There is too much to fill in over the past year. I am still struck every single day by things I miss about my dad. Some joke he would make, a question I wish I could ask, something new or funny I wish I could tell him. I am still stuck in the numb, only it's been incubating for just over a year now and is starting to awaken & claw at its shell, threatening to hatch a full scale Harpy/Banshee/Dragon Lady of doom through the perforations left in my heart. This weekend would have been his 55th birthday. This morning marks the first I have had a computer at my disposal since I lived with my parents when I first moved back from Mass and started this blog. Hopefully, by writing I can crack the seal on my head and heart and somehow find myself again. I feel like my heart-compass has a lost it's magnetic pull most of the time and writing is the only tool I know I have to somehow start chipping at the walls where I've subconsciously sealed off passages to my own growing inner labyrinth.
As a daughter, I expected to struggle with my loss and sense of grief, though having no ideas what the parameters might be. However, I had no idea the burden and challenge it is to maintain my ideals as a mother... My renown patience levels have dropped incredibly. I yell, I slam doors, I take long drives, sometimes I even manage a few tears. Everything seems trivial compared to the fact that one person can be diagnosed and completely eaten away by an illness in less time than it takes to create & incubate a new one. How can people be so focused on controlling the minutia of their own lives and ignore the fact that every day, EVERY day, is a gift? I see so much focus on ridiculous details in my own life & the lives around me. So, every day, I try and do something that I would feel proud telling my dad- whether it is kicking ass and taking names doing 4 loads of laundry one in one day, company cleaning a room or accomplishing some small goal from my to-do list, including showing patience and gentleness when I am feeling overwhelmed... The latter is probably the hardest.
On top of what I am feeling (or not feeling) in my grief cycle, I am 7 months pregnant. We are naming him Patrick James, after our respective father's middle names. I knew it was going to be difficult timing with a pregnancy, but felt much more strongly that being given the chance at creating life when my sorrow has been based on the lack of opportunity is a gift. But growing life while trying to let go of another is a huge balance to strike. Feeling anything at all that makes sense is hard enough, let alone something functional and productive. I feel like sometimes, being pregnant is the only thing that allows me to unabashedly feel at ALL... the hormones seep through the numb and out of my eyes or lips, always hot and bitter.
In those times, I have begun to think of my dad as, "The Unflappable Barry Johnson". I can count in my head the times he got angry, and considerably less so the times that he yelled or lost his temper. It makes me feel guilty and hurt even more when I feel like I can't stand it- I want so much for the rest of my life to show the influence he had on me, to not lose to gentle, silly guidance he always provided and to be the same for my own children. Instead, I am saddled with my own inability to cope, along with the sense of guilt and failure for not being able to be who I want because of it.
There are many responsibilities and friendships I have let go by the wayside- if you're reading this and know me personally, I'm sure I haven't called and have been meaning to for about a year now... trust me, you're not alone. In fact, I can't honestly think of a friend I've seen this past year, save a handful of necessary/accidental path crossings. I didn't have a birthday gathering for the first time ever when I turned 31 in August... I don't feel like bringing my sorrow into the spotlight and I don't feel like I can or should mask it, either.
I have worked so hard to stay positive over the years throughout plenty of hardships, I feel I've earned a reputation as some sort of maternal yogi... and now, I just feel human and disappointing, to myself and everyone else. I don't have any sunshiney, inspirational quotes. I have grief. I now have a computer to smear it around on. This is what it looks like, I guess. The first step towards getting through anything is acknowledging it, so at least I have that much down. Look, a gigantosaurus mountain of ache! Fantastic. If any of you find some Bi-bi-di-boppidi-boo cure, let me know. There wasn't one for my dad, just a long road of suck until it took him out... hopefully this grief doesn't do the same for me. Feh.
"The deeper the sorrow, the less tongue it hath." Talmud
Back to life, laundry and the pursuit of peace.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Snowglobe in Autumn
It is SO, so hard to write. It's not so much writer's block- I am a virtual fountain inside- a raging river, even... but I feel more akin to a snowglobe after meeting a toddler, neatly contained in my own flurry. That being said... for those of you who don't know, my father passed away September 2nd after an 8 month battle with Melanoma. I still can't wrap my mind around it. His entire family was there; my mom, her sister and my two sisters along with his parents and sister. I guess if you have to go, those are the people you want there. There were two beautiful articles in The Press Democrat, but you have to pay to keep them active, so they are disabled.
He had a bad day vomiting and keeping down food on 8/31 until he ended up heading to the hospital to be admitted for hydration. It had happened before, but the nurse -thankfully, a family friend- told us that this was it. I showed up with Annika, trying to maintain strength in my heart, strength in my knees, strength in my mind. I'm not sure how it happens for the rest of you, but my joints seemed to have cleared themselves of their functions as easily as my mind did when I heard the news. How do you carry yourself into a room where your very heart lies, after listening to someone hand it a number of hours? What do you say? What do you do? I still don't know.
I tried to make it normal. I thankfully remembered in my bumbling numbness to say "I love you", though obviously, he knew so. We were holding hands and he was looking out the window and I let slip an, "Oh, Daddy...". Our eyes met and locked for what would be the last time I recognized the father that I knew. I am awful, terrible, the worst at concealing how I feel, but I tried, for whatever reason. I was trying to play the role of hopeful, in control mother. I knew he saw through to the terrified, heartbroken daughter when he said, "Hey, kid. It ain't over yet." Still trying to give me (and probably himself) a ray of hope, even as death was closing its grip, finger by finger.
Those were the last words he gave me. I got him to say he would try some watermelon juice. He nodded when I sat by his bed during his last couple of days at home, assuring him that I would show my mom how to use the remotes, her iPhone and all of the things on the computer that will overwhelm and frustrate the crap out of her. He nodded again when we promised that he would always have a place in the life of Eva, my youngest sister's baby who is due any day now. He wanted to see her so, so badly. The unfairness of the situation is unbearable. I forgot to say thank you. I forgot to say I'm sorry. I forgot to even really mention the thousands of things that have crossed my mind since. I guess I really am lucky that I try to get my "thank you"s, my "I am sorry"s and "I love you"s in where they belong. I know that he knew those things, too.
