gliobastoma – It's All About Family

Time and Memory

Reflections on the anniversary of my father’s passing

Friday, March 28th, marked the 15th anniversary of my dad’s death in 2010. In February of that year, after a month of turmoil for us all, he was finally settled into the nursing home after leaving his assisted living with a short stay in the hospital. He’d begun attending the events and, as always, enjoyed the music. My sister Gail said she’d had a nice visit with him, taking him for a walk around the grounds and spending time sitting and talking outside.

It was a Sunday, when I received the call from the nursing home to tell me he had passed away. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast when someone walked by, and when they walked by again, he was slumped over. Just like that. Gail and I contacted the funeral home then headed there and sat with him for a while. It was Palm Sunday and the home left a frond in his room that I took and have in a box with my parents personal belongings.

I’ve written more than once about my mother’s eight week journey from diagnosis to death with Glioblastoma. My dad’s death occurred one week prior to the 23rd anniversary of my mother’s death.

After my mother died, my father carried on. He was 63 and still working in the facilities department at Gaylord Hospital in town. He really loved that job! He was such a people person, he was an awesome painter and wall-paperer, my sister Gail worked there, and the Farms Country Club was next door so he’d look for golf balls during lunch or hit some balls.

He loved “his girls”, his grandkids, golfing, and riding his bike. During my 8 years in California, he visited both with my sisters and by himself and I never had to entertain him. He’d take off for the day on my bike or head to the golf course in town.

I won’t go through the litany of health ailments starting with his 1996 knee replacement, but they were enough to slow him down and significant enough that he was not able to live on his own after 2000. After that, it felt like from late January until April, he, and we, were dealing with one health issue or another.

During this week every year, I think about that. I’ve written about my dad’s childhood, how his mother died when he was turning 3 and his father died the month before his 11th birthday. He and his older siblings were then raised by his 12 years older brother.

What do I think about? I think that he didn’t want to leave his girls alone. I think that he wanted to be with us, to be our dad for as long as he could even if that meant fighting through whatever pain he had. I may sound crazy, but I think after 22 years and 51 weeks my mother said, “Honey, they’re going to be fine, come home” and with that, he went home.

The Trip of a Lifetime

The Week 27 topic of 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks is Airplanes.

I told you about my dad’s experience being stationed in England during WWII in the Effects of War post in June. That’s pretty much the extent of any stories about airplanes because most of my other family members were in the Navy! But here’s a fun memory –

St. Patrick’s Day in 1986 was on a Monday. On that morning, while upstairs getting ready for work, I heard a commotion downstairs. My mother was in the kitchen having breakfast, what happened? I suddenly remembered, she was in competition to win a trip to Ireland through WELI 960 radio and OMG her name must have been called!

I raced downstairs to check on her and yes, they said her name! Evidently, she called once and was so hysterical they hung up on her! Finally she got through to them to claim her prize. An all-expense paid trip for two to Ireland!

My parents, both in their early 60s, had never been on a plane before! They applied and received their passports, applied for a credit card, received their foreign country drivers license, and they were ready to go on August 26, 1986.

I remember the day they left, someone from my mother’s office was driving them from Connecticut to JFK airport and he was late picking them up! I’m sure they were silently swearing while waiting for him and on the ride, but they made it!

I have no record of their travel while there, but I know they kissed the Blarney Stone, stayed at some little bed and breakfast sites, and shopped. My mom bought me a kilt in the Dress Stewart pattern and claddagh earrings because I already had a ring. I wore the skirt for years and hung onto it for many more.

They had a wonderful seven days exploring Ireland together before returning home on September 2nd.

It is fortunate they had this time together because only a few months later my mother started exhibiting signs of memory loss. At the end of January 1987, she was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiform, and she passed away on April 4, 1987. I’m grateful they were able to experience this trip of a lifetime!

The Season of Betty – The End and The Beginning

I started this story over a year ago. I’m not sure it’s made me feel any
better but it’s an unburdening of sorts because we all just put on brave faces
during those 9 weeks. Nine weeks. They go by in the blink of an eye these days but in 1987 it felt like 9 years.

My mother died on Saturday, April 4, 1987, one day before her 65th birthday. It was between 8:30 and 9am. I was sitting on her bed with her and I noticed she’d stop breathing for a couple of beats and then start again. I called for my father to come and let him stay with her while I called my aunts to let them know it was going to be very soon. I’m sure I called my sisters too. I left to pick up my Aunt Tootsie so my parents could be together.

I have debated with myself about the amount of detail for this post. I decided to keep it brief.

We all went with my father to select her casket and plan the funeral. Father Merusi, one of our former priests, who was now in Meriden, requested to perform the mass as he knew my mother well from the Mother’s Circle club and working on and chairing the church Bazaar. The wake was on Monday night and the funeral was on Tuesday morning at Holy Trinity Church in Wallingford. It was very beautiful and for many years I kept the sign-in book and all the cards that we received. I found it comforting to read how people felt about her.

Something very frustrating at the wake was to hear her friends or acquaintances say: “Oh, you know I’d see her at the store and say Hi and she didn’t even acknowledge me”. Or people she worked with in a small office said: “She would fall asleep at her desk during work”. People, if someone is acting strange, find a way to say something to someone!

There was one notable moment for me when the limousine pulled up to the church. Just before we opened the door to exist my father said, “Now I don’t want anyone crying”. It stunned me. I thought “You can’t tell us that!”. I was dry-eyed through the ceremony until I saw my sister’s friend. I don’t know why, but I started sobbing and wasn’t able to stop until we exited the church. Knowing now about my father’s childhood, I’m fairly certain it was what he heard as a soon-to-be 11-year-old boy from his older brother when they buried their father in 1935 after a hit-and-run accident as he walked along Route 5. It must have been so traumatic for him.

After the funeral, we had a gathering at VFW in Wallingford. From there, I recall my father and I going home and some relatives came to the house. He entertained them but I immediately changed into my workout clothes and dashed out of the house to go to the fitness center where I was a member and had gone every night during these 9 weeks. I was ready to and had to, get back to “normal” life.

I read Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth last month and there was a short story about a mother’s death from cancer after being ill for a number of years. The young man talked of his grandparents arriving from India and breaking down when they realize their daughter is no longer alive. “….grieving freshly for my mother as neither my father nor I had done. Being with her through her illness day after day had denied us that privilege.”

This passage was like a punch in the nose. I felt guilty for being relieved that I could just be again, because that meant, in my mind, I was relieved my mother had died. I didn’t see it as she was free from suffering, I saw it as I no longer had to take care of her. She’d already left me and I’d already done my mourning when she was diagnosed. When the time came to really mourn her with all her friends and relatives, it was too late. It had passed. I had moved on.

The bright spot going forward was the vacation I had to postpone when she stopped eating was coming up in three weeks! I was all set. I was going with my friend Cindy and my plan was to bring a bunch of books and spend the week lying on the beach reading! HA – little did I know my mother had other plans for me…..!