Anti-Tsunami

My father died and it was the worst experience of my life.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful friends and family and acquaintances who wrote me or called me during these terrible days. I tangibly felt your love and energy, and they pulled me through. And I still need them. In particular, hearing from people who have experienced this same, inexplicable pain, was extremely helpful and reassuring. I hope that it is a long time before any of you lose your parents, but know that this is reciprocal and that I am there for you…

Here’s the story.

I used to somewhat dread calling my dad. Not because he did anything but love me, and give me incredible advice, but because it was at least an hour-long investment. The last few months were different. The conversations got shorter and shorter. Leading up to my recent visit, the calls were less than a minute and we were speaking many times a week. I know the hardest thing for me is coming up; it will be when I am walking to work on Monday. I usually called my dad during my walk to work and get off the phone when I get to the front door. It is a ritual. 

I came to Florida 2 weeks ago for work, which was an act of fate. My mom and I picked up dad at his house so that we could spend the whole day together on Saturday. As soon as I saw him, I knew something was different. Reflexively, I almost started crying. His face had cuts all over it because he had shaved hastily, which was abnormal for him. His hair was strangely straight, though he had all of it and few greys. He had no body fat. His smile was crooked and eyes glassy, but still filled with love. Looking back, he had a look on his face that this was the last time we would spend together. I don’t know if I would have described it that way when I saw it, but now I know. 

He had a really hard time getting in the car and wanted a low key day. We drove to Plantation, a suburb with a lot of memories for us. We first went to one of those little bagel delis, and he had a really hard time waiting to be seated. He ordered a bagel and a smear. He was drinking lots of coffee. At his request, we drove over to the post office, which is about 30 minutes from his house.  On the way, we passed the mall with the Macy’s that he used to shop at. He loved that Macy’s. He used to sit in the mall and watch people pass by. The same mall that I used to frequent on the weekends as a middle-schooler. We went to my mom’s apartment. Normally, he would have resisted going to the apartment, given his resentment for my mom’s husband, but he wasn’t fussy. He sat outside on the balcony. It was a windy day. His hair flew in the wind. He drank a special chai tea that my mom prepared for him. He was extremely reflective. We all went to my sister’s yacht club afterwards. He ordered conch chowder and a salmon sandwich. He was not his normal, talkative self. He was just observing. We asked him to see a movie, Borat, with us, but he wanted to go home. We walked him in.

Apparently, he slept for the next 3 days, barely leaving his room.

My dad became a pretty devout Democrat in his later years, and I called him about the election results on Wednesday. He never sounded so bad. He was on the verge of tears telling me about all the pain he was in and that he needed to go to the hospital. He hadn’t eaten in months. Like me, the guy loved eating. He just couldn’t swallow. He got to the point where he would chew and spit food out. All the while, his favorite channel the last few months was FoodTV.

My mom called me on Saturday to tell me he had been admitted to the hospital. I called and he did not sound very good. They needed to take some tests to determine what the problem was. My mom, sister, niece, and nephew went to visit him on Wednesday and said that he was in relatively good spirits and reminiscing about the past a lot. I spoke with dad intermittently over the next few days, but he wanted to get off the phone really quickly every time.

My brother Dale flew down to see him for a few days and told me the problems were in his pancreas, liver, and kidneys. Meanwhile, I called the doctor, who never called me back. 

On Friday, I had planned to go to New York, but I knew I shouldn’t go. On Saturday, after lunch, I got a call from my brother Lester who told me that dad’s illness was immediately terminal — that he had asked to have all the tubes taken out and that he had 24-48 hours to live. It seemed like a nightmare. I asked to speak with him. He sounded very weak and very sad. I told him that I loved him, that I would miss him. I called Sarah, who picked me up. She called Ruth, who knew my dad. I requested that Ruth’s mother call my father — because he was extremely fond of her. She instead spoke with Lester, who is now extremely fond of her.

I caught the next plane. Mom, Jess, and Basil drove me straight to the hospice where dad was. When we arrived, he was conscious and in extreme pain. He was restless, and begging for sleep medication. He had not slept for 3 days, I suspect because he had great anxiety about dying. He kept wailing for the nurse to give him additional sleep medication and stated "let me die". This was one of the hardest experiences of my life. My sister, mom, and I cried together in a dark room while listening to him jostle in torment. I don’t know who it was worse for. I tried to tell him to relax and to remind him of stories from my youth - when I threw my shoe out the window in San Diego, our visit to the wailing wall in Israel. He kept on touching his face and his nose, I suspect, because he knew this was his last experience of consciousness.

