Jim wrote his Dad’s obituary last night—just getting prepared. We’ve been preparing for Lenny’s passing for the last week or so.
As some of you may know, Jim’s Dad has lived with us for the last 13 years, ever since his wife died. We wanted him close to us and not 500 miles away in Northern Wisconsin.
He adapted to the change quite remarkably. From being the Man of the House in his own castle, to a milder version of himself. He always said “when in Rome…” when asked how difficult it was to make the move and relinquish his role as Head Honcho.
He was a strong man, accustomed to putting in a good, hard day at the factory and coming home to have dinner ready and waiting for him. A booming presence of a man who had a tendency to speak loudly and yes, carry a big stick. A man whose wife frequently threatened the kids by saying “Just wait until your father comes home!” when they were acting up and being naughty.
He was kind, and we always thought that he looked like Ronald Reagan when he got that crooked little smile and a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
Up until about 4 years ago, when he was 91, he still went to the gym a few days a week with Jim. He walked on the treadmill, lifted weights, and then had a little coffee klatch with the other guys while he waited for Jim to finish up.
Little by little his body got older… macular degeneration messed with his ability to read the morning paper. His hearing aids barely seemed to work anymore, and when his balance frightened him, when he felt like he was going to fall, he stopped going to the gym.
He began riding on the stationary bike at home to loosen things up and to break up the monotony of just sitting in his chair 24/7. It was climbing off of the bike last May that caused him to fall and fracture his shoulder. While in the hospital they discovered that his colon cancer had re-emerged from many years ago. His doctor, a pragmatic gerontologist, suggested that we put him in home hospice and continue to love and care for him in the comfort of our home.
Seems like it’s been a pretty fast ride since then. Jim and I began to stay at home in shifts. Never left him home alone – we couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t lose his balance by himself, even with using a walker to get around. Along with his dignity, he occasionally lost control of his bladder. Jim and I helped him on the potty. Helped him to eat when his hands shook too much to get the spoon to his mouth. Jim became his anchor in the shower, often getting just as much water on the bathroom floor as on Lenny.
Once his favorite pastime of all, watching sports on TV (especially his beloved Brewers & Packers), he now couldn’t enjoy it because he couldn’t see/follow it on the screen or hear the play-by-plays. So he sat. Often drifting off to sleep throughout the day. And sat… shifting frequently to relieve the pressure on his butt.
Pretty soon he was requesting to go to bed earlier and earlier. At least he could stretch out and sleep away the time. His time. The time that he began to resent. The time that he questioned – why the Good Lord was allowing him to sit out his time. He often said that he was “just waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Oh, just waiting for the Good Lord to take me away.”
Two weeks ago he was shaking so badly it was inhibiting his ability to walk without sinking to the floor. We called his home health care nurse, wondering if it had anything to do with his medication. She suggested that we bring him in to the inpatient hospice so they could try adjusting his meds. We’ve been told that “this was it.” He had “terminal restlessness.” He wasn’t eating. He was “resting comfortably.”
Then in the blink of an eye he was wide awake. We talked, he ate with assistance, and he was incontinent. The next day he was confused, talking to his imagination and old friends that only he could see. He was all over the place. Then he was unresponsive.
We did get to talk to him the other day… soft spoken, staring into space but he knew it was us. We told him the dogs were missing him and that Rosie had taken residence in his chair. He got that quirkie little smile, just barely, but his eyes didn’t twinkle anymore.
We believe that was his last conversation with us. We were given a few more minutes to look into his eyes, swab his mouth with water, and to tell him about the dogs. And the Packers. And to say goodbye one more time.
Now he’s unresponsive again. And o-so-thin. Even with my experience in taking care of dying patients, it shocked me when I felt his chest and my hand dropped from his ribcage down to near nothingness. I felt like I could have slipped my fingers under his ribs and touch his heart beneath the skin.
He looks as if he’s comfortable. Just sleeping. Not sure if he’s dreaming. Who really knows? But every time the phone rings, our hearts jump a little. We’re happy for him. We want him to go and reunite with his wife. We want him to feel joyful again and to not feel like a burden any longer. We want him to go and feel like the proud man that he was.
