September Mourn (Part One)

Photo by Sue Rosoff

Yes, I am aware that the song is "September Morn." But this isn't that kind of song...or, I guess, post.

On September 1st, 2025, my father-in-law, Jerry, died. This happened after a couple weeks in the hospital; in-home hospice care; and, finally, a week in a hospice facility. He had slipped into unconsciousness a few days before passing. 

So many wonderful things have been shared on social media and other internet sites about him. Many touching upon his career as a rodeo photographer. He was truly talented. His work was back when there were no digital cameras that could capture 1,000s of shots without fear of using up film on a bad one. He had a film camera with 36 shots to try not to waste. His camera wasn't an auto-load or auto-focus. Jerry was in the ring, right with the riders, fighters, clowns, and bulls and broncs. He managed to time things perfectly to get the shot lined up and in focus to become a legendary rodeo photographer.

All of that is incredible and fascinating to me. But, I will miss the personal life we had with him. I can still hear him say, "Oh, really?" with a tilt of his head when someone had knowledge about some thing or another to tell. Or, "Well, alright," said with a congratulatory smile when good news was shared. If you were enthusiastic about something, he was right there with you. He wanted to know all the things he could. Jerry was filled with curiosity. 

Mostly, though, I will miss the love he had for all of us, his family.

Thank you for being my dad

There is a podcast called The Golden Girls Deep Dive Podcast. I've started rewatching/watching The Golden Girls in order to listen to the podcast. I never saw the entire series, so at some point it will really be new to me.

My dad absolutely adored the show! I'm pretty sure Sophia may have been his favorite of the four women. Her unfiltered way of speaking was what he really enjoyed. It could be that he was living vicariously through her. He was too polite to really say things the way she did.

I'm grateful for finding out about the podcast. Watching the show and hearing the discussion between Patrick Hinds and Jennifer Simard, the co-hosts brings me to a happy place. It connects me to my dad in a different way. It may seem strange to say, but I think these kinds of things are a different side to mourning. 

Both the show and the podcast are great. 

★★★★☆ Would recommend both*

*I don't really give perfect scores for many things.

What to do? What to do?

 I've made no secret of my past life as a Roman Catholic. You can find posts about it on this very blog.

Lately, the trauma of that time has been creeping up - it's been over 20 years. I've been having lots of thoughts about my time (brief though it may have been) joining a religious order. The thoughts are more about my post-exit. My first major depressive episode was while I was in the convent. The psychiatrist my mom took me to told me to move out as soon as possible. I did. He started me on some meds and things started to turn around. A month or two after leaving the convent, I had to meet with the two sisters who were in charge of my formation as a postulant. I left that meeting angry and hurt. Frankly, I think that may have been when the actual trauma of that whole time of my life hit.

I value that religious community and the role it has played throughout my life. The have a page on Facebook, which I follow. It allows me to see what they are up to. For the most part, it's good to see. But, every so often I will see pictures with those two specific sisters from that meeting. Sometimes, especially lately, seeing them takes me back to that room, back to being told, while pointing back at the wall, that my suffering is nothing compared to the true suffering of Jesus Christ on the Crucifix. What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Is this why people shouldn't seek out exes on social media? Is this a bad idea? Should I stop following the group that means so much because of these two popping up in my feed occasionally? 

I just don't know.    

Our Father

This post's theme has been sitting in my drafts for months. 

I was thinking about my dad. It's not something unlike me to do. This whole grieving process is really something. You never know when a happy or sad memory will hit. It can be such a little thing that triggers it. Or, it's day on a calendar that marks some significant time in your life together. 

I lost my father. 

My four siblings lost their father.

We all lost the man who fathered the five of us.

However, when I think about it, we all lost a different dad. Each of us had our own relationships with him. Our memories and experiences differ. 

I read something one of my older brothers wrote about memories of things he got to do in his childhood with our father. It really struck me. It was sweet. It was his dad. They had their things. Things I didn't share in.

My childhood with my dad didn't involve days at the then Cleveland Indians' games. I went to evening Mass with my dad and would get a sucker from the corner drug store on our walk home. He would lie on the couch and watch public television. I would climb up and lie on his belly and watch Julia Child cook something neither of us would ever make. I would hang out with my dad on Saturday afternoons after my morning class at The Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Before heading home, we'd make a stop at Lakeview Cemetery to visit my grandparents' and other family members' graves. Then we'd stop at Hough Bakery where I would get a Lady Lock. 