At about 2 am we left. I slept ok that night.

The next day I spent at the hospice. He was in a much more restful state. My sister, Karen, and Lester, spent most of the day with us. We called his best friend Norman, my cousin, and others. In all about 12 people came to the hospice during the day.

Lester and Karen brought out a lot of tears in all of us. We reminisced, spoke with him, caressed his face. It was draining. One of the hardest things was looking at the resemblance between he and I. It was uncanny. I have his nose, his chin, his eyes. It was like watching myself, or at least a piece of me, go.

We begged him to let go. The day felt like 100 days. His breathing gradually changed. He lost all circulation. The process was grueling. We all talked about how cruel it was for us to put dogs to sleep, but make our bodies suffer like that. Twice during the day we got him to respond to us, despite the pain killers. The second time was the most poignant. He hadn’t opened his eyes in probably 20 hours. But, we were all crying and holding him — his three kids — he opened his eyes — we all screamed with joy. We told him goodbye and that we loved him. And, though he had no water in his body — he had not had a drink in 48 hours — he looked right at me and, a little tear welled up in his eye. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and his pulse markedly decreased. He died 3 hours later, at about 4 in the morning. We all sat there with him, crying. On the way home, I almost had a nervous breakdown. I threw my cell phone one the ground in anger and it broke in three pieces. I found all three pieces, put it together, and it miraculously still works.

The next day we made the funeral arrangements. I want to make a nonprofit funeral home, because this is an awful business. They take advantage of your sorrow and vulnerability and it is totally immoral. We picked up some pictures that none of us had ever seen before. He was such a good looking guy. They used to call him "Dapper Ted".  We set the funeral for this morning.

The rabbi spoke with us. He was a wonderful young man, about my age. He had us describe him, and find a story that served as a parable. My sister Karen ended up coming up with it — basically she talked about the wonderful products of his dysfunction, like his unlikely friendship with my ex-stepdad Marty, and my birth. We then prayed and viewed his body. He looked beautiful and peaceful. We put him in a beautiful suit with a little hankerchief in the suit pocket. We buried him with pictures of his kids and grandkids on his chest.

The service, which was Jewish Reform, was beautiful. He would have loved it. He used to love swimming and just sitting in the sun for hours and thinking. I learned all sorts of things about him during the eulogy. The most interesting thing was the other lives he had lived before I was born, and how different his relationships were with my brothers. He used to play football with them, and go sailing, and lift weights. I had no idea. My sister, Jessica, gave a short eulogy, which meant a lot to me. I sang a song. I kept my eyes closed and let it all out. When I sat down, my circulation was all messed up.

I came home to my mom’s. His deceased 1st cousin’s widow, Ellie, came over. I learned some genelogy from her and we discussed dad.

The thing I will miss the most about dad was his incredible love for and pride in me. I don’t think I had a bigger cheerleader out there for me. He was so proud that I graduated from law school, something that he should have done. He was very touched when I sent him pictures of he and I from that ceremony; it was one of the few times I ever heard him cry. He also wanted the best for me in a very true and pure way. He was initially very against my moving to California, but he knew I was very happy there and didn’t want me to leave.

I will also miss his wonderful guidance and advice. He was a friend I could always count on. I want everyone to know that my life coachy-ness is from him. My dad is pragmatic and logical and was the go-to guy for someone who needed to make a decision. He was the first person I called when I needed any advice about life. I plan to cite him for the rest of mine.

My dad was my living connection to Judaism, the portal to my family. I didn’t need to call my other family members, because he always updated me on their happenings.

I will even miss the things I thought I didn’t like about him; his mischevious quirks — his flirting with younger women, messy eating, his crazy illicit business ideas, his loud speaking voice, his silly jokes ("that’s not a name, that’s a disease"), his alter ego, Carlos Rivera. Those things made him more loveable.

There is just a big, inexplicable gap in my heart. I don’t know how it will be filled.

