Burying Mom & Dad: 1 year anniversary

There are so many anniversary dates associated with death - the day the person died, the day the funeral or memorial service was, the day they were cremated or buried. Time simultaneously freezes and flies by. Even though I knew this day was coming, I still woke up this morning feeling surreal: "One year already??" Some days it feels like yesterday, other days it feels like it was eons ago. Regardless of the perception of time and the reality of life, today is the 1st anniversary of when my three brothers and I buried our parents.

I remember when my mother died on April 19, 2016, my family members were discussing funeral arrangements. My father was looking through my mother's closet to see what clothes to pick for her to wear in the casket. After her body was whisked off by the funeral parlor staff, my brothers, our father and aunt all left the building. I drove back home to Rochester thinking that I would see my mother's body one final time in the coffin at the wake.

Little did I know that those plans changed.

I realized a couple of days after my mother's death that I didn't know who the pallbearers that would be carrying her coffin were so I texted my sister-in-law and asked her, "Who are mom's pallbearers?" My sister-in-law texted me back, "She's going to be cremated."

I lost it.

What????? Cremation???

My father decided to go with cremation instead. It wasn't so much that she was being cremated that bothered me, it was the fact that I had this notion in my head that I would see her body one last time before she was buried. Now that was not going to happen. That sense of closure was taken from me without any communication. I wasn't given the option of going back to Syracuse to see her body before the cremation. If I had that, my sense of closure - with that part of her death - would have been helpful for me.

Turns out there must have been a reason for that change because little did my brothers and I know that we would lose our father less than 10 months later.

Our father was working on the headstone and burial plans before he had his massive stroke on February 7, 2017. He would be dead 11 days later.

Burials in the winter are pretty much unheard of in the Northeast given that the ground is too hard to dig. We decided to wait until August - the month that was both our mother and father's birthdays. Dad's birthday is August 6, Mom's birthday is August 20. We buried them on August 19, 2017.

When we buried them, two of my closest friends joined me. Jess has been a dear friend to me (and my family) for over 30 years and Nicole for 14 years. Nicole was so kind to interpret the burial service. Father Daley from the church and Nicole were the only two standing facing North while my brothers, their wives and children, me and several other family members were standing facing South. Nicole told me, after the service was finished, that a group of deer joined the service from o'er yonder. They also left right when the service was completed so we did not have the chance to see them. I'm a firm believer that our loved ones communicate in a variety of ways, including through the beautiful and powerful forces of nature.

Each family member and friend put a red rose near the marble box holding both our parents' ashes. Then everyone left to head over to the small gathering planned. I stayed behind as I wasn't content with leaving like this. I wanted to stay with them until they were put into the sacred ground and buried.

I stood in front of the headstone and saw that two graveyard workers were nearby. They were obviously waiting for me to leave before they went ahead and did their work. I asked Nicole if she could ask them to please come over and start the burial. They came over and put the ashes into the ground. I then proceeded to add two of the roses and the ceramic figurine that my father got my mother on their honeymoon which she loved and held dear to her heart until the day she left this world. Then I asked them to please go ahead and start to shovel the dirt into the empty hole.

There they lay, in their final resting place. I miss them - so deeply - everyday.

Every. Day.

Intuition, Apple Watch, and Final Moments

June 2015 was the debut of the Apple watch. A number of my friends - who know my aficionado for watches and having the latest technological gadets - texted me, tagged me in Facebook and Instagram posts, inquiring as to when I would be getting my Apple watch. I was like, "What the heck?! I'm not getting an Apple watch!" 

Fast forward to November 2015. For the first time since June 2015, the Apple watch came back up for me. This time it came in the form of my intuition - my gut was telling me to get an Apple watch. I remember making a "WTF?" face and shaking my head. Where was this coming from??? I didn't want an Apple watch. I didn't think it was worth the price tag at the time. But my intuition just wouldn't let go. Kept bugging me, "Get the Apple watch!" 

My mom came to mind as I had a flashback to a conversation we had decades earlier. She was telling me that we all have this "little voice inside of us" but it feels more like it's coming from the gut. "That's called your intuition - your gut feeling. Listen to it, Erin, because 99.9999% of the time, it's right."

I ended up listening to my gut. Got the watch. Not really understanding why I did.

December 2015, January 2016, February 2016, March 2016.... I still couldn't figure out why I needed to get this watch?

