Happy Father's Day!!

It's Father's Day and I miss my Dad. So I'm recycling one of the posts I did about him back in early 2007. I actually showed this to him and first he laughed, then he looked at me and said, "That's not funny!" Oh, yes, it is.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. And all the other fathers in my family - Ed, Joe, Jeff, Marc, Michael, Michael.

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Growing up, Holiday meals with my Italian family were interesting events. There was always lots of food, lots of laughter and one important tradition. After dinner, usually over dessert and coffee, we would tell stories about my dad. He would be sitting there laughing along with us, sometimes just shaking his head.

Three of my favorites are The Lamp, The Washer, The Water Bucket.

The Lamp - my aunt and uncle moved to Tucson a couple of years after we did and bought a new house. They waited patiently for it to be built and finally they had the walk through, signed the papers, and were ready to move in. But, first they wanted to show it to my parents. My uncle was taking us on the grand tour and we got to the dining room. One of the new-fangled things many new houses had was a pull-down lamp over the dining room table. Not really sure of the purpose, but people thought they were cool (until they banged their heads a couple of time). So, when we got to my uncle's dining room, my dad said, "What a nice lamp. Is it pull-down?" Before my uncle could answer (the answer being "NO!"), my dad reached up and yanked on it. Nice and hard. Pulled the darn thing right out of the ceiling!! Broken lamp, plaster everywhere, the whole group just staring at the mess.

The Washer - my dad loved to do things around the house - build, repair, etc. Some projects worked out okay, but others were fraught with disaster. Okay, disaster is too big a word, but definitely fraught with, "oh, for pete's sake!!". One such time was when the washer broke. Turned out the hose was old and leaking. So dad carefully cut a hole in the wall to get to the hose. Bought some new tubing, carefully replaced it, cut a board that would fit the hole, sanded and painted it, and began to put everything back. This took the whole day and my mother was patiently waiting to wash the loads of clothes that were sorted and lying on the floor in anticipation. Finally dad put the board back on the wall, nailed it on, and managed to run one of the nails right through the new hose he had just installed!

The Water Bucket - we used to take a lot of road trips in our 1954 blue and white Olds (yes, it WAS my father's Oldsmobile). On one of our gas stops - this was back when the attendants actually pumped the gas, filled the radiator with water, etc. - we were done, dad paid, and then we drove out. The car seemed to hit a small bump and so dad backed up a little gunned the car a just a bit so we could go over the bump. We heard the station attendant yelling and saw him walking towards us. Couldn't hear him, so dad backed up. Ran into that same danged bump again but managed to get over it a second time. The attendant yelled again so dad rolled down the window. "My water bucket, you ran over my water bucket!!" the man was yelling. Dad apologized and offered to pay. The man said no and we drove away. I still remember looking out the back window and seeing that station attending sadly holding what can only be described as aluminum roadkill.

Rosaries and driving

I was talking with someone today about crazy drivers and it reminded me of my Dad's mother. No, she wasn't a crazy driver. In fact she didn't drive at all. But my Dad was another story. His driving skills were - how shall we say it - a little on the frightening side. So you can imagine our fear when he was in his 80's and could barely see above the wheel and yet continued to drive!

One of our favorite memories was at his 85th birthday party. We had a family BBQ in my brother's backyard in Chicago and there was dad in his wheelchair which he needed 90% of the time, using the oxygen which was now required 24/7. He had gotten fairly weak by that time and his hands shook as he lifted a bite of cake to his mouth. Suddenly he looked up and said, "Oh, I have to remember to get to the DMV and renew my driver's license!" There was dead silence in the crowd due to absolute awe about what he just said. My brother and I looked at each other with a Yeah-dad-we'll-get-right-on-it" look. I simply said, "Okay" and dad went back to eating his cake.

But back to my grandmother. She was such a sweet woman. One of those people who never said a bad word to or about anyone. Just raised her kids, cooked, cleaned, and did it all with a smile on her face. She came to visit us in Tucson shortly after we moved there in the late 1950's. This is the requisite photo of Tucson resident (aka my dad) playing dress up and pointing a toy cowboy gun at pretty much anyone who was willing to have a picture taken. Grandma, of course, agreed to it. Although it appears she had a bit of a death grip on her dress at the time.

Another required Tucson activity for visitors was a trip to Mt. Lemmon. This is the highest peak in the Tucson area - around 8000 ft - and a great place to go in the winter to see snow, or in the summer to escape the heat. The drive is beautiful, although there are spots where the cliffs are high and the views are, well, a bit disconcerting to flat-landers. (That's what we Western folk call people from areas without mountains). So, up we went. Being a good Italian Catholic person, Grandma always had her rosary with her. And, man, she lost no time is whipping it out of her purse at the first hill. She rubbed that rosary raw all the way up to the top of Mt. Lemmon, and all the way down. Sometimes we'd hear a little prayer murmur coming from the back seat. But mostly she was quietly praying.

