It probably goes without saying that this blog entry will have more to do with me than with Tank.
I'm at home, typing in my small study that is now crammed with Tank's stuff. There are boxes and bags on every surface. I'll go pick up a few things at random, and describe them. You know...for fun.
The first item is 1 of about 20 empty coffee cans with lids (SLO Roasted Coffee, decaf, "pungent flavored," 12 ounces). Before he died, Tank suggested I take them home so the little boys could stack them and then knock them over with a ball or beanbag. The cans are all exactly the same, and fit neatly in a cardboard box. The second item is a hard-cover book called "Origin of Sea Terms." I'll pick a term: "Isogonic lines" are lines (on a chart) of equal magnetic variation. I'll find one that's a bit more...conversational. "Shanghai" means enforced "volunteering" to raise a crew. As in, "I wonder how many times I can Shanghai Dan into taking me to La Puente for lunch because I need consoling." The third item is a fistful of neatly rolled rope (like clothesline) that I found in the trunk of his car. I wonder what emergency he anticipated, and what role the rope would play. Also, as I type, I'm wearing another of his hats. It's a well-worn off-white bucket hat with navy-blue trim and the the embroidered words "Morro Bay." I look like a chubby Gilligan.
Peggy and I returned home last night from a three-day trip to Morro Bay. We left Salt Lake early Sunday morning and drove straight through. Time passed quickly and pleasantly. We laughed lots, and then we laughed some more. This is the Honda Fit's fifth trip in less than three months, and it continues to perform flawlessly (and get 35 mph). We talked nonstop, except once when I played "The Wonder of You" sung by Elvis Presley, because it reminds me of Tank. I'll share the lyrics:
When no one else can understand me
When everything I do is wrong
You give me hope and consolation
You give me strength to carry on...
And you're always there to lend a hand
In everything I do
That's the wonder...
The wonder of you.
And when you smile the world is brighter
You touch my hand and I'm a king
Your kiss to me is worth a fortune
Your love for me is everything...
I'll guess I'll never know the reason why
You love me like you do
That's the wonder...
The wonder of you.
After checking into Motel 6, we went to the Whale's Tail for dinner (fish and chips). After a long day on the road, Peggy still looked cute. We crashed at the motel and got an early start the next day.
I didn't ask Peggy if she chose her outfit that morning with the intention of honoring Nola; I just assume she did. She wore tight and slightly faded blue jeans, a fitted gray-and-white-checked cotton shirt over a gray camisole, and tennis shoes. She wore more silver jewelry than one might deem appropriate for that level of casualness, but she made it work. While I showered, Peggy walked on the beach. At the Hungry Fisherman, we shared eggs Benedict. In San Luis Obispo, Peggy shopped while I watched. Peggy drove north to Cayucos, and we walked out on the pier, which I'd never done before. It was a gorgeous day. It was fun, but it would have been so much better if we'd been able to tell Tank about it, and feel his glow of approval. Eventually, I'll need to get past that feeling.
We went to lunch in Morro Bay, at Dockside Too. I had a fish taco, Peggy had a steak taco, and we shared chicken taquitos (a favorite of Tank's). We found a small table right on the water, and relaxed with our tasty meal. There was a friendly yellow lab wandering from table to table. There was a man playing a guitar and singing: the Beatles, Peter Frampton, Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" ("I turned to look but it was gone..."). Peggy said, "This guy must be exactly your age." I tipped him, and we left.
I called Terry and told her we'd be by later. She had appointments during the day, so it was okay to wait and meet up for dinner. Peggy and I drove to an avocado orchard (and a little store) about five minutes up Highway 41. Sally had told us about it. So cool! I want to go again! A middle-aged woman shared so much information about avocados! Did you know that some types of avocados spend two years on the tree? We bought several varieties, along with other locally produced items (jars of pickled asparagus and spicy tarter sauce, bags of beef jerky and merlot-flavored candy), and the woman gave us each a ripe avocado for the road. Free!
We stopped at Spencer's Market, and then drove to Terry's house. She wasn't there yet, so Peggy and I had some time alone with Tank's...space. It was strange. We wandered about some, and sat and talked some. It feels less like Tank, and not just because most of his stuff is gone. We've always liked the place, and we certainly like Terry's decorating style. It's still beautiful and tasteful, but...it lacks Tank's energy and passion, the sound of his voice, the space taken up by his body. For me, it was eerie, but not necessarily sad (kind of sad, but not overwhelmingly so). It did not seem to me that Tank was...lingering here. I remember visiting Nola's apartment in San Pedro two months after she died. The air felt thick with her presence. There was this...viscosity. I felt like I needed to sit down because of an increased gravitational pull in the room. But...it wasn't like that with Tank. The air seemed lighter; the room seemed less occupied.