April 18, 2016 is why I got the watch.

I was sitting in a department meeting, in which we were interviewing a finalist for a faculty position, when my Apple watch starts blowing up. It wouldn't stop vibrating - one notification right after the next. I was utterly confused because my partner at the time was also a member of the same department and she was sitting a few chairs in front of me so I knew the messages were not from her. Who else would be sending me so many consecutive messages?! 

That's when my heart sunk. My gut told me it was about my mom. I raised my arm and looked at my watch. It was my sister-in-law, Mary, texting me. I can't remember, verbatim, what was texted but I do remember it was something along the lines of:

"Erin" 

"Your mom is not doing well."

"You need to come now."

"She had a blood clot."

"Hope you get this message."

"Come as soon as you can!!!"

At which point my whole body started shaking. I froze. I couldn't figure out what to do next as I didn't want to be rude and leave in the middle of an interview. Again, my gut told me to get the hell outta there and get to my mom's side as quickly as I could. So, I stood up, grabbed my blazer from the chair and ran out of the room.

I hopped into my Jeep and sped to the New York State Thruway, less than a few miles away. I would drive 90 mph the entire way down the Thruway, arriving to my mother's place shortly before 5pm. As soon as I walked in, I went right up to her and said, "Hey Ma, bud! What's going on? I know you're upset about Donald Trump but I didn't realize you were *that* upset?!" She was laying in her hospital bed, on her side, and she shook her head and chuckled a bit then raised her arm towards me. I bent down and gave her a big hug and kiss. She was slipping in and out of consciousness but I had some time where we were able to look straight into each other's eyes and just hold each other closely. I kissed her again and again and kept telling her that I love her. 

I had one hour with my mother before she slipped into unconsciousness at 6pm. My father, aunt, brothers, and I would sit vigil by her bedside throughout the night before she hopped onto her one-way flight to Heaven the next morning at 8:05am.

If I ignored my intuition back in November 2015 and had not purchased the Apple watch, chances are I would have missed that final hour of being able to converse with my mother before she closed her eyes for the last time. 

Like my ma always said: Listen to your intuition, 99.999% of the time it is right. And, thank you Apple for making the watch - you gave me the gift of a final hour with my mother.

1:15pm

One year ago today is when my brothers and I lost our father. 

GRIEF JOURNEY

The grief journey is an extremely deep and personal one. I realized, after writing my previous post, that it is important to acknowledge every individual's response to grief as being unique and to honor that. My writing is about my own grief and my attempts to navigate the wide variety of emotions associated with this journey. It is not a representation of my brothers' grief, for that is rightfully each of their own respective journeys. 

Sunrise on Saturday, February 18, 2017
Photo Credit: Nicole (sister-in-law)

SIGNS

Saturday, February 18, 2017 was ushered in with a glorious and magnificent sunrise. Each and every of the 360 degrees of the sun's rays were brightly beaming as it slowly rose up from behind the barn on my parents' property. It was almost as if the doors to Heaven were opening up. 

My father's breathing was rapidly deteriorating and becoming more shallow. His skin complexion changed dramatically. His eyes remained closed. He did not move much. I knew, the first time I took a look at him that morning, that today would be the day my father would die. 

The sunrise was one sign that my beautiful mother and many other family members who had gone before us, were waiting to welcome my father in their arms and to take him home. There were several other signs to come that day.

Birds. There were birds flying past the window where my father's hospital bed was positioned in our family's TV room. While this may seem like nothing out of the ordinary, what made this special was the absence of birds - from the moment he came back home after being in the hospital until the morning of the day he died - flying outside the house. 

Rainbow Rays Across Mexico
Photo Credit: Barb Burns
(my godmother & a close family friend)

Two close friends of our family were in their Puerto Vallarta residence when they saw this breathtaking rainbow with shimmering colors form across the horizon on the day my father died. What a stunning capture! This was another sign - it was a sign that came after my father died but it was, to me, a way of knowing he'd made it to Heaven and that brought warmth and comfort to my grieving heart.

FEBRUARY 18, 2017

Sleep was non-existent for all of us. I don't think I was able to reach REM mode of sleep the night before my father's last day on Earth. I am only able to recollect this because I often go back and look at the date and time stamps on certain photos in my iPhone and the first picture I have of February 18th is at 5:04am. 

