slide show of memorial

Hi, Mar: Dave made a slide show of Dan's memorial,
the photos taken by Judith. I put it on YouTube so
everyone could see it. Unfortunately they wouldn't
take the version with the Grateful Dead music on it ;+(.


Here's the url:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kx5yVgZnMtI





love you.


Di

How it feels

Stephen (my super wonderful husband) found the following post somewhere online (below) and shared it with me. The way this woman talks about her feelings of her mom reminds me of how I feel lately. Thought I'd share.

(the "new" pic is from Ran - shortly after we lost Warren, but before we knew about Dad - Ran and he had a fun night playing music - Ran said that Dad kept tossing each song as he finished it - that's why there are all sorts of papers lying around- I can so see him doing it. I miss him so much.)

The e-mail was from a publicist with the same first name: Barbara. The name was all that had showed up on the screen.

My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer sometime before 3 p.m. on Christmas Day. I can't say the exact time, because none of us thought to look at a clock for some time after she stopped breathing. She was in a hospital bed in the living room of my parents' house (now my father's house) in Connecticut with my father, my two younger brothers, and me. She had been unconscious for five days. She opened her eyes only when we moved her, which caused her extreme pain, and so we began to move her less and less, despite cautions from the hospice nurses about bedsores.

For several weeks before her death, my mother had been experiencing some confusion due to ammonia building up in her brain as her liver began to fail. And yet, irrationally, I am confident my mother knew what day it was when she died. I believe she knew we were around her. And I believe she chose to die when she did. Christmas was her favorite day of the year; she loved the morning ritual of walking the dogs, making coffee as we all waited impatiently for her to be ready, then slowly opening presents, drawing the gift-giving out for hours. This year, she couldn't walk the dogs or make coffee, but her bed was in the room where our tree was, and as we opened presents that morning, she made a madrigal of quiet sounds, as if to indicate that she was with us.

Since my mother's death, I have been in grief. I walk down the street; I answer my phone; I brush my hair; I manage, at times, to look like a normal person, but I don't feel normal. I am not surprised to find that it is a lonely life: After all, the person who brought me into the world is gone. But it is more than that. I feel not just that I am but that the world around me is deeply unprepared to deal with grief. Nearly every day I get e-mails from people who write: "I hope you're doing well." It's a kind sentiment, and yet sometimes it angers me. I am not OK. Nor do I find much relief in the well-meant refrain that at least my mother is "no longer suffering." Mainly, I feel one thing: My mother is dead, and I want her back. I really want her back—sometimes so intensely that I don't even want to heal. At least, not yet.

Nothing about the past losses I have experienced prepared me for the loss of my mother. Even knowing that she would die did not prepare me in the least. A mother, after all, is your entry into the world. She is the shell in which you divide and become a life. Waking up in a world without her is like waking up in a world without sky: unimaginable. What makes it worse is that my mother was young: 55. The loss I feel stems partly from feeling robbed of 20 more years with her I'd always imagined having.

I say this knowing it sounds melodramatic. This is part of the complexity of grief: A piece of you recognizes it is an extreme state, an altered state, yet a large part of you is entirely subject to its demands. I am aware that I am one of the lucky ones. I am an adult. My mother had a good life. We had insurance that allowed us to treat her cancer and to keep her as comfortable as possible before she died. And in the past year, I got to know my mother as never before. I went with her to the hospital and bought her lunch while she had chemotherapy, searching for juices that wouldn't sting the sores in her mouth. We went to a spiritual doctor who made her sing and passed crystals over her body. We shopped for new clothes together, standing frankly in our underwear in the changing room after years of being shyly polite with our bodies. I crawled into bed with her and stroked her hair when she cried in frustration that she couldn't go to work. I grew to love my mother in ways I never had. Some of the new intimacy came from finding myself in a caretaking role where, before, I had been the one taken care of. But much of it came from being forced into openness by our sense that time was passing. Every time we had a cup of coffee together (when she was well enough to drink coffee), I thought, against my will: This could be the last time I have coffee with my mother.

