This past week felt like a hurricane descending upon me. For the most part, it's bad weather, and then there are some tornadoes included to make it even worse.
I was drowning in a sea of paper for about 3 days, making calls and hacking into websites (guessing my Dad's userid's and passwords) to get things straight. I began to organize things into "done," "bills to be paid," and stuff I thought the lawyer would need. I ended up making (oh the SHOCK!) a spreadsheet of all the periodic payments, and then I made an estimate of how much money would need to be set aside to maintain Dad's house, assuming it didn't sell for awhile, and also to fix it up to prepare for sale, and things like utilities, real estate taxes, etc. I figured that if I could, I'd distribute all money except for what I thought I'd need. At any rate, I got things pretty organized to the point that by Thursday morning, I was pretty much set to have a productive meeting with the lawyer (the man who originally set up my Dad's trust accounts, will, and powers of attorney).
Tuesday I went to the Cremation Society all by myself to sign and pay for Dad's cremation. That was a bit disturbing, but I actually found my sense of humor while talking through the process. I was still feeling rather exhausted at that point (still am, actually), but less so than I had been the prior week.
Wednesday was my big breakthrough day when I felt like I had all the paper and "to do's" organized. That was also the day that my older sister decided to call me and scream at me (a passing tornado, as it were). I won't go into the content of her tirade--let's just say it's typical of her to throw tantrums even though's she's 57 years old. I also found out from one of my sisters-in-law that she had said I was "being an asshole," and combined with her screaming at me that "everyone else is pissed at you," even though I'm pretty strong and have gotten over her regular bouts of vile behavior, it still stung a bit, being in the weakened state I was in. But I also understood just how upset and fragile she is, and I do feel sorry that she is unable to be nice to her own immediate family. I also learned from a sister-in-law that at one time she called me a "cokehead." That made me laugh, considering my current nickname is Crackhead :)
So remember, the rest of this is being written by an asshole cokehead!
Wednesday evening I could tell that I was just about finished with the paper organization, and so I scheduled a massage for myself for the next day. The luxury!
On Thursday morning, I received a call from the Cremation Society that my Dad's remains, the death certificates (certified copies, that is) and the flag (Dad did serve in the Army from 1945 to 1946) were ready to be picked up. When I was told this over the phone, I made the YES sign with my right elbow to my right knee and said a loud, "YESSSS!" into the phone. At once, I apologized for my joy at hearing this news, and then I explained that I had an appointment with the lawyer the next day and that if I didn't have the death certificates it might be a waste of time. The odd thing was when I was asked when I wanted to pick things up, I became almost catatonic. I just couldn't think and respond to the question, seemingly for minutes, but it was probably really only 30 seconds or so. All I could think was that since I was pretty much done processing stuff for the week that I could get in a workout or two before going to the lawyer (appointment was 2:30PM Friday afternoon), and then I finally regained my composure and answered.
Thursday evening after my massage (which was wonderful), I got everything ready for Friday so that I could basically wake up, do something for myself (I had to complete my benefits enrollment for work, as the enrollment period was over the last 3 weeks and when did I have time?), get in a short run and maybe a short strength workout, buy some lunch for myself and my brother Mike who was going to the lawyer with me, and then head out. I got everything together and put a box by my front door together with my briefcase, and slept pretty well.
Friday went like clockwork--figure out my benefits and set them up (I changed some of my beneficiary designations in the process), run, do an abs/core workout, shower, go to Subway and then go to the lawyer. Well it all went well except for when I was about to shower, Mike arrived a bit early--I had just called him to ask what he wanted for lunch and he said he was a block from my house. That was fine, and we had time to sit down for lunch before heading to the lawyer.
Mike saw the box of stuff I had prepared and I talked him through the materials and questions I had. Once we got there, things just went very quickly. Actually, most of the time was spent with a financial consultant who handles estate stuff that Dad had worked with over the past year. This man, Chuck, also had sensed that my Dad knew he had some serious medical issues brewing. I'm not sure whether I talked about that, but while I went through his papers, I found evidence in some of his medical statements that he knew something was up with his kidneys and his liver. My other brother, Tom, said he had found evidence of Internet research Dad had done on liver cancer. So Dad knew! I am not sad that he didn't tell us, because I can only imagine that he had to choose between continuing to live as long as possible and effectively going into hospital for all sorts of treatments that would totally mess up his quality of life.
