RMJ 97 May 22

THURSDAY, MAY 22 ● Los Angeles

The team has the day off today. I was determined to take a day off from baseball and from this journal. But there is one more thing I need to record.

When I visited my father today, I spent a few moments alone with him. I held his hand and tried to pray, but the words would not come. I was able to summon a silent prayer.

I asked the Lord to consider this child, who came unto the world to serve unselfishly, just as his son Jesus had served:

Even in this effort, I felt feeble. I thought I should have been able to summon more words; more feelings; more love. This is the way it was, however. And I cannot make it better.   

It did get better as the day progressed. I spent more time with him in the late afternoon. I visited with Katy and my Mom. Judy and Laura were already at the hospital with John. John and Laura were taking Katy straight from the hospital to the airport, so that she could join her high-school band on a trip to Disney World. 

Katy asked if she could have a moment to be alone with her grandfather. While she was saying what I am sure she felt was her last goodbye, we visited with the doctor, who reaffirmed the gravity of the situation: we should not expect a miracle.

Katy came out and left with Laura and John, and my Mom spent some time alone in the room. Then Judy and I came in, but Mom was ready to go, so I didn’t spend much time with him. I was feeling a little more comfortable with his heavy breathing, and I thought maybe I could talk to him a little better the next time I had the chance.

           

We had a late dinner at home. Afterward, we really had a good, long talk. We talked about the kids and about our own relationships. We laughed a lot. Rick and I cried a lot. The ladies postulated that it was easier for them to talk to him and to hug him, because they were trained caregivers.

“You guys don’t know how do ‘nurture,’” Laura said. “You haven’t been trained for it. In our society, this is the woman’s place. Don’t feel ashamed if it doesn’t come easily. It’s not that easy for us, and we have played this role all of our lives.”

Everyone encouraged us to let our feelings out. I think we realized that these gentle ladies were indeed our foundation — the source of our strength. This made it easier to explain our own feelings of inadequacy. We let it out, and the catharsis was sweet and easy.

           

The subject turned to practical measures.

What type of service should we have? Mom was confused.

“We were never religious people,” she said. “I don’t think he would approve of a religious ceremony, and I don’t think I would feel comfortable with it, either.”

She said that he wanted to be cremated, but that she didn’t know what it involved. She didn’t even know if she wanted to do anything at all.

“I think it is important for the family to do something,” big Ashley said. “I haven’t really been part of the family, but I think you should do something that will give everyone a sense of closure. I know he has a lot of friends who would feel uncomfortable if they couldn’t share their feelings and say goodbye.”

I was so proud of Ashley. She was born of a childhood marriage that was not supported by my parents. Her mother and I were divorced shortly after Ashley arrived, and she didn’t spend much time with my folks.

I was a mature pitcher, but an immature person, at the time of the breakup. And I was so bitter about the financial consequences that I didn’t pursue a relationship with Ashley for the first few years.

It broke my heart to think about her, so I tried not to. I just went my own way.

There were times when I felt guilty, thinking of her. But still, but I did not see her much at all.

Ashley saved our relationship. As she got older, she took the initiative to call me and invite me to her open-house at school, or her soccer game. She kept at it until I fell into step. By the time she was in junior high, we were good friends. And good friends we stayed until she broke up with her first serious boyfriend at the age of 26. 

She called me that day, all shook up. I went right over, and she cried on my shoulder. It was the most-fatherly thing I had done for her since she was an infant.

For a time, I was worried that our relationship would leave her hard-hearted. But I have seen the look in her eyes when she is with Craig, and I don’t worry about the scar-tissue of our early days anymore.

Everyone agreed that she was right about closure. But what form should it take? Mom mentioned that her friends, Ed and Pat Perrott, owned a funeral home and had helped her with her father’s arrangements. That solved the problem. They would surely know how to conduct a secular ceremony.

But this did not satisfy Judy and Laura. They could not abide seeing Dad off without asking the Lord to bless and keep him.

This led to a religious discussion, in which Mom kept saying that she was baptized Catholic and Lutheran, but she never felt any affinity with religion — never felt very “holy” at all.

Laura and I have been working on her and Dad in recent years. She would take the “why?” approach, and I would take the “why not?”

I understood where they were coming from. It took Judy 20 years to hook me, and I’m still twisting at the barb, though I am comforted to know that I am caught.

