tish's letter to mom

Hey Mum,

So here I am beginning another letter to you, but this time you won’t be reading it directly as before. But I am hoping that you are able to read it somehow!

This new journey that you are on, I’m sure it includes your traditional scotch and cigarettes. But I’m also hoping that it includes some of your unfulfilled wishes too, like ballet and more dancing! Somehow I don’t think you did enough dancing here as you had wanted and hope that you are now, as I know how important it is to you.

And with your new journey begins Eric’s and my new journey. Although I am a firm believer that you are still with us, it isn’t in that direct phone method that we were so famous for! That already has proved to be hard as I’ve reached for the phone twice to call and realized you wouldn’t be there. So I went to Plan B… I called EC!

In pilfering through your boxes of stuff (sorry we had to do that--somehow it seemed an invasion of privacy but given the circumstances it was necessary!), we came across your resume you created when you got out to Mountain View, which I think sums things up wicked good:

“Objective: Mature adult with a variety of skills seeks part-time position that will make use of past experience and present new challenges. Prefers working with people and possesses the required sense of humor to do so.”

You hit the nail on the head with that one Mum!

As I look back over the last 10 days, I’ve taken time to reflect on the last nearly 50 years … so here are my thoughts to you, Mum, as we both start our own private journey ...

1. I am so very grateful that I had the opportunity to tell you so many times how wonderful, awesome and inspiring you are for me. So many people don’t get that chance, but we did. And for that I am ever so thankful.
   
2. You have for so many years truly been my best friend as well as my mum. I’m not sure how many daughters can say that about their mum’s but I could. And I treasure that about our relationship. It makes my loss doubly hard though because I’ve lost my mum and my best friend...
   
3. I have often wondered if the stars hadn’t aligned as they did and you weren’t my mum, would I have had the confidence in myself that you instilled in me?
   
4. I’m not sure any one else would have had the patience as you did to put up with my precocious childhood. For so many years I kept thinking that precocious meant precious since I was always referred to as “this is our precocious daughter, tish” or “Let me introduce you to tish, our precocious child.” Fortunately, with your patience and guidance I’ve grown out of that--well for the most part!
   
5. Thank you for listening … you are such a great listener!
   
6. Thank you for being such an independent woman and allowing me that same independence. I truly am strong as a result of that. This I will surely need over the coming months.
   
7. Thanks for setting the bar high, Mum, so that I always strove to do my best but thanks so much for catching me when I didn’t quite make it and encouraging me to try again and cheering the loudest when I did make it.
8. Thanks for instilling in me the importance of trust and leading by example with it.
   
9. Thanks for understanding that “wild child” in me. You seemed to understand me better than anyone, perhaps because there was that wild side in you, too, and you could appreciate some of the struggles that I had.
10. Thanks for having so much class, grace and dignity. Some one recently said that this is some thing that someone is born with. I’d have to agree you definitely have it! I continue to strive to at least have a bit of it and will continue to try, as you have taught me so well to do.
11. Thanks Mum for all of your wisdom and guidance. It has always been helpful, insightful, timely and needed!
12. Thanks for your high sense of adventure, which has been instilled in me. For that I am ever grateful. Life is never dull!
    
13. Thanks for loving me so unconditionally. As I got older, I realized how rare that is in human nature and have truly treasured that of you.
14. Thanks for being you. If you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be me!
15. Thanks for always being there. I also remember you saying on a couple of occasions that you only needed to live long enough to see Eric turn 16 so that he could drive and that we would be okay. Well Mum, you done did good! Eric is over 16 and can drive, and he said we’d be okay … so you done did good, Mum, really good!!
    

So Mum, that really is my short list of my thoughts over the past few days. I know that you are with me all the time and that if I need you, you are but a thought away. I am also comforted in knowing that within all of the family and friends you have met over the many years, there is a little bit in you in every one of them. And so you truly do live on in all of us.

I love you Mum...

tish

this one's the toughest

Stevie, just like Elvis, has left the building. She passed peacefully about 11:30, with her hands folded over her chest. What a class act.

A few minutes later, we gave her a royal send-off. There was an unopened bottle of Scotch in her closet. We opened it up and had a toast in her honor, amidst lots of tears. An hour later, something amazing happened. On a cloudless fall day, the sun streamed in her bedroom window and fell on the red bed linens. The entire room turned to a shade of rose. We'd like to think it was Stevie saying, "Thanks, I made it! Love you all and see you soon!"

Stevie's journey is not complete, and there will be additional entries made here. So check back once in awhile. And please try to perform and unexpected act of kindness for someone today in her honor.

We thought the following was appropriate:

"I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, "There, she is gone!"
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout; "Here she comes!"

And that is dying."

--Henry Van Dyke

Bon voyage, Stevie, and Aloha!

a (brief) history of Stevie

Stevie joined us on 10/5/1914 in Beale, WV, and grew up in Cincinnati, OH. She was the second oldest of seven children: Mick, Bill, Lorraine, Melba, Vera (Stevie), Ruth and Jane. I don't know a lot about her early life, but at one point she was attending a girls school. She and her roomates/charges would share clothing -- a practice Stevie had initiated. Share and share alike, she said, just like 'Even Steven'. The 'Steven' stuck and eventually became 'Stevie'. It was a name she liked, much more so than her given name.