Grief is common, as Hamlet's mother Gertrude brusquely reminds him. We know it exists in our midst. But I am suddenly aware of how difficult it is for us to confront it. And to the degree that we do want to confront it, we do so in the form of self-help: We want to heal our grief. We want to achieve an emotional recovery. We want our grief to be teleological, and we've assigned it five tidy stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Yet as we've come to frame grief as a psychological process, we've also made it more private. Many Americans don't mourn in public anymore—we don't wear black, we don't beat our chests and wail. We may—I have done it—weep and rail privately, in the middle of the night. But we don't have the rituals of public mourning around which the individual experience of grief were once constellated.

And in the weeks since my mother died, I have felt acutely the lack of these rituals. I was not prepared for how hard I would find it to re-enter the slipstream of contemporary life, our world of constant connectivity and immediacy, so ill-suited to reflection. I envy my Jewish friends the ritual of saying kaddish—a ritual that seems perfectly conceived, with its built-in support group and its ceremonious designation of time each day devoted to remembering the lost person. So I began wondering: What does it mean to grieve in a culture that—for many of us, at least—has few ceremonies for observing it? What is it actually like to grieve? In a series of pieces over the next few weeks, I'll delve into these questions and also look at the literature of grieving, from memoirs to medical texts. I'll be doing so from an intellectual perspective, but also from a personal one: I want to write about grief from the inside out. I will be writing about my grief, of course, and I don't pretend that it is universal. But I hope these pieces will reflect something about the paradox of loss, with its monumental sublimity and microscopic intimacy.

I love you Dad

Dad,

I could fill a novel with my memories of you. As a little girl I loved it when you played “tickle monster” with Danny and me. You’d lie on the ground and we’d try to run past you or hop over you without you grabbing us and tickle us till we almost peed our pants.

I also remember innumerable camping trips. The Albee Creek, Yellowstone, Yosemite, Sierras, Mountains near Julian, Desert, going to Julian for malts and sundaes or malts at the Old Drugstore, taking hikes with you and Warren out in the desert and singing songs.

Our summer road trips, first in the blue Datsun I loved so much, then in our mustard yellow Volkswagen van. No air conditioning, no DVD player, no iPods, not even any Walkmans – we’d sing all the songs we could, play Alphabet with the car signs, listen to the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Cat Stephens, James Taylor, and many more I’m sure.

Remember the time that we were going to Colorado and Grandma Pottroff was with us? You were in the back playing cards with Danny and Me, and Mom started asking you for directions and you didn’t answer fast enough. She pulled over and got out of the car to come get you (she was pissed) and you jumped out of the van and ran around – it was very keystone-cop-like. Grandma and I just laughed and laughed – it was so funny.

I also remember coming home from the beach at the end of the day. All sandy, sweaty and sunburned. You’d be hot, but then sort of chilled from being in the sun all day. Those nights afterwards, you’d close your eyes and could still feel yourself among the waves.

I remember bringing friends over for dinner and you and Mom telling all sorts of stories about the antics of your younger days. I always liked bringing people to meet you – still do.

I know you had to deal with more boyfriends than you would have liked, but I’m so glad you got to know and love the one that matters most (even with all his quirks, I know you know he loves his kids and me, and is a good person). I never would have gotten out of that one awful relationship if you hadn’t told me that I could and should do better.

You never overdid your advice giving, you let me learn a lot of life lessons on my own, but when it really counted and you did speak up about something I knew it was important. I think that’s why I started respecting myself, finally finished college, became a safe careful driver, and stuck with Stephen during the rough times.

Growing up, I loved the parties you and mom used to have, potlucks, jam sessions, going to Ran and Diane’s, to Goldie and Warren’s. It seemed like our house was always full of friends and music.

I remember weekends with you gardening and listening to Prairie Home. Playing in the backyard while you were out there working away. The chickens, the pigeons, the cats – Bridget. You were always so patient when I’d bring home yet another hurt bird or lost pet.

When you took me to your work, I was so surprised at how many people would come up and tell me what a great guy you were. I mean, I knew you were the greatest, but I didn’t realize so many other people thought so too. I also remember how you would stay until it was exactly time for your day to be over. I tried to cajole you into leaving early once, but you wouldn’t do it. Mr. Honest.

I also remember one birthday when you gave me Buddha and the Chocolate Box, and we all danced to “Ready” it was so fun – all four of us dancing around the living room. Who does that with their parents?