I am numb. That's all I can say. I haven't cried since before the memorial service, and only twice since his death: once while I was still holding his hand after he passed and another time that snuck up on me as I was laying in bed the night before the memorial. The time at night felt like a possession- I had deep pains in my chest and abdomen, so much that I could hardly breathe. I felt my hands and feet and then body start tingling and losing feeling and knew that I had to take slow, deep breaths. I couldn't breathe and couldn't stand the pain, either.
After a few minutes, I woke Shlomi saying, "Babe! I think something is wrong..." and I explained to him what was happening. He said, "What is it? Do you think it's the funeral?" and I broke. It was if I could feel myself bursting open. Just like a genie coming out of a lamp.. maybe more like a banshee out of Pandora's box or someone in Alien, a completely uncharacteristic primal wail ripped its way out of me. Though I have never made the sound before or since, I remember thinking it sounded like the women I've seen in the middle east in the news who wear black, rip their clothes and mourn in the streets and knowing exactly how they must feel. After a few minutes of unbridled hysteria, I fell asleep and apparently the grief did, too.
The days following his death consisted of an outpouring of LOTS of calls and visits expressing love, sympathy and generosity in the form of cards, flowers and deli platters. People came and went, called and checked in, made dinner and gave great hugs. But after it all- the food, the friends and the flowers dissipated, while the pieces of everything we've ever known continue to whirl around us, the grief process is left for us each to decide for ourselves. I suppose this is part of mine.
Something surrounding his passing that has fascinated me are the numbers. He came home from the hospital on 9/1, his parents' 60-something-th anniversary. He was cremated and buried during a small gathering at Santa Rosa Memorial Park on 9/5, his mother's 80th birthday. I don't even have words. His obituary was featured wih a picture and article on Labor Day- the day to honor the working man and finally, there was also a beautiful memorial service on 9/11, which is obviously Patriot's Day, but coincidentally was also the day of Relay For Life, an annual fundraiser for raising cancer awareness and funds as well as a memorial for those who have passed from it. It was attended by over 350 people.
To finish out the dates, on 10/1, he would have been 54- one year away from being an official senior. He was planning a trip on his newly acquired boat and was in the process of having a new dashboard custom fit when he died. I remember coming into the room at my parents house in the middle of August, surprised to see my dad sitting there at the computer, researching clinical trials and checking out details for his birthday weekend. I also remember that was the first time I heard a change in his voice, from tired, but normal to raspy and audibly weak. It is something beyond words to watch the pillar of your family life crumble. He wasn't ready to go, and I'm not sure if anything will ever quell that sharp sense of injustice for me. He held onto hope, to his faith until his last breath.
Instead, on his birthday, my brother-from-another-mother, Ryan (who has been like my dad's only son for 15 years) and Anthony (who my dad taught everything he knows to at his business, The Car Doctor) got the boat running and took my mom, sisters and I out on the lake. It was perfect weather, he would have loved it. I realized that day that I have never been on a boat without my father. I have a childhood filled with camping and fishing trips, but all of them are with him.
I am lucky that my boys got a chance to share those memories with him, too. This is the hardest time for them and our family in a number of ways because his birthday started the birthday/holiday chain: Dad's birthday: 10/1, Tobin's birthday: 10/17, Halloween: 10/31, Aiden's birthday: 11/4, which sends us right into the holidays we all know and love. I feel the stark absence of his laughter more with each one that passes. I think we are going to try and go to Disneyland for Christmas- my mother has the unfortunate double-pain of having lost her own father to cancer, but on Christmas day when she was 17- I'm not even sure the happiest place on earth can balance a heart that heavy, but we will try.
I think that's all of the braindraining I can do for now, the flurry feels a bit more like icy sludge now- freezing, unsafe to walk on and sharp as hell if you break through it. I hope that Invincible Summer is in there, somewhere. I can't believe the relevance of an offhand quote I found a year ago. Between the summer and the winter lies the autumn, I suppose. So here I am in it.
He had a bad day vomiting and keeping down food on 8/31 until he ended up heading to the hospital to be admitted for hydration. It had happened before, but the nurse -thankfully, a family friend- told us that this was it. I showed up with Annika, trying to maintain strength in my heart, strength in my knees, strength in my mind. I'm not sure how it happens for the rest of you, but my joints seemed to have cleared themselves of their functions as easily as my mind did when I heard the news. How do you carry yourself into a room where your very heart lies, after listening to someone hand it a number of hours? What do you say? What do you do? I still don't know.
I tried to make it normal. I thankfully remembered in my bumbling numbness to say "I love you", though obviously, he knew so. We were holding hands and he was looking out the window and I let slip an, "Oh, Daddy...". Our eyes met and locked for what would be the last time I recognized the father that I knew. I am awful, terrible, the worst at concealing how I feel, but I tried, for whatever reason. I was trying to play the role of hopeful, in control mother. I knew he saw through to the terrified, heartbroken daughter when he said, "Hey, kid. It ain't over yet." Still trying to give me (and probably himself) a ray of hope, even as death was closing its grip, finger by finger.
Those were the last words he gave me. I got him to say he would try some watermelon juice. He nodded when I sat by his bed during his last couple of days at home, assuring him that I would show my mom how to use the remotes, her iPhone and all of the things on the computer that will overwhelm and frustrate the crap out of her. He nodded again when we promised that he would always have a place in the life of Eva, my youngest sister's baby who is due any day now. He wanted to see her so, so badly. The unfairness of the situation is unbearable. I forgot to say thank you. I forgot to say I'm sorry. I forgot to even really mention the thousands of things that have crossed my mind since. I guess I really am lucky that I try to get my "thank you"s, my "I am sorry"s and "I love you"s in where they belong. I know that he knew those things, too.
I am numb. That's all I can say. I haven't cried since before the memorial service, and only twice since his death: once while I was still holding his hand after he passed and another time that snuck up on me as I was laying in bed the night before the memorial. The time at night felt like a possession- I had deep pains in my chest and abdomen, so much that I could hardly breathe. I felt my hands and feet and then body start tingling and losing feeling and knew that I had to take slow, deep breaths. I couldn't breathe and couldn't stand the pain, either.
