3 posts tagged “death”
There are two quick stories about things that have happened since my father passed that I wanted to share in this blog. These are things that I would normally write off as coincidence, but would like to believe have more depth than that. Frankly, I don't think it matters why these things happened so much as what they mean to me.
The first thing happened on my drive home from the funeral. Like I said in the last post, I was feeling really bad at that point, both physically (I had a huge headache) and emotionally (I just wanted to be alone for a little while). Before getting in my car and driving out of Connecticut, I decided to download the newest episode of This American Life to give me something to lose myself in. The only things I knew about the episode before I left were the theme, "Return to the Scene of the Crime", and that it was a live episode that was filmed at a theater in Chicago (and thus was likely to be a good show). I got into my car and immediately started the show.
I try not to push my interests onto other people (or to do so very minimally), but I do ask that anyone reading this post click on the following link and give this episode a listen:
If you don't want to listen to the whole episode (and shame on you if that's the case!), please jump to the last story which is 37:46 and check it out. Pretty please. I have been a huge TAL fan for the better part of a year now, and Dan Savage's "Our Man of Perpetual Sorrow" is one of the most heartfelt things I've ever heard. The author, a gay man, writes about his mother's death, and how he wants to believe that she is in heaven despite not being able to truly get behind the actions and messages of the Catholic church.
This was the exact stuff that I had been thinking about six hours before at the funeral.
It's really hard to explain what was going through my head, listening to something so well-told that seemed so incredibly personally related to my own situation. I can say that it was almost cathartic to listen to. I suppose it's a normal feeling that one goes through when losing a loved one, the feeling that no one really understands what it is I'm going through - and that one essay (written by a sex advice columnist, no less) honestly made me feel like my father was saying "Hey, I know what you're going through, and it's all right to feel the way you do".
In that story, Dan talks about how he goes to the church a few days a week - not so much to pray as to think about his mother. What I've found is that I relisten to his essay in much the same way that he goes to church. It's the best way that I've found to truly take 15 minutes out of my day and just think about my father. I have yet to get through the story without crying, and I take solace in that. I really miss my father, and in the absence of prayer, the best thing that I can do is to keep him in my thoughts.
---
Before my father's condition got to the point where drugs had rendered him incoherent, there was a point where he was going to undergo surgery to have his cancerous kidney removed. I knew that this was a risky operation, and that there was a very good chance that I would lose him that day. It wasn't an easy thing to accept, and so I dealt with the stress of the situation the same way that I deal with other stress: writing. I wrote my father a note that basically had everything in it that I could think of to write down - as I'm sure people can imagine, it wasn't an easy thing to come up with. Also, before I wrote that letter, I had asked my father if there was anything that he would want me to take care of should the worst end up happening. He told me this:
"If Manny Ramirez ever plays in Fenway Park again, I want you to organize a massive shunning of him. I don't want people to cheer him or to boo him. I want everyone to stand up, turn their back on him, and not make any noise at all".
If I haven't mentioned it before, my dad really loved baseball and the Boston Red Sox. And as such, he felt that Manny Ramirez - a talented player known for not particularly caring about the two things my father loved so much who eventually left Boston in an unpleasant manner - was one of the worst people in the world.
So, back to the letter: here is the last paragraph that I wrote to my father:
And so now the time comes to end this letter. It’s the toughest thing I’ve ever written, filled with things that I’ve never been able to really properly say. I really want the best for you and I know that it’s out of our hands at this point. I love you more than any words or any letter can properly express, and I know that you love me just as much.
Thank you for being there and loving me with everything you’ve had. You’ll always be in my heart and thoughts.
Love, Michelle
PS – I’ll see to it that Manny gets the shunning he deserves.
Did you see that last part? Because to the people not from Boston/who don't follow baseball - Manny was suspended from baseball for 50 days after being found using illegal substances. Looking at the opinions of sports newscasters, of fans around the internet, and of people living in Boston - it would appear that I won't have to do anything to facilitate a shunning of Manny Ramirez. The weird thing is that the story broke the day after my father's funeral. It's not that I think my father had any pull in this - that would be crazy - but IF my father had a chance to influence something like that happening from beyond the grave, that is certainly something he'd consider.