Then I moved to Pennsylvania – I missed you both so much, but I sure loved the visits and felt like I was able to get to know you and Mom on a whole new adultish level. It was fun going to D.C. and seeing all the museums together. You were always so taken with Sophia (she was a cutie), and accepted her as your own granddaughter instantly.

And of course Ben’s birth. I always think of that as the best gift I ever gave you. It was so special to have you there Dad. You were so cute, walking around afterwards saying “this is so wonderful” over and over. And the years since then, watching you with my boys has been so so wonderful for me, for them, for Stephen, for all of us. Kenny lights up around you, he’s going to miss you so much. I can sure see you in Kenny, he’s definitely a McGinnis! Ben is going to miss you on an even deeper level, you mean so much to him. Both those boys and Sophia love you so much.

You’ve been a wonderful dad, granddad, husband, and friend. I’m so glad we came back home in 2005. I’ve enjoyed every minute of you being here – even when you broke my sliding glass door ;-) (it was my fault). We got to take the boys to the Redwoods, to the Farm, to the desert, to Julian to get malts – just like when I was a kid. They’ll never forget it and neither will I.

This is a long letter, but still just a smattering of my memories of you – I could go on and on, but think I’d better stop here.

I’m going to be okay Dad, but I’m going to miss you so much. I don’t want you to go, but I know you have to – and I don’t want you to hurt, most of all I want you to be at peace. Still, who’s going to recommend books, music, set up camping trips, suggest restaurants, and movies to me? I know I can do it all myself, but I’m sure going to miss doing it all with you. Still, I know you’ll always be close by in my thoughts and memories. I’ll hold them close and cherish every one of them. I know I’ll continue to think “what would Dad do?” when I’m faced with an uncertainty, I’ll try to remember to use your humor, and I’ll draw on your strength, honesty, sincerity, humor and gracefulness and hopefully be able to channel them all so that I’m a better mom, wife, daughter, friend, camper and even pet owner and plant caregiver.

I’ve said it before Dad, you are my favorite person. I loved your parents in a special way, I love Mom, Danny, my husband, Sophia, and my boys – but you are the Scarecrow to my inner Dorothy, and I will miss you most of all.

I love you Pops,

M.A.

Thanks for Coming Saturday

Not sure how many of you will keep checking the blog, but I wanted to say thanks for all of you coming on Saturday.

Dad would have loved it.

If anyone (Judith) has pictures they could send, that would be great. I'll post them here.

Thanks, Marianne

Donations

Hi - Hoping that we see everyone here at Mom and Dad's tomorrow at 1pm.

We've decided to do donations to San Diego Hospice http://www.sdhospice.org/donate.htm.

CHANGE on TIME Memorial this Saturday, 1/31/09 at 1pm

Hi Everyone,

Please plan on joining us at Mom and Dad's house this coming Saturday at 1PM for a potluck (Dad's request). 6126 Malcolm Drive, San Diego, CA 92115. If you have any questions you can email me at ma.mcginnis@gmail.com, or call my cell 619-248-5557. We're trying to keep this as low key as possible for Mom.

We will have some time for everyone to share memories, or to say a few words about Dad. Our UU minister will be here at 2pm, and we will plan on gathering in a circle around that time and having a short talk and then time to share.

We will provide beverages. If everyone else would bring a dish to share that would be great.

Thank you, Marianne

Dan McGinnis 12/11/41 - 2/27/09

Dad passed peacefully at 2:30am. Now he and his buddy Warren are backpacking, playing guitar and drinking wine out of juice glasses ;-)

I love you Dad.

Toodles, Mar

*

The crisis care nurse arrived about an hour ago to help monitor Dad and keep him comfortable. We'll have the crisis care team with us here for the next 24 hours. Mom is unwilling to leave the house (actually Danny and I feel the same way). We're keeping things calm and quiet around here, but feel free to visit if you'd like. We have some sandwich makings and soup that I'll heat up around lunch time.

We've been so lucky - I think that just about everyone Dad could have talked with and seen, he's been able to see, and for those of you who didn't get out, but sent messages, we read them all to Dad, and he heard and loved every one.

If for some reason, someone still has something to say, or to let Dad know that it's okay to let go, please come by, or send a note (my email is ma.mcginnis@gmail.com) and I'll read it to Dad. He is still able to hear and understand us.

