for me both personally and professionally as I announced “to the world” that this was the last year for me as a professional educator—that I was going to resign my position as a principal in order to become Dad’s full time care-giver. An emotional day as it is now real as opposed to a “distant abstract concept.” Now that everyone knows, it becomes a long goodbye along with a bit of a grieving process for me as I’m ending a 33 year career as an educator but also a streak of 52 straight years of showing up for a first day of school every September. There are NO regrets though (I don’t allow regrets into my life)—every moment that has gone by since we told dad has felt more and more right.
So, now, my own long goodbye as there are only 50 more school days left to this year…and my career.
Feb. 26, 2022
The week in review. Trevor had to order dad a new and higher seated chair so that he could sit more upright and more stable especially when he eats. He apparently fell again this week in his apartment and called my bros to say he needed help cuz he couldn’t go to the bathroom on his own. Not sure exactly what that meant—but regardless, another indication of his decreased mobility coupled with his growing dementia and his inability (or lack of desire) to move his body in order to maintain the little strength, balance, coordination, and flexibility that he still does have. The goal now remains stronger than ever—get him to the end of June!
We have to believe in the brain’s ability to still grow new neurons, regenerate/recycle/repurpose old ones, and forge new pathways such that when he does move in with us, we will be able to increase the quality of the life he has left through engagement, movement, experiences, conversation, good sleep, and good food. All within a family environment that will bring about his peace of mind, emotional and physical safety, and comfort in knowing he will not be alone—that he will die with family present. Our last gift to our father—a gift we should and need to offer if we have the ability. And we do.
Feb. 20, 2022 (02/20/2022!)
Dad called this morning—as expected, he’s asking when we can come and pick him up to stay. He wants me to cash out vacation time in order to quit working now. His conception of time is all messed up—we know this to be true. We also feared this would happen by telling him so early. He doesn’t think he’ll make it until June—we try to tell him otherwise. He has such a negative feeling tone to his internal dialogue—I wish he knew how much needless suffering he is causing himself when he talks like that both out loud and to himself. His faith upbringing is not allowing him the peace he should be enjoying during this final phase of his life. I don’t pity him; but I am sad for him. So, I do the next best thing for him that I can in this present moment ahead of when he will be joining us—I send him peace and love hoping that he be free from suffering.
Feb. 13. 2022
It’s been a couple weeks now since Kristin and I made the decision for me to resign from my work as principal in order to open our home to dad for his end of life care. The zoom conversation we had with Trevor and Clary (and with Kristin, Gloria, and Kendra in the background), was heartwarming and loving. I intuitively felt that both Clary and Trevor would welcome the idea—even the financial pieces Kristin and I had to have in place since I’m not yet ready for full retirement—given how much of their own lives, energy, worry, and emotion each have gifted and invested in dad ever since mom’s death almost six full years ago now (March 8, 2016).
On Friday, I met with the benefits coordinator of our school district to insure I had all the information I needed to formally separate from service. Now, all I need to do is make the announcement formal to everyone at a time that feels exactly right.
I write this entry at 9:30am Sunday morning—the morning of the Super Bowl btw (Bengals v. Rams!). Clary is going to pick dad up for the game and at about 1:30, we will have a family zoom with dad to share the news with him. At that point, there will be absolutely no going back. We’ve wondered out loud the timing of telling dad knowing his sense of time is diminishing. But we think he will be so happy and relieved, even given the move over here cannot happen until July, that sharing our plan will go a long way toward giving him a purpose to live and hold on. He’s becoming more frail on a weekly basis. But, he still has very good days and his mind, despite the progression of dementia and Parkinson’s is still relatively strong. Our blessing is that things for dad could be a whole lot worse. So, instead of focusing on the diminishment, we’ll celebrate and honor the abundance that we do have, and that he has, as we sheppard him into his life’s transition.
