Kwiz
03-05-2007, 07:24 AM
News of my uncle's condition came in pretty damned suddenly - starting yesterday, Saturday the 3rd, March 2007.
My dad first got a call on his cell phone while out on a morning walk with my brother: it was my cousin Dianne notifying him that his brother was in the critical care unit at a hospital in Berkeley. My uncle had suffered a total shutdown of his liver. I knew as soon as the news came to me second-hand that it was rather serious, but I neither knew nor was I ready to hear the reason why the organ failure happened.
John Thow, an accomplished composer and a well-regarded music professor at the University of California Berkeley, had been a secretive alcoholic for years - probably decades. Not only did he lie by keeping everyone dear to him in the dark about this, but he never even told my father about his divorce with Peggy - whom we assumed was still his wife and not his ex-wife. I have no idea when this is really going to sink in, but my old conceptions of that noble, occasionally-visited relative living in the East Bay have already gone.
On Saturday morning at around 10:30 my dad left to go pay a visit to John, with myself, my mother and my brother staying home. Off and on for the rest of yesterday morning and into the afternoon I kept wondering what they might be talking about. I'd never paid a bedside visit to a very sick person before, so it was all speculative in my mind. That evening (after my dad returned), plans were made to go visit John as a whole family. Already I began searching for what words I might have to say to this very suddenly very ill uncle of mine.
At this point I've got to note: we (my family) never kept in very close touch with John and his family. The occasional visits, the friendly phone calls between my dad and his brother were made; that was the normal status-quo. Late last night I hit upon the decision of not worrying about what I might say to him, that I'd let my uncle do the talking that he felt obligated to supply. After all, he was the one left to explain why he had lied about such important matters for so long.
Only this morning did I find out that, in addition to the circulation being re-routed to bypass his liver, John had been taken off the ventilator which supported him this whole time. The amount of time he has left is anyone's guess, I was told. My uncle also wasn't responding to any stimulus.
Nevertheless, Mom, Dad, my brother and I went through our usual unshakable Sunday routine of going to Enmanji Temple in Sebastopol before heading straight down to the Berkeley hospital. After service, my mother assured me that we wouldn't be hanging around long. I quickly took a trip to the bathroom and went out to wait in the car. The fact that my parents seemed to be lagging behind in the social hall became more than annoying after a while. Did my dad not grasp the fact that his brother might die any hour now? I did what I could to get us on the road as soon as possible, and within due course we were off.
For most of the trip there my dad and mom both seemed not too affected by what was happening. Dad even gave me one-point driving lessons along the way - something I had to verbally nudge him to stop doing after a while, as some of my weekend schoolwork required attention (as I'm typing this.. yes, it needs to get done so that at least a reasonable amount of sleep is assured.)
Once we got to the Alta Bates medical center, the place struck me as rather nice. No check-in was required of us; my dad only had to ask for brief instructions on where to go once we'd reached the cricical care ward on the sixth floor. Two visitors at a time, maximum.
Dad went in first, meeting up with my cousin Dianna at John's bedside and staying in for about ten minutes. We had to use a phone just outside the entrance for visitor clearance, but I conveniently slipped in right behind a couple who had just entered. I searched briefly for curtain room number five - it was at the end of the U-shaped corridor near the exit door.
Dianna stood there - the cousin I hadn't seen in maybe two or three years - beside her father. She welcomed me, inviting me to say whatever I felt necessary. That's what I wasn't prepared for.
It might come a bit more easily with some amount of experience, but finding the words for a borderline-stranger and dying uncle breathing in swallowing gulps was just not easy at all. This kind of scenario had run through my mind on an intellectual level before, and I'd told myself that what matters in that case is the visitor reaching some kind of personal peace by talking to the dying. But what the hell did I have to say? What was there to say to this man who had hidden his most important life problems from his own brother?
I squeezed out some friendly words, some thoughts I hoped would amount to some kindness. Even as I stood there briefly talking to my uncle, the thought occurred to me that he might not even catch what I was saying if he could in fact hear. I'm softspoken enough when my audience is fully conscious and standing up.
Turning to my cousin (who was then sitting at a table just beyond the curtain), I commented that she needed to get some kind of rest. Dianna nodded, telling me that Caroline would be coming along shortly to do her shift. We said our goodbyes and I left the ward.
On the drive back, my dad reminded me of something he had mentioned to me years ago. During his parents' (my grandparents') messy divorce, whenever his mother and father got into a particularly nasty argument, he would tell my uncle "Hey Johnny, let's go to the park." That would get them out of the house. My dad's mother later told him that she greatly appreciated that. Johnny must have been happy with it too.
As I type this, it wasn't but an hour and a half ago; we got the call from my aunt Peggy that John had died. I don't know the exact time of death yet, or when or how memorial services will be scheduled.
My cousins lost their dear father after learning about the past he'd been keeping from them.
I just lost my uncle in the course of one weekend. My dad lost a brother with whom he'd grown up, and now he's probably lying awake in bed trying to imagine why his little brother would end up so totally lying to him about both a drinking problem and a divorce. I wish he hadn't.