When I was older, he gave me his copy of The Catcher in the Rye from his teenage years when it first was published. He said that he thought I'd like it. How did he know? Also, I became his date to see A Christmas Carol at Cleveland's Playhouse Square. We did this a few years in a row. Then we went on to get tickets for a partial season to see the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra at beautiful Severance Hall. We even got to experience the performance of my dreams when we had tickets for Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.  (My dad had the 1975 album that was a recording of the Cleveland Orchestra at Severance Hall in 1974. When I was little, the album art shocked and horrified me.)

Those experiences were with my dad.

Our little song

LITTLE HANDS
By Inland Sky

Little hands
The world is yours
Hold it close with open arms
Little feet
With miles ahead
Take it slow, see it all, take it in

I see me in you
You in me
I see me in you
You in me
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes

Little heart
Dance it out
So the ins and outs won’t bring you down
Little dream
Grow up tall
With a little rain, a little sun, you’ll feel love

I see me in you
You in me
I see me in you
You in me
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes

Little hands
The world is yours
Hold it close with open arms
Little hands

I came upon this song when making an Instagram post about the grandson. It got me in the feels and became our song to listen to when in the car.

My grandson is not biologically related to me. I do not have any biological children, as I've written about before on this blog. My daughter, Conner is Shawn's from a previous marriage. But, I'm still "GrandMeg" to this little boy and I never look at him as a "step."

There has always been a nature vs. nurture argument in human development. I recognize that the lyrics to this song may seem to be about biology - seeing oneself in a child your grandchild. However, as a hands-on grandparent who has been one of his primary caretakers while Conner works, I think I've had some role in nurturing this boy. I think I am able to see me in him and him in me. 

The boy with the little hands and little feet pictured above is having his 4th birthday today. How can that be? It seems like his birth to now went in a flash. At the same time, I don't really remember my pre-GrandMeg life. He has Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and has had some developmental delays along the way. But, this not-so-little guy has grown so much physically and mentally that he leaves all of those who love him in awe. It has not been an easy road for him and for us. It is our road, though, with many miles ahead.

I hold his little hand to keep him safe when crossing the street or walking through a store. I imagine one day he will hold my little hand to keep me safe when climbing a stair or getting out of a car. We will have a full circle moment when I will still see me in him and him in me. 

Sometimes you just want to smell your dad

In a million years, I bet you never thought you'd read the words of this entry's title. I know I never expected to think them.

It's been 3 years and 2 months since my dad died. It's a weird feeling of it being just yesterday and ages ago since it happened. The whole grief thing is a very wild ride. Recently, a lot of things have been popping up in my head, my heart, and my gut. I think of that as a grief trifecta, in a sense.

I've listened to the first season of the podcast All There Is with Anderson Cooper (I had to take a break, so I haven't started the next season). Anyway, I HIGHLY recommend it for anyone experiencing any phase/type of grief, or anyone trying to support someone through grief. It gives a glimpse of all the different types of grieving people experience. 

Because of the show, I am processing so many things. This will hopefully be my outlet as it once was for other phases of my life.

As for the title, the sense of smell hits directly to the parts of the brain related to memory and emotion. It is the quickest of the senses to stir up memories. So, lately, I've wanted to remember my dad and the after shave he was known for. 

My newly purchased office décor.

A year in the death of my father

Obviously I knew this day would come. The first anniversary of my dad's death. Technically, last year was the first Christmas without my dad, but he died on Dec. 23rd, so everything about that Christmas was weird, including COVID.

This year has been quite surreal. I thought the passage of time would help the grief, but it hasn't. What has surprised me is that it started to worsen each month. I have moments where I have to actually tell myself, "My dad is dead". In a dream I had, he was so real, so present that I, again, had to tell myself that he had died.

This year I've handled the holidays in a way that would disappoint someone as Mr. Christmas as my dad. I know the way to really honor him would be to get the tree up and have as many lights as possible, and then some, strung upon it. But, I'm not strong enough for that right now. Christmas music is more like a funeral dirge than anything jolly. Mustering the creativity and energy for creating another Jarvis themed Christmas card seemed an epic feat. Shawn and I aren't exchanging gifts, but have talked about getting a new tv as a joint gift. I pulled my holiday themed attire out of storage, but haven't worn much of it. No cookie baking has been done, even the simplest of recipes.

In a typical year, the Friday after Thanksgiving is the kick-off. We would probably have our cards ready to go. The tree would be up. Christmas tunes playing in the car instead of podcasts. The first t-shirt with a holiday theme would be worn along with some socks. Then, as the days move on, I would shop and I would bake. Then there would be wrapping and shipping. All of those things that my dad loved about the holidays.