After a few minutes, I woke Shlomi saying, "Babe! I think something is wrong..." and I explained to him what was happening. He said, "What is it? Do you think it's the funeral?" and I broke. It was if I could feel myself bursting open. Just like a genie coming out of a lamp.. maybe more like a banshee out of Pandora's box or someone in Alien, a completely uncharacteristic primal wail ripped its way out of me. Though I have never made the sound before or since, I remember thinking it sounded like the women I've seen in the middle east in the news who wear black, rip their clothes and mourn in the streets and knowing exactly how they must feel. After a few minutes of unbridled hysteria, I fell asleep and apparently the grief did, too.
The days following his death consisted of an outpouring of LOTS of calls and visits expressing love, sympathy and generosity in the form of cards, flowers and deli platters. People came and went, called and checked in, made dinner and gave great hugs. But after it all- the food, the friends and the flowers dissipated, while the pieces of everything we've ever known continue to whirl around us, the grief process is left for us each to decide for ourselves. I suppose this is part of mine.
Something surrounding his passing that has fascinated me are the numbers. He came home from the hospital on 9/1, his parents' 60-something-th anniversary. He was cremated and buried during a small gathering at Santa Rosa Memorial Park on 9/5, his mother's 80th birthday. I don't even have words. His obituary was featured wih a picture and article on Labor Day- the day to honor the working man and finally, there was also a beautiful memorial service on 9/11, which is obviously Patriot's Day, but coincidentally was also the day of Relay For Life, an annual fundraiser for raising cancer awareness and funds as well as a memorial for those who have passed from it. It was attended by over 350 people.
To finish out the dates, on 10/1, he would have been 54- one year away from being an official senior. He was planning a trip on his newly acquired boat and was in the process of having a new dashboard custom fit when he died. I remember coming into the room at my parents house in the middle of August, surprised to see my dad sitting there at the computer, researching clinical trials and checking out details for his birthday weekend. I also remember that was the first time I heard a change in his voice, from tired, but normal to raspy and audibly weak. It is something beyond words to watch the pillar of your family life crumble. He wasn't ready to go, and I'm not sure if anything will ever quell that sharp sense of injustice for me. He held onto hope, to his faith until his last breath.
Instead, on his birthday, my brother-from-another-mother, Ryan (who has been like my dad's only son for 15 years) and Anthony (who my dad taught everything he knows to at his business, The Car Doctor) got the boat running and took my mom, sisters and I out on the lake. It was perfect weather, he would have loved it. I realized that day that I have never been on a boat without my father. I have a childhood filled with camping and fishing trips, but all of them are with him.
I am lucky that my boys got a chance to share those memories with him, too. This is the hardest time for them and our family in a number of ways because his birthday started the birthday/holiday chain: Dad's birthday: 10/1, Tobin's birthday: 10/17, Halloween: 10/31, Aiden's birthday: 11/4, which sends us right into the holidays we all know and love. I feel the stark absence of his laughter more with each one that passes. I think we are going to try and go to Disneyland for Christmas- my mother has the unfortunate double-pain of having lost her own father to cancer, but on Christmas day when she was 17- I'm not even sure the happiest place on earth can balance a heart that heavy, but we will try.
I think that's all of the braindraining I can do for now, the flurry feels a bit more like icy sludge now- freezing, unsafe to walk on and sharp as hell if you break through it. I hope that Invincible Summer is in there, somewhere. I can't believe the relevance of an offhand quote I found a year ago. Between the summer and the winter lies the autumn, I suppose. So here I am in it.
 |
| Barry Patrick Johnson 10/01/56 - 9/02/10 Forever in our hearts ♥ |
Thursday, August 26, 2010
WTF FTW: Thoughts on Cancer and my dad
I don't know how to say it best, or at all. It swims around in my heart like a shark under a raging sea of tears that I've drowned in different ways in each night since Thursday, the day my dad was supposed to complete his tests for admittance into the trail, the day the told him the cancer has spread to his brain, that he can pack up and go back home. That night, I dreamt I was in a car that all of a sudden veered off of a bridge and into the water below. I have also been thrown off of a cliff with my hands tied and had a dream that was entirely underwater and swimming upwards trying to a reach a surface that wasn't there.
Sometimes I am numb, locked in my world with my children and the day-to-day, which includes my still hurting teeth and now and eviction notice for asking the landlord to make the tap water usable. I have to find a place I can afford and also probably switch schools for Aiden, which I hate. It just keeps getting better.
It's worst at night, when everything is quiet. It's then that I feel like a dragon is going to burst out of my heart with smoke and fire and tears of rage and sorrow. What do you say when someone you love is handed a death sentence? I want to throw myself at him and will it all away. He says cancer hurts. It hurts EVERYONE. We all hurt watching him hurt and he hurts just watching us hurting for him and with him because of something he can't control. Cancer sucks.
His hands, which have always been tanned and thick with mechanic's grease my entire life are pale and freckled and his nails are clean for the first time EVER and I daresay they might even need a trim. when I was bringing him breakfast yesterday, I noticed how thin his legs were. Without thinking, I slipped my fingers around and they found each other easily. Our eyes met and I saw in his the reality of the situation. It felt like someone blew out my candle. But I also saw the Daddy I have always known, strong and steady, still concerned that his daughter's heart is breaking. All of our candles are still burning, albeit dimly at times.
It hits me everyday what a loss it would be to the world without him in it. He has given so, SO much good and already defied so many odds. There have been so many miracles in his life, I feel like this is a chance to pull out a really visible, well deserved one.
The fact that he made it this far is miracle enough, considering he was born prematurely in the 50s and pronounced dead. My grandmother was basically allergic to being pregnant and also had toxemia- her body attacked him on a daily basis ever since his conception, so it's not like he's never seen odds like this before. I'm sure she will correct me here and there, but I'll tell it like I remember for now.
When he was born on October 1st, 1956, he was almost four months premature, delivered via cesarean and pronounced dead soon after. He was revived, but they were told he would never make it, not to touch him and to put him in the car and drive from Virginia to Washington D.C. to Walter Reed hospital where he could receive treatment until he died.
My poor grandma -we call her Grammy- thought "Well, if I'm going to lose him anyhow, I might as well hold him while he's here". I know how she feels, and think it's an unbelievable tragedy that she is forced to feel it a second time. It is too much for one person to bear, even once. She held him the entire car ride, despite warnings from germ-cautious doctors.
They ran test after test and concluded that he was born with Cerebral Palsy and would never walk or function at a normal level. Grammy dove into his medical care so much that they thought she was a nurse and eventually released him to her, confident in her awareness of his conditions and care needs. So, one miracle later, my grandparents brought home their new baby boy.
