A little over a year ago I went to the Journalcon in San Francisco—a special request! How could I say no? I flew up with baby Simon. We spent the night at the St. Francis hotel, off Union Square, and in the morning we wandered over to Journalcon. Right after my session I had to dash off, missing what everyone said was a great luncheon, because I was having brunch with my parents at Sears’ Fine Foods. My mom had seen Simon when he was a month or so old, but my dad hadn’t met him yet.
During the brunch my father seemed strangely distracted. He kept checking his watch. At the end of brunch he said he wanted to go home to watch the Giants in the playoffs. We’d spent about an hour together. I knew how much he enjoyed baseball, so I kissed him goodbye and then set off to catch BART to Oakland Airport.
A month later my sister called me to tell me our dad had collapsed and was in the hospital. He seemed weirdly disoriented, saying very strange things. And he was checking his watch all the time. “That didn’t just start,” I told them.
Then a little while after that she called to tell me he’d had a stroke.
I flew back up to San Francisco, Simon in my arms, and I went to visit Dad in the hospital. He seemed to have no idea who my sister and I were. It was heartbreaking to see him looking so different than he had just a month earlier.
A month after that, at Christmastime, Darin and I drove up for the holidays as usual. My sister and I went to visit my father at the hospital, and I was astounded at how much better he seemed. He definitely seemed to recognize the two of us. He wasn’t trying to communicate, but he listened as we talked to him.
He came home a month or two after that. Much earlier than we thought he would, but there was nothing further for him in the hospital. He attended physical therapy. He slowly started doing things, like going for walks. He couldn’t use his right hand very well, but he was working on it.
I brought the kids up to San Francisco about every two weeks to visit Grandmom and Grandpop. My parents definitely seemed to enjoy seeing them, and the kids enjoyed the wonder that is their grandparents’ strange and unusual house.
Last month—it all runs together at this point—my Dad tried to talk to me. We didn’t get very far in the conversation, because he couldn’t aspirate very well. He’d had a laryngectomy about 12 or 15 years ago and used a prosthesis to talk afterward. After the stroke he couldn’t use the prosthesis any more, because it requires manual dexterity he didn’t have and patience to relearn the process, which he also didn’t have.
But he was trying to talk to me. Which was a big difference.
At Christmas last week my parents arrived with bags and bags of gifts. The ones from my father were wrapped clumsily—which meant he’d done it. And the tags were written in a jerky handwriting—which meant he’d done it. It’s impossible to imagine getting excited over gift tags, until you’ve done it, I guess. I told him how happy I was to see him writing. I said I’d be back up to San Francisco with the kids after New Year’s.
Yesterday my sister called me and told me he was in the hospital again, this time with pneumonia. Evidently in the morning things were very bad and “the doctor was ready to call in the priest,” but in the afternoon he’d rallied. Still sick, but doing much better. He was pretty out of it, though. I wondered if I should go up to visit him even though he was out of it.
This morning at 4am my mom called to let me know he’d passed away. This morning has been spent working out mortuary arrangements.
I keep telling Darin there’s something wrong with me because I just feel numb. He talked to his Dad (who recently lost his own father) and Steve said, Don’t worry, that feeling won’t last.
I’ve never had a close relative die before. Considering before Darin my family was pretty much just my parents and my sister, I guess that’s not too surprising. Despite the troubbles my father has had over the year (throat cancer, the laryngectomy, the stroke) this has still come as a surprise. An unwelcome completely expected surprise, if that makes any sense.
Anyhow. In case anyone out there knew Thomas Joseph Patterson, of Philadelphia, New York, and San Francisco, he passed away today.
I’ll probably not be posting for a little while until I sort things out.
I’m so sorry. You are in my thoughts.
A random click on a link from the recently updated section of movabletype.org led me here. I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. Thank you for writing about it.
Diane-
I’m so sorry. You’re in my thoughts.
I’m so sorry to hear about this. I hope everything goes as smoothly as it can for you and your family over the next few weeks.
Diane, I’m so sorry. As one who has lost a parent in a manner that was a total surprise, I know that numb feeling. I wish you and your family much love during this time of grief.
Diane, I am so sorry to hear about your father. At least you and the kids got to see him many times recently. My thoughts are with you and your family.
–tracing
Diane:
The description of your father wrapping presents all by himself brought tears to my eyes; what a special memory.
As someone who has lost a loved one very close to me, the pain you are feeling (or will be shortly feeling) will subside, in time. Your memories of you father never will.
Take care.
Diane, you have my deepest sympathies. I’ll be thinking about you.
My deepest sympathies on a deep and sudden loss. You’re in my thoughts.
Condolences. A very moving tribute to your father.
I’m so sorry about your dad.
I’m very sorry. The numbness will be with you awhile, and I think it actually takes two years to start to feel anything like normal again. Our prayers are with you.
Diane, I’m so sorry that you’ve lost your father. He sounds like he was a couragous and loving man. I’m thinking of you and your family.
My throat’s all lumpy–the thought of him wrapping your presents and writing out those tags…what a precious last momento for you to have. Please accept my sincerest condolences and know that I’ll be thinking of you and your family, for what it’s worth.
Take care of yourself and each other!
I am sorry to hear about your father’s passing. Our thoughts are with you and your family.
Diane, so sorry to hear about your dad. My thoughts are with you.
Diane,
I’m so very sorry to hear about your dad’s passing. I will hold you all in the light today.
Diane,
I’m just an occasional reader who checked back into the blog today. I was so sorry to read about your father’s passing. The entry you wrote about him was very moving and reflected your love for him, and his for you. You all are in my thoughts and prayers.
Hi, my condolances on the death of your father.
I understand that numb feeling – it’s normal. When tragedy hits, we expect it to play out like it does on TV – all the weeping and gnashing of teeth – but in reality, it takes awhile to sink in and not everyone cries. And that’s okay, too.
My grandfather died when I was six. I didn’t cry. My mother went into super-caretaker mode, cared for everyone, let them all mourn, and then got home and had an odd turn in which she thought he was still alive. When she realized that he wasn’t, then she cried. I remember that.
There’s no wrong way to deal with death, and no wrong time. You’ll do fine!
Best wishes!
When my own father died, I didn’t feel anything for a week. I’m so sorry for your loss; I’ll be praying for you and your family.
Diane, I’m very sorry about your father. Please accept my deepest sympathies.
I’m sorry. The death of a parent is something none of us can really be ready for, even if we think we are.
Diane, this is my first visit to your blog. I hope it’s not inappropriate to comment on your entry, but I wanted to send you my heartfelt wishes for peace and strength as the coming months unfold. When my father passed away, I was relatively ok until after the funeral. Once things were done and everyone else was tended to, I had the room and the inner space to grieve in my way. You will, too. I love what another poster said, “There is no wrong way to deal with death.” The loss of a piece of our lives, our hearts, is very personal, and so is the way we respond to it.
Sounds like you’re busy tending to and caring for arrangements, child, your own mom, etc. Be sure not to neglect you while you’re doing so much.
God bless you and be with you.
Dy
This was the first blog entry of yours I ever read. And I second what your other readers have written. That your dad wrapped those presents and wrote those gift tags–and that you noticed–is wonderful. I hope that you had as deep and loving a relationship as that interaction suggests; if so, that will help you grieve. (I always thought that the timikng of Jewish mourning rituals was about right, and that notion of the timing may help you, even if you’re not jewish.)
I’m very sorry to hear this. I’ll be thinking of you.
My condolences. I barely remember the first week or so after my mom died: the phone call, then the void. Eventually things started cohering again. Hang in there, and hold on to the memories.