Anyway, Chuck and the lawyer, Tim, did great by us, and both commented on how organized and prepared we were! I really appreciated that, and we were able to get pretty much everything covered except for the inevitable sale of the house and distribution of remaining money!
This morning I marched into the local branch of Dad's banks with the correct legal paperwork to enable closing his checking account and transferring the money into a new Estate account that I can begin writing checks against.
I went for a short swim today, and I've taken the rest of the day off. I'm going grocery shopping and then cooking for myself--something I haven't done for 3 weeks. And this coming week, I should be able to ease myself back to about 10 hours of training and move it on up to 12-13, where I'll hold for a few months. I am still pretty tired out and recognize that it's still going to be touch-and-go for me (especially since people around me keep insisting that I haven't "processed" this yet), but I have to say today is the first day in 3 weeks that I actually smiled as I woke up and started my day.
I think Dad would be very proud of me to have made it this far in such a short amount of time. I think my siblings will be surprised to receive a call in a week or so asking what do they want to do with certain money that is coming their way quickly. I've got a realtor lined up that may be able to deal with the house sale.
Life isn't great yet, but it's approaching good, and I really can't complain!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Peace at Last
Dad passed about 9:30AM this morning. I was at hospital last night until about 8PM, and in a way felt guilty for not staying the night. I did get a smirk out of him briefly by saying that I was going to take all his money and keep it from my siblings.
He had oxygen and nothing else. He didn't appear to be in any pain last night, but I did have the nurse administer a little bit more morphine last night just to be sure he wasn't uncomfortable.
Last night I barely slept--each time I would awaken, I didn't want to be awake and assumed the phone would ring and I was so exhausted that I couldn't imagine getting up and driving back to the hospital. Somehow I comforted myself and got back to sleep until morning, when it got light out and then I just couldn't sleep. But this was the worst day for me, and I didn't want to get out of bed. It just wasn't going to be good.
As soon as I got up, I began going through some papers I had picked up at Dad's house and tossing those that didn't have any future financial impact. I was a bit happy that I had an extra hour with the time change to do some of this. Then I went and got the boxes out of my car with more papers and brought them into the house and began going through them.
I decided I wanted to try and run around 9:00, after talking to my brother Mike and deciding when we would go back to the hospital. I put my running clothes on and was just about to go out the door to the Y and decided to call the hospital.
I kid you not--I am psychic--I called and they said they were just about to pronounce him dead. Did I know? Sure. I suppose it was the last time, and I hope it's for awhile, that a run/workout is thwarted by severe illness or impending death.
I immediately called Mike and told him to come get me so we could go see him and make arrangements, and then I called my siblings to let them know. In a way, I was very curt and methodical, but only because I knew this would be the beginning of more things I needed to do.
Part of me didn't want to see Dad's body, but then we ended up spending a couple of hours in his room with him after getting things straight with the Chaplain about his cremation arrangements. And it was good to see he had passed with a slight smirk on his face, like he had beat all the rest of us to the punch of making the decision for him and he had gone when he wanted to.
I'm not saying any of this has been easy for me--it hasn't--but I am glad it is over, and now I can begin on the next phase of honoring his life by carrying out what he wanted me to do. And once that is nearly complete or at least under control (the sale of the house will take some months, I expect, and so I will need to continue paying bills and getting that process moving along), I want nothing more than to get back to my old life, which I had been questioning and wondering if it was the right thing to do and whether I was overly invested in something that really didn't matter.
What I learned from my Dad is that he LIVED even while he may have known he was ailing, and he did things he wanted to do and on his terms. When I first began doing triathlons, he didn't understand why I would want to push myself this way, but after a time he understood that I was just doing what he was doing, which was doing what brought me enjoyment, without judging why. Dad liked moving around, and he liked using his incredible intellect, and that's what I like doing. I may not express my intellect the way he did, but I do it nonetheless. I bet if he could have seen me pressing to get information about him and his condition so that I could determine whether we were doing the right things by him that he would be very proud of me, and that even though some people around me perceived it to be very unemotional, that in fact, I was being quite passionate about trying to do the very best I could do for him.