Waiting

Things are looking pretty close here. On Friday evening Dad told us that "I think I'm dying now," and since then he's been pretty much nonverbal and in bed. His breathing is very sporadic, but he doesn't seem to be in any pain. The hospice nurse came yesterday and checked Dad's vitals and said that his condition looks imminent. Of course it could still be days, but we're hoping that Dad is able to go quickly and be in peace.

Mom, Danny and I are here with Dad making sure he is comfortable, stroking his head, telling him we love him, telling him everything is done and it's okay to let go, etc.

We just had a nice visit with Desi, Pam and the 3D's. Here's a few pics. Dad is getting weaker, and more withdrawn. On the upside, his pain has been under control, and he reports regularly that he is comfortable.

Dad seems to be coming to terms with his situation and was able to talk to Mom and me about it tonight, saying that he realized he was getting weaker and weaker and that it wouldn't be too much longer.

Joel (Dad's friend) is visiting and Danny will be back next week.

Not much more to report. Mom is hanging in, and I'll be staying over the next few nights. Mom really needs another adult on hand at all times now.

We're just trying to keep the house calm and peaceful.

Love you all. Toodles, Mar

OH HAPPY DAY

Dad, Mom, Ben and Kenny and I just finished watching our new President take his stand. What a wonderful thing for my dad to see, and with his grandsons to boot. Warren would be so happy too.

The 3D's are on their way (Dan, Deb and Daniel), so we'll continue celebrating all day. Break out the champagne people!

Democratically yours (In the interest of disclosure, I stole that from Molly),

Marianne

Bug Alert

Hey Everyone,

Dad continues to have some great days. Thanks to a new cocktail of meds he seems to be much more alert, strong, and lucid.

Mom had a great time out last night with her Ladybugs (Kay is visiting from out of town). They all went to Old Town to shop and eat. It was a rare break for Mom.

I stayed back at the ranch visiting with Dad, and my childhood girlfriends, Linda and Leda.

We took some nice photos - I'll try to get them up here later today.

Toodles, Mar

Visit with BD

here's some pics of Baby Daniel and my 11 year old Kenny. Also a great shot of Goldie making the baby laugh, and one of him wearing mom's floppy hat. Dad's been having a couple of great days.

pictures from Di

Hi, Mar: I first met your dad in 1966 two years before Kate was born. (It all seems like yesterday). I went to work at the Northeast Welfare Department and your dad was working there at the time. I think he'd started just before me. I can't remember when I first met him, or how. I know we all used to smoke cigarettes and drink coffee together in the staff lounge. It was a turbulent time, "welfare rights" were the thing then, and there were a few rebel rouseres, Hank Cetola, Richard Rachel, and another guy whose name I don't remember but I can see him in my mind's eye. I think your dad was sympathetic, but wasn't part of it because he was always such a family man, had a strong sense of responsibility to Julie then, and eventually to you kids. Dan was, the kind of guy any woman would like to be married to! I think all of us bugs, actually, felt that way about Dan, probably every woman who ever met him did, what a perfect husband he must be. We knew it because we saw it up close and personal with him and your mom.

Some of the things that have popped out in my mind the last few months:

When your dad went to school, Kate was about 8 months old. I returned to work ½ days (something considered "innovative and daring" at the time! Can you imagine? ). I needed a baby sitter. Your mom and dad desperately needed money while he was going to school. Your mom was perfect. It was a win win situation all around. I always felt she was Kate's second mother. She potty trained her you know. Do you remember all that time you two spent together as toddlers? I can't really remember when I got to know your dad well. I always knew your mom first.

At some point all of us became friends, your dad and mom, and Ran and I. Julie was in the SDSU baby sitting co-op, and introduced me to Goldie. She and Warren and the girls left for a sabbatical in Europe just before I had Ben. It was the baby sitting co-op that brought us all together then.

Your folks and Ran and I started doing things together. We'd get together ALL the time and play poker. It was HILARIOUS. I still think of those days as being some of my funniest. We'd play "no see um" poker, eat chips and drink beer like there was no tomorrow. We'd all hold a card on our heads and play poker on everyone else's cards but our own because we couldn't see them. I can remember laughing until my sides split. Those were also the BEST days of Saturday Night Live. We'd play poker, then stay up every Sat. until it was over and roar with laughter until we cried.

