One year later, and I miss my dad

….losing a parent is something like driving through a plate-glass window. You didn’t know it was there until it shattered, and then for years to come you’re picking up the pieces—down to the last glassy splinter. – Saul Bellow

With Dad downtown in the 1980s

I miss my dad. I was thinking about him this week. It was exactly one year ago that I moved him from Florida to Chicago.  He was no longer the independent man I had grown up with and he was coming home to Chicago for the last time. After suffering a stroke in April, he went through rehab and we got him back to his Longboat Key condo with round-the-clock care. Despite being constantly watched, he managed to fall over the 2016 Labor Day weekend, break his hip and sustain a concussion and head gash. That was it. He needed to be closer to my sister and I, and he needed more help than he could get at home.

So in October 2016, he took the last plane ride of his life. He was in first class with Michael, a caregiver, while I rode in coach. He loved being in first class and being pampered. He was child-like and eager for the trip. I drilled into him where he was going and what was happening, but it didn’t stick. I really don’t know where he thought he was going but he was happy to be out of the hospital. I forgot to order him a special meal on the flight. He was not supposed to eat solid food, but when I went up to check on him, Michael had cut up the food into teeny pieces and Dad was relishing it. It was some of the last solid food he ate. It was a big job to get him into and out of the plane, but with Michael’s help and a wheelchair, we struggled through it.

This past weekend, I recalled in particular the medic van ride to the skilled nursing facility. Dad was still in his wheelchair, strapped in and looking out the front window. The weather was warm and sunny that day, just like it was one year to the day later.  I often wonder if Dad thought he was coming to my house, or did he think he was going to the house he and my mom used to own in Elmhurst? During his last months in Florida, when I asked him where home was, that is where he thought he lived.

He made it two more months, until December, before he gave up. We knew from his documents and conversations, that he never wanted to live if he could not do certain tasks on his own. He essentially checked himself out of life on his own terms. That does not mean that I don’t miss him, miss our weekly phone calls and regular visits, and the sage advice he gave before he suffered his stroke. Every so often, like many of you who have lost loved ones, I want to pick up the phone and ask him a question: “Dad, do you remember when we went to California for the first time?” “Dad, what was Chicago like during the Depression?” …. The list goes on. The questions will remain unanswered.

The glass of life is shattered and I will be picking up the last splinters for all my days to come.

The impact of one person's life

From the film "It's A Wonderful Life"

You hear about the impact one person can have on many people, and most of us have watched the movie "It's A Wonderful Life" and saw the impact that George Bailey had on his family and town. I recently experienced this first-hand when my primary physician unexpectedly passed away. She had been my doctor since I left my pediatrician more than 40 years ago. While I knew she was not taking new patients, she was still working a full schedule.

Her death was sudden, unexpected and made me incredibly sad. When I heard the news, I burst into tears. This was a woman who had seen me through illnesses, literally saved my life when I had toxic shock syndrome in 1981, who saw me through marriage, the death of my mother, and more. Her absence is profound, and intimate in a way that is hard to describe.

Her physician son took over the practice, but did not want to continue with it,  and abruptly closed the the practice. Gone are 40 years of health records, which really were the history of my body. My husband is in the same boat although he had "only" seen her for about 28 years.

She was a general practitioner in the truest sense of the term. With her as our doctor, we did not need to see other specialists. She even played the role of marriage counselor at times, with her engaging personality, sparkling wit and common sense. The search for a new doctor has been rough. We found a GP, but also now need a cardiologist, a neurologist, an ob-gyn, and who knows what else.

She died last October. It is now September and almost 11 months have passed. We are still feeling the impact and the loss, the incredible loss. The ripples from this death have amazed me and surprised me. I'm sure I am not the only person feeling this loss. Employees were suddenly without jobs, a family was without a matriarch, and a church lost an incredible leader and parishioner.

Life is short. Enjoy it. Do good things. Spend time with the people you want to spend time with. To me, that has meant spending time with people who share my values and people who I have known over a long period of time. Don't waste time on the "small stuff." Life is short. Enjoy it.