Rick has the universal approach. He believes in kindness and generosity. He speaks of karma and God in the same breath. He has spent more time and effort tending to Mom and Dad than Laura and me put together. He has been the dutiful son, just as his father before him, and Mom favors his philosophy to ours.

“I don’t know what else you can do but be a good person,” she said. “As far as I know, nobody has ever come back to tell us what’s on the other side.”

Judy and Laura jumped to attention at this statement.

“Nobody but one man,” they said in unison.

Then they explained, for the umpteenth time, that this is the central difference between Christianity and the other religions.

“As long as we’re talking about practical measures,” Rick said, “what are we going to do if he doesn’t die?  What if they want to get him out of the hospital? Where will he go? Do we give him the poison pill?”

“No,” Laura interjected. “No, we don’t. We don’t play God.”

“What if it’s six months? What do we do then?”

“If there’s a chance he can recover, even if it’s a miracle, then we do what needs to be done,” Laura said.

“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said. “I talked with Doctor Borowksi, and he didn’t give us much hope. If he survives, he won’t be able to do anything for himself. He might not even know who we are.”

“Dad wouldn’t want that,” Rick said. I found myself nodding assent.

“I don’t think he’s going to last six months,” I said.

“What if it’s a week?” Rick said. “Borowski said he would have to leave the hospital in few days. Where does he go?”

“I don’t want him in a nursing home,” Mom said.

“Do you want to take care of him here?” he said.

“I don’t think I could,” she said.

“Look,” Rick said, “I’m not trying to be cold.  You know I love Dad as much as anyone. But I think we have to consider taking him off the heart medicine or something. We have to think about what he would want.”

We all nodded — even Laura.       

“Could you pull the plug?” she asked.

“That’s not my call,” he said. “I think I could if Mom wanted me to, but I don’t know if I could.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mom said.

 This is where Judy came in.

“I was really unhappy about how it went with my Dad,” she said. “He died in the hospital, with nobody there. They kept him alive for days, and there was no reason for it.

“If I had it to do over, I would want to be there with him at home, even if I had to make the decision to let him die. I would want him to die with dignity, with his loved ones around him — not hooked up to machines with a sterile atmosphere all around him. I think there would be some comfort to being with him at home.”

Mom went off to bed at one a.m. Judy left Laura, Rick, Susan, and me at 1:30.  We finally gave it up around 2:00.

Dad left us shortly thereafter. It was almost as if he had been listening.

 

The phone rang at about 2:30, and Judy picked it up. The conversation was brief. When she hung up, she said, “That was the hospital. Your Dad just died.”

I was still a little foggy. I didn’t cry; I just put on my pants and walked inside. All of the adults heard the phone. All but Mom arrived in the living room at about the same time, but few words were spoken.

The question was whether to tell Mom, but there was only one answer.

Rick, Laura, and I went into her room and covered her with silent tears. Lily lay alongside, innocent in sleep.

Soon Mom began to weep. Rick spoke to her in soft, loving tones. Laura did the same. They had her upper body, and I was hugging her legs. We smothered her with love.

After five minutes or so, Rick and Laura left. I started to go, but I stayed. I sat up and held her hand. We talked a little, cried a little. She seemed a little confused.

I tried to assure her that she had a lot of good life left.

“We want to see you get through this and go on,” I said. “There is a lot of sweet life left for you. With us; with the kids. With your friends.

“I know it probably doesn’t feel that way now, but it’s so important to us that you carry on. You have always been a great source of strength in our family, and we need you that way. That’s what Dad would want.

“He was so proud of you, Larry,” she said.

I fought back the tears enough to say, “He was proud of all of us. And if he could have picked his time to go, this wouldn’t be a bad one. Laura and John are back together. Rick and Susan are doing well, and he has really had a lot of special time with Rick the last few years. Judy and I are well. And he was so proud at Ashley’s wedding.

“None of us wanted to let him go, but we have to get over it — for him and for ourselves.”

I guess I spent another 30 minutes holding her hand. When I got back to the family room, Laura asked how she was doing, and I said, “pretty well.”

We talked some more, and then Rick disappeared. He spent some time with Mom, then Laura did the same. When she came out, she said that Mom was still awake, but she thought she could get to sleep.

The hospital asked if we wanted to come see him, but we all declined. 

We would never see him again.