Today, I woke up not wanting to think about what this day is. I didn't want to remember waking up to my mom's voice telling me he was gone. But, I did. I never read last year's Christmas letter that he managed to send. Today, I took a stack of letters from years past and read them. They represented history, but also showed his decline through the years. After I finished that stack I went to my desk and took out last year's letter. It was so very brief, only one sheet of paper front and back. I didn't cry. I really thought I would cry, especially at the end.

My dad had done a long stint in the hospital and rehab which ended with him coming home the day before Thanksgiving. When he came home he worked on cards and the letter. On December 21st he was back in the hospital and died on the 23rd. I give this little timeline because of something he wrote in the letter. His letter always included an in memoriam section to list those who had passed throughout the year. He began the in memoriam with, "While John is blessed to be back at home and doing better, we recognize and remember fondly those we have lost this past year..." Little did he know that he would become a part of that list a short time after writing those words.

This didn't really come out right

I don't know what has happened to me when it comes time to blog. There is plenty going on in my head - too much, really.

My current state is extra hot mess. I am physically and mentally all over the place. So many things are breaking me down. 

Recently, my dad's death has been hitting me hard. It's been harder than it was in the beginning months. It's just this weird feeling that it's not real. I think about it and wonder what will make it seem real? Will it be the first time I go to Cleveland since his death? Will it be seeing his grave in person?

The world and all it's changes get me to stay in bed. COVID, Texas laws, Afghanistan are all more than I can think about right now. I get choked up over the news. 

Work has me stressed out. There are changes that I don't know how to handle. My anxiety at the idea of certain tasks is manifesting itself physically. I'm not cut out for certain things. I'm not a people person.

I should be able to get my shit together. I used to accomplish things with less anxiety issues. Now, I tend to isolate and it's not because of COVID. Nausea is a constant and diarrhea is regular (so far no vomiting). Headaches and muscle aches are common. I'm quite tired. It's all part of the mess.

I have an appointment coming up with my shrink. I'm not all that optimistic right now. There are probably going to be med changes and that is a whole other thing I don't look forward to.

I'm just so tired.    

He was a good man, a really good, good man

When my dad died, I received texts and messages via social media. Since my mom isn't on social media, a copied everything, including some messages on my oldest brother's Facebook page into an email for her to read. I thought about it the other day and decided to share them all here. I'm not using the first and last names and all are as they were written.

My smile memory is of your father's laugh. He had the best laugh. And when he told a story, he was so intense, wanting to get all the details right. He was such a kind man. - Marie G

Yesterday?! Meg I am so sorry. I knew you had been on my mind for a reason. Your dad and mom are special to me, he would always stop by the children's desk if he was in the library for FoEPL business. Of course, you know that I saw your mom at storytime. I really a go m truly sorry, but grateful that I can say that I knew him. If any of you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. - Cherese

Your Dad and my mom had birthdays a couple weeks apart. He would always call her to say say happy birthday old lady. We always got a chuckle out of that. - Becky A

Prayers to you and your family. Your dad was one of the kindest person

I’ve ever met. He was a beautiful person and will be looking down from

heaven at his family. His kind words and ways will be missed. - Lisa H

I’m so sorry, your dad was such a great man and kind person. I’m keeping you all in my prayers - Kristen B G

He was such a very sweet man. I am so sorry for your family - Sheila F

I am very sorry Chris to hear thoughts and prayers to you and your family he was a great man. - Bill D

My condolences on this loss of this gentle caring man. Peace - Nicholas A

My condolences. A great man in every way - George B

Chris, so sorry for the loss of your father. He was such a nice person and always had a great attitude about life. - Ted K

So sorry for your loss. He was a kind wonderful man and wonderful example to you kids. May he Rest In Peace. - Peggy O-C

Very sad news. The original south lake sh group is about gone now. Your parents were so good to my mom. There is a place for him. - Mickey F

Always so awesome to our clan in the days, patience- Ken R

Chris I'm sorry to hear that. Kindest man I've ever known. Bar none. Can I do anything? - Emmett

Chris, I am so sorry about your loss. What a wonderful man and a friend to the entire F family who kept a keen eye over Nana. We will always be grateful. Please share the sentiments with your mother and siblings...I know from experience it is hard to lose a loved one so close to Christmas. Today's weather should provide some peace and quiet to reflect on your beloved father. - John F

He was the family historian and will be missed - Dennis D

He was a very kind man and he will be missed. - JoElle

He always treated us all as family. He will be missed by all. - Les K

Not a specific memory but his smile could always be depended on and it would always make me smile in return. - John E

Oh Meg, I am so so sorry for your loss. I always enjoyed your stories about your dad. Sitting with you in your grief. 💓  - Mary Beth W

I'm so very sorry for your loss. I enjoyed hearing about him through your anecdotes. - Cori

 

Oh Meg!! I’m an so very sorry. Your dad was a special guy 💓️💓💓 - Laura G P

I will miss his Christmas letters. A great family history. A great tribute to my cousin John. I have fond memories of visiting their house with book lined walls! He will be missed. - Beverly 

Oh Meg, that's terrible news. I'm so sorry. My condolences to you and to all of your family. You've told so many stories about your dad that I felt like I know him without ever having met him, and that sounds like a life well lived.