Tank never struck me as a believer in the mystical (which is probably one of the reasons I'm not a believer in the mystical). However, a month or so before he died, when he was talking about death, he said that he didn't think that this was it. He said he imagined that the day he was born he was plopped down on earth, and that the day he died he would be plucked back up. Using his fingers, he made motions as if moving a chess piece. He didn't speculate as to what or who was doing the plopping and the plucking, and where he (Tank) was before and would be after. He didn't seem to be pondering, and he didn't seem to be invested in the theory, but--rather--just thinking aloud. He certainly didn't believe in God, and this brief conversation in no way led me to think that he was edging toward a belief in God. Instead, I was reminded of that line from "Lord of the Rings:" "Death is just another path." I suppose that's possible.
Anyway...we loaded the rest of Tank's stuff into the car. Terry got home, and we hugged, and chatted briefly. She gave us a box of ashes (half of Tank's ashes) and the flag from the navy. She told us that last week she and daughter Katherine scattered the other half of Tank's ashes along the coastline, at several locations. That seemed to bring her peace, and resolution. We went to dinner at Dockside (as opposed to Dockside Too, which offers patio dining, and is behind Dockside). Terry and I had shrimp bisque, Peggy had a side salad, and Peggy and I shared shrimp and chips.
Neither Peggy nor I slept well that night. Before dawn, we hit the road. It felt okay to be leaving so quickly. The day was clear and warm, and we made good time: Atascadaro (breakfast), Paso Robles, Lost Hills, Wasco, Bakersfield, Tehachapi, Boron, Barstow, Baker, Primm (lunch), Las Vegas, Mesquite, St. George, Cedar City, Beaver, Fillmore, Scipio (treats), Nephi, road construction, and Draper. Mike met us at my house, with a bag of corn chips so that Dan and I could have guacamole for dinner with the Morro Bay avocados (thanks, Mike). Mike and Peggy grabbed a few treasures from the car, and headed on out.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
2/1/2011
Many thanks to Peggy for writing the charming obituary. I hope she doesn't mind that I added that last line. Peggy is also submitting Tank's navy discharge papers, to get the flag. It's wonderful to be home, and to continue to hear from folks who loved Tank. The obituary is in the Salt Lake Tribune today, and should be in the Provo Herald tomorrow. I submitted it to the Daily Breeze in San Pedro, too.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
1/29/2011
Hi there. Maybe you thought I was done blogging. :)
Sally and I are still here, and we had a fun day. First, we went to ASAP print shop and ordered copies of photos of Tank. Terry had this great color photo of Tank sitting in front of a restaurant, all casual, all cute. Maybe two years ago. God, he's beautiful. He looks SO relaxed and mellow and present. I tumble into those feelings when I look at the photo. So, I had 120 copies made on photo paper. It's about 8 x 9 inches. I can't tell the copies from the original. I'll distribute them to Nola and Tank's kids, grandkids, siblings, nieces, and nephews, plus a few others I can think of. If you know someone else who might want one, let me know.
People in Morro Bay know Tank. When I picked the order up at ASAP, an elderly woman who worked there brought me the box of photos. English wasn't her cradle language, and she seemed nervous when she said to me, "Is your...husband...okay?" It should have occurred to me that the people there would know Tank, since he has a LOT of copies made. I said gently, "Tank's my dad, and he passed away the day before yesterday." She gasped, and turned away, sobbing. She walked away from me, to hide her feelings. It was poignant, and there was no one to comfort her, because the other employees were teenage boys, and I couldn't get to her because she was behind the counter. She gathered herself, and returned to the counter to talk to me about him. She wanted a lot of information, and clearly adored him. She asked how old he was, and I said 78, and she said "So young!" :) Dear, huh.
The middle-aged man next to me saw what was going on, and showed some curiosity and concern. What a friendly town! I opened the box and showed him the photo, and he said, "I know him! I've seen him around!" I have a feeling that if we stayed for another few days, that same scenario would play out over and over again.
In fact, when Terry and I were on the way home from the hospital on Thursday, right after Tank passed away, Terry wanted to stop at the liquor store to get boxes to pack up Tank's stuff. I walked into Bottle Liquor, and said to the young man behind the counter, "Do you know Tank Nelson?" "I sure do!" he said. He said his name was Nick, and he asked how Tank was doing. I told him that Tank had just passed away, and he looked startled, and maybe dizzy, and he grabbed the counter. "No!" he said. "No!" I was a little surprised; it seemed so deeply felt. "God, I loved Tank," he said. "You sweetheart," I said in a consoling tone, and a customer put his arm around my shoulder and told me he was sorry for my loss. "Tank was a good guy," the customer said. When I asked for boxes, Nick told me to take all the boxes I wanted.
Today after ASAP, Sally and I headed for Guadalupe, about an hour from Morro Bay. We had a terrific lunch at Larry's (I think it's actually called Guadalupe Restaurant), and after we asked our waiter if he knew Tank. He furrowed his brow, and we said something like, "A big guy, from Morro Bay, comes in here with his wife." He knew exactly who we meant, and recited their order. :) We told him of Tank's passing, and he talked about how friendly Tank was, and how much his mom and dad (the owners) liked Tank. We went next door to the Masatani Market, where Tank always buys Hershey bars after lunch. Mr. Masatani wasn't in, but his son was, and knew Tank, and referred to him as The Writer. The son took us back to Larry's, where his elderly mother was chatting with Mrs. Larry. The two women joined me and Sally and the Masatani son on the sidewalk in front of the building, and we chatted for about ten minutes. It was such a treat! They knew so many things about Tank, and asked questions, and offered condolences. Once, Tank wrote a column about the restaurant and the grocery store, which share a building on the main drag in Guadalupe. All of them were warm and affectionate and clearly moved by Tank's passing. Sally and I drove away, beaming.