The most vivid memories of just your dad, though, were with him at DEAD shows........remember all the shows at the Greek Theater in Berkeley with Warren, your dad, and all the other Boskins, sometimes your mom would come too, but I always thought of me and Warrn and Dan as a musical trifecta! Especially the time we went to Las Vegas (photos added here). To save money I shared a room with your dad and Warren. I have absolutely no remembrance of the details, who slept where, etc., but it was one of the most memorable DEAD shows I have. Dave and I had your mom and dad come up for a show at the race track, Laguna Seca, one time here in Monterey too.

And then there were just all the times we all, the bug families, did stuff together. Endless birthday parties in "Hintzman Park"......the Thanksgivings out in the desert, birthdays, Christmases, all of it, all together. You kids growing up, the problems you had, the successes you had. We were all so worried about all of you at times. I shared all of all that with your folks.

It's all so mysterious this thing called life, how and why we connect with the people we do, and particularly the people we stay connected to for a long long time.

I've always thought of your folks as stanchions of marriage, the living proof that wedding vows..........for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death stuff.......could actually be lived by two people. I was always always amazed by how they worked things out, stayed together for what has seemed like forever. I once sent them a Raymond Carver story entitled "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love". It's how I've thought of them through the years; they're what I think about when I think about love...............not just lust, and sex, and happiness forever after, but as two people who live those vows. I'm still amazed by them. I think I've hung around them so long because I thought some of that would rub off on me, that through them I'd learn how to be a good good wife/partner. I still don't quite know how they've done it.

Dave and I were looking at some photos a little earlier today, this silly little trailer thing your dad and mom went to look at with us last year or year before last. I've been wanting something like that so bad so I wouldn't have to deal with tents anymore, REALLY wanted a camper like Goldie and Warren and your Dad and Mom have. When we were looking at the photos of that little tent thing yesterday, your dad's leaving hit me again, like it has over and over and over these last few months that we won't have those days again, and it makes me so sad. I guess as much as anything I want to tell you and Danny and Kate and Ben, for all the trouble you might be having at any one time or another, just try to let it go, and somehow realize that this life is so incredibly short, that those wonderful special times are so fleeting, so special, but so brief so enjoy them to the limit while you have them.

Above all, though.........the camping trips that were so special, the DEAD shows, sharing music, talking about The Reader, playing poker, Saturday Night live, raising all you kids, picnics in the park, oh and the beach, God, how could I forget the endless weekends and summer days at the beach............. as much as any thing I think I'll always remember your dad calling all us girls "doll" "hi doll" "bye doll". That's been Dan's trademark with all us femals, something all of us, young and old, have loved him for I imagine. I will miss him more than I can tell you.................

Big love and hugs to all of you.

Di

A couple nice days

Since the doctor came on Friday, Dad has been doing fairly well. Mom and I had a chance to read him all the emails everyone's been sending in. He really enjoys it - so keep em coming. I was so proud of myself because I got through all of them without crying - until Myrna's:

Dearest Dan,

I have lots of wonderful memories of you. They include your early morning trips to and from the airport when few others were able to lift their heads off the pillow to shuttle me.. You were always cheerful and thoughtful and we had some wonderful conversations. It was always a wonderful welcome or bon voyage for me.

I loved when you and Julie came to Arizona and we did the Botanical Gardens together along with my sister, a trip to Tijuana, dinners in San Diego with you and Julie, meeting up with you in Europe when you and Julie did 6 weeks with Warren and Goldie. I remember the picture you bought that you could barely get into the car on your return home. I wasn't there then, but the story had a way of getting around.

My strongest memory is your love and support of Warren during those last weeks of his life. It wasn't just that you were there and helping Goldie, but it was the way you loved and cared for Warren. You didn't always say much, but absolutely knew what to do and how to do it. That was a friendship I have rarely seen between male friends. How lucky the two of you were. How lucky I have been to know you.

Love and peace
Myrna

--That's my Pops.

A fun memory

Hi Everyone - These pictures and message are from Dad's cousin Karen - I just thought it was so cute, I wanted to share.

"the cat in the pocket" is a thing my dad stole from my papa. They would make this little kitten sound and hold their hands over their shirt pockets - little kids always loved it (including me when I was little!).

If anyone else has pics and such to share - send it along and I'll try to get some of them up here!