I'm so sorry for today. Lots of love from over here. ♡ - Cynthia R

May you and your family find peace in his peace. We are going to drive around and look at lights tonight - I’ll be thinking about your Dad as we do. - Mary Frances 

So so sorry Meg..John has such wonderful stories and memories he shared. - Dawn A-H

Sorry for your loss, Meg. We got the news this morning. He was so welcoming when I entered the family. If you need anything, please reach out. - Alyssa H

Meg, I’m so sorry for you and your family’s loss. I always looked forward to you sharing stories about him and I know he will be missed! - Chris B

Oh Meg, I am so sorry to hear this. Your stories of him were heartwarming. Hoping all of your memories bring you peace. - Katie P

I am so very sorry for your loss, Meg. Thank you for sharing so many stories about your Dad over the years, especially loved the card and letter stories. He really did embody all the wonderful qualities of a loving father🥰May he live on in your heart with all your splendid memories. - Jenne C C

I am so so sorry to hear this, your dad was awesome and I always loved running into him and chatting with him. - Monica F M

Meg, so sorry to hear this! You have expressed so much love for your dad through posts and blogs that I almost feel like I know him 😔 Hoping for some peace for you and your family. Sending you 💓️💓 - Alaina P

 

I am so, so sorry for your loss Meg. He was such a kind soul, and I will miss getting his cards and letters this time of year 💓️. -Kyra H

So sorry he was a true gentleman. Now he and Nana can have a good chat. God bless his soul. - Mel F

Meg our heartfelt sympathies go out to you and the entire family. Your dad was one of a kind! we will all miss the Christmas letter. 😉  May you find some peace knowing he is out of pain. - Kathy S

I'm so sorry for the loss of your dad. I loved reading your posts about him and how he impacted those around him. Wishing you, your mom, and family comfort and peace, especially when you recall precious memories of him. - Michelle F

So, so sorry! Your dad was definitely one of a kind. He will be greatly missed. 😘  - Korie R

I am so sorry to hear this. Your dad was such a kind and funny man. I will never forget all the conversations at Perkins and elsewhere. RIP♥️ - Brigid C

My heart is broken for you and your family....Your dad was an incredible guy. I loved talking with him and making him laugh. He was an absolute joy to be around. I'll certainly miss that Christmas letter 💓 - Linda R-F

He was one of the good ones. So sorry to hear and all my love and condolences to you and the family. - John E

Your dad was one of the good ones. Always had a smile and a laugh. I will miss his Christmas card but will always think of him this time of year. Thinking of you, your Mom, and your family in this next step. - Celina H M

So sorry to see this. Such a kind soul! Prayers to you and your family! - Beth

Very sorry for your loss, Meg. Your dad was a wonderful man. Keeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers. - Brian Q

Meg, I just heard about Dad. Mary Beth Q just called me. May God bless Mom, you and all the family with great strength and love at this time. It's surreal that he passed right before Christmas knowing how much he loved this season. I always looked forward to receiving his Christmas card and letter about the family each year. May he take part in a celestial Christmas this year. Sending hugs, Meg. 🙏💙🙏  - Bonnie M

I’m so unbelievably sorry your heart is hurting. I know through your stories what an incredible man, husband, father, grandpa, and friend he was, and the void he will leave behind. - Shelly M

I'm so sorry for your loss, Meg! Your dad was a wonderful man. 💓️ - Karen D

Denise: How blessed your family is to have had such a great father, husband and grandpa. And how he has even touched extended families lives. 💕what a wonderful life had.

Me: Denise I’m so glad you were one of the caring faces he got to see soon before he died.

Denise: aww thank you, he was just as I will remember. Sitting in his chair still cutting coupons in the hospital. Only thing missing would be your mom getting ready to prepare dinner and general hospital on the TV in their tiny kitchen. I use to look forward to going there after school

Also Denise: Thinking of all you guys, your parents show the strength of a couple being married so so long, such good people hugs.