Too small for even doll clothes, his upper body popped out the neck of any clothing put on him. He required 2 ounces of milk every two hours and it took him almost an hour and a half to drink it. My grandparents were exhausted, but determined. It's amazing what reaches of yourself love can bring you to. Slowly but surely, miracle after miracle, he gained weight and strength and learned to crawl, though he couldn't walk and required a stroller for outings until the age of three.
He was fitted with leg braces akin to the ones Forrest Gump wore. Though his walk was unsteady and awkward, his parents never allowed for him to be treated differently. Another miracle later, he was walking. Neighborhood kids ran a little slower in races with him, made sure he was included in their play and as far as anyone tells it, he never had any idea he was different.
He got into accident after accident as all little boys do, only he had a special ability for it. Perhaps it's because he had defied death from the get-go, but my little daddy found himself in all kinds of trouble. The people in the ER knew him by name and sight. Grammy has literally hundreds of stories, maybe someday I will have the time to write them.
I remember one was when his class had been saving pennies to support a baby elephant born in their local zoo. They made a trip to visit the elephant- aptly named Penny- and he decided to get in for a better view and climbed his little (the cerebral palsy made him a little smaller than the rest of his class- it is mainly in his right side, which is visibly smaller to this day, though you can't tell in any other way) self in between the chain link fence and the inner, small cement one.
Well, that mama elephant saw him and mosied her way right on over. She probably wasn't feeling particularly threatened by the skinny towhead gandering at her baby, but she sure wasn't letting him any closer, either. When she reached him, she gently leaned her body in and boy howdy, my little daddy was pinned to a fence by an elephant!
They had to call the zookeepers to coax her away and he went away unharmed, aside from a strict scolding and some sore spots, once again, escaping incredible odds of being stuck between an elephant and a hard place.
The cancer is so much the elephant these days, it's unbearable. Both in the sense from the story and that it is sitting, luminous and grey in the room while we all try to process our grief and continue our lives as we must. I tried to show him Angry Birds on his iTouch and felt the dragon in me roused again, knowing how much all the newfangled contraptions he could be missing.
He has been taking Phoenix Tears regularly, and in it lies my singular hope. My parents and grandparents are regular churchgoers and are clinging to prayers and faith. The outpouring of love and support from their church community has been amazing. We all do what we can.
He started radiation yesterday and will continue for ten more sessions. Aside from brain radiation, they can try what amounts to a lobotomy, which sounds almost worse. I assume they will do another scan after the treatment and give us another update. I still have no computer at home and grab time as I can to write. It is amazingly hot here and the kids and I are awaiting my dad's return with his parents and Porky from riding out to the beach to see the Humpback Whale migration. I won't think about whether he thought about if he'll ever see the beach again. I hope he does.
For those interested, you can also read my mom's journey through all this @ http://thoughtsfromjan.blogspot.com/
Sometimes I am numb, locked in my world with my children and the day-to-day, which includes my still hurting teeth and now and eviction notice for asking the landlord to make the tap water usable. I have to find a place I can afford and also probably switch schools for Aiden, which I hate. It just keeps getting better.
It's worst at night, when everything is quiet. It's then that I feel like a dragon is going to burst out of my heart with smoke and fire and tears of rage and sorrow. What do you say when someone you love is handed a death sentence? I want to throw myself at him and will it all away. He says cancer hurts. It hurts EVERYONE. We all hurt watching him hurt and he hurts just watching us hurting for him and with him because of something he can't control. Cancer sucks.
His hands, which have always been tanned and thick with mechanic's grease my entire life are pale and freckled and his nails are clean for the first time EVER and I daresay they might even need a trim. when I was bringing him breakfast yesterday, I noticed how thin his legs were. Without thinking, I slipped my fingers around and they found each other easily. Our eyes met and I saw in his the reality of the situation. It felt like someone blew out my candle. But I also saw the Daddy I have always known, strong and steady, still concerned that his daughter's heart is breaking. All of our candles are still burning, albeit dimly at times.
It hits me everyday what a loss it would be to the world without him in it. He has given so, SO much good and already defied so many odds. There have been so many miracles in his life, I feel like this is a chance to pull out a really visible, well deserved one.
The fact that he made it this far is miracle enough, considering he was born prematurely in the 50s and pronounced dead. My grandmother was basically allergic to being pregnant and also had toxemia- her body attacked him on a daily basis ever since his conception, so it's not like he's never seen odds like this before. I'm sure she will correct me here and there, but I'll tell it like I remember for now.
When he was born on October 1st, 1956, he was almost four months premature, delivered via cesarean and pronounced dead soon after. He was revived, but they were told he would never make it, not to touch him and to put him in the car and drive from Virginia to Washington D.C. to Walter Reed hospital where he could receive treatment until he died.
My poor grandma -we call her Grammy- thought "Well, if I'm going to lose him anyhow, I might as well hold him while he's here". I know how she feels, and think it's an unbelievable tragedy that she is forced to feel it a second time. It is too much for one person to bear, even once. She held him the entire car ride, despite warnings from germ-cautious doctors.
They ran test after test and concluded that he was born with Cerebral Palsy and would never walk or function at a normal level. Grammy dove into his medical care so much that they thought she was a nurse and eventually released him to her, confident in her awareness of his conditions and care needs. So, one miracle later, my grandparents brought home their new baby boy.
Too small for even doll clothes, his upper body popped out the neck of any clothing put on him. He required 2 ounces of milk every two hours and it took him almost an hour and a half to drink it. My grandparents were exhausted, but determined. It's amazing what reaches of yourself love can bring you to. Slowly but surely, miracle after miracle, he gained weight and strength and learned to crawl, though he couldn't walk and required a stroller for outings until the age of three.
He was fitted with leg braces akin to the ones Forrest Gump wore. Though his walk was unsteady and awkward, his parents never allowed for him to be treated differently. Another miracle later, he was walking. Neighborhood kids ran a little slower in races with him, made sure he was included in their play and as far as anyone tells it, he never had any idea he was different.
He got into accident after accident as all little boys do, only he had a special ability for it. Perhaps it's because he had defied death from the get-go, but my little daddy found himself in all kinds of trouble. The people in the ER knew him by name and sight. Grammy has literally hundreds of stories, maybe someday I will have the time to write them.