Dad had a great day yesterday - he was up and lucid - if only the Chargers had won. Still, we had his buddies, my hubby, the boys, Ran and Steve Seaborg over - and he really enjoyed it - see below.

From Karen:

Marianne..........Attached are some pics from our Sedona trip with your parents. We went on a beautiful train ride and were serenaded along the way by the guitar playing singer.

It was amusing tonight at the dinner table. We had all the kids for dinner for Zach's birthday and we were discussing family and all of you. Ryen couldn't quite remember your dad and Alex said "Don't you remember our cousin who always had a cat in his pocket?" Whenever your folks were coming for a visit (when Alex was little) I would tell him they were coming and would remind him he was our cousin - the one with the cat in his pocket. He loved to talk to Danny about the cat in his pocket and always asked why he couldn't see it?? He may be sending you an email.

KK"

Memories Anyone?

We've been having such a nice time pulling out photo albums, talking about old times, reminiscing--and Dad seems to really enjoy it.

I wanted to include the rest of you. If you have any favorite memory of Dad or that you'd be willing to share please email me or post it here.

I'll read them to him, along with any short message you might like me to give him.

Don't know why I didn't think of this earlier.

For those of you who know people who don't follow the blog - please ask them to shoot me an email, or send it in a card.

I'll do my best during moments of clarity to read to Dad.

Toodles, Mar

well surprise - pleasant - surprise

Dad is having a great day visiting with his old backpacking buddies Victor and Steve Seaborg (Ed and John where are you??)

Since the doctor adjusted Dad's meds he is much more rested, alert and lucid. So nice to see him.

Victor is just the best, he's so comfortable with Dad, teases him and tells stories--Dad just loves him. Makes me want to cry with gratitude.

Goldie stayed the night last night, so I could have a night with my "boys." And Jan came in the morning - she baked us these sinful chocolate, toffee, pecan bars (please save us from gaining weight and come have some!). Jan also helped get all Mom and Dad's plants watered, cleaned up the yard, and checked on the roses. Goldie, Trish, and Jan--you are lifesavers~!

We also had a sneaky sumptuous soup delivery yesterday morning (Thanks Peggy!).

Mom also got a break today. It was hard to get her to leave the house, but once she got shopping with Trisha at Target, she was in her flow and stayed out for a good 4 hours (you know all us "kids" benefitted ;-) she always buys everyone something). It was so great for her. Thanks Trish.

Ernesto and Marsha also came for a nice visit and brought us some ham. We'll use that for sandwiches tomorrow during the game. Go Chargers (fingers crossed)!

Remember to enjoy all the little moments!

Toodles, Mar

Doctor Visit

Hi All, After a decent night's rest, Dad has had a much better day today. He was pretty much lucid and had a very restful deep nap (he was snoring away like the ole Pops I know and love). Still, he is really withdrawing, which is part of the process and it is getting more difficult for him to have lots of visitors over at once (he gets a bit overwhelmed and confused when a lot of people are energetically talking around him) - Mom and I are asking that everyone keep their visits short, calm and peaceful, but please still come. Ed, Dad's good friend came this afternoon and Dad really enjoyed it, as he enjoyed Victor's visit yesterday. And Mom loves her ladybugs--I don't know what we'd do without Di, Trish, Jan and Goldie who are with us almost daily (Di virtually of course).

Dad's Hospice doctor, nurse, and social worker came for a very productive visit today. We were able to get just about all of Dad's meds switched to liquids (it's getting harder to swallow), and to have several other questions answered and issues clarified. Dad is having his sedative medication changed also, and we are hoping that it helps him rest more at night.

In the end there were no surprises from the visit. The doctor does feel that Dad's getting close to the end, and said (after clarifying that it is really hard to give a prognosis) that Dad has somewhere from "a few days to a small number of weeks." I tried to pin him down on what a "small number" is--but he wouldn't say. I'm guessing 3 or less, but you never know.

I hope that doesn't sound too harsh. Those of you who know me, know how very much I love my dad - it's just getting to the point where his quality of life is pretty low, and I hate to see him suffer. At the same time, when I went out back today and looked at all the life my dad has created - it's just surreal that he isn't going to be here. You know - at the very least - he is my book, music, hiking, camping, gardening, restaurant, and movie recommender--at the very most - well, - I can't even put it into words.