Never keep your issues away from those who care.
(Thank you for reading. It helped to simply get this out.)
My dad first got a call on his cell phone while out on a morning walk with my brother: it was my cousin Dianne notifying him that his brother was in the critical care unit at a hospital in Berkeley. My uncle had suffered a total shutdown of his liver. I knew as soon as the news came to me second-hand that it was rather serious, but I neither knew nor was I ready to hear the reason why the organ failure happened.
John Thow, an accomplished composer and a well-regarded music professor at the University of California Berkeley, had been a secretive alcoholic for years - probably decades. Not only did he lie by keeping everyone dear to him in the dark about this, but he never even told my father about his divorce with Peggy - whom we assumed was still his wife and not his ex-wife. I have no idea when this is really going to sink in, but my old conceptions of that noble, occasionally-visited relative living in the East Bay have already gone.
On Saturday morning at around 10:30 my dad left to go pay a visit to John, with myself, my mother and my brother staying home. Off and on for the rest of yesterday morning and into the afternoon I kept wondering what they might be talking about. I'd never paid a bedside visit to a very sick person before, so it was all speculative in my mind. That evening (after my dad returned), plans were made to go visit John as a whole family. Already I began searching for what words I might have to say to this very suddenly very ill uncle of mine.
At this point I've got to note: we (my family) never kept in very close touch with John and his family. The occasional visits, the friendly phone calls between my dad and his brother were made; that was the normal status-quo. Late last night I hit upon the decision of not worrying about what I might say to him, that I'd let my uncle do the talking that he felt obligated to supply. After all, he was the one left to explain why he had lied about such important matters for so long.
Only this morning did I find out that, in addition to the circulation being re-routed to bypass his liver, John had been taken off the ventilator which supported him this whole time. The amount of time he has left is anyone's guess, I was told. My uncle also wasn't responding to any stimulus.
Nevertheless, Mom, Dad, my brother and I went through our usual unshakable Sunday routine of going to Enmanji Temple in Sebastopol before heading straight down to the Berkeley hospital. After service, my mother assured me that we wouldn't be hanging around long. I quickly took a trip to the bathroom and went out to wait in the car. The fact that my parents seemed to be lagging behind in the social hall became more than annoying after a while. Did my dad not grasp the fact that his brother might die any hour now? I did what I could to get us on the road as soon as possible, and within due course we were off.
For most of the trip there my dad and mom both seemed not too affected by what was happening. Dad even gave me one-point driving lessons along the way - something I had to verbally nudge him to stop doing after a while, as some of my weekend schoolwork required attention (as I'm typing this.. yes, it needs to get done so that at least a reasonable amount of sleep is assured.)
Once we got to the Alta Bates medical center, the place struck me as rather nice. No check-in was required of us; my dad only had to ask for brief instructions on where to go once we'd reached the cricical care ward on the sixth floor. Two visitors at a time, maximum.
Dad went in first, meeting up with my cousin Dianna at John's bedside and staying in for about ten minutes. We had to use a phone just outside the entrance for visitor clearance, but I conveniently slipped in right behind a couple who had just entered. I searched briefly for curtain room number five - it was at the end of the U-shaped corridor near the exit door.
Dianna stood there - the cousin I hadn't seen in maybe two or three years - beside her father. She welcomed me, inviting me to say whatever I felt necessary. That's what I wasn't prepared for.
It might come a bit more easily with some amount of experience, but finding the words for a borderline-stranger and dying uncle breathing in swallowing gulps was just not easy at all. This kind of scenario had run through my mind on an intellectual level before, and I'd told myself that what matters in that case is the visitor reaching some kind of personal peace by talking to the dying. But what the hell did I have to say? What was there to say to this man who had hidden his most important life problems from his own brother?
I squeezed out some friendly words, some thoughts I hoped would amount to some kindness. Even as I stood there briefly talking to my uncle, the thought occurred to me that he might not even catch what I was saying if he could in fact hear. I'm softspoken enough when my audience is fully conscious and standing up.
Turning to my cousin (who was then sitting at a table just beyond the curtain), I commented that she needed to get some kind of rest. Dianna nodded, telling me that Caroline would be coming along shortly to do her shift. We said our goodbyes and I left the ward.
On the drive back, my dad reminded me of something he had mentioned to me years ago. During his parents' (my grandparents') messy divorce, whenever his mother and father got into a particularly nasty argument, he would tell my uncle "Hey Johnny, let's go to the park." That would get them out of the house. My dad's mother later told him that she greatly appreciated that. Johnny must have been happy with it too.
As I type this, it wasn't but an hour and a half ago; we got the call from my aunt Peggy that John had died. I don't know the exact time of death yet, or when or how memorial services will be scheduled.
My cousins lost their dear father after learning about the past he'd been keeping from them.
I just lost my uncle in the course of one weekend. My dad lost a brother with whom he'd grown up, and now he's probably lying awake in bed trying to imagine why his little brother would end up so totally lying to him about both a drinking problem and a divorce. I wish he hadn't.
Never keep your issues away from those who care.
(Thank you for reading. It helped to simply get this out.)