She did have fun once we got to the top and had lunch amid the pine trees. But after we got down, she made it clear that she enjoyed (!!) the ride, but would never go up ther again.

I miss her.

A fond farewell

We're all back home and our weekend farewell to my dad went very well. My brother, Tony, had arranged a service at the Catholic church he and his family attend. I did okay through most of it - until Tony got to the eulogy he had written. That was tough. He talked about my dad's innate inability to whisper and the embarrassment it often caused us, the relationship dad had with his grandchildren, and a few other funny stories. Then he told about a day recently when he saw dad look at himself in a mirror and be very sad at how old and dependent he had become. Tony did a great job and made it through the whole thing without breaking down. Can't say the same for myself.

After the service we all (about 60 people) went back to Tony's house for the reception. Being the type of family we are, the sadness was mixed with a lot of humor and love. Stories about my dad and some of his "escapades" have always been highlights of big family dinners and this was no exception. We watched a beautiful DVD that my daughter, Jenni, put together using both old and new photos that I had, and music that meant something to my dad: Frank Sinatra singing Chicago (his favorite city and singer), My Blue Heaven for the years with my mom, and Bye Bye Blackbird for his later years. My kids and I can never hear Bye Bye Blackbird without thinking of him - he would sing along any time he heard that song.

Most of the people left Tony's house by 5:30 and the kids and I stayed on for a couple more hours and had some nice "family" time. It was much needed by all of us and much enjoyed.

So now we get on with out lives knowing that we honored and celebrated Dad's life in a way he would have enjoyed.

Bye Dad. We miss you.

A weekend in Chicago

Tomorrow we leave for Chicago and my dad's memorial service (actually a celebration of his life) on Sunday. Both of my kids and their families are coming, as well as my sister who lives in Tucson. So it will be nice for all of us to be together - wish it were for a better reason.

I hear the weather will be cold, maybe even some snow. That will be nice. At least we can all come back to our temperate climate. And dad enjoyed the snow so that would be a nice tribute to him.

It will definitely be a sad time, but also a lot of joy celebrating his 85 years and all the people who loved him.

The little white envelope in the back of my purse

A few weeks before my dad had back surgery in 2005, I had some notes from his back surgeon and his cardiologist which I didn't want to lose. So I put them in a white envelope and put it in my purse. As the day of surgery arrived, and then during the post-surgery time, I added to the notes in that envelope. Every new physician, new drug, etc. I had all the numbers for the hospital, the ICU, the case worker. Than I added the information for the assisted living place he needed to move to. And numbers to close out the lease on the apartment he could no longer live in. Notes on where to get a walker, where to get oxygen tanks, receipts for furniture and other things we bought for him so his room at the assisted living facility would feel like home.

Over the past two and a half years, the contents expanded to include other physicians, his social security number, the nursing home staff, additional medications, his dentist, social worker, nurse. Notes about the funeral arrangements we had to make and pay for before he could move into the nursing home. So many things. Most of these notes were on post-its or from e-mails. I never could quite throw them away, even the outdated ones. It was like a little chronology of all my dad went through before, during, and after his surgery. And I kept the envelope with me at all times in case something would come up and I'd need a phone number.

Last weekend before I went to Tucson I finally decided to take that envelope out of my purse and put it in a safe place. Although I don't need those numbers anymore, I can't throw them away - they are a journal of the past 2 1/2 years. But it was at least time to move it to the "archives" in my desk drawer - in a larger white enveloped labeled "Dad" which has a whole heap of other documents from when he moved into his new house in Tucson, and when he moved to Chicago.

Ed's dad, Clyde, has had a rough year since Ed's mom passed away. The picture below is with Vika and Eamon at Vika's birthday party this summer. He lives close to us, but his health is declining. He's on dialysis, is becoming more and more forgettful, and his driving skills are definitely scary. This week I spent a lot of time on the phone with his dialysis case worker, dietitian, and physician. Trying to understand all his meds, what his diet should be, etc. I had a bunch of post-its on my desk with all these notes. So I started a new white envelope that is now in the back of my purse.


They don't call us the sandwich generation for nuthin'!!!

A sad goodbye

My father passed away this morning. 9:30am Chicago time. When I got a call from the nursing home at 7:45am my time, I somehow knew this would be it. The call we all dread. And it was. The nurse said he wasn't alone and died very peacefully which is a good thing.

We're all feeling very sad and a bit numb, but he was so ready. My daughter did a beautiful post this morning about Dad. I'm not up to writing too much right now so I'll direct you there .

So many memories are flooding through my head today - some funny, some sad. I wish I could have seen him more over the past few years after he moved to Chicago. But I am grateful for the time I was able to spend with him. And I was able to talk to him on Thursday, even though it was only for a brief time.