I hope this doesn't all sound too melodramatic--I hate that crap. ;-)

Toodles, Mar

Well the day's winding down. Dad's friend Victor is over for a visit now, so I'm sneaking in the back to post this.

Dad continues to be very confused, the level of pain medication/cancer/both? is/are obviously affecting his cognition, mental clarity, and causing him to not know some people, be easily overstimulated by noise, and to be in sort of a dream state much of the time. When Dad realizes what's going on he gets a little frustrated, but we try to remind him that it's okay and that we understand that the medication is affecting him.

Mom can't be alone at night, to take a shower, or to be out of ear range. Dad is very unstable on his feet, and we are using a wheelchair most of the time now. We are looking for an infant monitor we could use when we are out in the kitchen or backyard so we can hear Dad. Please let us know if anyone has one we could borrow.

The hospice doctor is coming for a visit tomorrow afternoon at 1:30 and we are trying to gather together as many questions as we can, since these visits don't happen very often.

I guess that's it. Except of course, more photos of my beautiful nephew. We're so thankful to have someone so wonderful to keep us smiling or we'd just cry all the time.

Toodles, Mar

Short note from Mom

From Julie: Just a quick message about us. Dan has been having some really rough nights. Marianne stayed the night with me last night. Danny was down by himself overnight and I was very happy to have him here. They both are great help with their Dad. Trisha was over today to sit with Dan so I could get a shower. Goldie will be spending the night with me tonight. Marianne and I both had to help Dad together last night.

I have been up with Dan in the night a lot the last two nights. He is getting to where he can't get up by himself, but he does still have moments of clarity. He is sleeping and dosing off a lot more, talking in his sleep/wake cycles--and getting more confused.

Thanks for all your messages, we appreciate you all. And feel your support.

Thanks, Julie.

Go Chargers!!!

We had a great time last night watching the Chargers with a houseload of friends (pictures to come). We were able to pull the TV into the living room so we had plenty of room for all.

Gorgeous BD (baby daniel or Brave Daniel, when he's old enough to care), my sis-in-law and bro are down visiting (bringing instant joy when they walked through the door--ah the babe I can love and then hand away). We also had a virtual visit via laptops and webcams with Di and Dave (so fun you guys!) so they could see the baby too. Some baby--he's almost 9 months--I could brag I'll day, but I'll get pics up here later and let those do the talking.

Steve Seaborg, my Stephen, Ran, Bill Smith (Dad's friend since 4th grade, also visiting from TN), Linda, Goldie, and Jan were all there as well.

Thanks to Mom's friend Peggy, Jan and Linda, and Nancy's soup, we were able to feed all the hungry humans without lifting much of a finger--which really allows Mom to relax and enjoy herself--Linda, Deborah and I manned the kitchen.

Dad stayed awake for the entire game and longer. He really picks up for these events, seems distracted from his pain, and to enjoy the company.

Today will be spent with family--hopefully Dad will be able to be up some.

love you, M

Happy New Year

Morning everyone. I hope no one is nursing any serious hangovers today. Glad I'm not ;-)
--'course I didn't even make it up to 10pm, but Mom and Kenny stayed up and came and woke me on the couch to say Happy New Year--and did the same to Dad.

After enjoying all the great visits, Dad is having a rough time. His pain seems to be increasing rapidly and we've had his medications upped twice in the last few days. The pain is most likely from the cancer since it is in his abdomen, sides and low back--all in the area that houses the organs that are being hit by those evil cells.

It's so hard for Mom to see Dad suffer like this--it's hard for all of us, but especially for her. She's been amazing you guys. I don't know if you've ever seen her at work, but she anticipates Dad's every need, leaves no section of his body unchecked or cared for, and does it all with loving patience. I'm so proud of her--and love her so much.

Letting go is the hardest part now. Letting Dad know that he doesn't have to keep fighting if he doesn't want to; letting him know that we believe that he's done everything he can; letting him know how much he means to us, and how much we love him; letting him know how meaningful his life has been to so many people; letting him know that we will be okay; letting him know that it is okay to let go.

There's no way I can express how hard it is for me to let go of my dad. I know that's selfish and I don't want him in pain--so I'll say the words to him, but honestly, I don't want him to go anywhere at all.

Love Marianne