Like many of her generation, Stevie felt the call to serve her country during World War II. During the war, she was a 'donut gal' in the American Red Cross, stationed in Sicily. It was there that she met our father, Lee, the love of her life, in the early 1940's. Dad was a pilot in the Army Air Corps.

After the War, Stevie lived in Houghton, MI and Cambridge, MA while Dad completed his education. The couple both worked at EG&G in Boston. Soon thereafter, work took Dad to the South Pacific for long stretches of time.

The couple decided that Hawaii was a lot closer than Boston to Eniwetok, where Dad was working on high speed photography of the first atomic tests with "Doc" Edgerton (the E in EG&G). Ever seen the high speed picture of a bullet going through an apple? That's one of the pictures that Doc Edgerton took.

The couple found Hawaii to their liking (well, Duh!) and decided to stay there. They built a house there in 1952. Dad worked at Hawaiian Pineapple, figuring out better ways to use as much of the pineapple as possible. In 1956, Eric (that'd be me) came along, followed three years later by tish.

In 1964 we left paradise for Dad's job opportunity in NJ. Dad didn't want us to be beach bums for the rest of our lives. Mom and Dad bribed the kids with the promise of new bicycles and a puppy. But I digress.

Stevie lived in NJ for the next 32 years, raising her family and going back to work full time after the rug rats were in high school and college, respectively. At one point, she was one of Union Camp's oldest employees.

She retired from Union Camp at age 83 and headed west to live with Eric in 1997. Stevie soon tired of the 'retired' life and began volunteering at the Mountain View Senior Center. But she found people there to be "old" and needed more of a challenge. She had an opportunity to work as a temporary worker for the City of Mountain View and jumped at it. She's been helping out where and as needed in the Police, Public Works, Legal and Employee Services departments ever since.

...from an interview in the City's employee newsletter a few years back--

"They Call Her Stevie Wonder"
"...Working is a way to keep your mind in good shape. I feel that if you enjoy working, you should continue. I like the people. And I like being productive."

a lust for life that's contagious

Stevie's fever broke about 3AM this morning, according to nurse tish. She's resting comfortably at present. We've found some more pictures of Stevie, and they'll be posted at some point today.

tish mentioned to me this morning how lucky she felt being able to spend this time with Mom. Last Monday morning, we had bacon and eggs. Stevie unexpectedly asked for coffee and a banana--two of her favorite food groups (the other two, of course, being scotch and cigarettes.)

Stevie's request and the wonderful words of encouragement, support and remembrance we're receiving from everyone, got me to thinking about what a lust for life she has. And she's always managed to balance that with a smile here or a kind word there. This picture was taken on the day she was admitted to the hospital--10/27/08. Although she was in pain, frightened, and had been pinched, poked, prodded and was very, very cold, she still had a smile for the camera. Her ICU nurse, who'd known her for all of 20 minutes, wanted to kidnap her and take her home. Sometimes, Mom has that effect on people.

a quiet day

Stevie's been sleeping today. We don't seem to be able to rouse her. Earlier we could see that she was responding to the questions that we were asking her, but now she's just sleeping. She's got a fever, so we're treating that and have lots of cool washcloths in use.

Her mind may be at peace and ready for the next phase of her journey, but her body continues to put up the good fight. I guess she's not quite ready to go yet.

I've seen pictures of Mom today that I have never seen before. A few have been posted (see previous blog entry.)

snapshots of stevie

We've found a whole lot of photos of Mom...

where are my angels?

Mom's been sleeping now for almost 24 hours. I don't think she moved at all last night. She's breathing easily. I mentioned in an earlier post that she was a little anxious early Tuesday morning. At that time, she asked several times, "Where are my angels?"

I guess at that point, she was with us, but also beginning to prepare for the next phase of her journey. Perhaps the quiet period indicates that she can see her angels coming. I hope with all the spirit of my being that her angels can bring her the peace and comfort that we cannot.

up and at 'em

Yesterday was an active one for Stevie. She was awake for most of the day. When I lost it talking with her, she told me to "Knock it off."

Stevie rested peacefully most of the night but was awake by about 4:30 this morning. Therefore, so was tish. I got up about 5AM. Stevie was in a talkative mood. Completely lucid, a little drowsy. But she knew who we were, just like yesterday. After some initial anxiety and a few sips of OJ, Stevie went back to sleep.

The hospice care aide came by today and gave Stevie a sponge bath. For the rest of the day, it was time to sleep--a little scary after all the activity yesterday. I wonder if this is a portent of things to come?

Both tish and I are getting good at figuring out when Mom's uncomfortable. We try to be there when she needs anything. She's so parched but continues to refuse any fluid. We've ditched the hospital water bottle--that apparently has bad connotations for Stevie.