A Deaf friend of mine from Rochester planned to drive in to meet me in Syracuse for some Tex-Mex lunch that day. It was hard constantly being around hearing people and missing so much of what was being said that I needed my "Deaf fix"- conversing with someone in ASL, where I would understand everything being said. Lisa and I were scheduled to meet at Alto Cinco restaurant at 1:30pm. Those plans immediately changed when I saw my father's condition that morning. I texted her and said, "I'm sorry but I need to cancel our lunch today. My dad's not doing well." She was very supportive and offered to come the next day. I said I would be in touch.  I mention this because support is crucial to all involved - directly and indirectly - for those who are grappling with the harsh realities of impending loss. It is especially important for Deaf individuals with hearing family members to be able to connect with other Deaf people. I cannot stress enough how so fortunate I was to have the support of many Deaf friends. That support was instrumental in getting me through those difficult times.

One of my father's favorite words. I fixed his hand for this pose. Less than 5 hours later, he was dead. And, no, he wasn't dead because of this pose LOL.

By mid-day my father was relatively stable with his breathing rhythms for they had not changed much. Nicole was by my dad's side for several days and nights along with me and my brothers. She is a nurse who, too, didn't see any considerable change in his breathing and decided to go run a quick errand. I decided to take a shower - it had been three days since my last one. When I went upstairs to take a shower, Dake and Garrett were with our father, whose eyes were still closed and his breathing the same. Paulie had been working endless hours - between taking care of our dad, getting legal matters squared away (he was designated Power of Attorney), fulfilling his own work commitment of snowplowing and much more - and was at his home taking a much needed breather. He was also in the process of writing his eulogy for our dad's funeral.

I took a shower, got myself dressed, went downstairs to the kitchen to get a Pepsi and then walked back into the TV room. As soon as I walked in, I saw Garrett standing on the left side of the hospital bed and Dake on the right side. They both each had one of our father's hands in their own hand. I immediately turned to look at my father's face and saw that his eyes opened. 

This was it. The time was now.

Before I went upstairs to take the shower, Dad's breathing was shallow but rapid. Just mere minutes later, his breathing shifted to slow, long and deep breaths with a long pause in between each breath.

My father's face was turned towards the windows. From my angle, it appeared as though he was looking straight into Garrett's eyes. My beautiful and brave brother was looking right back into our father's eyes and with his comforting voice, Garrett kept reassuring Dad. 

"You're doing a great job, Dad....."

(silence)

(Dad took a long breath)

Garrett continued, "It's ok, Dad. You're doing a real good job."

(another long breath)

(silence)

Throughout the process of watching our father die, my older brother demonstrated remarkable courage in offering the support he did. When a pregnant woman goes into labor, those around her often provide encouragement and words of reassurance - "Breathe!" "Push!" "You're doing a great job!" It doesn't matter if you're bringing life into this world or if you're helping life leave this world, both need cheerleaders to root the person and the body on. 

(another long breath)

"We're right here, Dad...."

(another long breath)

(silence)

(deep breath and exhale)

Dake dropped to the floor, on his knees, still holding our father's hand with one arm and his head buried into his other arm. He released a few sobs before he got himself back up and immediately got his phone to call his wife.

Tears were streaming down Garrett's face - which was painted with sheer anguish.

I stood there in complete shock. I was crying and I could not move. This felt all too surreal.

He's dead? My father died? 

It immediately took me right back to the morning my mother died. I wasn't sure if she died because I couldn't hear the final breath as being different than the ones preceding it. My hearing family members could tell. Being Deaf, I only had visual access to those final moments so it was confusing at times.

Garrett got his cell phone out of his pocket and called Paulie.

"Hey Paul - Dad just passed."

Paulie got to the house shortly thereafter. 

Remember the part where Paulie was taking a much needed breather at his home? He was also working on his eulogy for our father's funeral. Turns out the very moment Garrett made the call to let him know that Dad died, Paulie had literally *just* closed his laptop. He finished writing the eulogy the same time our father died. Talk about signs and the powers of the Universe.

After Paulie arrived, the four of us children were able to be together with our father for the last time. Shortly thereafter, Nicole came, followed by our Uncle Peter (Dad's older brother), then Mary. They all had their opportunity to see our father's body for the last time and to say goodbye. 

THE BODY BAG

When my mother died, it was the first time I had to deal with death in the most personal and up close manner. I did not know what to expect, less so what to do. 