---
It's these weird sort of coincidences that will help me keep the memory of my father at the forefront of my brain. I'm happy about this. I will always have memories, and old photos, and keepsakes from the first 29 years of my life, but it's nice to see these strange things occur because they make me wonder about the finality of death. I'm still not sure I believe in heaven, but I can say now that I'm also wavering on my former opinion that once we died, "that's it". I don't want to believe that, and it's nice to think that my father probably doesn't want me to believe that either.
This post is pretty long overdue. My apologies to those (if they exist) who have been wondering where my updates have been. These last few weeks have been quite the emotional roller coaster for me, and I wanted to take some time to gather my thoughts before trying to record them in any way. To be honest, I'm not sure if it has entirely sunk in yet that my father is gone, and so I've found that I have just been trying to get back into the normal swing of things again.
My father's wake was a new experience for me. While I have been to wakes in the past, I had never been in the receiving line before. In general, I spend my life trying to put a positive spin on everything I can so that I can truly appreciate life, but this type of attitude makes it tough when it comes to mourning the passing of a loved one. When people started showing up to the funeral home - and there were a lot of people - my efforts were focused on talking to those who showed up to honor my father. I very much appreciate that so many people came out, as it was touching to see how many people my father seems to have positively influenced throughout his lifetime.
The fact that a number of the people there didn't have any clue that I existed didn't help. There was a video screen displaying pictures of my father throughout his life, and in almost all of the pictures, there were three sons and no daughters. My father worked with a very religious (Catholic) organization for 30+ years, and so it wasn't exactly advertised to others when I came out as transgendered - I found that a number of people assumed that I was my brother's wife. There were times that I explained who I was, and as expected, nobody gave me any sort of issues for it, but it was another added level of stress to an already stressful situation. On a plus note, I did see some people from my past (parents of friends from elementary school, the family that used to babysit me, relatives that I don't get a chance to see too often), as well as friends that made the trip from Boston, who managed to uplift my spirits a bit.
The funeral was tougher. I was raised Catholic, but grew into atheism/agnosticism as I reached adulthood. It's not that I didn't want to believe in God, it was more that, objectively speaking, it just didn't add up to me. The actions of the Church didn't help my faith very much. Going into that church though, I really wanted to believe that my father would be in heaven, watching over me for the rest of my life - it is a lot better than believing that he is gone for good. With the exception of my brother's eulogy (which was heartfelt and amazing), I found myself feeling numb throughout most of the two-hour mass. It was like my heart was trying to accept the word of God, but my brain was saying "not gonna let you do this" and shutting down on me.
The burial and luncheon were more of the same. I like socializing with others, but it can be really hard to be enthusiastic about making smalltalk when what you really want to do is be alone and cry about your father. By the time we got back to my mother's house, I had a splitting headache and just wanted to go home. I had a pretty amazing moment in the car ride home which I'm going to detail in another post after this one.
I got back to Boston, spent the evening at my friends' house, and then went back to work the next day. All seemingly normal things, but I've felt distracted ever since I got back. I'm not really good at dealing with pain head-on, and so coping hasn't been easy. My phone - which I keep in my purse - accidentally dialed my father's cellphone number soon after the funeral, and I just lost it. Whenever my thoughts wander to "I'm never going to see dad again", I grow deeply sad. I have always been easily distracted, but I feel like that tendency has reached a whole new peak. And my health hasn't rebounded quite as well as I hoped it would - throughout my father's sickness I developed things like headaches, constipation, vomiting, lack of energy, all of which I attributed to stress. I have read that stress weakens the immune system, and I suppose that must be the case, because I've had a stomach bug since Sunday that has rendered me pretty much bedridden since then. Thank goodness for laptops.
Through all of this, though, I have to assume that things are looking up. My father's passing is something that my family has been trying to prepare for for awhile now, and now that it's happened, we can start trying to adjust things a bit. Mother's Day this year was a small affair - just my brother Joe, my mother, and myself - and it was strangely nice. We talked a lot about dad, and how much we miss him in our own ways, and how the family was going to have to come together to get ourselves through it all. I've used this analogy at work when people ask how I'm doing: if you were to map out the level of my stress on a bell curve, it's now past the peak and is slowly going down again. I suppose that's really all I can ask for when all is said and done.
And so I'm now going to end this post, and immediately start another post about my father in a slightly different vein. And I suppose when that's done, I can go back to writing about being transgendered - something which honestly hasn't come too much into play in my life these days.