I am so happy on so many levels. I am happy that dad and I reconciled after many years of not speaking after a terrible divorce. Thank god for financial aid. With that said, I don’t think we had one fight or problem with each other for the last 10 years.  I am so happy that I riled up the power to tell him that I loved him for the first time I could remember, on his birthday when I was in law school.  I am so happy that despite his physical limitations, many of his last adventures — trips to Minnesota, Connecticut, and, of course, California — happened with and because of me. I am so thankful that I thought it was his 80th birthday (and not 79th) and bought him a bigger present this year than I would normally send. I am so happy that I came here two weeks ago. And, that I caught him when he was still conscious. I am glad that he was on pain medication. I loved meeting all of these friends and family members that I had heard about for years. The fact that they shared my pain was reassuring.

I love my dad. His death will not change that. He meant so much to me. I know if there is anything out there that I have guardian angel watching me. If anyone learns anything from this, heed this advice (which is exactly what my dad would say): Avoid regrets. Reconsider your priorities. Stay connected to your family and loved ones. Treat people with kindness and respect. Say "I love you" when you love someone. Make the extra effort to show someone you care when they are alive.

It’s been a crazy week.

Florida
I went to Florida last week for the first time in a long time. It was a lot of fun; probably my best solo visit to Florida ever. My mom was my date the University of Miami Reunion, which I attended for work/benchmarking purposes and she was, of course, the consummate date/a lot of fun. She got hit on by an Engineering alumnus, befriended the former head of the UMAA, and discovered flavored Bacardi. We watched Borat, shared a meal at a late-night diner, and stayed at a nice hotel in Coral Gables, which is very charming, and certainly where I would live if I made South Florida home.

Overall, It was a landmark visit, seeing as it has been almost 10 years since I’ve formally lived in Florida, and poignant because my whole life up to that point had been about escaping it. My relationship with Jessica and Doug felt more stabilized. They gave me many, many pairs of nice dress socks, which I needed desperately.

I had a lot of time to bond with my niece and nephew, Parker and Emma. They are both so cute. I am not even being biased. I have a special bond with Parker that is hard to put into words. He kept on asking for little old me to carry him; he told me he loves me! He called me anju - like pear in French. Emma likes stories; I made up one that may have traumatized her — basically switching King Midas’s gold power to chocolate (she seemed pretty anti-chocolate for the rest of the time I was there, which is atypical for her).

I also spent a day with my dad, which was really hard. I haven’t seen him in about 1.5 years, since he visited in SF. We spent the day driving around the old breakfast delis of Plantation, stopping by his PO Box, driving to Boca, then my sister’s yacht club. We just reminisced a lot. He has lost all of his body fat; he clavicle protrudes quite dramatically. As soon as I saw him, I had the strong urge to cry, as if her were already dead. The man that I knew is no longer here. He seems so withdrawn, like he totally lost his spirit. Anyway, I think spending time together brought him joy.

I saw Jen Hearn, which is always nice. When I am with her (and her
husband JC), it’s like a time warp. She just gives me the warm feeling
of home. I also had my co-worker Sasha there with her boyfriend, and it
was so nice to see how naturally they all got along. I also loved
seeing the way Jen lives, in a cozy apartment in Miami’s Design District. We also went to South Beach — the place we used to frequent on the weekends - which just seemed a little depressing - with regular women dressed like hussies.

When I was there, I felt really conflicted because I have so many memories there, and I love Cuban and Jewish food. It feels strangely comfortable and it is my home in a lot ways, but I resent so many thing about it; it’s anti-intellectual culture (you should watch the dumbed-down mudslingy political ads), the hypermaterialism, the car/plaza/chain/parking lot infrastructure. It’s just a depressing soul-sucking pit. I could never again live there happily.

Then, the next few days were really up and down:

I returned to a wet D.C after a 4-hour delay, and a roller coaster flight.

I was tickled pink with Tuesday’s election results. It was so nice to feel victory for the first time in my voting life. The last two elections remind me of having my hopes crushed with Cindy Dubuque - of just feeling really disappointed and defeated, and a lot about relocating Canada (yay for Thorben who is moving to Montreal). This felt like a bar mitzvah, a wedding (a good one), and a birthday all wrapped into one.

I am also just crazy about Obama. I think he has everything going for him; he’s the golden child/the new JFK. I don’t care that he’s young. I think his race is a plus. I should mention here that almost every cab driver in D.C. listens to political radio. It reminds me of South Africa. I love that.

Tuesday night, my friend Mike, a professional water polo player, took me to see a play at the Woolley Mammoth after good Thai - something about Josie and the Chinese Elvis. It was a weird show, and I didn’t connect to it. Thankfully, neither did he. The middle-aged woman sitting next to me rubbed up against me when they turned down the lights after intermission. It was strange.