I discovered once again that very few people understand the difference between passion and emotion. Maybe I didn't even understand the difference. I question myself for sometimes being overly passionate, and lose sight and accuse myself of having useless emotions. Don't get me wrong--emotions are a good thing--but emotions are inert things without underlying passion. I know what it is to feel sad and hopeless and lonely and happy and in love. But what I want to guide me is not emotion but passion and compassion. That's it.
And so as I move into this next phase of accomplishing things on my Dad's behalf, I hope that I can continue to carry forward my passion for doing the right thing, my passion for living, and my compassion for myself and everyone else. I have and I will continue to be fallible and question myself. But I can keep sight of my core being and that's all there is.
He had oxygen and nothing else. He didn't appear to be in any pain last night, but I did have the nurse administer a little bit more morphine last night just to be sure he wasn't uncomfortable.
Last night I barely slept--each time I would awaken, I didn't want to be awake and assumed the phone would ring and I was so exhausted that I couldn't imagine getting up and driving back to the hospital. Somehow I comforted myself and got back to sleep until morning, when it got light out and then I just couldn't sleep. But this was the worst day for me, and I didn't want to get out of bed. It just wasn't going to be good.
As soon as I got up, I began going through some papers I had picked up at Dad's house and tossing those that didn't have any future financial impact. I was a bit happy that I had an extra hour with the time change to do some of this. Then I went and got the boxes out of my car with more papers and brought them into the house and began going through them.
I decided I wanted to try and run around 9:00, after talking to my brother Mike and deciding when we would go back to the hospital. I put my running clothes on and was just about to go out the door to the Y and decided to call the hospital.
I kid you not--I am psychic--I called and they said they were just about to pronounce him dead. Did I know? Sure. I suppose it was the last time, and I hope it's for awhile, that a run/workout is thwarted by severe illness or impending death.
I immediately called Mike and told him to come get me so we could go see him and make arrangements, and then I called my siblings to let them know. In a way, I was very curt and methodical, but only because I knew this would be the beginning of more things I needed to do.
Part of me didn't want to see Dad's body, but then we ended up spending a couple of hours in his room with him after getting things straight with the Chaplain about his cremation arrangements. And it was good to see he had passed with a slight smirk on his face, like he had beat all the rest of us to the punch of making the decision for him and he had gone when he wanted to.
I'm not saying any of this has been easy for me--it hasn't--but I am glad it is over, and now I can begin on the next phase of honoring his life by carrying out what he wanted me to do. And once that is nearly complete or at least under control (the sale of the house will take some months, I expect, and so I will need to continue paying bills and getting that process moving along), I want nothing more than to get back to my old life, which I had been questioning and wondering if it was the right thing to do and whether I was overly invested in something that really didn't matter.
What I learned from my Dad is that he LIVED even while he may have known he was ailing, and he did things he wanted to do and on his terms. When I first began doing triathlons, he didn't understand why I would want to push myself this way, but after a time he understood that I was just doing what he was doing, which was doing what brought me enjoyment, without judging why. Dad liked moving around, and he liked using his incredible intellect, and that's what I like doing. I may not express my intellect the way he did, but I do it nonetheless. I bet if he could have seen me pressing to get information about him and his condition so that I could determine whether we were doing the right things by him that he would be very proud of me, and that even though some people around me perceived it to be very unemotional, that in fact, I was being quite passionate about trying to do the very best I could do for him.
I discovered once again that very few people understand the difference between passion and emotion. Maybe I didn't even understand the difference. I question myself for sometimes being overly passionate, and lose sight and accuse myself of having useless emotions. Don't get me wrong--emotions are a good thing--but emotions are inert things without underlying passion. I know what it is to feel sad and hopeless and lonely and happy and in love. But what I want to guide me is not emotion but passion and compassion. That's it.
And so as I move into this next phase of accomplishing things on my Dad's behalf, I hope that I can continue to carry forward my passion for doing the right thing, my passion for living, and my compassion for myself and everyone else. I have and I will continue to be fallible and question myself. But I can keep sight of my core being and that's all there is.
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