When I was growing up my dad always told us he would probably die in his mid-50's like his father and grandfather. But we were able to have him in our lives 30 more years then he thought! He just turned 85 last June. I put some photos on this post for Father's Day and they work well for today, also.

I started this blog in part because of him. Seeing him so helpless the past couple of years made me realize how important it is to share our histories with our kids while we still can, and to keep the memories of our parents and grandparents alive. Rather than just try to write it all down in one huge document, Jenni suggested that I start a blog and write things down as they come to me. Which is what I've done. It's been fun and cathartic.


So, goodbye Dad. We'll miss you and your humor, your gruffness, your stories. Thanks for staying with us as long as you did. I love you.

A difficult but necessary decision

Today my brother and I made the decision to have my dad evaluated for hospice care. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but one that is necessary. Since he isn't on any type of treatment plan (his only issue is his age), hospice care won't mean withdrawing anything that is currently being done for him, but will primarily mean that people from Hospice will come and spend time with him and help him with all his daily tasks. He's become too dependent for the nursing home to manage without additional help. So it will be a good thing for him. Since I'm so far away, it does make me feel better to know that someone will be there with him on most days reading to him, talking with him, maybe just holding his hand. Whatever he needs.

But it's sad when a person's last days or weeks or months has to be in a nursing home under hospice care. People should have dignity until the end and I'm not sure this country values his elderly citizens as much as it should. The phone calls and discussions my brother and I had to have with so many people to get this done was horrendous. I wonder what happens to all those people in the same situation who don't have children as involved with their care as we are. Who helps them? Who makes the zillion phone calls and faxes and e-mails?

Keep him in your thoughts.

Hello, Hello? Anyone there?

My dad is in a nursing home in Chicago. Although I try to go out and visit him at least four times a year, my main contact is via phone. Dad has a cell phone and a phone in his room. So, in the past, it hasn't been too difficult to track him down. However, things have changed over the last several months.

He often gets confused about using his cell phone. Forgets to charge it - and sometimes how to charge it! Tries to see a missed call and winds up calling that person back, but doesn't know he's called them so he doesn't say anything - while on the other end the person is saying, "Hello, Hello!" - all the time listening to him fumble around trying to turn the phone off. His room phone has been having problems with volume, and with working in general. So it's been frustrating.

Last Thursday, I spent the entire drive home trying to talk with my dad. It had been several days that I had been calling, and he wasn't answering either phone. Finally on Thursday he answered his cell phone (I had called his room phone again but no answer), however the volume was so low that I could barely hear him and he could barely hear me.

Me: Hey dad, finally got through to you!
Dad: Sandi? Is that you? I can barely hear you.
Me [talking much louder]: Yes, it's me. Can you hear me now?
Dad: Sandi? Is that you? I can barely hear you.
Me [screaming]: Are you in your room? I'll call on that phone.
Dad: Yes, I'm in my room

I dialed his room number, it rang 10 times, no answer. So I called on his cell phone again.

Me [still screaming]: Hey dad.
Dad: Sandi, you called me on my cell phone again.
Me: I know, you didn't answer the room phone
Dad: It didn't ring - damn thing must be acting up again. Let me look at it. Oh, there's a different phone number printed here. Maybe they changed my line. Call this number.....
Me: Alright, I'll try.

Dialed the new number. After five or six rings, a very nice little old lady answered and I said I was sorry, I had dialed the wrong number. Called my dad back on his cell.

Me: Dad?
Dad: Sandi, you called me on my cell phone again.
Me: I know, the other number was wrong - some woman answered.
Dad: Damn it, I can hardly hear you.
Me: Hang up, I'm going to contact the nursing station for help.

Now I called the main number and asked to be connected to the nursing station. Asked the nurse if she knew the exact phone number for my dad's room. She said she didn't but the person at the front desk would.

Called the front desk again and asked for his number. Turns out the original number I had was still correct. So I called the nursing station again and told her the issue. She said to give her two minutes and she'd go to his room and listen for the phone. I waited, and I dialed. Nothing. No answer. Called Dad's cell again.

Me: Dad?
Dad: Sandi, you called my cell phone again!
Me [trying not to laugh maniacally]: I know, you didn't answer the room phone. Let me talk to the nurse.
Nurse: The phone didn't ring. What? I can barely hear you. There's another number on this phone, try dialing it.
Me: That's the number my dad gave me before and someone else answered. But I'll try one more time.

Dialed the second number. This time no answer at all. Called back on dad's cell.

Me: Dad?
Dad: Sandi, you called my cell phone again!
Me: Just hang up. I love you. I'll talk with the nurse again.

Finally, throat raw from screaming, I called the nursing station one more time and asked that they get his phone fixed. She agreed that there was a problem (!!). Now I need someone to show my dad how to work the volume on his cell phone and I may actually be able to talk to him again.

Funny thing, when I got home my husband innocently said, "Have you talked with your dad lately." After he picked himself up off the floor, he listened to my tale and gently poured me a glass of wine......