Know that I am thinking about you and your family during this difficult time. I know it has been a long time since I’ve seen everyone but your family holds a special place In my heart from our days at Holy Cross and Perkins. Your parents are wonderful people and your father will be missed by many. I hope you are hanging in there and remember to take help from others when they offer you support. Something I have learned to do this year that does not come easily. Let people be there for you just as you would be there for others. - Ann C D

Meg, I’m so incredibly sorry. I’ve been so selfishly wrapped up in our own family problems, I didn’t see this until now. You are all in my thoughts. We’ll forever be indebted to your parents for helping us make Eddie the articulate, curious guy he still is today. - Stephanie M L

I don’t really have specific memories but omg when your dad thought something was funny, I had to laugh. Sometimes I had NO CLUE what he was talking about but, when he laughed, I laughed. He was so fun.

To get your dads Christmas card on the day he passed gave me a feeling that I have never felt before. He was a great man who built a wonderful family. I am thankful to have been a part of his Christmas card list. I am sad and sorry that he is gone, hugs for you all. - Kate E

How did I used to write here?

I've been in this place for months now. There are many things to write about, but I can't quite manage to do it. It should be so simple. It's my life, I know the subject matter best, or do I? I don't know. I wonder.

I suppose life is filled with ripping the Band-Aid off moments, and this is kind of like one more.

My dad.

My dad is.

My dad is dead.

The last time I saw my dad, in real life, not virtually, was October 16th, 2019 when I was leaving to come home to Colorado after 2 months with him in Ohio. He had been quite sick. I already had a trip planned and just extended it. 

The last time I saw him in a virtual capacity was December 22nd, 2020. He was in the hospital and his nurse Face Time'd Shawn and me. It was the end and the nurse gave us a chance to say goodbye. Early the next morning, my mom called to tell me he was gone. He died on Christmas Eve Eve. It was a weird kind of thing to have him die during his favorite time of year. Christmas had always been his thing and I always thought about that every year, now it just comes to mind in a different way.

I can't get all the words out. I'm far from getting all the tears out. I don't know that I ever will. 

Can’t we all just wear a mask?

I was speaking with someone of the belief that masks don't really do anything and should not be forced upon anyone. The "you do what makes you comfortable and I'll do what makes me comfortable" point of view. There seemed to be the idea that mask wearers were mean toward those choosing not to wear them. They were being picked on by those in masks. I pointed out that it wasn't like the reverse wasn't the case. Right in front of her people were calling mask wearers "assholes" and "sheeple" and whatever else. 

I decided to point out what I see is the importance of wearing a mask. There was an attempt to explain that wearing a mask isn't for your own benefit but for the benefit of others. I said that I wear a mask because my 83-year-old dad who has diabetes and end stage liver failure would die if he was in contact with COVID-19. This wasn't a situation of he could, he would. The response was that she wouldn't be around my 83-year-old dad. I'm not around him, either. He's in Cleveland. This was meant to make a point and I guess I made too much of an assumption about that point being understood.

So, here's the deal. I wear a mask because I have many family and friends who fit into one or more of the risk areas for contracting COVID. They are people with COPD. Some with diabetes. I mentioned end stage liver failure already. There some who are obese (yes, myself included). Someone I know is pregnant and she is in a state that is way out of control with the number of cases and deaths. I know people with asthma. There are people in my life who have an autoimmune disease, such as Sjogren's Syndrome, for example. I know someone with Crohn's Disease who had a proctocolectomy and an ileostomy and now lives with on ostomy bag. I know someone who came through having COVID, but now her lung capacity is not what it was. She now has a difficult time doing the singing she had so enjoyed. 

I don't wear a mask literally for the people I've mentioned. They live all over the place. I'm not in close physical contact with all of them. I wear the mask because those people have health issues that are found in other people all around me. I'm sure the person I talked about in the beginning has people like these in her life. 

I wear a mask; Shawn wears a mask; other people we know wear masks. We all wear them to protect others from ourselves. Why is it so difficult to reciprocate?

Just wear the mask. Wear it without needing a government mandate. I wear mine for you. Can't you wear one for me?....or, if you don't like me, wear it for someone else who needs you to, someone you love.

Mourning the dead in the age of COVID

The other day I had a terrible night of very little sleep, dry heaving, and overall anxiety. I asked Shawn to drive me to the office so I could get mail and other work to bring home. We drove by a cemetery. It had COVID testing signs. I couldn't help but think it seemed so morbid, but at the same time I understood how convenient it really is as far as the long stretches of road.

When we made our way back, there were groups of people on the sidewalk along the fence outside the cemetery. I thought that perhaps they were there for testing. I thought that would be odd as far as distancing and the tendency to have people drive through to get tested.

