High Holy Mass of Contradictions

First, the Dad update: well, there's not much new to say, actually. He's been exhibiting the signs of active death for weeks now, such as picking at his bedclothes, reaching out into the empty air in front of him, increased apnea (up to 20 and sometimes almost 30 seconds between breaths), and, of course, the ( more graphic stuff ). No one knows what to do besides wait, keep him as comfortable as possible, and try not to go mad. I don't mean to sound flippant about all of this; it's just that I'm starting to be a little numb through all the strain and anxiety. Believe me, I'm still processing what's really happening, and it breaks my heart into pieces. I just can't spend all my time that way.

OK. Second update: I bought a new laptop, and it's an Apple PowerBook! I hope some of my friends will be proud to have helped influence my conversion (therealjae, I'm a-lookin' your way). I'm pleased as punch. I made the leap after realizing a few things: one, I do a lot of songwriting in places like cafes and libraries, and I've been trying to use either a paper notebook or my Treo 650 to capture the writing (I try not to use my work-issued laptop for personal stuff -- a lesson learned from years of fairly abrupt job departures). The paper and Treo each have shortcomings for this type of use, and those shortcomings are a hindrance to productivity. I also finally bought myself MasterWriter software (I'm an ASCAP member, so I got a decent discount) to use on it. Anyway, there are dozens of other justifications and rationalizations, and one happy bonus is that, while we're away from home, Karsten and I will be able to watch DVDs on it in the hotel room. It should be arriving today. Yay!

So I guess I haven't posted in a while.

It's not for lack of stuff to write. In fact, I should probably be journaling like crazy through all of this because, as I explained to qe2 over the phone a few weeks ago, I could write a freakin' book about how weird and surreal this whole process has been -- and strangely comic at times, believe it or not. But the energy to journal just isn't there, so I've been skipping it.

But let me see if I can explain. No, it's too much to explain. Let me see if I can summarize.

My dad is dying, but typical of my dad, he's being stubborn about it. If the doctors say he has days, maybe a week, then by god, a week comes and goes and he's smiling and having a rare good day at the end of that week. If we get the impression, as we have several times, that this day might be his last, then by god, the next day he's alert and nearly talkative, and we're left scratching our heads and drying our tears and just trying to ride out the emotional tidal waves.

My mom and I went to meet with the people at the funeral home a few weeks ago. Fortunately, my dad already made all his arrangements six years ago when his cancer was first diagnosed as malignant. Unfortunately, it was like a freakin' Keystone Cops routine with these guys at the funeral home, and although I found it all absurdly funny, I know my mom didn't see the humor in the ordeal.

If there's one bright spot in this whole sea of darkness, it's that my sister and I have largely reconciled. It's a long story, but it comes down to what my coworker and friend Keith described as sounding "like a Lifetime original movie." A significant letter that apparently never arrived at its destination, a conversation where both participants had completely different understandings of what was said, that sort of thing. And that's the basis of what's been keeping us distant for lo these last nine years. So although things aren't perfect now, there are signs that our relationship may improve with time, and I think my dad has been coherent enough to realize that, which must help him feel a little more at ease, since I know the strained relations between my sister and me have bothered him terribly.

For a long time, I think my brother didn't get the whole thing -- he's developmentally disabled, borderline retarded but still basically functional and normal-appearing -- but several people within and outside of the family have made efforts to clue him in. Now he's acting out in ways that suggest he gets it and he's not handling it very well. He's supposed to be on Medicare but that benefit is currently being contested, so getting him psychological help of any kind is not easy. He's having to tough it out on his own, and I hate that for him. I sure wouldn't want to be going through all this without the benefit of Prozac -- let alone without being equipped with the emotional maturity to process even comparatively simple issues well.

And my mom is struggling hardest of all. Her husband of 40 years, her closest and dearest friend by far, and clearly the best companion the universe could have ever invented for her, is becoming -- or perhaps has already become -- unrecognizable to her, and she's still feeding him, bathing him, and performing plenty of other thankless tasks out of love and duty and determination to see him die with whatever dignity is still possible at this point. Her dilemma breaks my heart every day, and as stressed out and wound-up as she defininitely is, she bears it all so much better than I can ever imagine doing myself.