I remember one was when his class had been saving pennies to support a baby elephant born in their local zoo. They made a trip to visit the elephant- aptly named Penny- and he decided to get in for a better view and climbed his little (the cerebral palsy made him a little smaller than the rest of his class- it is mainly in his right side, which is visibly smaller to this day, though you can't tell in any other way) self in between the chain link fence and the inner, small cement one.
Well, that mama elephant saw him and mosied her way right on over. She probably wasn't feeling particularly threatened by the skinny towhead gandering at her baby, but she sure wasn't letting him any closer, either. When she reached him, she gently leaned her body in and boy howdy, my little daddy was pinned to a fence by an elephant!
They had to call the zookeepers to coax her away and he went away unharmed, aside from a strict scolding and some sore spots, once again, escaping incredible odds of being stuck between an elephant and a hard place.
The cancer is so much the elephant these days, it's unbearable. Both in the sense from the story and that it is sitting, luminous and grey in the room while we all try to process our grief and continue our lives as we must. I tried to show him Angry Birds on his iTouch and felt the dragon in me roused again, knowing how much all the newfangled contraptions he could be missing.
He has been taking Phoenix Tears regularly, and in it lies my singular hope. My parents and grandparents are regular churchgoers and are clinging to prayers and faith. The outpouring of love and support from their church community has been amazing. We all do what we can.
He started radiation yesterday and will continue for ten more sessions. Aside from brain radiation, they can try what amounts to a lobotomy, which sounds almost worse. I assume they will do another scan after the treatment and give us another update. I still have no computer at home and grab time as I can to write. It is amazingly hot here and the kids and I are awaiting my dad's return with his parents and Porky from riding out to the beach to see the Humpback Whale migration. I won't think about whether he thought about if he'll ever see the beach again. I hope he does.
For those interested, you can also read my mom's journey through all this @ http://thoughtsfromjan.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Whoops! There goes another rubber tree...
I haven't written in two months, which is almost the exact amount of time I moved across town and away from a computer. Shlomi got me an iPhone for an early 30th birthday present, so now I can at least access my blog, however arduous. So much has happened these last months with my father's care and in my life, it's hard to know where to begin. My insides are overwrought with things to spill about from not writing in so long. Honestly, it's been the hardest time I've had in my entire life.
I'll start with the week after I wrote last, when I was dogsitting and the dog we were watching killed our beloved kitten, Coco. To compound matters, I dove into concrete onto my left knee tryin to save him which turned into cellulitis and I couldn't walk for almost a week. Both my knee and heart are still sore. Aiden asked if we could take a drive to the beach and put our hands and faces in the sand to feel Coco's kisses again and I am certain a tiny part of my insides died right then. Poor everyone, not the least of which is Coco.
The following weekend, I took the kids to the Harmony Festival which was a much needed diversion. I got to see Rebelution, which is one of my newest favorite bands. I took lots of pictures (inculding ones of my glorious bright yellow knee wrap) so I'll work on getting those up when I can. 
Fourth of July, we went to the fairgrounds and met up with a longtime family friend, Suzi Mieger and her troops (she has 5, I have three= party!) which was fun. The following day, we went to pick up our #2 kitten, who was going to be the Sally to Coco's Jack (A Nightmare Before Christmas tribute: We thought s/he (Coco) was a girl when we named her, then she started trying to mate with Annika's stuffed animals and we realized he was a she. We were acclamating to the name change to Jack when s/he met his untimely demise, so we just stuck with Coco, which is what he had gone by most of his five month life. R.I.P. Coco-Jack. We miss you. Okay, back to the new kitty:) They were trying to get rid of the litter, so we ended up taking a calico girl (did you know almost all calicos are female?) and her fluffy orange brother. I still haven't settled on names, but they are happily adjusted and the kids love them, which is what matters for now. I am open to suggestions: So far, mostly the kids have come up with and like: Luke & Leia, Linus & Lucy, Charlie & Lola.... um, yay, tv tributes? Meh.
My dad was set for a new scan after his acceptance to the drug trial at UCSF on the 13th of July. He hadn't been feeling well and we weren't very optomistic. The results came back and shown that his cancer had spread -during his treatment of chemo, while on the trial- from his chest wall, lung, liver and shoulder to also include his kidneys, intestines and colon. Ouch. So, he decided to pull out of the drug trial, as he wasn't actually recieving the drug supposed to be helping and the chemo wasn't.
So, the search for another trial began. With each day, it has become a race as we all watch him slowly turn more quiet and pale. I never stopped searching for diets, old wives tales, new medicies, ANYthing to help for months now. One thing that I have found which is unique in a number of ways is called Phoenix Tears. I encourage you to check out the website and watch the videos- it is really interesting. Also worth noting is the complete legality of it all, due to our great state of California's Prop 219.
I spent weeks getting together the material (thank you so much to my friends who helped with donations, you know who you are) and a full day making it. He had been taking it, eating, sleeping and somewhat less pained when he collapsed in his room on the 25th. After a trip to the ER, 4 liters of fluids and iron supplements, he came home late that night. It turns out Kaiser missed the fact that he has pneumonia, which his nurse -also my friend's mom and a former co-worker of my mom's- caught. He is now taking antibiotics and is feeling better, thought he rarely makes it too far out of bed, which is as crippling to the heart as it must be to his body. But, he is alive, and we haven't lost hope.
Soon after his fall, I woke up with a swollen jaw- apparently, I clench my teeth so hard at night that I broke a filling and part of my tooth out. I also found out that it requires a root canal, which Medi-Cal no longer covers. Fantastic. When I said I wanted curves, my face isn't exactly what I had in mind.
Yet another thing weighing heavily on my plate is that as of last Sunday -three days ago- Tobin has gone to live with his dad. It was a heartbreaking decision, but he got into a charter school where his dad lives and he really, really needs to be in a learning environment that suits him. Also, honestly and not exactly proudly, I have been getting SO frustrated at home. I have been losing my temper and yelling at the kids and getting completely overwhelmed with everything going on. I am known for my patience in general, and especially with kids, and I hate seeing myself break down. Tobin feels things like that very deeply, and part of me wants him to be shielded from my pain, though it increases it significantly. I have been away from him one time for 10 days when he visited his dad from Massachussetts, and my limit is four days in general, which happens less than once a year. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do. Breathe, I guess. Hence my last entry.