Most of the day for us was spent working on Mom's estate and beginning to get her financial affairs in order. It was good to have something to focus on besides, well, what's going to happen here at some point in the future.

We're working down the "people who need to be notified" list. It's difficult, as it entails repeating the same set of facts and the inevitable outpouring of grief -- on both ends of the phone. It needs to be done, and the one bright point in each one of our conversations is that we learn a little more how amazing Stevie is and how she has touched so many lives in so many different and wonderful ways. (Sorry about that last sentence; it's late and I'm turning into a zombie here.) I'll try to include an image of something that we received today in a bit. It made us laugh and cry, all in the space of a minute.

Thank you all for your continued support. As I remarked to my Aunt Melba today, "I know that we've made the right decision here -- it's just the loss that I've got issues with."

four things to say

The hospice admissions nurse was so kind yesterday. Besides giving us the information we needed to care for Stevie, she also suggested that we tell Stevie four things. I've been doing a lot of thinking during my waking hours, and the nurse's advice is becoming my mantra. I tell her these things over and over, and hope Stevie can hear me. I'd like to share these four things with you:

Thank you
Well, Stevie, thank you for being a wonderful Mom. Thank you for being a friend that so many people found they could talk to so easily--as they would to a "best friend." Thank you for showing us, by example, how to be compassionate and kind.

I forgive you
I don't think this really applies in our case, but for some people, mending fences and making peace with one another is important for closure. Mom, we would forgive you for anything. But there's nothing to forgive you for.

I love you
In a moment of consciousness this morning, tish asked Stevie if she knew that we both loved her. She answered, "Yes." I'm gratified that this message is getting through. Two thumbs up, tish!

Goodbye
This message is the hardest for me personally. I'm not ready for her to leave. But, this is not about me. It's all about Stevie. I've got to work on being able to say these words without breaking down...

Here, but not here

Stevie woke up last night about 9:30 after sleeping most of the day. She seemed alert, could understand questions, but her responses were, for the most part, unintelligible. I thought I caught, "out of here." I don't know if she thought she was still in the hospital or if she was telling us that she really wanted to go. She was anxious and moving her arms about, and in a frustrated state.

We asked her if she was in pain, and she said "No." (After a lifetime of saying "Yes" to us, she's learned how to say no very well in the last few days. Well, heck, it's her right.)

We have a mild sedative that we can give to her to relieve anxiety. I crushed up the pill and mixed it with a little maple syrup (thanks for the syrup, tish!) I'd dribble a little syrup on her tongue when she wasn't looking. While she didn't like that, she won't let us put anything in her mouth or under her tongue. I think we got some of the mixture into her, and she calmed down. While she's always been a great care giver, she's not a good patient.

tish just came up as I was writing this installment. Mom's awake, a little cold, and a little disagreeable this morning. We turned up the heat in her room, put a blanket around her, turned on the radio. tish said to Mom, "Give it a few minutes and you'll be warm again." Mom's response, which tish heard very clearly: "Leave me be."

A few minutes later, she was asking for coffee and a banana. Then she changed her mind. We put a warm blanket out of the dryer on top of her, and she drifted back to sleep.

stevie returns to the roost

Stevie has always had a sense of style. In early October, she went up to San Francisco for a birthday spa treatment. We have a few pictures here of her 'do', followed by lunch atop the Hyatt.

She didn't disappoint us today upon her return from the hospital. Two great EMTs delivered her right to her bed (we have red sheets on it -- some of you know that she loves the color red.) She settled in with barely a whimper and went right to sleep. The EMTs indicated that she slept all the way home. I guess she's been partying too much.

The nurse from the hospice organization arrived a half an hour later and did an assessment. Stevie slept though it all. Everything looks good and Stevie seems real comfortable. Her regular nurse will be here tomorrow. Her physician has given her a small skin patch for pain management. It's completely non-invasive and will last (according to the instructions) for about three days. So all's well for now. She's snoozing. So far, so good!




This last picture was taken on her birthday, at the Hyatt -- doesn't she look great? She told tish that she had a great day. I sure hope so. It was special for both of us.

the calm before the storm

Mom's due home from the hospital in about an hour or so. We've prepped her room in the hope that she'll be comfortable. As she hasn't been eating or drinking in the last few days, her physicians indicate that she has about 6 or 7 days with us before she continues on her journey. I'm writing this for all of you out there who have known Stevie over the years. I hope to be able to chronicle her transition.

First of all, tish and I send a big Thank You and a long hug for your thoughts, prayers and offers of assistance, all of which are sincerely appreciated. We know that you'd like to be here to say your hellos and goodbyes, to comfort her. But the constant comings and goings of people would only serve to increase her anxiety, and we're trying to ensure she has a comfortable, tranquil environment now.

These are a few minutes of peace before life will change irreversibly for me. While I understand logically that this is the best course of action and the way that Mom wants it, emotionally I'm a wreck and just can't stop crying. It seems that if I keep busy, it isn't quite as bad...