The undertaker from the funeral home arrived a couple of hours after my mother's death. I vividly remember them wheeling in a gurney with an empty body bag. I was pissed as hell. A body bag???? But I took immediate relief in the fact that the body bag was a nice velvet bag and not a black plastic body bag. Much later, I came to the realization that line of thinking was privileged. Not everyone has the resources to be able to be put into a nicer body bag when they die so I deeply appreciated that we were able to do so all the while remembering others who aren't as fortunate. 

Before I knew it, my eyes watched Garrett and one of my other brothers, I can't remember which one, put our mother in the body bag. 

What. In. The. Holy. Fuck?

There are two parts of my mother's death that I still struggle deeply with and have nightmares about: 1.) my mother's final moments before she died were messy - she had blood pouring out of her nose and coming out of her mouth. I remember saying, "Make it stop!" Needless to say, it didn't stop; and 2.) watching her being put into the body bag by my brothers. That was extremely traumatic for me to watch my own mother being put into a body bag.

Much later, I would share this experience with my friends. Each and every friend would shake their head and sigh. "Someone should have told you first. Let you decide what to do," they said. Yes. That! But even so, I think I would have stayed. I think at least being prepared for the moment that was going to happen was something I needed but didn't get.

Regardless, it was now time to put our father in a body bag. I froze. I knew, in my heart, that I could not handle this again so I stayed in the kitchen with Mary. But before I resigned myself to the vicinity of the kitchen, I gently grabbed Garrett and said to him, "Garrett! Don't put Dad in the body bag!"

Garrett - a gentle bear - looked me in the eyes and said, with so much compassion and empathy, "Erin... it's an honor for me to do this [put our father in a body bag]."

I immediately was taken aback. I was reminded that each human responds differently to the same situation. My intentions of telling Garrett not to put our father in a body bag was to protect him. I was trying to protect him from the nightmares that I'd experienced watching my mom being put into a body bag, thinking that maybe he had similar nightmares. But the effect was polar opposite for him - he felt it was an honor to help our father reach his final resting place.

Garrett and Dake wheeling our father's 
body out of the house.

Since I was unable to watch my father being put into the body bag, I decided I would stay in the kitchen. This way I knew I would see my father's body one last time and bid him farewell. 

At 1:15pm, one year ago today, my brothers and I became orphans.

Almost 1 year....

I've been trying to write on this blog since September 2016 - a mere 5 months after my mother's death - but have struggled to produce any written pieces. It is now 2018 and I find myself trying to write more these days, especially as my brothers and I approach our father's 1 year angelversary date. Losing my mother was one thing and losing my father was another thing. Both losses have been extremely painful to navigate - in very different ways.

When we lost our mother, she had already suffered a massive stroke 5 years earlier - a stroke which debilitated her and incapacitated her in many ways, for she was confined to a wheelchair, had a catheter and was only able to say "I know" and "No." Five years to the day of her massive stroke, she had a blood clot and subsequently another stroke. Hours were given to us to say goodbye before she hopped onto her one-way flight to Heaven. Mom's death was expected, but still unexpected. Truly an extremely devastating and heartbreaking loss as I was also going through a breakup from a 8-year long relationship at the same time, so my grief was substantially compounded by two very deep losses within an extremely short time frame.

Not even 10 months later, I remember being at work and getting a text message from my 2nd oldest brother, Garrett. He said something to the effect of, "Erin - Dad had a horrible stroke. It doesn't look good." My initial response to Garrett was, "Is this some kind of sick joke?" I knew this was not a joke but my already grieving mind and heart prayed it was. I stumbled over to my colleague's office across the hall, showed her my iPhone and she read the text exchange. She put her hand on my shoulder and offered support. There was no response for several minutes. I then typed, "Which hospital?" to which an immediate response came, "Upstate." I started sobbing uncontrollably. The same hospital which our mother was brought to after her massive stroke in 2011. 

Here I was, barely hanging on from my mother's death, and now I had to go through this with my father. I grabbed my bag and ran out of my office to my car and headed home to pick up some clothes. Thankfully, my department chair - who is also a dear friend of mine - met me at my home and took my dog so that I could head to Syracuse and be with my father. Just as I did on April 18, 2016 when I got the news about my mother, I flew down the New York State Thruway at 90 mph on February 8, 2017 to be with my father. I needed to get there as soon as I could.