On top of all THIS, tomorrow is my last day in my 20s. I can't help but be a tiny bit depressed; I am in the shittiest house I've ever lived in -though the surroundings are wonderful, the water is unusable (insert into the mix vehement confronations with the landlord here) and there is no kitchen or hallways- and I have been unemployed for the first time in my adult life for three months, which is really rough, in addition to everything else I just listed. I know all of the wonderful quotes and songs I would send to a friend in the same boat, but I tell you- I just feel how I feel.
On a lighter note, I am having some friends over this weekend for my birthday, hopefully it will provide a much needed break and change of pace. I will try to write more often, as always, for my own sake at least.. Adios 20's, let the new chapter begin.
And now, to end with a song from my childhood that keeps getting stuck in my head...
Just what makes that little old ant
Think he'll move that rubber tree plant?
Anyone knows an ant, can't
Move a rubber tree plant
But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes
He's got high, apple pie, in the sky hopes
So any time you're gettin' low
'stead of lettin' go
Just remember that ant...
Oops! There goes another rubber tree,
Oops! There goes another rubber tree,
Oops! There goes another rubber tree plant.
I'll start with the week after I wrote last, when I was dogsitting and the dog we were watching killed our beloved kitten, Coco. To compound matters, I dove into concrete onto my left knee tryin to save him which turned into cellulitis and I couldn't walk for almost a week. Both my knee and heart are still sore. Aiden asked if we could take a drive to the beach and put our hands and faces in the sand to feel Coco's kisses again and I am certain a tiny part of my insides died right then. Poor everyone, not the least of which is Coco.
The following weekend, I took the kids to the Harmony Festival which was a much needed diversion. I got to see Rebelution, which is one of my newest favorite bands. I took lots of pictures (inculding ones of my glorious bright yellow knee wrap) so I'll work on getting those up when I can. 
Fourth of July, we went to the fairgrounds and met up with a longtime family friend, Suzi Mieger and her troops (she has 5, I have three= party!) which was fun. The following day, we went to pick up our #2 kitten, who was going to be the Sally to Coco's Jack (A Nightmare Before Christmas tribute: We thought s/he (Coco) was a girl when we named her, then she started trying to mate with Annika's stuffed animals and we realized he was a she. We were acclamating to the name change to Jack when s/he met his untimely demise, so we just stuck with Coco, which is what he had gone by most of his five month life. R.I.P. Coco-Jack. We miss you. Okay, back to the new kitty:) They were trying to get rid of the litter, so we ended up taking a calico girl (did you know almost all calicos are female?) and her fluffy orange brother. I still haven't settled on names, but they are happily adjusted and the kids love them, which is what matters for now. I am open to suggestions: So far, mostly the kids have come up with and like: Luke & Leia, Linus & Lucy, Charlie & Lola.... um, yay, tv tributes? Meh.
My dad was set for a new scan after his acceptance to the drug trial at UCSF on the 13th of July. He hadn't been feeling well and we weren't very optomistic. The results came back and shown that his cancer had spread -during his treatment of chemo, while on the trial- from his chest wall, lung, liver and shoulder to also include his kidneys, intestines and colon. Ouch. So, he decided to pull out of the drug trial, as he wasn't actually recieving the drug supposed to be helping and the chemo wasn't.
So, the search for another trial began. With each day, it has become a race as we all watch him slowly turn more quiet and pale. I never stopped searching for diets, old wives tales, new medicies, ANYthing to help for months now. One thing that I have found which is unique in a number of ways is called Phoenix Tears. I encourage you to check out the website and watch the videos- it is really interesting. Also worth noting is the complete legality of it all, due to our great state of California's Prop 219.
I spent weeks getting together the material (thank you so much to my friends who helped with donations, you know who you are) and a full day making it. He had been taking it, eating, sleeping and somewhat less pained when he collapsed in his room on the 25th. After a trip to the ER, 4 liters of fluids and iron supplements, he came home late that night. It turns out Kaiser missed the fact that he has pneumonia, which his nurse -also my friend's mom and a former co-worker of my mom's- caught. He is now taking antibiotics and is feeling better, thought he rarely makes it too far out of bed, which is as crippling to the heart as it must be to his body. But, he is alive, and we haven't lost hope.
Yet another thing weighing heavily on my plate is that as of last Sunday -three days ago- Tobin has gone to live with his dad. It was a heartbreaking decision, but he got into a charter school where his dad lives and he really, really needs to be in a learning environment that suits him. Also, honestly and not exactly proudly, I have been getting SO frustrated at home. I have been losing my temper and yelling at the kids and getting completely overwhelmed with everything going on. I am known for my patience in general, and especially with kids, and I hate seeing myself break down. Tobin feels things like that very deeply, and part of me wants him to be shielded from my pain, though it increases it significantly. I have been away from him one time for 10 days when he visited his dad from Massachussetts, and my limit is four days in general, which happens less than once a year. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do. Breathe, I guess. Hence my last entry.
On top of all THIS, tomorrow is my last day in my 20s. I can't help but be a tiny bit depressed; I am in the shittiest house I've ever lived in -though the surroundings are wonderful, the water is unusable (insert into the mix vehement confronations with the landlord here) and there is no kitchen or hallways- and I have been unemployed for the first time in my adult life for three months, which is really rough, in addition to everything else I just listed. I know all of the wonderful quotes and songs I would send to a friend in the same boat, but I tell you- I just feel how I feel.
On a lighter note, I am having some friends over this weekend for my birthday, hopefully it will provide a much needed break and change of pace. I will try to write more often, as always, for my own sake at least.. Adios 20's, let the new chapter begin.
And now, to end with a song from my childhood that keeps getting stuck in my head...
Just what makes that little old ant
Think he'll move that rubber tree plant?
Anyone knows an ant, can't
Move a rubber tree plant
But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes
He's got high, apple pie, in the sky hopes
So any time you're gettin' low
'stead of lettin' go
Just remember that ant...
Oops! There goes another rubber tree,
Oops! There goes another rubber tree,
Oops! There goes another rubber tree plant.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Ride 'em,Cowgirl
Howdy from the great state of Texas!
