And just like that, he's gone. Jake passed away early in the morning on Mother's Day. I saw him 11 hours earlier, after he came home from the hospital. I didn't think he had much more time, but I thought maybe a week. Not 11 hours. It was so gracious of his wife to let people in the house all that day to say their goodbyes. The next day, their house was open to anyone, as well. There was a big box that we could decorate with scrapbook materials such as stickers, note cards, markers, etc. Since Jake was to be cremated, there was no need for a fancy casket. This was a lovely way for people to make a small representation of their love.
The hardest part, but what also turned out to be somewhat profound for me, was that Jake's body was still in the house. I guess in the old days (maybe certain cultures still do this?) a wake was always held, where family and friends held watch over the deceased's body until burial. That tradition is still carried on as a viewing, most often held at the funeral home (Catholics often do this in conjunction with a Rosary). A wake is as best as I can describe this. It was kind of amazing. I always thought that I would be uncomfortable with my loved one's dead body in my/our house, and while it was a little uncomfortable (due to the lack of exposure to doing this?) at first, it was also a meaningful way to say goodbye--to add finality to the situation. Especially because there is not yet a service planned. Jake's wife said maybe in a month, maybe three months.
While time stops for Jake's wife, at least temporarily, it goes on for me and that's okay. Since he was not in my life in person every day (though certainly in my thoughts), I suspect this is a stage of unacceptance, in a way. Because, like any death of someone close to me (while I have been to 5 funerals in the last 3 years, only my grandma was especially close to me), Jake's death just doesn't make sense. It's not right that he's no longer here.
My Mother's Day started with notification (at 6 am) that Jake had passed. We then met my husband's parents and his sister and her family for breakfast on the other side of the mountain at a cafe for breakfast. Next, we attempted to hike on the peak of the mountain, but it was terribly windy and blustery cold. We hiked a half mile to the Old Rock House and back. Despite the weather, it was a needed respite to be out of the city and in nature, especially on that particular day. I was saddened by the immense number of dead pines on the mountain. This drought is devastating our environment. After our hike, we drove to Jake's house and spent a couple of hours with his family and friends. Next, we went home and I made dinner for my parents, who came over around 6 pm. I make a fabulous red chile-encrusted pork loin roast that is to die for. I made it with roasted potatoes and wilted spinach and arugula. I also bought a chantilly cake from Whole Foods that was supreme.
Later that evening, as we were getting ready for bed, I told my husband thanks for the nice day. He thought I was crazy and said no, it was a terrible day. I disagree, for myself anyway. It wasn't an easy day and certainly it might seem odd to say it was nice when I visited my dead friend and his grieving family. But, it was what I needed, sad and heartbroken as I am.
To end as Jake ended his posts where he documented his journey with cancer, here are my thoughts. Spend time with those who love you. Reach out to friends in need. As I grow older, every day I learn a little more about what being a true friend is. I reached out to Jake beyond my "normal" friend level and I don't regret any of it. I wish I could have done more.
--LG
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Losing a contemporary
I haven't written like I thought I would for several reasons. The main one is that I am losing one of my best friends to cancer, at the ripe old age of 36. The news just keeps getting grimmer for him. For all of us, really. I've heard of the occasional high school classmate who passed away, but no one I was friends with. I lost my dear grandmother three years ago after a bad fall sucked the life out of her. I went through hospitals and rehab with her. Then a nursing home followed by an all-too short time at home with round-the-clock care that was unmanageable for my family. Ultimately she went to a nursing home/assisted living that was run in an actual house with only 8 or so residents. But, within less than a month she was on hospice care and died about a month after that. Six months from a relatively healthy 88 year old to a dead 89-year old.
There are no ifs, ands, nor buts about it, it was a horrible and life-changing experience. It was also an incredible learning experience. I've told several people this over the last year or so: I thought I finally felt like an adult once I had children and my lifestyle was altered drastically. I had new priorities that superseded everything. Always. But then, my grandma's accident changed my state of being into Really Grown Up. I realized that caring for someone during the dying process is actually what made me feel like a true adult. I learned new, fascinating, morbid things that I never imagined. I also realized that many people don't experience this (at least at my age) and of those who do, very few talk about it.