We didn't exactly get lost on the way back to Morro Bay, but we did a lot of Unscheduled Site-Seeing. A couple hour's worth. We arrived just before the print shop closed, and we missed out on the farmers' market and True Grit, and that was okay.
The day before, we'd been at Terry's place, and she approached me and Sally with a serious look and said, "I'm afraid there will be no inheritance from your father." :) We tried not to giggle. I tried to arrange my face in a way that would suggest both devastation and resignation. "Say it ain't so..." Minutes later, she reported that there'd been something like 36 missed calls that day, and as many the previous day. People who heard the news stood out front looking dismayed and confused. Jim from Spencer's came to the door, and I gave him the cribbage board, and he hugged me longer and tighter than I would have predicted. He said he would spread the word, since there wouldn't be an obituary in the local paper. Surfaces in the house are covered with notes and letters and flowers and pies and fresh fruit. People keep calling. I've been thinking about how there are things that we inherit other than money.
Two of Terry's daughters flew in from Georgia today, and they're staying with her. We visited them briefly tonight. They were very sweet. Terry seems to be holding up very well, and the presence of her daughters seems to have calmed her. Sally and I boxed up everything of Tank's. Everything, really. We're bringing most of it home, but will need to return with a truck for a desk, a small table, and lots of paintings, wall hangings, and posters. One such masterpiece is a white piece of poster board on which Jack drew in black and red Sharpie. It's priceless, and Tank hung it in a place of honor. Nearby is a small photo of Elvis, Jack, and Carter taken at Kaycee's wedding. Cutie-pie's. The stuff we're bringing home is enchanting to me and Sally: a Laker poster from decades ago, a little gadget that prints Tank's name and address, three pairs of glasses, a flower arrangement made of shells that Elvis might like, a jotted-down Emerson quote about how every time you do one thing, you miss out on doing another thing. Treasures like that.
Did I mention that Terry arranged to have half of Tank's ashes scattered in Morro Bay, and the other half sent home with us to Utah? The box will be ready on Tuesday or Wednesday, and whoever picks up the desk and stuff will also get the ashes. It'd be fun to scatter some in San Pedro, too. Sally said that at the crematorium, they said that the longshoreman's union pays for the cremation. Nice, huh. Also, because Tank was in the Navy, we'll score a flag.
Last Sunday, when Kelly and I were with Tank at Bayside, while he was still feeling okay, Tank said, "They're making a new Bourne movie." :) "I love Bourne movies," I said. Kelly agreed. Tank said, "I like the music." We talked Bourne for a while. "I read that Matt Damon isn't in it," I said, and Tank and I shrugged, 'cause that wasn't going to stop us from seeing it, despite our love for Matt. A couple of years ago when I was visiting, I mentioned that I'd seen the third movie only once, and I left for a while (I might have been with Peggy), and when I returned, Tank had rented the movie from Blockbuster, and the three of us watched it. "They don't do random."
Also that Sunday, we talked about how fun it would be for Tank to visit Utah when he got to feeling better. Not ALL better...just somewhat better. I suggested that he stay for a good long time, like a month, and visit everyone, and not feel rushed. "You can live at my house," I said, grinning. "In the basement?" he asked, sounding oddly hopeful and excited (given the state of the basement). Sure, I said. Anywhere, I said.
It sure has been a pleasure hearing from so many people about their feelings for Tank, and their memories. Thank you.
While Sally and Terry were at the crematorium, I walked to the beach. Well, not all the way to the beach, but to some benches that overlook the beach, a couple of blocks from the house. I wore Tank's straw hat, which is half jaunty, half dapper. We're bringing the hat home, and we'll take turns wearing it (why don't I go first). I was sitting on a bench, watching the ocean, and an elderly couple sat down on a bench a few yards away. They seemed relaxed and unhurried, with a dog. They wore the full-coverage cotton layers that I'm used to seeing in Morro Bay on elderly folks. They wore hats. They seemed happy with each other...easy with each other. I thought, How lucky they are. To be alive, and to have each other, and that cute dog. To be in such a beautiful place, and to not be in a hurry to get somewhere else.
A funny thing happened today. My regular blog is at love-shall-not, but I hadn't been there for a while, and I went to loveshallnot instead. It's not a very active blog, and the only posting is the following Carl Sandburg poem, which made me cry. It's called "At a Window."
Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,
Shut me out with shame and failure
From your doors of gold and fame,
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!
But leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
One more thing. At the Living Planet aquarium in Sandy, there's a wheel that you can spin to see the many things that can happen to a salmon. Elvis and I love that wheel. He climbs up to spin it, and I read (or now he reads) the fate of the salmon, based on where the wheel stops. We eagerly wait for the winning stop, which is Live to Reproduce. When we score that, I grab Elvis under the arms and spin him around in a circle (away from the wheel and then back to the wheel), and we squeal: "Live to reproduce!" It's fun, as you can imagine. But I was thinking about that with Tank the other day. There was a time when living to reproduce was the ONLY thing that mattered. I mean, even now, it's a fairly big deal. While in the hospital, I kept thinking of Tank's spawn. :) I know that living to reproduce isn't the challenge it once was, but, still...
I was thinking of Kelly today, and the last time he was at the hospital, before leaving for Utah. As I recall, he gave Tank's foot a little snuggle and said, "See you later, Big Guy." I can't SWEAR he said that, but it seems to me that he said that. I hope he doesn't mind that I mentioned it. It made me grin adoringly.
I hope this finds everyone well. Much love to Norma, as she recovers. Sally and I are probably going to head home tomorrow.
Sally and I are still here, and we had a fun day. First, we went to ASAP print shop and ordered copies of photos of Tank. Terry had this great color photo of Tank sitting in front of a restaurant, all casual, all cute. Maybe two years ago. God, he's beautiful. He looks SO relaxed and mellow and present. I tumble into those feelings when I look at the photo. So, I had 120 copies made on photo paper. It's about 8 x 9 inches. I can't tell the copies from the original. I'll distribute them to Nola and Tank's kids, grandkids, siblings, nieces, and nephews, plus a few others I can think of. If you know someone else who might want one, let me know.
People in Morro Bay know Tank. When I picked the order up at ASAP, an elderly woman who worked there brought me the box of photos. English wasn't her cradle language, and she seemed nervous when she said to me, "Is your...husband...okay?" It should have occurred to me that the people there would know Tank, since he has a LOT of copies made. I said gently, "Tank's my dad, and he passed away the day before yesterday." She gasped, and turned away, sobbing. She walked away from me, to hide her feelings. It was poignant, and there was no one to comfort her, because the other employees were teenage boys, and I couldn't get to her because she was behind the counter. She gathered herself, and returned to the counter to talk to me about him. She wanted a lot of information, and clearly adored him. She asked how old he was, and I said 78, and she said "So young!" :) Dear, huh.
The middle-aged man next to me saw what was going on, and showed some curiosity and concern. What a friendly town! I opened the box and showed him the photo, and he said, "I know him! I've seen him around!" I have a feeling that if we stayed for another few days, that same scenario would play out over and over again.
In fact, when Terry and I were on the way home from the hospital on Thursday, right after Tank passed away, Terry wanted to stop at the liquor store to get boxes to pack up Tank's stuff. I walked into Bottle Liquor, and said to the young man behind the counter, "Do you know Tank Nelson?" "I sure do!" he said. He said his name was Nick, and he asked how Tank was doing. I told him that Tank had just passed away, and he looked startled, and maybe dizzy, and he grabbed the counter. "No!" he said. "No!" I was a little surprised; it seemed so deeply felt. "God, I loved Tank," he said. "You sweetheart," I said in a consoling tone, and a customer put his arm around my shoulder and told me he was sorry for my loss. "Tank was a good guy," the customer said. When I asked for boxes, Nick told me to take all the boxes I wanted.
Today after ASAP, Sally and I headed for Guadalupe, about an hour from Morro Bay. We had a terrific lunch at Larry's (I think it's actually called Guadalupe Restaurant), and after we asked our waiter if he knew Tank. He furrowed his brow, and we said something like, "A big guy, from Morro Bay, comes in here with his wife." He knew exactly who we meant, and recited their order. :) We told him of Tank's passing, and he talked about how friendly Tank was, and how much his mom and dad (the owners) liked Tank. We went next door to the Masatani Market, where Tank always buys Hershey bars after lunch. Mr. Masatani wasn't in, but his son was, and knew Tank, and referred to him as The Writer. The son took us back to Larry's, where his elderly mother was chatting with Mrs. Larry. The two women joined me and Sally and the Masatani son on the sidewalk in front of the building, and we chatted for about ten minutes. It was such a treat! They knew so many things about Tank, and asked questions, and offered condolences. Once, Tank wrote a column about the restaurant and the grocery store, which share a building on the main drag in Guadalupe. All of them were warm and affectionate and clearly moved by Tank's passing. Sally and I drove away, beaming.
We didn't exactly get lost on the way back to Morro Bay, but we did a lot of Unscheduled Site-Seeing. A couple hour's worth. We arrived just before the print shop closed, and we missed out on the farmers' market and True Grit, and that was okay.