I have been marinating in the lack of pressing responsibilities the past few days, and it has been a much needed hiatus. Of course, there are the daily phone calls from my sisters, frustrated with each other or the kids or of my dad not feeling so well that keep me firmly planted in reality so I don't just float away into the humidity. I can also say I remember -after years- what it feels like to really, really miss my kids. Tobin came in 2nd in his school's spelling bee! I am SO proud!! (I also came in 2nd my first year in a spelling bee, but that was in 4th grade, not 2nd) Go, Tobin!! Annika fell and scraped her elbow and I feel the same pull on my heartstrings in missing that as well. I probably missed Aiden doing bicycle stunts while swordfighting alien-ninja-pirate-robots atop a skateboard, but that's pretty standard, so I'll see it again when I return.
All the same, I am really enjoying Houston, too. It is HUGE! We went to the Museum of Natural Science, which was awesome. I have been to the one in Washington D.C. as well and it is one of my favorite places EVER. The main difference in museums is that the Houston museum has an entire section about oil, courtesy of Halliburton. I learned a lot, but I wish there were as big of an exhibit on finding out about other natural resources as well, but hey- it IS Texas.
Also filed under huge is The Galleria. It ias a mall as big as all of Santa Rosa's downtown! It has two Westin hotels, two Macy's, a Tiffany's, Chanel, Gucci, Versace, Fendi, Dior, YSL and like 300 other stores to drop your entire year's salary into. In the middle is what I thought was the most awesome- an ice rink! Smart thinking for people who go outside and immediately melt away.
The grocery stores are huge, too- they even have enormous natural/organic food selections, which was refreshing. My first day in, Shlomi and I went shopping to get some foods that are conducive to his poor belly and as I was picking out produce, Tori Amos came on over the speakers. TORIIII!! For the few of you who are reading this and don't know me very well, Tori is as close to Buddha or Jesus or Pope John whatever-the-heck as it gets for me. I took it as a personal welcome from the Universe to say "I promise, the Texans will not BBQ you, oh native Californian! Be free!" (nevermind I have no meat on my bones anyhow, but I digress) Also, for the same few people who don't happen to know me so well, it's fairly impossible for me to keep what I am thinking or feeling on the inside. Put me in public, hearing Tori Amos with these two insights and you can imagine why Shlomi stepped in close to say "Honey, people are staring!" as I stood, hugging a bag of organic granny smiths, head tilted back, eyes closed, swaying in the middle of the aisle. Hey man, take your moments when they come! If I know anything, it's that life can take your routine, your marriage, your house, your job, your health... anything, really, in a matter of a single day.
On the other hand, you can also be taken from that life and be put in the arms of someone who loves you (nevermind they may be informing you that you appear slightly insane) with your favorite song and a favorite food, in a random grocery store in a state you never particularly wanted to visit and be put right back in touch with yourself in another 24-hour single bound. My paternal grandmother, whom we lovingly refer to as Grammy, has given me two simple pieces of wisdom that get me through a lot- the first of which is: This too, shall pass. I know that both the despair of feeling helpless and overwhelmed and the bliss of random Tori surrounded by organic produce are passing moments, which is the only reason I can know that I can withstand whatever stresses happen in the day-to-day as well as remember to stop and breathe it all in when when the breaths of fresh air come.
I am going to really miss Shlomi. We have never had so much time together and it has been amazing. He moved here to start a business and had his first job yesterday! I am happy I was here for it, even though it just meant waiting for him to come back to the house so I can see him again. I walked around the apartment complex when he was gone- it, as in most everything else- is HUGE! There is a pool with a fountain and a separate water play area for the kids. His apartment is exactly next to the playground and has a sunken bathtub, only the latter of which I have personally, ever so happily, utilized. We were sitting on the couch watching a movie last night and for the first time in a long time, I was completely relaxed, my only thoughts swimming in love for the moment and him. I am going to box that up and save it for future reference when I am feeling like I did my last post or the days prior to it.
For now, Shlomi is home from work and we are going to go figure out how to spend the rest of my last afternoon here while I gear up for life's next wave... ride em' cowgirl indeed. Yeehaw!
I have been marinating in the lack of pressing responsibilities the past few days, and it has been a much needed hiatus. Of course, there are the daily phone calls from my sisters, frustrated with each other or the kids or of my dad not feeling so well that keep me firmly planted in reality so I don't just float away into the humidity. I can also say I remember -after years- what it feels like to really, really miss my kids. Tobin came in 2nd in his school's spelling bee! I am SO proud!! (I also came in 2nd my first year in a spelling bee, but that was in 4th grade, not 2nd) Go, Tobin!! Annika fell and scraped her elbow and I feel the same pull on my heartstrings in missing that as well. I probably missed Aiden doing bicycle stunts while swordfighting alien-ninja-pirate-robots atop a skateboard, but that's pretty standard, so I'll see it again when I return.
All the same, I am really enjoying Houston, too. It is HUGE! We went to the Museum of Natural Science, which was awesome. I have been to the one in Washington D.C. as well and it is one of my favorite places EVER. The main difference in museums is that the Houston museum has an entire section about oil, courtesy of Halliburton. I learned a lot, but I wish there were as big of an exhibit on finding out about other natural resources as well, but hey- it IS Texas.
Also filed under huge is The Galleria. It ias a mall as big as all of Santa Rosa's downtown! It has two Westin hotels, two Macy's, a Tiffany's, Chanel, Gucci, Versace, Fendi, Dior, YSL and like 300 other stores to drop your entire year's salary into. In the middle is what I thought was the most awesome- an ice rink! Smart thinking for people who go outside and immediately melt away.
The grocery stores are huge, too- they even have enormous natural/organic food selections, which was refreshing. My first day in, Shlomi and I went shopping to get some foods that are conducive to his poor belly and as I was picking out produce, Tori Amos came on over the speakers. TORIIII!! For the few of you who are reading this and don't know me very well, Tori is as close to Buddha or Jesus or Pope John whatever-the-heck as it gets for me. I took it as a personal welcome from the Universe to say "I promise, the Texans will not BBQ you, oh native Californian! Be free!" (nevermind I have no meat on my bones anyhow, but I digress) Also, for the same few people who don't happen to know me so well, it's fairly impossible for me to keep what I am thinking or feeling on the inside. Put me in public, hearing Tori Amos with these two insights and you can imagine why Shlomi stepped in close to say "Honey, people are staring!" as I stood, hugging a bag of organic granny smiths, head tilted back, eyes closed, swaying in the middle of the aisle. Hey man, take your moments when they come! If I know anything, it's that life can take your routine, your marriage, your house, your job, your health... anything, really, in a matter of a single day.