I had a brief but dear friendship with a critical care doctor last year who talked a lot about his experiences working in an ICU. I learned how caring a doctor's message could be, even when facing death and the unknown. I've never been quite sure if he truly felt the things he told his patients and their families, or if he just learned what the right things were to say and how to say them (he gave me his "talk" once or twice, inevitably leaving me in tears) to convey to dying patients and their families the reality of the situation. For the patients and their families, it doesn't really matter what he felt but it mattered immensely to them that he said it. Most doctors don't. They skirt around the issue because it's "easier" for everyone if they do everything they can. Leave no stone unturned. My grandma's spiral toward death (i.e., life experience) and conversations with my friend have certainly helped me to see the dying process in a different light.
So how do I apply "lessons learned" to my young friend, Jake, dying of metastatic colon cancer? It's not the same as watching die an 89-year old woman who has led a full life. Jake has an almost 10-year old daughter, a young wife. A new career. He's smart, funny, loyal. I've been friends with him since my senior year in high school (different schools--we met in a city-wide youth symphony program). He played the tuba. I played the piccolo. At one of my high school band concerts, we played a duet called "The Elephant and the Fly" (I'd attach a link, but I can't find a decent performance of it on YouTube, sadly). We traveled to Norway and Denmark together, drank beer, said "takk for maten" quite a bit--one of the few Norwegian phrases we learned. He stripped off his shirt in the windy subarctic tundra of Norway to proclaim his Viking heritage (or something--I say that just because of his red hair). He taught me how insensitive elbow skin truly is. Jake gave me my first motorcycle ride--to a Tori Amos concert, no less. We lost touch for several years after college, but thanks to the wonder that is the internet, we found each other again, though both living far from home. In time, we both moved back home, with our families in tow, and we've had many happy family get-togethers. Dancing until late at night to Just Dance 3 on the Wii. Drinking beer, barbecuing, planning the remodeling to our houses, watching Fourth-of-July fireworks from his back patio.
Our last family get-together was in November. Jake had been wanting to take his daughter to a teppanyaki place and so our families met for dinner at one. He didn't quite seem himself, but his wife thought his new job was stressing him. Less than two weeks later he was diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer. What? I found out the 2010s sort of way--through his Facebook post to the world announcing his diagnosis. Kind of a shitty, shocking way to find out, really. But, I understand why he did it. I'm not sure that I'd do the same, but I don't think any less of him for doing it. It's the most efficient way to get out such news.
Since then, chemotherapies with terrible, bizarre side effects, some intolerable. Allergic reactions. For every intervention, it seems there are dozens of horrible side effects. From the moment of diagnosis, I've known that this is terminal cancer. I think he's known it, too. From the beginning I've offered my help, my support. It seems there's nothing I can do, though, at least that's how I feel. I've kept his daughter overnight a few times during chemo weekends. Unfortunately, our daughters don't get along as well as we would hope (they are about 1.5 years apart and perhaps a lot alike but also vastly different personalities and they seem to clash a bit). I've gone to visit him two times while he's getting chemo, one of those times allowed his wife to take a lunch break. I feel so inadequate. I can't imagine what the day-to-day is like for them.
Anyway, Jake was hospitalized yesterday and will likely be going home to hospice care. I think it's overdue, but everyone's thinking, including his doctors, is, "He's 36! We have to do everything!" I keep thinking, "Quality of life!! Make the most of what you have left!!" So easy for me to say that. I'm not in denial about his imminent departure and I think most people are. And if it were my husband, or myself, I'd probably be in denial, too. It's hard to watch the scramble, the madness, to find a new therapy to make it better. I just wish for him comfort and peace and time with his precious family. Quality time. I hope that palliative and hospice care will bring him these things. I hope they help his family to accept and understand the process. It is too soon.
He will be my first friend to pass away. As much as I want to, I can't say something like, "Of all my friends, he deserves this the least." No one "deserves" this. This is not a punishment. It just is. It is indescribably and profoundly sad that this is happening to Jake. He's a rare gem and I will be forever touched by his friendship and love.
There are no ifs, ands, nor buts about it, it was a horrible and life-changing experience. It was also an incredible learning experience. I've told several people this over the last year or so: I thought I finally felt like an adult once I had children and my lifestyle was altered drastically. I had new priorities that superseded everything. Always. But then, my grandma's accident changed my state of being into Really Grown Up. I realized that caring for someone during the dying process is actually what made me feel like a true adult. I learned new, fascinating, morbid things that I never imagined. I also realized that many people don't experience this (at least at my age) and of those who do, very few talk about it.