The day before, we'd been at Terry's place, and she approached me and Sally with a serious look and said, "I'm afraid there will be no inheritance from your father." :) We tried not to giggle. I tried to arrange my face in a way that would suggest both devastation and resignation. "Say it ain't so..." Minutes later, she reported that there'd been something like 36 missed calls that day, and as many the previous day. People who heard the news stood out front looking dismayed and confused. Jim from Spencer's came to the door, and I gave him the cribbage board, and he hugged me longer and tighter than I would have predicted. He said he would spread the word, since there wouldn't be an obituary in the local paper. Surfaces in the house are covered with notes and letters and flowers and pies and fresh fruit. People keep calling. I've been thinking about how there are things that we inherit other than money.
Two of Terry's daughters flew in from Georgia today, and they're staying with her. We visited them briefly tonight. They were very sweet. Terry seems to be holding up very well, and the presence of her daughters seems to have calmed her. Sally and I boxed up everything of Tank's. Everything, really. We're bringing most of it home, but will need to return with a truck for a desk, a small table, and lots of paintings, wall hangings, and posters. One such masterpiece is a white piece of poster board on which Jack drew in black and red Sharpie. It's priceless, and Tank hung it in a place of honor. Nearby is a small photo of Elvis, Jack, and Carter taken at Kaycee's wedding. Cutie-pie's. The stuff we're bringing home is enchanting to me and Sally: a Laker poster from decades ago, a little gadget that prints Tank's name and address, three pairs of glasses, a flower arrangement made of shells that Elvis might like, a jotted-down Emerson quote about how every time you do one thing, you miss out on doing another thing. Treasures like that.
Did I mention that Terry arranged to have half of Tank's ashes scattered in Morro Bay, and the other half sent home with us to Utah? The box will be ready on Tuesday or Wednesday, and whoever picks up the desk and stuff will also get the ashes. It'd be fun to scatter some in San Pedro, too. Sally said that at the crematorium, they said that the longshoreman's union pays for the cremation. Nice, huh. Also, because Tank was in the Navy, we'll score a flag.
Last Sunday, when Kelly and I were with Tank at Bayside, while he was still feeling okay, Tank said, "They're making a new Bourne movie." :) "I love Bourne movies," I said. Kelly agreed. Tank said, "I like the music." We talked Bourne for a while. "I read that Matt Damon isn't in it," I said, and Tank and I shrugged, 'cause that wasn't going to stop us from seeing it, despite our love for Matt. A couple of years ago when I was visiting, I mentioned that I'd seen the third movie only once, and I left for a while (I might have been with Peggy), and when I returned, Tank had rented the movie from Blockbuster, and the three of us watched it. "They don't do random."
Also that Sunday, we talked about how fun it would be for Tank to visit Utah when he got to feeling better. Not ALL better...just somewhat better. I suggested that he stay for a good long time, like a month, and visit everyone, and not feel rushed. "You can live at my house," I said, grinning. "In the basement?" he asked, sounding oddly hopeful and excited (given the state of the basement). Sure, I said. Anywhere, I said.
It sure has been a pleasure hearing from so many people about their feelings for Tank, and their memories. Thank you.
While Sally and Terry were at the crematorium, I walked to the beach. Well, not all the way to the beach, but to some benches that overlook the beach, a couple of blocks from the house. I wore Tank's straw hat, which is half jaunty, half dapper. We're bringing the hat home, and we'll take turns wearing it (why don't I go first). I was sitting on a bench, watching the ocean, and an elderly couple sat down on a bench a few yards away. They seemed relaxed and unhurried, with a dog. They wore the full-coverage cotton layers that I'm used to seeing in Morro Bay on elderly folks. They wore hats. They seemed happy with each other...easy with each other. I thought, How lucky they are. To be alive, and to have each other, and that cute dog. To be in such a beautiful place, and to not be in a hurry to get somewhere else.
A funny thing happened today. My regular blog is at love-shall-not, but I hadn't been there for a while, and I went to loveshallnot instead. It's not a very active blog, and the only posting is the following Carl Sandburg poem, which made me cry. It's called "At a Window."
Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,
Shut me out with shame and failure
From your doors of gold and fame,
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!
But leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
One more thing. At the Living Planet aquarium in Sandy, there's a wheel that you can spin to see the many things that can happen to a salmon. Elvis and I love that wheel. He climbs up to spin it, and I read (or now he reads) the fate of the salmon, based on where the wheel stops. We eagerly wait for the winning stop, which is Live to Reproduce. When we score that, I grab Elvis under the arms and spin him around in a circle (away from the wheel and then back to the wheel), and we squeal: "Live to reproduce!" It's fun, as you can imagine. But I was thinking about that with Tank the other day. There was a time when living to reproduce was the ONLY thing that mattered. I mean, even now, it's a fairly big deal. While in the hospital, I kept thinking of Tank's spawn. :) I know that living to reproduce isn't the challenge it once was, but, still...
I was thinking of Kelly today, and the last time he was at the hospital, before leaving for Utah. As I recall, he gave Tank's foot a little snuggle and said, "See you later, Big Guy." I can't SWEAR he said that, but it seems to me that he said that. I hope he doesn't mind that I mentioned it. It made me grin adoringly.
I hope this finds everyone well. Much love to Norma, as she recovers. Sally and I are probably going to head home tomorrow.