We’ll miss Lenny. The man and father that we loved. That’s the sad part, of course it is. But he deserves to leave us now. We love you with all of our hearts Lenny.
*Lenny passed away Sunday night, 1-17-2010
I just want acknowledge Lenny as I remember him working out at the Wisconsin Athletic Club in Wauwatosa when I worked there a hand full of years ago. He would come in with Jim and walk on the treadmill. I always admired his dedication and perseverance in the gym. I admired Jim’s dedication to his father and thought how wonderful to be able to “bond” with one’s father the way they did. I did not know him as Kitty describes him as the Head Honcho but absolutely as a kind and soft spoken man. However, I can tell he rubbed off on Jim, who his definitely a Head Honcho in my eyes and Kitty as a caring and dedicated wife and daughter in law. I respect the way this family loves and cares for one another. I can only have confidence that as Lenny passes on from his place and time here that he will leave a grand legacy to those who had the honor of knowing him.
Beautiful message Kathy. I know what we go through with my dad and he’s 92 now. Keep intouch with what’s happening. Give Jim our love, encouragement and prayers. Hopefully we will see you guys soon. Jim
Thinking about you and yours Kitty and sending warm thoughts and prayers.
Yes, I see what you meant. Same book, different chapters. The missing IS the sad part, even as the missed is all packed and eagerly looking forward to the journey.
Thanks for the kind words everyone.
xoxo
Your words are just beautiful and so touching, Kitty. As I currently take care of my own aging parents, I only hope I’m able to provide them with the love and support you’ve shown to Lenny. In a world that seems to want to put suffering on a shelf someone else to take care of, you embraced the task of caring for this man and I’m sure it was often hard both physically and emotionally. You and Jim did a wonderful thing for him. My condolences and thoughts to you.
Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family! I know how hard it is losing a grandparent as an adult and can’t imagine losing a parent. I remember Grandpa from visiting when we were at the end of high school. Hugs your way and to Indiana too. What a beautiful memorial. XO
Oh my! That was really very, very beautiful, Kidlet. Made my eyeballs prickle with salt water—or whatever causes that sensation? You have been a pretty doggone great daughter-in-law to Lennie. He was very lucky to have your calm and sweet disposition around him………I’m sure he appreciated that and loved you very much for being YOU.
Just like I love you a whole bunch, too. xoxo
so touching…what a wonderful tribute. am thinking about you and jim all the time…we send our love! xoxo
Kitty, I am so very touched by your story you have shared in this blog. It must be so hard to see someone you love slowly drift away, I have yet to experience that yet. One thing is for sure, your Lennie had a great life with the two of you ! My thoughts and prayers for your loss and a speedy trip for Lennie to be with his wife again?
Kitty, I’m so sorry for your family’s loss.
That was a beautiful memorial. And yes, Lenny is free, and it’s wonderful to be able to see the joy in that, even through all the sadness.
It’s so hard to say goodbye, though.
XO
Kitty and Jim, I can’t find the words to express how proud of you I am. You took dad in and made him a priority in your life for 13 years. You cared for him in a way I never could have. For all of those years being Len’s arm chair buddy Jim provided him with a level of comfort and love I could have never made happen. And Kitty you replaced my mother with your care. I will be greatfull everyday for the rest of my life.
There are no words to describe my Uncle Len but some how Kitty, you did it. I am glad Diane put this website on facebook, I wasn’t aware of it. The really good and caring people like you are never in the headlines but you two are what are called “the salt of the earth”.
I send love and prayers.
Kitty, Thank so much for sharing this with me. You were right. It was good to hear someone elses story. I know this isn’t the first time what I’m feeling has been felt by others, but sometimes I feel that way anyway. I feel blessed to have my sister with me in this. We share as much as we can in taking care of our dad and that is a beautiful thing. Neither one of us are ready to see him go, but, then again, neither one of us want him to stay only because we can’t let him go. Thanks again for sharing.