Open Letter: Part Two

   My Dad passed away March 2, 2012 and, as you can imagine, things around here have been pretty busy and continue to be so.
   I have had a little time now, though, to attend to some unfinished business.
   Awhile back, I posted a blog entitled "Open Letter". I used this forum to vent some of my anger and frustration with the manner in which charitable organizations badgered people into donating. More specifically, I referred to my own father's case. I declared my intent at the time to send this letter to as many of those agencies as I could document.
   I have taken that blog and re-created it, word for word, in letter form. The following is what I shall be adding to the letter, in the form of a "P.S."

   "P.S. I write a blog which is viewed approximately 400 times a month. Several weeks ago I published this letter in blog form and told people that it was my intention to send it to the various agencies Dad had donated money to. There is something about the subject matter that has resonated with people. Not only did they read the blog individually, they then started sharing it with their friends on social networks. It is fully my intention to document your response (or possible lack of) and report back to them. More than anything, though, I want to have a constructive exchange with one of you so that I may take some direction in all of this. Thank you again.

P.P.S. My father passed away on March 2, 2012. With the help of the CPP death benefit, there was enough money in the estate to cremate him. We were forced to have a memorial service in our backyard and, due to outstanding debts, his estate will be finalized with a negative balance."

   I will be sending out 30-40 copies of this letter and will be more than happy to keep you all posted as to the results.

  

Angel

   In the series of blogs "Dad, these days", I tried to describe in fairly straightforward detail the trials and tribulations of Dad's struggle with Alzheimer's and then his ensuing hospitalization. At the same time, I was also attempting to keep his family and close friends abreast of what was happening in his life, on essentially a daily basis. For the most part, I stuck to the bare bones of things.
   Now, however, I would like to touch on one of the finer details of Dad's last few weeks.

   He had an angel.

   This particular angel's name is Doralyn and she is also my wife. I love her with all my heart for many reasons and she has done nothing in the last four weeks but provide me with more of them. In a variety of ways she has been my angel in the past and Dad's hospitalization has given me the privilege of watching her perform her angelic duties all over someone else for a change.
   In the first couple of days of Dad's stay he went through a period, before they were able to stabilize him, where he was adrift with anxiety, confusion and the simple inability to breathe. I remember him suddenly sitting up in bed many times, chest heaving, panicking at not being able to catch a breath. I remember Doralyn coming to him in this state and getting him to sit on the edge of the bed, at which point she proceeded to rub his back for him. It was wonderful to watch him melt away into this!

   She nursed him better than the nurses did. She saw the little things that needed tending to; the hair that needed combing, the teeth that needed brushing, glasses needing cleaning, all those things.
   Above and beyond all the physical things she tended to, she also minded his spirit. She was the one with calming touch and soothing voice. She was the one who stroked his hair and kissed his cheek. She was the one who reminded him how loved he was by everyone.
   And Dad responded to all that. He looked for her when she wasn't there. He always asked me to bring along "the cute one". I remember very well after one meal time when he was sitting in his chair, after the tray and stand had been pulled aside. He was sitting, hunched forward. with his forehead almost touching his kneetops due to exhaustion. She came and sat in front of him, held his hand and flirted a little bit. He pulled his head up, looked her in the eye, and reached out and cupped her on the chin. This is a moment that will stay with me forever.
   She ministrated to him daily, right up to the end. Whether it was clearing out the goopy eye or tending to the teeth and gums. At every visit she made him smile or laugh at something. When smiling and laughing were beyond him, she could still get a raised eyebrow.
   I have no qualms in saying that, if only one of us could show up, I believe he would have taken her over me. And, you know, I really didn't have a problem with that, I was just so thankful that she was there for him at a time when he needed the assuagement of his soul as much as anything else.
   Throughout all of this she has done much the same for me. On a pretty constantly daily basis she has asked, "What can I do for you?" There were times when I was able to tell her something specific but, more often than not, just having her there was enough.
   Doralyn loved my Dad just as much as any of us did. He was an easy man to love but part of her abiding love for him stemmed from the way he totally accepted her both into my life and into his. She told him this often. This was also a part of my love and admiration for this man.

   If there are heavenly angels, Dad is now among them. For me, I thank God for him having been visited by one here on earth.
  
   
  
  
  
  
  

Dad, these days: Part Six

Dad and I

   This will be the last in the series of blogs I've been devoting to my Dad these past few weeks, chronicling his final days. On March 2, early in the morning, his body finally succumbed to a heart that simply wasn't strong enough to sustain it. It had become very apparent over the final week of his life that there would be no plateau-ing here. The downward turn he took was dramatic and unrelenting and, by the end, he was a man hardly recognizable as the Ken Baker we know and love.

Dad, taking it easy, very early on in his hospital stay

   That was from the outside, though. Throughout all his physical struggles it was very clear that the essential part of Dad was very present and accounted for. At no point did he lose his sense of humour. His graciousness never wavered. He maintained a strong sense of propriety right til the end.
   The care he received at University Hospital was, with occasional exceptions, good. He did benefit from having family there with him every day, either myself or Doralyn and for a one week stretch his brother Keith and his sister-in-law Barb. These visitors from out west greatly brightened Dad's stay, both for him and for us. What it all amounted to was that Dad was being taken care of by people who loved him and the hospital care was usually secondary.

His whiteboard--important to ALL of us!

   At one point early in his stay, there was talk of Dad being placed on palliative care. At the time, though, he very quickly rallied and thoughts of making this particular move were put on hold. This past week, however, we were called in to discuss this move again, due to dad's quickly deteriorating condition.

Dad and his Angel. More on her later...

   The process was discussed with us and would mean a subtle change in the type of care he would receive. He would no longer be hydrated intravenously. He would not be fed, unless he made it known there was something he desired, or had a hankering for. He would be started off with baby doses of painkiller, only enough to make him comfortable, and these would be increased only if the pain did. All this in an effort to not over-medicate him to the point at which he would be unable to interact with the people around him. 
   From the start of his stay, Dad had had moments where he was unclear as to where exactly he was, and why. We got to where we were putting messages up on his whiteboard for him, as gentle reminders. During this last week, however, his ability to realize who you were, where he was and what was going on slipped away quickly. The last couple of days were spent, for all intents and purposes, in a barely conscious state.
   We got to where we would talk to, or about, him without really expecting a response. In the midst of doing that, though, occasionally he would raise an eyebrow at us, just to let us know he was still there and understood what was going on! These moments always seemed amazing to us and they continued on right up until the end.

...one last coffee with Dad...

   The end we were expecting came just about when we thought it would and still caught us a little by surprise. I received a call from the hospital shortly after 6:00 in the morning informing me that Dad had passed. I wasn't surprised but at the same time I'd wanted one of us to be there when it happened. Perhaps Dad really didn't.
   When I got to Dad's room he was still there. What had disappeared was the tortured breathing and the stop-and-go rising of his chest. Oddly, this was comforting. I began to arrange his belongings and, all of the sudden, I craved a coffee, of all things. So I stopped gathering and headed to the cafeteria. On the way there, I had this sudden desire to share one last coffee with him (as there was no Coors Light to be found...) so I bought two double-doubles and returned to his room. I drank both coffees (thanks, Dad) and before I walked out I touched his hand, kissed him on the forehead and asked him to say "hi" to a couple of people who'd been important to us.
   I am sure that he will.