Friday, January 28, 2011
1/28/2011, Later
Both Dr. Kissell and Dr. Bagarry came by. Both looked concerned. Dr. Bagarry said that we had some options. They could treat Tank with antibiotics (assuming an infection), and attempt to get more information by doing an MRI and a lumbar puncture. Dr. Bagarry said, though, that at this point he was certain that Tank would not walk again. He said that he could treat the infection, and other things that popped up, but that it was a bad sign that the seizures had "pushed through" the seizure medication, and that they would probably continue to be a problem. He said that at the very best we could expect Tank to live for another few weeks, lying in bed, and perhaps talking some, and perhaps recognizing people, but probably not. The other option was giving Tank extra anti-seizure medication which would serve to keep him in a very relaxed and seizure-free state. Morphine would be given if he seemed to be in pain (but it probably wouldn't be necessary). Doing this, he would probably live for another day or two, and pass peacefully. He would seem to be sleeping, and--at the end--would experience "agonal breathing" (sp?), which is a sudden and more-labored breathing, that starts and stops fairly quickly.
Kelly wasn't there, and Terry was opting for the "comfort care." I didn't see the harm in antibiotics, an MRI, and a lumbar puncture (Dr. Bagarry said that they were all routine, and could be easily accomplished). Dr. Bagarry left briefly, and Terry and I spoke with Dr. Kissell. Terry asked him what he would do if it were his wife, and he took a deep breath and said, "I'd let her pass." I appreciated his frankness, and maybe I was overly influenced by his words, but I changed my mind, and voted for "comfort care." When Dr. Bagarry returned, he quickly accepted our decision. He told us that he had been Tank's doctor for a long time, and had been with him during the lymphoma/stomach/stent ordeal of several months ago. He said that most patients would not have survived that, and that he hadn't expected Tank to survive, but that Tank had been very strong, and very motivated. I asked him if the time since then felt to him like an unexpected gift, like something extra, and he said yes.
All the medical professionals left for a while, and Terry and I were tearful. I'm fairly sure Kelly wasn't there. Up until that moment, it seemed like maybe Tank would get better. Not all the way better, but somewhat better. Suddenly, it seemed like his home-visit with Mike and Peggy was in the distant past.
I called Kelly and told him to return to the hospital, and I called Sally and Peggy and gave them the news. All three readily agreed with the decision made by me and Terry. I didn't encourage Peggy and Sally to join us, but rather to remember Tank the way he was the last time they'd seen him. Of course, it was up to them.
I'm sitting here at the Motel 6 with Sally right now. We went to The Whale's Tail for dinner, and had fish and chips. It's right next to the Morro Bay Theater where True Grit is playing. About a month ago, Tank said he really wanted to see True Grit when it came out (he was at Bayside). Sally said that it had already come out, and he said that maybe he'd be able to catch it while it was still in theaters, or see it later on video. I think Sally and I are going to the matinee tomorrow, after the Farmers' Market, after lunch in Guadalupe. We're honoring Tank. :) Really.
Today, I grabbed something from Tank's home office and brought it to the motel with us. It's a cute sign that we've got propped up next to me. It's a little piece of old wood...maybe a chunk of fence post, about 15 inches by 4 inches, and 3/4 inch thick. It's sawed at one end, and jagged at the other end. He probably found it on a walk. He's written "Laugh lots!" on it, with a Sharpie.
Peggy is good at making me laugh, and one of the times we were talking that day, she accused me of wanting to be alone with Tank when he died, like I was alone with Grandma Fern. She called me a Death Hog. :) I told her I wanted a prettier name, like Death Princess...a name that sounded a little less fat. She said no: Death Hog.
The nurses started the Atavan (sp?) drip that would keep Tank from having seizures and would keep him nice and relaxed and comfy. The doctor described it as over-riding the fight-or-flight response, so the body didn't produce epinephrine (which would keep it in an agitated state). I didn't know how quickly things would proceed, so I asked Terry for a moment alone with Tank, to talk.
Soon, they moved us to another room, so that we would have more privacy. It was a room with two beds, but the other bed was empty. Kelly, Terry, and I sat with him.
Kelly fetched drinks and snacks, as required. I didn't want to leave, so if I needed something, Kelly would get it for me. Terry paid him the supreme compliment (perhaps unintentionally) when she said to me, "He's doing EXACTLY what Tank would do in this situation."
(Right now, Sally--in PJs--is getting drinks for us from the motel vending machine. Nice.)
Tank was resting comfortably. In fact, Tank spent the next three days resting comfortably. He seemed to be asleep, but could not be awakened. He was wearing a hospital gown, and his large bald head was warm and friendly. His right hand was the hand I wanted to hold, because the left hand had lost some feeling after the seizures. Well, it had lost some strength; I only assumed it had lost some feeling. I was usually able to score the chair by the right hand, and just sit there holding it.
I think that was the night Kelly found a BBQ joint nearby and brought us huge sandwiches and huge portions of fries. He always brought me diet Dr. Pepper on ice. He fetched endless frappuccinos for Terry. He told us stories about people he met outside the hospital.
