My foster dad

John, my foster father, died yesterday morning in a local nursing home, where he had resided for more than a year. He passed suddenly and quietly in his sleep. While this wasn't a total shock, it was unexpected. We knew it could happen at any time, but I suppose we were expecting more of a warning. It doesn't always work that way. Fate forgets to be considerate.

Sitting with Bev in John's room as we waited for the Ohio Cremation Society to show up, I thought about the inelegance of real-life death as compared to the versions we see on TV and in the movies. While John's passing was, in a very real sense, elegant in its peacefulness and calm, there were no movie-star-handsome ER folks crowding around him and yelling "Get 50 cc's of (whatever)! Now! Quick!! Move!!!" No last words while violins played in another room. No movie-star handsome angels to greet his soul as it left his body, Twilight Zone-fashion, or any of that nonsense. I've never been very sure that drama conforms to life very much, and I know for sure life never conforms to drama.

On our end, in fact, it was the usual bad-news-followed-by-stunned-but-logical-preparation routine--we've had plenty of rehearsals over the past three years, ever since John suffered sudden and unannounced kidney failure. John's doctors, in late 2003, had guesstimated renal collapse twelve months or so down the line, and they would have been right on the money had they substituted "days" for "months." To the ER he went by ambulance, his mind who-knows-where, only to aspirate on some food several days later in a hospital bed. We thought we'd lost him, but he returned to us and was sound of mind for a few months. Then his bipolar illness took over, with the post-Lithium meds (Lithium being the drug that caused his kidney damage) next to useless.

We tried to take care of him at home, but before long he required nursing home care. And so John spent more than two years between two nursing homes, where he received the finest and most considerate care it's possible to imagine. Though manic depression kept John confused and sometimes scared, he loved those who cared for him. The feeling was mutual. Near the top of any list of unsung employees must go those who labor in rest homes.

Anyway, yesterday morning was NOT something off of TV. I remember the phone ringing around 6 a.m. as I slept on my chair downstairs. I heard Bev answer upstairs, and I'd started to re-doze off when she yelled, "Lee!" Me: "Yes?

Bev: "John died." Me: "What??"

Bev: "John died." Me (coming to): "John died?"

Bev: "We'll have to go over." Me: "Right."

Real life. Take that, TV.

So, we went over to the nursing home and John's room. The staff was fabulous--in such situations, one can spot fake sympathy a time zone away, and I've never witnessed quieter, more powerful caring. They brought us some breakfast to eat while we waited for the cremation society guy. We were both the model of rational. And calm. In other words, terrific actors. We might put in for the Oscar.

Back home, I sat down, resolved to relax. Which I was able to do--after my thoughts came crashing down and sadness made a quick but knock-down tour through every joint and limb of my body. I guess it sensed an opening and went for it.

Bev is coping with her usual unreal courage. I've seen it so many times, and I still don't believe it.

I don't feel like posting anything. I'll be back, of course, but I just did the blog equivalent of disconnecting the phone--I removed my email address from my profile and blog intro. Folks have been asking me to make them CD-Rs of Christmas albums and whatnot. I know that a lot of people don't realize how much they're asking for in terms of time and effort, but I'm not in the mood right now. I'll put my email back after Santa's come and gone.

Please keep us in your prayers. Here are some of John's abstract paintings. A mathematician and visual artist--cool combo, no?





















John was married to my foster mom, Bev, for nearly 50 years. We will have a brief private ceremony led by our friend Cheryl, an interfaith pastor--relatives from John and Bev's side will attend. The hymn: It Is Well with My Soul.


Lee