On the other hand, you can also be taken from that life and be put in the arms of someone who loves you (nevermind they may be informing you that you appear slightly insane) with your favorite song and a favorite food, in a random grocery store in a state you never particularly wanted to visit and be put right back in touch with yourself in another 24-hour single bound. My paternal grandmother, whom we lovingly refer to as Grammy, has given me two simple pieces of wisdom that get me through a lot- the first of which is: This too, shall pass. I know that both the despair of feeling helpless and overwhelmed and the bliss of random Tori surrounded by organic produce are passing moments, which is the only reason I can know that I can withstand whatever stresses happen in the day-to-day as well as remember to stop and breathe it all in when when the breaths of fresh air come.
I am going to really miss Shlomi. We have never had so much time together and it has been amazing. He moved here to start a business and had his first job yesterday! I am happy I was here for it, even though it just meant waiting for him to come back to the house so I can see him again. I walked around the apartment complex when he was gone- it, as in most everything else- is HUGE! There is a pool with a fountain and a separate water play area for the kids. His apartment is exactly next to the playground and has a sunken bathtub, only the latter of which I have personally, ever so happily, utilized. We were sitting on the couch watching a movie last night and for the first time in a long time, I was completely relaxed, my only thoughts swimming in love for the moment and him. I am going to box that up and save it for future reference when I am feeling like I did my last post or the days prior to it.
For now, Shlomi is home from work and we are going to go figure out how to spend the rest of my last afternoon here while I gear up for life's next wave... ride em' cowgirl indeed. Yeehaw!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wow. So today is the day of my dad's appointment at UCSF. They are going to give him a complete physical and have a meeting and decide if he is a good match for their trial... all I can do now is wait. Well, that and spend the day running around because tomorrow, I am going to go visit Shlomi in Houston for the weekend! (♥ insert sigh of relief here ♥) It's been almost 6 weeks! Even my visit has sort of a bitter-sweetness to it because unfortunately, even Shlomi isn't immune to this epic series of unfortunate events- he was in the ER last night with what ended up to be gallstones and was told he'll need surgery to remove his gallbladder. This sucks aside from the obvious on many levels, since either the surgery will be out of pocket insane expensive here or he'll have to go back to Israel for it and likely end up staying there. Both options aren't exactly favorable for either of us, so now I will add Shlomi to the list of people whose diets I am trying to overhaul for my own selfish desires of their company.
As soon as he called, I immediately hopped upon my trusty Google steed and rushed around, pen at the ready, searching for alternative/holistic approaches to help prevent and treat gallbladder and liver issues. Unsurprisingly, (to me, who stopped eating meat in 1993) the most widespread treatment was the removal of animal products from the diet. Have you guys read Diet for a New America
? It's a book a read a long time ago and could probably stand to read again, but it is yet another one that really sheds some light on diet and animal consumption without being terribly preachy. John Robbins has a new one out I haven't read called The Food Revolution
I'd like to get my hands on, too. Most websites, articles and books seem to concur that even the modification of more veggies (the raw-er the better) and cutting down animal product (meat and cheese, basically) intake by 20% can really boost your overall health. Sorry if now I sound preachy, but folks- I can't take any more unhealthy people around me! Save yourselves, I'm tired!
Speaking of which, I have had some really, really hard days recently. I am okay now, but probably I haven't written because I keep fighting off depression and it's really difficult. Some days I am so angry I feel like my chest is going to explode and howling banshees are going to fly out my mouth, smiting everyone around me with fire and smoke. Sometimes, I am so sad, I feel like Eeyore... like there's a cloud made specifically for me that I can't see through the gray of. Most of the time I am busy with the kids and helping my dad and it keeps my occupied, but sometimes the sheer magnitude of everything is so clearly felt on my shoulders, I literally can't even move. Luckily, I have Amber to cry to, Shlomi who makes me laugh, Porky (my youngest sister- we really call her Porky, I think even she forgets her real identity...) pitches in with the house and kids and somehow, amazingly, I live.
So now, I am off to take Annika for a playdate with Grace, her soulmate and very bestest friend before I go crazy trying to get everything done today so I can leave peacefully tomorrow. I just finished juicing with Annika so we are all healthy and ready to go! I can't get over how pretty the juice is and how good it tastes. Okay, another day, take 1....
As soon as he called, I immediately hopped upon my trusty Google steed and rushed around, pen at the ready, searching for alternative/holistic approaches to help prevent and treat gallbladder and liver issues. Unsurprisingly, (to me, who stopped eating meat in 1993) the most widespread treatment was the removal of animal products from the diet. Have you guys read Diet for a New America
? It's a book a read a long time ago and could probably stand to read again, but it is yet another one that really sheds some light on diet and animal consumption without being terribly preachy. John Robbins has a new one out I haven't read called The Food Revolution I'd like to get my hands on, too. Most websites, articles and books seem to concur that even the modification of more veggies (the raw-er the better) and cutting down animal product (meat and cheese, basically) intake by 20% can really boost your overall health. Sorry if now I sound preachy, but folks- I can't take any more unhealthy people around me! Save yourselves, I'm tired!Speaking of which, I have had some really, really hard days recently. I am okay now, but probably I haven't written because I keep fighting off depression and it's really difficult. Some days I am so angry I feel like my chest is going to explode and howling banshees are going to fly out my mouth, smiting everyone around me with fire and smoke. Sometimes, I am so sad, I feel like Eeyore... like there's a cloud made specifically for me that I can't see through the gray of. Most of the time I am busy with the kids and helping my dad and it keeps my occupied, but sometimes the sheer magnitude of everything is so clearly felt on my shoulders, I literally can't even move. Luckily, I have Amber to cry to, Shlomi who makes me laugh, Porky (my youngest sister- we really call her Porky, I think even she forgets her real identity...) pitches in with the house and kids and somehow, amazingly, I live.
So now, I am off to take Annika for a playdate with Grace, her soulmate and very bestest friend before I go crazy trying to get everything done today so I can leave peacefully tomorrow. I just finished juicing with Annika so we are all healthy and ready to go! I can't get over how pretty the juice is and how good it tastes. Okay, another day, take 1....
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