I have some people I need to express gratitude toward. I know that many of these people don't read my blog, but I just want to put my feelings out into the universe with hope that it comes back to them in some way.
To Michael. Who, even though we had just visited my parents in Houston, when we heard Dad was going into hospice, told me that I should go if I felt I needed to. He didn't blink when I told him I'd bought tickets two days from then, he took care of all of the planning of changing plans with his family, all the packing, traveling with kids, and all the other miscellaneous kid-related stuff that goes into traveling with kids. And from the moment he showed up in Arizona with the kids, he was ready to help out in any way - making plans, running errands, being my emotional rock. He was sending me photos of my dad into the wee hours when he was still back in Seattle, making me laugh and cry. He listened to me practice my eulogy and was the steady presence beside me on all of those days.
To JP, who was there every step of the way. Alison had baby Colton less than two weeks before but JP came to the hospice location to see me the first night I got in town. So we had one last night of the 'original 4.' At that point Dad was not responsive - he was sleeping 24 hours a day. And it was hard because while I did talk to Dad, I mostly found myself directing my language to my mom or JP in the room. But JP had brought a list of old stories for us to talk about, and we directed them to Dad, and it was a way for us to laugh, and I was able to tell myself that the soft noises coming from Dad might be acknowledgment, might be laughter at hearing 'the potato chip story.' At the time I was like, "Man, JP, putting me on the spot!" I didn't have a list of stories, although I was able to contribute several. But on that night I felt like I had all week to talk to Dad. I'm so glad he thought to do it that night, the night that ended up being the last night with Dad. And I'll always be grateful that JP made that happen.
To my Uncle Dan, for donating his time and his very immune system to my Dad. He really stepped up for my dad, and in the end, for my mom. He visited, he offered his advice, he was the person to bounce ideas off of. He donated his bone marrow not once but twice. He gave the gift of life to my Dad. It was beautiful to witness the brotherly love shared between those two, and I don't think I'll ever stop marveling at it.
The the rest of the family for being there. Aunt Lorie, Wesley and Eric, Uncle Mike, Alison. When we left the Celebration of Life lunch, we thought we'd have an hour before the out-of-town guest came over for an open house. But we were late leaving the lunch, and I knew that it would be a rush to get things done in time at the house before people arrived. But when I walked in, the family was buzzing around, filling tubs with ice and setting out water bottles and moving chairs around. It was so wonderful to have the people you love around - people who loved Dad, people who also lived in my memories of him, people who took care of mom and who made sure the things got done that needed to get done.
To my "in-loves," Judy and Fred. They dropped everything and modified travel plans so they could be there for us. Judy flew to Seattle first to help with the kids before it was time to fly to Arizona for the memorial service. Fred met us in Arizona, and together they were such a lifesaver that weekend. They were great to have around, great to be another comforting presence. Great to help with figuring out how much liquor to buy for the open house, or picking up barbecue sauce last-minute. To me, it especially meant a lot to have them there for my kids. They handled the kids when I wasn't able to focus on them. The kids mostly sat with them during the memorial service, the kids hung out with them when I had to go early to the mortuary, or stay behind at the Celebration of Life. I was able to sit and relax and listen to every single speech of the guests and laugh and cry - and that was possible because I knew Fred was off with the kids playing corn hole on the little green just outside our lunch spot.
To Amy and Erik, my dear friends. They live in Seattle, and I was floored when I heard they'd be coming to Arizona for the memorial service. I'm not sure which one meant more to me: hearing that they were flying in for just 12 hours to be able to attend? Or hearing that they changed their flights to stay overnight so they'd be able to come to the open house? They helped us set up some personal items at the lunch since we knew we'd be some of the last to arrive (due to the receiving line). They were the ones that went and picked up the pizzas for the open house. It's things like this that make me want to write down this - these things that meant so much, that seemed like acts of friendship that amount to everything at the end of a long, emotional day.
To all the people who spoke at the Celebration of Life. All of those stories meant so much to me. I wish I could have written them all down and kept them in a book. People told stories that made me laugh - ones I had never heard before. I think I had been a little wound up with nerves during the memorial service, but something changed in me at the Celebration of Life. Sometime during the speech of an old a cappella group mate of my dad's, it was like I finally let myself feel it, and I just had tears pouring down my face. I was overcome with the number of people who had been so moved by my dad, and a lot of the stories had a similar feel. They were all joyful - they all told stories of times my dad made them laugh.
To everyone who came to the memorial service. Of course everyone thinks their dad is wonderful and special, but it meant so much to me to see everyone else who thought Dad was really Something Else too. People flew in from (I think it was) 13 states. People from dad's work in Delaware. People who had only heard of his passing less than 24 hours before. My dearest friend from high school and college. Parents of the girls I played high school soccer with. Members of my dad's college rock band. And to look around the room and feel the love, and feel a closeness because they too had shared in the essence my dad infused into the world. It made a day already sad also feel comforting, in a way.
To Marshall and Susan, friends of my parents. This was a big one. It was Marshall and Susan who arranged to have a private jet transport my dad home to Arizona from Houston. Dad had traveled back to Houston for some routine tests in the fall, but was unexpectedly admitted when it turned out his blood levels weren't what they should be. The following months were grueling for my parents - with side effects, treatments, hospital beds, medications - and all away from the comforts of home. All Mom and Dad wanted was to get back to Arizona so they could be 'home,' to have friends and support, to see family and to sleep in their own bed. Mom had done everything she could to help Dad stay strong enough to make the journey home, but he was not approved to travel home on a commercial flight due to the risk of contracting illness. Marshall and Susan were able to have private jet take Dad home instead. I can't say how much this meant to me, but more importantly to my parents. I truly feel that my dad wanted to make it home, and that once he was back in Arizona, he sort of let go and was at peace.
Lastly, to my mom.
The last year was really hard, for my mom most of all. I won't go into it much, but let's just say ... that I think that when people get married, they look at the person they're marrying and say "This is the person I want for the rest of my life. And if 'in sickness' means in real sickness, I want this person to be by my side." And that's a romantic notion that doesn't always play out in real life when faced with what real sickness looks like under glaring hospital lights - but it did for my parents. My mom was the very definition of 'dedication' and 'grit' and 'love.' For the rest of my life I will remember how my mom took care of my dad in that final year. So thank you, Mom, for showing me what strength looks like, to show me that love really can last a lifetime, and for the reassurance that I might have some of your courage running through my veins too.
To all of you: thank you. I won't forget.