Afterwards, we went to a cool bar called the Warehouse. The bartender was drunk and funny and kept on giving us free shots of imperfect pumpkin pies (a mix of goldschlager and baileys does the trick). I left a little silly. We met a funny intern named Kelly who went to the bar to order cranberry juice because he is on Cipro. He had no sense of humor, but was nice. And young. And, he works at Gifford’s ice cream.

On Wednesday morning, I had a really sad follow-up conversation with my dad where he told me how crippled and depressed he felt. The next day, he was hospitalized (which I didn’t find out about until Saturday). I am losing him, and I feel really mixed about it. It’s so sad that he won’t ever be the way I remember him, and how quickly he degenerated since even the last time I saw him. He doesn’t believe his life has purpose. My siblings have seemingly given up on him. And, it’s just so sad that my mom is only 13 years behind him, despite how youthful she is now, she is not too far behind. It is also sad the perspectives they developed about friendships, family, etc. It seems the wisdom they have developed in life can be summed up as "life is disappointment." It always ends badly, in sickness and death. Friendships and family inevitably fall apart. There is nobody you can really count on. I see how they arrived at that. I am feeling existentialist. On the optimistic side of existentialism, if that makes sense. Anyway, he is stable. But, still in the hospital.

I also experienced check fraud. Someone went in my desk at work and wrote a $650 check for "rent" to "Brenda Rogers".

And, a good friend of mine lost one of her best friends at 23 years old. The woman just died suddenly. It is an incredible tragedy.

And, another friend of mine who told me about a stalker, was stalked by the stalker, right in front of me. The guy was institutionalized. I hate stalkers.

It was eventful.

On the bright side of things, Andrea came to visit me. I just love her in a very deep way. The whole weekend, we cuddled and talked and I showed her my new city, and introduced her to lots of people who are important to me. And, things always feel the same with her. We shared yummy meals, and caught up seamlessly. When I dropped her off at the bus this morning, I felt an immense sense of emptiness and again the feeling that I was about to cry; like there was a cavity in my heart. But, I just caught a cab, grinned and beared it.

Instead of sulking, I had lunch at my favorite little French bistro, Cafe la Rouche, with 2 new friend s(yet someone else who Josh introduced me to from Cornell). They were really cool, D.C. freshmen. Some people at the table next to us overheard me talking about college, which turned into a full-fledged consulting session.

Oh yeah, I actually have a group of friends out here in D.C., which I didn’t think would happen. And, they are good people! Makes me feel more at home. We had a supremely fun Halloween with apple bobbing, women’s arm wrestling, cheese grits, pumpkin carving, strange picture-taking and other antics. For halloween, I was a burrito (c/o Bay to Breakers). Well, I must say Halloween proper was a little weird. I was told off by a pirate playing "bibbity, bibbity boo"  from Beauty and the Beast on guitar at Cafe la Rouche, after he asked to play for our table, and I respectfully declined. Also, I learned the lesson never to go to the urban neighborhood that is celebrating Halloween (i.e. Castro in SF, or Georgetown in DC).

I think I am going to NYC next weekend.

What else? Akeisha got a job at GW, which will force me to work out all the time. I need a work-out Jiminy Cricket.

It is rainy and cold and miserable outside. I LOVE mist, but hate rain.

Dan Rather taped a show in the building where my office is.

Tonight I got to speak Xhosa at a U of Capetown alumni event I organized at GW. I met the former ambassador to South Africa and the President of UCT. I LOVE Capetown.

I’ve had all these interesting conversations with the President of GW about clothing.

Reunions happened. I almost died from stress. But am OK again.
I was nominated for Employee of the Month in my division - how Office Space is that?

I decided I love Extreme Makeover, and I’ve been speaking more positively about America, since before the election. I also kind of like dressing more preppy. I didn’t think I’d get into it. Assimilation is weird, eh?

D.C. has an interesting race called "High Heels". Drag queens line 17th St. in Dupont and dress like politicos or in uniqued themed garb and run down the street in 3-inch heels. The prize is glory.

I am increasingly interested in rolfing.

Anu and I are doing a 2-week road-trip from Scottsdale and Sedona through the Grand Canyon, Vegas, to LA, Santa Barbara, and back home to SF. I then fly out to Seattle and Vancouver for work and play.

I gave myself a migraine yesterday perhaps because so much information is in my head. Hopefully, this blog can serve as a way for me to empty my mind of needless thoughts.