I had a brief but dear friendship with a critical care doctor last year who talked a lot about his experiences working in an ICU. I learned how caring a doctor's message could be, even when facing death and the unknown. I've never been quite sure if he truly felt the things he told his patients and their families, or if he just learned what the right things were to say and how to say them (he gave me his "talk" once or twice, inevitably leaving me in tears) to convey to dying patients and their families the reality of the situation. For the patients and their families, it doesn't really matter what he felt but it mattered immensely to them that he said it. Most doctors don't. They skirt around the issue because it's "easier" for everyone if they do everything they can. Leave no stone unturned. My grandma's spiral toward death (i.e., life experience) and conversations with my friend have certainly helped me to see the dying process in a different light.
So how do I apply "lessons learned" to my young friend, Jake, dying of metastatic colon cancer? It's not the same as watching die an 89-year old woman who has led a full life. Jake has an almost 10-year old daughter, a young wife. A new career. He's smart, funny, loyal. I've been friends with him since my senior year in high school (different schools--we met in a city-wide youth symphony program). He played the tuba. I played the piccolo. At one of my high school band concerts, we played a duet called "The Elephant and the Fly" (I'd attach a link, but I can't find a decent performance of it on YouTube, sadly). We traveled to Norway and Denmark together, drank beer, said "takk for maten" quite a bit--one of the few Norwegian phrases we learned. He stripped off his shirt in the windy subarctic tundra of Norway to proclaim his Viking heritage (or something--I say that just because of his red hair). He taught me how insensitive elbow skin truly is. Jake gave me my first motorcycle ride--to a Tori Amos concert, no less. We lost touch for several years after college, but thanks to the wonder that is the internet, we found each other again, though both living far from home. In time, we both moved back home, with our families in tow, and we've had many happy family get-togethers. Dancing until late at night to Just Dance 3 on the Wii. Drinking beer, barbecuing, planning the remodeling to our houses, watching Fourth-of-July fireworks from his back patio.
Our last family get-together was in November. Jake had been wanting to take his daughter to a teppanyaki place and so our families met for dinner at one. He didn't quite seem himself, but his wife thought his new job was stressing him. Less than two weeks later he was diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer. What? I found out the 2010s sort of way--through his Facebook post to the world announcing his diagnosis. Kind of a shitty, shocking way to find out, really. But, I understand why he did it. I'm not sure that I'd do the same, but I don't think any less of him for doing it. It's the most efficient way to get out such news.
Since then, chemotherapies with terrible, bizarre side effects, some intolerable. Allergic reactions. For every intervention, it seems there are dozens of horrible side effects. From the moment of diagnosis, I've known that this is terminal cancer. I think he's known it, too. From the beginning I've offered my help, my support. It seems there's nothing I can do, though, at least that's how I feel. I've kept his daughter overnight a few times during chemo weekends. Unfortunately, our daughters don't get along as well as we would hope (they are about 1.5 years apart and perhaps a lot alike but also vastly different personalities and they seem to clash a bit). I've gone to visit him two times while he's getting chemo, one of those times allowed his wife to take a lunch break. I feel so inadequate. I can't imagine what the day-to-day is like for them.
Anyway, Jake was hospitalized yesterday and will likely be going home to hospice care. I think it's overdue, but everyone's thinking, including his doctors, is, "He's 36! We have to do everything!" I keep thinking, "Quality of life!! Make the most of what you have left!!" So easy for me to say that. I'm not in denial about his imminent departure and I think most people are. And if it were my husband, or myself, I'd probably be in denial, too. It's hard to watch the scramble, the madness, to find a new therapy to make it better. I just wish for him comfort and peace and time with his precious family. Quality time. I hope that palliative and hospice care will bring him these things. I hope they help his family to accept and understand the process. It is too soon.
He will be my first friend to pass away. As much as I want to, I can't say something like, "Of all my friends, he deserves this the least." No one "deserves" this. This is not a punishment. It just is. It is indescribably and profoundly sad that this is happening to Jake. He's a rare gem and I will be forever touched by his friendship and love.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Revival
It's been nearly five years since I last wrote. I've been needing an outlet, and so I'm back. In a new state, with a new job, and a second child. My life is pretty good. I'm sure specifics will come out in due time.