That night, we watched NCIS. I don't remember actually watching it, but I was aware that it was on, and glad. Tank recently told me that when he got out of Bayside he wanted to buy a new car: a Dodge Charger. That surprised me, since Tank's always been a Ford F-150 guy. When I told Kelly about the Dodge Charger, he laughed merrily, and said that Jethro Gibbs from NCIS drives a Dodge Charger. :)
After NCIS, we watched The Big Bang Theory, not because Tank liked it, but because it was amusing. Tank liked TV in general, so it seemed okay to leave it on.
I think Kelly drove home that night. Terry slept in a chair, and I slept for a few hours on the other bed. It was comfortable. I could hear Tank breathing. The nursing staff was wonderful. The new shift nurse always introduced herself (they were always women, usually middle aged) and every three or four hours she and a CNA would take Tank's vital signs, adjust his medication, clean him up, and change his gown and bedding. When they left, he always smelled like baby powder. He was always fresh and sweet-smelling and shiny clean.
I woke refreshed, and moved to Tank's side again. I think all of us were surprised that Tank survived the night. One nurse offered that she thought he would "go" at about 1 or 2 a.m., but he sailed on past. That morning, I think we had a visit from a social worker and a hospice volunteer, but Terry dismissed them both, even though Kelly pointed out that the social worker looked like Chuck Conners. Stephanie visited occasionally, offering hugs to all.
The days get mixed up in my mind, but one day Stephanie brought her little dog to visit. I had to walk to the courtyard to see Lucy the dog, and I left Tank alone to do so. Lucy recently suffered her own tragedy, and is healing, and is probably ready to "laugh lots" in her own little shi zhu (sp?) way.
I spent the day holding Tank's hand (and touching his face and head when no one was looking). It just seemed okay to touch him as much as I wanted to. I noticed that my hands look like his hands, but 25 years younger. The more I held his hands, the less I disliked my large, spotted, ruddy, wrinkled hands. How could I love his hands, but dislike my own? I decided to love mine.
Doctors came and went, always loving and encouraging, always sincere and serious, with plenty of eye contact and shoulder patting. Everyone agreed that things were proceeding as expected and that Tank was particularly strong. They were watching for signs such as a weaker pulse and a loss of color in the extremities, but those things hadn't happened yet. Tank's pulse was still irregular, and it was very interesting to me to monitor his pulse. :) I usually monitor Dan's pulse when I hold his hand. I've never hand my fingers on an irregular pulse. Tank's was strong, so it was easy to detect the irregularity. It was also fast (about 124, if they'd all been there), but it seemed to miss one occasionally, like maybe 1 out of every 6. I couldn't get enough of it.
Kelly brought huge amounts of food from the same good BBQ place. He brought biscuits from McDonalds every day. He brought diet Dr. Pepper from the cafeteria. Wednesday night, Kelly prepared to drive to Terry and Tank's to sleep but, before he left, he took a fistful of pooled coins and one-dollar bills and went to the cafeteria vending machines. He brought back a dozen items: chips, granola bars, candy bars, drinks.
That evening, they moved us to a new room. It was a private room with a shower, and more room for chairs. They brought in a cot. There was a big window, and lots of good light the following morning. The view was beautiful, with eucalyptus and magnolia trees.
Terry and I decided to spend the night again. She suggested that I go home, and I suggested she go home. She chose to sleep in a comfy chair, so I took the cot. I slept for about four hours, half awake and listening to Tank breathe. It was more gurgly than it had been earlier. You know that sound of coffee perking? A humid, bubbly noise? It sounded like that. Inhale, exhale, gurgle, repeat. He continued to be turned frequently, with lots of pillows tucked on one side, then the other. I used a pink swab to moisten his mouth occasionally, and applied lip balm. I kept the room neat.
Kelly had plans to drive back to Utah the next morning (Thursday). Terry hadn't left the hospital Tuesday or Wednesday, so she drove home to shower. I was alone with Tank, and it was quiet and peaceful. I'd been calling Sally and Peggy a couple times a day. Also, Sally was now on her way from Utah, and would arrive by early evening. I pulled a chair close, and held his hand. I noticed a slightly funky smell, and thought it was Tank, but then realized it was me. I was savoring my filthiness, though, and was unwilling to go home, or even to use the shower in the bathroom.
I think it was the previous day, Tank was occasionally making a slightly louder breathing noise. It seemed a little distressful, and the nurse showed us how to press a yellow button that would give him a little burst of Atavan to calm him. We'd done that a couple of times. The same nurse observed the little cries of distress, and said something that probably violated hospital protocol. She said that she didn't know what our spiritual beliefs were, but that some people thought that those sudden disruptions in an otherwise-peaceful sleep indicate that a patient is kind of standing on the brink between this world and the next, and that he's reaching out to someone he loves on the other side. :)
Terry was in touch with the crematorium during this time, making arrangements.