And Karsten -- well, what can I possibly say about Karsten that does him justice? After losing his mother seven months ago, I'm sure it's suffocating for him to be in an environment where the reality of parental death is thick in the air. But he knows I need him with me, and he's there for me. We're in this together, after all, and thank whatever gods there may be for that. This man is like oxygen to me -- I simply can't imagine breathing without him. Especially not right now. And he's consistently the one person who can relax me, who can always make me laugh, with whom I can just walk and walk and walk for hours and talk about anything or talk about nothing -- and it's the only kind of therapy that could possibly do me any good right now. He soothes my soul.

So there it is, in a nutshell. The cast of characters, the somber scene, the barely-crawling pace of it all. It's draining as hell, and I feel like I'm in limbo no matter where I am, but I'm trying to make the best of it and find the moments of levity, the revelations of truth, the opportunities to draw closer with the people from whom I've moved away so many times -- and trying to laugh and love as much as possible at all times. I think that's all there is to do. I think that's all there is for any of us to do.

Health and happiness to you all. I'll update again when I can.

The following is an email I sent to my coworkers a few minutes ago. I don't have the energy to reformat it for my journal.

( Update... )

I completed the hardest writing task of my life on Saturday. After my dad asked me on Friday morning to help him write thank you notes, I went out and bought the cards, and then all through the afternoon, I tried to find a moment when he seemed energetic and coherent enough to start writing them. It wasn't until Saturday morning, though, right before I planned to leave, that we had our first opportunity. He seemed ready, but I tried asking him probably 50 different ways what he wanted to say, and he was silent each time. But his face said volumes, and so I gently suggested that I write the notes from my perspective, sitting at his bedside, and let the recipients know what I think he's trying to tell them. He liked that idea, so I came up with a basic formula and ran it by him, and got a teary-eyed nod of approval.

I tweaked and customized it for different recipients, but the ( basic formula went like this...  )

I hope it does the job.

I found myself at Target this afternoon buying "thank you" cards. And not just any thank you cards: thank you cards that can be sent from my dad to his friends as a sort of final thank you for all they've done for him.

Believe it or not, Hallmark doesn't really have a card exactly for that.

In fact, most of the thank you cards are sort of light and fluffy. Nothing with the seriousness and weight deserved by a card being sent on such an occasion.

This all started this morning when my dad told me he wanted to get some things down on paper, so I grabbed a notebook and pen and sat down to dictate. It took him 15-20 minutes to get out that he wanted to send thank you cards (which he mistakenly called sympathy cards at first before correcting himself) and listed the people to whom he wanted to send them. I told him I'd get the cards and help him write the message and he could sign them, and that was that. So what else did he want to get down on paper? He was silent for a really long time, and I kept prodding and prompting him for what else, and finally I suggested we come back to it after he rested for a bit, and he nodded.

I got the cards. I have no idea how we're going to manage to put a message together for all these people. I'm going to have to fill in the blanks, I imagine.

No one said this would be easy.

I forgot to mention that the priest from my parents' parish, who gave the blessing on my brother and sister-in-law Saturday night, was wonderful. He delivered this lovely speech about how everyone needs someone, and love isn't only what we think it is for ourselves, and we don't have to discriminate or conclude that what we think of as love is the only kind of love there is. It was perfect, and the only thing that would have made it better is if her parents had been there to hear it -- since clearly, they're the ones who needed to hear it the most.

Also wanted to mention that on Sunday, at my parents' wedding anniversary reception, my sister announced that my niece was going to sing my parents' wedding song, "More," and my nephew was going to play it on the keyboard. The two of them got ready to begin, and my nephew, in a very campy way, blurted out, "I just realized I don't know how to play the keyboard! Does anyone here know how to play this song?"

Several people raised their hands, and one woman actually started heading toward them. But my nephew called out "I see a gentleman over there who looks like he could do it. How about you, sir?" And my dad, with whom they'd obviously worked all this out, worked his way out of his chair and hobbled his way over the keyboard, with my mom, who was stunned and completely taken aback, trailing behind to make sure he made it OK.

Dad played the song, as he has many, many times, and even though he was a little clumsy and slow about it, my niece sang along and it was the most touching thing I've seen in years. I was able to keep from crying all during my brother's wedding, but when my dad played their wedding song, I blubbered like a freakin' waterfall. I do have pictures, but they didn't come out very well.

I said I would post about it but I haven't yet, so here it is: I'm in the process of making arrangements to go stay with my parents for an extended period of time to help out in whatever way I can. This will entail being away from Karsten for days at a time, which I hate, but as I told my mom, I can't really imagine looking back on this decision and thinking it was the wrong thing to do.

So Karsten and I will drive up to my parents' place and back this weekend for my brother's "wedding" and my parents' anniversary celebration, and then we'll drive back up for Father's Day weekend (the week after next). At that point, I may stay behind while Karsten drives back to Nashville for a few days.