As we got closer, I could see a tent with a casket ready to be lowered into the grave. There were six people seated in chairs well spaced apart. There was a minister of some sort standing at the casket. Then, we made the connection that all of the people were there for the graveside service. All of these people with no way to celebrate the life and mourn the loss with a gathering of family and friends other than at a distance, along a fence.

On this topic, my dad's cousin lost his sister-in-law the other day. His wife had to deal with not being able to hold a traditional funeral. She worked with her minister to do a tele-service. A conference call, basically. That has to be so difficult.

Even as a person who practices no religion, who is an atheist, I can acknowledge mourning the dead in some form or another. Celebrating a life and mourning a death is simply a part of our lives as human beings. Hopefully, soon, life will get back to a place in which people can honor the dead in they way they find best.

Oh, my boys

Me: Dammit, Jarvis, don't eat all that goose poop!

Jarvis: Oh, I'm sorry... did you want some?

UPDATE - Another walk

Before the walk:

Jarvis: Okay, let's go! Let's get out the door! Let's head out! Like now, like right now...

Me: Hang on, Buddy, I have to put on my socks.

Jarvis: Okay, your socks are on, now let's go!

Me: I just have to get my shoes on...

Jarvis: Great, got the shoes, now it's Walk Time!

Me: Just a second, I need my jacket...

Jarvis: Oh, for fuck's sake!

During the walk:

Jarvis: How are humans the dominant species on the planet?

Me: What do you mean?

Jarvis: "Oh, I'm a human, I can't go outside without shoes, or I'll hurt my dainty pink feet! It's too cold to go out without a jacket! My human skin is so sensitive!" What's all that blubber for if not insulation?

Me: It's not "blubber"... It's just, you know... cookies are delicious...

After the walk:

Jarvis: Hey, where's my treat?

Me: Since you're so advanced, I figured you could get it yourself.

Jarvis: What?

Me: Yeah, just stand erect and use your opposable thumbs to open the freezer. Oh, wait...

Jarvis: That's cold, man. That's real cold.

Two months of intense caring

Two. Months.

August 16th - September 16th

I start this with August 16th when my dad was actually admitted to the hospital on August 13th. I flew in from my home in Colorado, leaving Shawn and Jarvis to hold down the proverbial fort. From the 13th through the 19th, my dad was on a medical floor. That's were he was being treated for all the things jacked up by his liver. Then, the 19th through the 28th he moved to a skilled nursing floor (SNF) for inpatient physical and occupational therapies. On the 27th he went to ICU in a desperate attempt to get him to the Main Campus of the Cleveland Clinic where they had a unit that would focus on his liver which wasn't available at the Euclid Hospital satellite branch of the Cleveland Clinic. That attempt didn't work, so he was transferred back to the medical floor. Then, on the 31st, he made his way to Main Campus. His time at Main was August 31st through September 5th. And, finally, back to Euclid's SNF and lots of PT and OT from September 5th through September 16th. Then home.

So, month 1 was all about the hospital stays. He was having procedures. We were talking to doctors and NPs and nurses and aides and physical therapists and occupational therapist throughout all of that time. I was learning things I had known nothing about, such as, the body has ammonia in it. For real, ammonia. The liver is supposed to flush it out and when it doesn't it goes to the brain and turns you into a different person. My mom and I spent most of our time with him. We worked on crossword puzzles and watched TV as he dosed in and out. I would help him with his meals because opening his drinks and other sealed items took fine motor skills he didn't quite have. On SNF, he could wear regular clothes to go to therapy. In the evening, he would go back to his gown and, at times, I would help him change. One day, I noticed his legs were dripping fluid. That was something I could have done without seeing. Some days I had to brace myself for visitors who were not my cup of tea. That's a tough one. There was one afternoon when my mom and I had gone to get something to eat. My mom decided to call the priest from their parish to have him visit, maybe bring communion, too, I can't remember. She found out that he had just been up their. When we got back, my dad was in a terrible state, almost completely reclined. His respiratory therapist came in for his afternoon treatment and he shooed her away. He asked me to come over and I bent over to hear him. He whispered to me that he didn't think he was going to make, that he was going to die. Believe me, this is not anything you want to hear from anyone you love's mouth. We heard from others that sometimes, when a minister of some sort visits and bestows a blessing, the patient can take a turn because they see that experience as a sign of impending death. Thankfully, he perked up. He was quite an ornery patient and I often had to explain things to him. Sometimes, he would understand, and other times he would continue to be difficult.

September 16th came, and he was discharged.