I swore off Facebook. I even deactivated my account. So what, you're thinking? Well, it's kind of a big deal for me because I was one of those people who became rather addicted to it and spent way too much time perusing pages of people who mostly are "imaginary" friends. I've been off it for nearly three weeks now and I admit that I miss interacting with some of them. Maybe 10 or so. However, I really don't miss the other 290+ "friends." Let's be honest, it's kind of strange to feel so in the dark now about what's going on (at least a little) in various people's lives. But seriously, I don't see almost all of them in real life anyway, so I'm not really missing out on anything, am I? It's like I made it all up--I was living in this virtual world that didn't really exist. The other thing that's strange about not being on FB is that now when I take pictures, I can't post them. I don't know what to do with them if I can't share them!! So, of course, I keep thinking that I could revive my online Picasa photos and share with selected individuals. I suppose, but then I'd have to email them. With FB, you post them and if people want to look they will, if not, they keep on scrollin'. Emailing people sort of forces them to look or feel badly if they don't. Lame. The digital age is really strange for socialization.
It was time to focus on real life and my husband and my children and my work. I don't want my face stuck to my phone all day long. What kind of message is that sending my children? I also caught half of this segment on NPR a couple of weeks ago and it stated so bluntly, "STOP IGNORING YOUR CHILDREN. IT'S HURTING THEM." I've had a smartphone for 2.5 years now and I've battled my desires to constantly be looking at it. I used to annoy my husband. He got a smartphone last fall and now I chide him about how much time he spends on it. It drives me nuts, actually. I read him some of the linked article and I could tell he felt bad, but I think he's going to have to come to the realization of the overuse on his own.
My daughter will be starting middle school in the fall and we will have to get her a cell phone. How can we teach her good habits when we aren't exhibiting them? She already spends more time on the computer than I would like, chatting with her friends. Speaking of which, it's past time that I check her email and chat history and URL history. She's been known to get herself in a little trouble here and there.
I have to go to class and I don't want to. So tempted to skip. But, only 3 more classes left. Then only two more classes that I HAVE to take EVER. Still dissertation work to do, but at least the stress of coursework will be done. Can't wait.
There will be more, maybe even today.
--LG
I swore off Facebook. I even deactivated my account. So what, you're thinking? Well, it's kind of a big deal for me because I was one of those people who became rather addicted to it and spent way too much time perusing pages of people who mostly are "imaginary" friends. I've been off it for nearly three weeks now and I admit that I miss interacting with some of them. Maybe 10 or so. However, I really don't miss the other 290+ "friends." Let's be honest, it's kind of strange to feel so in the dark now about what's going on (at least a little) in various people's lives. But seriously, I don't see almost all of them in real life anyway, so I'm not really missing out on anything, am I? It's like I made it all up--I was living in this virtual world that didn't really exist. The other thing that's strange about not being on FB is that now when I take pictures, I can't post them. I don't know what to do with them if I can't share them!! So, of course, I keep thinking that I could revive my online Picasa photos and share with selected individuals. I suppose, but then I'd have to email them. With FB, you post them and if people want to look they will, if not, they keep on scrollin'. Emailing people sort of forces them to look or feel badly if they don't. Lame. The digital age is really strange for socialization.
It was time to focus on real life and my husband and my children and my work. I don't want my face stuck to my phone all day long. What kind of message is that sending my children? I also caught half of this segment on NPR a couple of weeks ago and it stated so bluntly, "STOP IGNORING YOUR CHILDREN. IT'S HURTING THEM." I've had a smartphone for 2.5 years now and I've battled my desires to constantly be looking at it. I used to annoy my husband. He got a smartphone last fall and now I chide him about how much time he spends on it. It drives me nuts, actually. I read him some of the linked article and I could tell he felt bad, but I think he's going to have to come to the realization of the overuse on his own.
My daughter will be starting middle school in the fall and we will have to get her a cell phone. How can we teach her good habits when we aren't exhibiting them? She already spends more time on the computer than I would like, chatting with her friends. Speaking of which, it's past time that I check her email and chat history and URL history. She's been known to get herself in a little trouble here and there.
I have to go to class and I don't want to. So tempted to skip. But, only 3 more classes left. Then only two more classes that I HAVE to take EVER. Still dissertation work to do, but at least the stress of coursework will be done. Can't wait.
There will be more, maybe even today.
--LG
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