Friday, 6:21pm
I'm riding on a train to New York City. Despite the ridiculousness of last week, and despite the fact that I'm on one of the new Accela trains that goes from New York to Boston in 4 hours, this ride feels like the longest one that I've ever been on. I'm taking the train to watch my father die.
On Wednesday afternoon, my brother emailed me to let me know that the doctors had declared that there was nothing left that they could do. The cancer had spread, there was a blood clot in his lung, and the only logical step left was hospice care. I called my father to let him know that I love him, but I'm not sure that he quite heard/understood me. After that, any chance I had of focusing on my job for the day was replaced with a monster headache.
Thursday morning was a surreal experience. I literally woke up throwing up my dinner from the night before. I don't know if this was stress or illness - it was likely both. I cleaned up and assessed the situation, realizing that no matter what the cause, I was growing ill. I called out of work and went back to sleep, hoping that I could sleep it off. The headache and vomiting stayed with me all of Thursday - I tried going out for lunch but couldn't keep it down.
Later in the afternoon, I was called with more bad news from my family. My father was too weak even for hospice care. Realistically, he isn't going to last too much longer - days at most. Faced with this, a number of family and friends would be going to New York to say their goodbyes, and I should certainly be there as soon as I could because there was no telling how much time my father has left. I told my family that I would rest up that night and head for New York as soon as I could the next day. Even as I said this, I was watching a news report sensationalizing the Swine Flu and warning people not to take trains.
Sleep is a great tool to fight illness. It's also a fleeting luxury when you've just received news that your father will be dying this weekend. I tossed and turned all night, completely unable to park my brain and rest. This brings me to right now. I still have the headache, still have stomach issues, and it hurts when I breathe in too deep, but what else can I do? I've napped on and off all day and I feel like I'm in a complete fog. There's just this sense of uncertainty that I can't get rid of - I really can't imagine what life is going to be like after my father passes away. The last time I was scared of losing him, I put off five years of my own personal growth (transition) because his love was worth that much to me. At the end of this weekend or this week, he will be gone from my life and there's nothing I can do about it.
People have said in the past that my ability to keep a positive outlook in life's tougher situations is one of my best qualities. In 5 years, I've been through a car accident that nearly killed me, a fire that nearly killed me, and managed to successfully come out and be happy as a transsexual, and I've come out of it all with a smile on my face. None of that stuff has anything on watching a loved one die of cancer. It's horrible. At this point, it's honestly taking all of my effort not to just completely break down - writing these thoughts down has been the primary thing that has kept me sane on this train ride.
I'm now going to close my eyes, and I will hopefully be in New York City when I reopen them. This entry will likely be continued throughout the weekend.
---
As it turned out, my father passed away roughly thirty minutes before I made it to the hospital.
I was greeted by my brothers at the door to the cancer center. I could tell by the looks on their faces that it had happened. My brother assured me that he went in as peaceful a way as he could at that point - his breathing slowed and just eventually stopped, and that was that. They took me upstairs to convene with my family/friends, and to see my father one last time. I can safely say that I will never forget the image of my father's body in that hospital bed.
I don't know if it was shock, or still being sick, or both, but it might be that I didn't say a word that entire night. What is there to say? I had spent the last three months preparing for this moment, and in the end, all I could do was be thankful that his time of nonstop suffering was over. I'm admittedly not the most spiritual person in the world, but I do truly believe that wherever he is now, it's better than where he was towards the end of his life.
It's tough. It's really tough. We were looking through some old photos tonight for things to display at the wake. It's hurts to take a trip down memory lane, knowing once and for all that one of the most important people in my life will no longer be there to make new memories. I remembered the time at Disney World in the 6th grade when my father wouldn't let me leave the hotel room until I finished a school report on Ben Franklin. I found a picture labeled, "Mike's first trip to Fenway Park, 9/27/88" - I looked it up and discovered that the Sox got blown out 11-1 that day. There were countless pictures of old Christmases and weddings and birthdays. It's all very bittersweet; the times we had were great, but they're done now. Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year, and for the first time in my life, I'm kind of dreading it this year.
If heaven does exist, I have absolutely no doubt that my dad made it in, because he was truly one of the most loving, caring, and supportive people that I've ever had the pleasure to know. The fact that he and my mother were the ones to raise me is something that I will always be thankful for.