As I rushed into Upstate Medical Center, I saw Paulie, Garrett and Dake standing around our father. He was laying on a hospital gurney and appeared to be alert. Then one of my older brothers, I can't remember which one, I want to say Garrett but my memory is fogged, took me aside and explained Dad's condition. This was bad. Very bad. Worse than mother's. The reason why it was worse - well, at least one of the reasons why - is because he wasn't found for at least 12 hours after his stroke. No one was around him when the stroke happened. He was all alone as he went through a terrifying and life-altering medical episode which immediately incapacitated him and immobilized him for hours before he was found.

When we got to the hospital on February 8, 2017 we all waited for news from tests and other exams performed on our father. Garrett, Dake and I slept in the hospital room that night with our father. The next day, doctors would perform the swallow test to see if our father could swallow food and drinks.

He failed the swallow test.

He also signed a DNR, a no feeding tubes, and no medical intervention form - two years before all of this happened.

This is when my brothers and I realized that our conversations needed to switch from rehabilitation to hospice.

Despite the fact that we all were unanimous insofar as the direction to move in and on the same page, these were extremely painful conversations to have with my brothers, hospital staff and social workers. We had, to our advantage, two in-laws who are in the medical field. My youngest brother, Dake's wife - Nicole - was a nurse and had many years of experience in hospice work - was able to help guide us through the necessary next steps. She was the one - thank goodness! - who recommended we begin discussing how to bring our father back home so that he could be comfortable and die in his own home, as opposed to the hospital. And my oldest brother, Paulie's wife  - Mary - worked for Blue Cross Blue Shield so she had a firm grasp on the insurance component of the journey. Regardless, the process was extremely painful for each and every member of our family during this time.

We brought our father home and would have 7 days left with him before he joined our mother in Heaven. I remember those final days vividly. There was a lot of tension within the family - namely between me and my youngest brother, which contributed to the stress of all around us - but I deeply appreciated that we were all able to be civil with one another during these extremely trying times in our lives. My brothers and I were with our father 24/7. Each of us taking turns in taking care of him. Thankfully, we were often in pairs or threes as some of the tasks - such as cleaning him - needed to have at least two people there.

I only left his side for a few hours on two or three occasions.  I did not want to miss his leaving this world. But, ironically, the very day he would leave this world - I almost missed his passing. Garrett, Dake and I had slept in the same room as our father. I got up and made my brothers some scrambled eggs. They would tell me how they got up throughout the night because they heard changes in Dad's breathing. I felt saddened because I didn't hear those breathing changes. I am Deaf and I don't hear. I told them they should have awoken me, but they both shook their heads and said they took care of it. Not the point. Why am I laying in the very same room my own father is dying in, but I can't be of help in the middle of the night just because I don't hear changes in his breathing? That's an example of a dynamic with a Deaf and hearing family member in the end-of-life stages that people might want to consider.

Regardless, it was Saturday February 18, 2017 and I hadn't showered for three days so I decided to take a shower and told Garrett and Dake that I was taking a shower. I took a long hot shower, got myself dressed, went into the kitchen to grab a Pepsi, then headed back to the room where our father was. As soon as I walked in, I saw Garrett and Dake standing beside our father - holding his hand - his eyes had opened. I immediately ran over and said, "Why didn't you get me???" Garrett said, "It just happened!" I put my left hand on my father's leg and my right hand on Dake's back. We all just stood there as he took his last breaths. By my count, it was 5 more breaths before he was gone. And to think I almost missed it. 

I was actually terrified of how my father would die given the death my mother went through. Both were very different deaths. I felt as though my mother's death was more painful to watch than my father's. She appeared to struggle and there was blood coming out of her nose and mouth in her final moments, whereas my father did not experience that. I was told, later, that my mother did not feel any pain and was not struggling but that my witnessing her death was a struggle. It was actually very traumatic. I am glad that I was there, by her side, but I still have nightmares of her death. But that's another whole post for me to write.

For now, I guess I just wanted to put something out there as time soon approaches the one year mark of my father's death and I'm feeling more in a position to be able to express, in writing, what my experiences were like. I will write more in the time to come as I feel we - as a society - really do not discuss death and grief enough, hence the reason why so many people struggle with it.

We need to talk about it more.

We need to support each other more.