It's going to be a lot of driving back and forth -- flying would just cost too much, I think.

[I just got back from work and noticed that this is still unfinished. I'm going to post it for now and maybe come back to it later.]

Well, actually, we were never once in Chicago. Schaumburg, yes; Park Forest, yes; Chicago, sadly no.

But we drove there, spent 6 hours in IKEA, spent the night with my parents, and drove back. All in the space of a weekend. Whew!

IKEA was frustrating. Most of what we wanted was out of stock. What we ended up with was insignificant enough to fit in the car, so we skipped on shipping it and just loaded up the Camry.

Seeing my parents was tough. My dad is in such pain, and is just not himself. My parents shared with me and Karsten a poem my niece had written a few weeks ago for school. You can imagine how wet our eyes were.

( My niece's poem )

And the drive was exhausting.

But this week, we're focused on getting the kitchen, bathroom, and laundry room in working condition, and then we'll probably move in early next week.

I missed the CMA Awards show last night. We were going to go work out and watch the show on the cardio theater TVs, but my knees started hurting and I didn't feel up to it. Now that I'm reading the press release about it, I'm so bummed to have missed Randy Travis singing "Sunday Morning Coming Down" in a tribute to Kris Kristofferson. That is one of my favorite songs of all time, and Randy Travis has the perfect voice for it.

On the other hand, I'm a little glad I missed "Live Like You Were Dying" winning song of the year. I'm thrilled for Tim Nichols and Craig Wiseman, who write incredible songs and truly deserve this kind of recognition, but if I'd seen them winning, I'd have lost it. In this press release, Tim McGraw is quoted as saying backstage, "The song came to me around Thanksgiving. That's when we sort of learned that Tug [Kate's note: that's his late father] didn't have a chance. We cut the song three weeks later and it wasn't sad. It was something special." I have a hard enough time listening to that song without crying; now it'll be waterworks every time I hear it.

The real upside to having missed the show is that by staying home I was able to focus on writing, and I wrote not one, but two songs. One of them was kind of a throw-away piece of dreck, but as soon as I finished it I started on the second one and it was much sharper for having sort of "warmed up" on the first one. I read the second one to Karsten when I was done, and he said it had real presence. So yay! That makes five songs total this month, and at least two of them are real possibilities for serious development.

Five down, 25 to go.

Ever since my dad started pressuring me to go to this past weekend's family wedding in Baltimore -- and the pressure started back in August -- I've been meaning to dig out my saved copy of this email exchange and post it for you all to read and for me to re-read. Because it's one of the things that makes me realize how much I'm going to miss my dad. I'll post more about the wedding itself later.

Back in October 1998, I found a web site called Familypoint.com that was supposed to be a virtual meeting place for extended families. I set up a site for my family and mentioned it to my parents just before they attended a family wedding in Baltimore so they could spread the word about it to everyone. One of my cousins who is roughly my age found my personal web site through a series of links from the Familypoint.com site and was apparently shocked, shocked I tell you, to learn that I'm bi and poly.

Her father, my uncle, promptly sent me a nasty email about it.

( Uncle Bernard's letter )


( My Dad's response to Uncle Bernard )

I think I may just give up movies for a while. No, really.

Karsten and I rented "Uptown Girls" -- yes, "Uptown Girls" with Brittany Murphy and that annoying little blond girl -- thinking that, out of all the new releases in Blockbuster, it was one of the few that was sure to be fluffy enough to distract us both from the muck hanging over our heads.

I read the description on the back of the DVD box to be sure there was nothing at all about fathers in it. And it sure didn't sound like there was.

Well, fuck. Not to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, but it isn't exactly a masterpiece anyway: the entire subtext is based on dying and dead fathers.

Exactly what I needed to take my mind off of my dad.

I managed to make it through the whole thing in one piece, with only a few stray tears here and there until it was finally over and I lost it. I broke down sobbing and couldn't stop for several minutes. So I'm quite serious: I may have to give up movies for a while, because I have no idea what films will have triggers and which ones won't.

Here I'm thinking I'm renting a nice, distracting comedy, and I get that. Yeesh.

but this email from my sister choked me up.

( My sister's email )

I scribbled out a little essay-type-thing while I was waiting in the airport in Charlottesville. It's not elegantly written, but I can't bring myself to revise it. It's just first-draft raw writing, and that feels somehow right.

( Rambling essay behind this link... )