September 16th - October 16th

This begins my last month. This period of time may have been worse. There was no aide to ring for to go to the bathroom. No nurses to be the bad guys dispensing his meds, especially his lactulose. It was the medication to help his ammonia levels lower. It's a disgusting, orange, syrup about which he would grumble when having to take it. My mom was trying to come up with meals that would meet up to the special dietary restrictions he needed to maintain outside of the hospital. I was working on a family calendar for people to help my mom with getting my dad to appointments. I was also sending emails to my siblings to summarize the hospital discharge notes and any other information from other appointments. One thing I never saw myself as having to do is empty out a portable urinal, but there I was. Some days were shitty, literally and figuratively. Lying in my parents' regular bed was not working out well, so he would sleep in his recliner. It was the kind that can lift you into standing and can put you horizontal. Some nights, I'd hear him in the middle of the night. There were different things he was moaning about. One night, he needed more water. Another time, it was to tell me the newspapers on the floor next to him were ready to be recycled. He was having some hip pain and pain from a sore one night. He couldn't really roll to his side. So, I got some pillows to prop him onto his side. I had to push him and hold him on his side while trying to position the pillows. Thankfully, it helped. There was also a time where he was afraid he missed his friend's birthday. I looked through the pile of items to be mailed and told him there wasn't a card so it must have been mailed already. He then cried because it was also his favorite aunt's birthday. He went back to being upset about his friend. He talked about his friend not knowing about all that had been going on. He mentioned that he always calls his friend. So, I told him he could call his friend the next day. I wrote a note, "Call Joel for his birthday" with his phone number in large digits. I put it on the table next to the chair. Then, I can't remember how, but I found out he that it was March. I told him he could still call Joel, but I just crossed off the birthday part of the note. It was weird how the lucid moments would happen, often when visitors were around. My mom and I bore the brunt of his personality switch. We did have some good moments watching the Democratic candidates' town halls and debates.

October 16th, the day I was leaving, it was like my dad had rebuilt all his strength and channeled it into the grip he had on my arm as I was heading out the door.

Two. Weeks.

October 16th - October 29th (technically 13 days, but still)

I got back to Denver and was so lucky to be greeted by Shawn almost as enthusiastically as by Jarvis (😉) It was nice to get a message of appreciation for all that I had done over my 2 month stay. I wish I had more of that. That probably sounds selfish and needy, but so much happened in the time in Cleveland and I was exhausted. I have felt underappreciated. I don't know what to do with myself now that I'm back. My days were filled with so much and here I am doing next to nothing. I didn't capture all of the things from Cleveland in this post. The toll some people and some things took on me is significant and probably best unsaid. My mental health has taken a hit. In the end, I did my best and now that I'm back home I'll have to figure out the rest.

Oh, what a mental health day....life

It's World Mental Health Day and I feel a sense of obligation to write today. I'm just not sure what to say.

Over the last two months, I feel like my mental health has been challenged, but I haven't necessarily been up for the fight. I've been tired, not just sleepy, but tired in my bones, my muscles, and my ability to handle my stress and emotions. My level of frustration and guilt has lead me to extra Ativan in the hopes of easing my anxiety and the extreme nausea it brings. I feel overwhelmed about leaving next week. I desperately want to see Shawn and, of course, Jarvis. The hope I have is that they will bring me relief and calm, they will distract me from my sense of worry.

On the topic of mental health, but not really like what I've written above, my mom and I had an interesting conversation. We both suffer from mental health issues. Her meds seem to work pretty well, so perhaps I'm the one suffering. Anyway, the other day we had a conversation which is probably not a typical one for mothers and daughters. We talked about suicide. We talked about our thoughts, our ideations. One of hers was terribly violent, if you ask me. She was young, still living at home, dealing with depression in an era in which you didn't, and saw a letter opener...to shove...in her neck. It made my car crash, overdosing, car running in the garage thoughts seem really calm. For both of us, they were suicidal ideations, they weren't actual plans. We're both still here. For me, I can't exactly say why, but I am.

In the general sense of life, I am here. I am here and I am with Shawn.

Two weeks left of the most difficult two months

For some reason, I thought I would be blogging more while being out here helping with my dad. Maybe it has to do with being tired and busy, I don't know. I have two weeks left and I'm ready. That probably sounds shitty, well, I've felt shitty.

I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." God, I wish I had her steadfastness. I'm still here feeling terrible because of the words and actions of another at a time when I really am trying to muster all the strength I have. I've been dealing with what might be considered Imposter Syndrome. I feel like I've done nothing near to what some think. I've not earned the kind words of others. Shawn says I have, so I should try harder to believe him.

But, what this entry is really about is hepatic encephalopathy again. 