The thought that’s weighed so heavily on our minds and hearts has been Dad’s long time wish to “not be placed in a nursing home.” Since we moved him to Brookdale, the assisted care facility in Yakima, coupled with all the stresses of the Covid pandemic (isolations and quarantines), he has been miserable and says often he wants to die—and sometimes, thinks he has on his roughest of mornings. He fears dying in there by himself—with no family around. And so, this bigger WHY has entered our life which has made the decision to resign from education actually rather easy. We know none of us will ever, ever regret giving dad this profound experience of aging and dying at home with family. We’ve got this. This will be an act of love, of stewardship, of growth, of learning, and of compassion. Will things be hard at times and challenging. Yes—especially the daily witness of watching dad diminish and die. And yet, there can be no other form of ultimate love then gifting to the man who provided for all of us so well and so much and in his own very quiet and humble way, the final act of loving him “till death we shall part.” At least in the physical realm.
Personally, this shift in my life purpose, my WHY, was due. The work as principal has been profoundly meaningful—I know each day that I have always had the opportunity to impact the lives of so many others: students, parents, and staff. And at the end of each day, no matter how exhausting, emotional, or challenging it was, I could look back upon the day and see where I had influence. Just how successful I was in those moments always varied (I always tried to be fully present and compassionate, and kind) but as I evolved as a principal, I learned the importance of seeing that work as “a practice.” Each day I practiced being the best principal, servant, steward, and leader that I could be. As I grew older, I folded into my practice the elements of “the village” including my practice of being an elder and sage. I never really felt that all this evolved to be my “identity.” My day job was never something I felt I fully identified with such that that, and only that, provided me my only sense of worth and identity. This is why the transition away has actually been relatively easy—I’m ready for this new WHY. This new more powerful WHY in my life with dad. The principalship was hard—and through Covid, with all its accompanying challenges of family instability, trauma, and mental-health issues with those in the community in served (again, including students, parents AND staff), I WAS wearing the stress of “all that” in my body and was feeling the effects despite having a robust spiritual (soulful) life and mindfulness practice.
So this new WHY? To live fully into a life of a new kind of service and stewardship with dad as our primary focus. This IS a selfish journey as well as a self-less one. Each day will provide me with a day to learn how to deeply care for an individual who is no longer able to care for himself. Just how far, and for how long this will be, are the unknowns. But, this unknown is a part of this new practice of servanthood. Dad will be teaching me how to be even more “in the moment” with each passing moment of his. Caregiving for dad will lead me deeper into a life of compassion and soul. Toward the deep, eternal, and abundant silence that is at the core of each and every one of us. This is the place that dad will be returning to shortly. I want to help him to go there with a peaceful and calm heart; to ease his suffering; and to have him serve as my teacher on how to make this transition—whether he teaches me what to do OR, more likely, what not to do. Dad hasn’t aged well, not out of his own choosing, more because he was not skilled and never had any other elder or sage in his life who could serve as the model for him on how to die well and wisely. With my interest in death, and how to provide care for those who find themselves in that space, I want to have these moments with dad so that I can be the model for my family, my kids and future grandkids, on how to die well and with meaning.
2:30 pm.
Just ended the Zoom call in which Trevor, Clary and I broke the news to dad. He started crying and when we asked of he liked the idea, he said through tears “I love it.” The tough thing will be the wait—June is still 4.5 months away. We’re hoping this good news gives him something to look forward to with joy and anticipation. Besides, it was the bros idea to share the news early—and so it will be their task to put up with his pestering of “when’s June gonna get here?” “Is it June yet?”
Got a text from Clary later this evening. “Dad now wants to convince Pat to sell her house and move over to be with you.” Meaning us. Uh…no.
Now I’m really committed. We’ve got this. We all do—we love Dad. We’re gonna create an extraordinary life for him here with us. Dad’s final walk home, in safety and love, is about to begin. And may he live to experience it.
“Death is the ultimate plunge into divine love.”
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