While talking with Shawn during one of our nightly phone calls, I told him one of the things I have come to realize. When all is said and done, whether I stay here longer than 2 months or stick to the plan, my last memories of my father will not be the way I would choose. The hepatic encephalopthy distances me from the Dad I have always known. It has changed him in ways I do not like to see. Many visitors get to see him when he is rather lucid and don't really experience what my mom and I do in what I refer to as the witching hour. No matter how much I try to remind myself that he is not himself, the "this is the disease talking" mantra works very little. I lose my patience, there is no reason to lie about that. This mean, crabby, demanding, and angry man is not my dad; it is high ammonia levels and end stage liver failure. I need to try to recognize that. 

I should try to hold on to this and this, 

What's in a name?

I found out today that a man who was a big part of my childhood died. He and his wife were friends of my parents and went to the church of my childhood. He and his wife were the creators of "Megala". One of my many nicknames. I decided to go through my nicknames, well, as many as I can remember.

Meg (my first ever nickname since my given name is Margaret)
Megala
Margar
Midge
Peggy
Peggy Sue
Megaroni
Megra
Meggo
Meggles
Megster
That Girl
Megger
Marge
Moony
Babe

I am my father's daughter

I've been on the phone with my dad a couple of times this last week. His health is not good and that, in my ever so humble opinion, is also impacting his mental health. He's not happy. He tells me about how much my mom has to do for him these days. I get the vibe that he's feeling humiliated by it all. He gets choked up and tells me that he's always thanking my mom for each thing she does. She tells him he doesn't need to thank her. They've been married 51 years. I told him it is what you do.

Shawn and I will be married 11 years in a few days. As I have conversations with my dad about what my mom does for him. I get him. I relate. In our time together, Shawn has had to do so much for me in regards to my physical and my mental health. I honestly can't think of anything I have ever had to do for him. Not one damn thing. Obviously I don't wish Shawn to be sick. It's more about feeling bad that the scales are so out of balance.

They have 51 years, Shawn and I have 11. However, my dad and I are kind of in the same place.

A most gentle man

Today I found out that Dr. Frank Guerra, one of the heads of the practice where I had my ECT, had died. He was the anesthesiologist. He had cancer. It seems it was too far gone when they found it.

I've written a lot about my ECT experience. It was a significant part of my life, so I will continue to write about it whenever I see fit. 

One of the strange things about my memory loss is what wasn't lost. I remember the office; the waiting room; the staff; the pre-treatment questions; getting in my gown; lying on the gurney; and being wheeled into treatment room. With all of this, I remember moments with Dr. Guerra. Some days, the nurses would have a hard time getting a vein for my IV. They would leave it for Dr. Guerra to do when I went in. He was so gentle and got it done easily. My favorite memory of interacting with him was a day when I were late to our appointment. Being late can turn into a huge trigger of my anxiety. So, I was all keyed up about it. When I got into the treatment room and he was on my right side as per usual, he brought his observation of my stress. He asked me what was going on that had me so anxious. I explained that we were late. He asked me something like, "Did you make it? Are you here?" and I said, "Yes" and he told me that that was all that mattered. He then had me relaxed and put under. He's bedside manner was sweet and kind.

My hope, that in his memory, those he taught and mentored learned one very important thing, a tender and kind bedside manner. 

Choosing battles

I have these things about social media. One is that I really need to keep myself from reading the comments. Another is that when I read a post from a "friend" I have to make a choice to comment or not to comment. Am I going to change their mind? Is it going to turn into a pissing contest? Lately, I have realized it may be best to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I've always felt weird about doing that.

Tonight, I chose to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I just didn't think commenting was going to make much difference. However, I do feel like I'm a wimp who isn't standing up for something I feel strongly about.

This "friend" posted a link to an article about the first non-binary person coming out and admitting it was a sham. The "friend" said that you had to believe this person's story even if you didn't support the source site/publication. He then went on to bring up James "Buffalo Bill" Gumb from the movie The Silence of the Lambs. He pointed out that "Buffalo Bill" was denied gender reassignment surgery because he was mentally unstable. This was so unbelievably offensive to me. As if "Buffalo Bill" should be the standard to which we hold transgenderism. He said that he wasn't going to argue transgenderism but psychological treatment must be exhausted before any harmful chemicals or surgical procedures be considered.

I started to comment. I started to say that psychological/psychiatric treatment is a part of the process. You have to be cleared for medical procedures. I wanted to school him. I wanted to be an ALLY for my friends. I wimped out, though. I went the simple route of clicking "unfriend" and "unfollow". For this, my trans friends and my friends with trans friends and family members, I wish I would have done better by you.