While Terry was home, I noticed the same erratic eye movement that had preceded the earlier focal seizures. Then, his whole body seized, to a degree somewhere between the grand mal seizure and the focal seizure. I pressed the yellow button to give the extra Atavan (turns out I pressed it nine times, although it gave only one dose...apparently my actions were recorded for the nurse to see). The nurse came in, and I think she gave him some morphine. They sometimes gave him a little morphine before they turned him, just in case it caused him pain.
Oh! Right after Terry left to go home to shower, Kelly arrived with breakfast for me, and to say good-bye. We chatted for a while. It was really a treat spending time with him, and it broke my heart to see him go. While here, he repaired the threshold at Tank and Terry's house, making it safer and more attractive. He'd spent a lot of time locating the correct grab bar for their bathroom, but then it became clear that it wasn't necessary to install it, so he put it in Terry's backseat, with the receipt. While trying to find Home Depot, he stumbled upon Carlock's Bakery, which seemed to me like a sign, and I encouraged him to buy treats for us. They were delicious. He hasn't spent time in San Luis Obispo County, but he got to know it quickly, and was able to find anything, even Rite Aid late at night, when Terry needed a prescription filled.
Terry got back right after the morphine injection, and we got her up to speed. We each settled in on each side of Tank, and I held his hand. I tried to stay present, and not get distracted, and to memorize each second of this time. His pulse was weaker, and still irregular. When Terry was out of the room, I peaked under the sheet to see his thighs, and noticed a new sallowness. Maybe I mentioned this earlier, but Dr. Lewis said that we should expect a slow "winding down." Terry and I continued to sit with him, and I kept holding his hand, appreciating its warmth.
It was very quiet in the room. I noticed Tank's breathing change slightly. Before, his lips were parted about 1/2 inch as he breathed, but now his lips were closed. The sound changed slightly, with a bit less gurgle. "I think this is the winding down," I said. "What?" said Terry. "I think this is the winding down." And sure enough...
It was very quiet in the room, and I had a chance to hug him and kiss him and touch his face and hands some more. So did Terry. Death came swiftly, and everything seemed to shut down in unison. He was there, and then he wasn't. I thought--not for the first time--of that final scene in "Gladiator" when Maximus dies, and he walks through the fields, and his fingertips graze the tips of the tall grass, as he moves toward his beautiful wife and child.
Soon, I called Sally, who was en route. In what seemed like a happy coincidence, she and Kelly were together in Bakersfield having lunch. Then, I called Peggy.
It was a pleasure being with Tank at the end. It was a pleasure being with Tank always.
Kelly wasn't there, and Terry was opting for the "comfort care." I didn't see the harm in antibiotics, an MRI, and a lumbar puncture (Dr. Bagarry said that they were all routine, and could be easily accomplished). Dr. Bagarry left briefly, and Terry and I spoke with Dr. Kissell. Terry asked him what he would do if it were his wife, and he took a deep breath and said, "I'd let her pass." I appreciated his frankness, and maybe I was overly influenced by his words, but I changed my mind, and voted for "comfort care." When Dr. Bagarry returned, he quickly accepted our decision. He told us that he had been Tank's doctor for a long time, and had been with him during the lymphoma/stomach/stent ordeal of several months ago. He said that most patients would not have survived that, and that he hadn't expected Tank to survive, but that Tank had been very strong, and very motivated. I asked him if the time since then felt to him like an unexpected gift, like something extra, and he said yes.
All the medical professionals left for a while, and Terry and I were tearful. I'm fairly sure Kelly wasn't there. Up until that moment, it seemed like maybe Tank would get better. Not all the way better, but somewhat better. Suddenly, it seemed like his home-visit with Mike and Peggy was in the distant past.
I called Kelly and told him to return to the hospital, and I called Sally and Peggy and gave them the news. All three readily agreed with the decision made by me and Terry. I didn't encourage Peggy and Sally to join us, but rather to remember Tank the way he was the last time they'd seen him. Of course, it was up to them.
I'm sitting here at the Motel 6 with Sally right now. We went to The Whale's Tail for dinner, and had fish and chips. It's right next to the Morro Bay Theater where True Grit is playing. About a month ago, Tank said he really wanted to see True Grit when it came out (he was at Bayside). Sally said that it had already come out, and he said that maybe he'd be able to catch it while it was still in theaters, or see it later on video. I think Sally and I are going to the matinee tomorrow, after the Farmers' Market, after lunch in Guadalupe. We're honoring Tank. :) Really.
Today, I grabbed something from Tank's home office and brought it to the motel with us. It's a cute sign that we've got propped up next to me. It's a little piece of old wood...maybe a chunk of fence post, about 15 inches by 4 inches, and 3/4 inch thick. It's sawed at one end, and jagged at the other end. He probably found it on a walk. He's written "Laugh lots!" on it, with a Sharpie.
Peggy is good at making me laugh, and one of the times we were talking that day, she accused me of wanting to be alone with Tank when he died, like I was alone with Grandma Fern. She called me a Death Hog. :) I told her I wanted a prettier name, like Death Princess...a name that sounded a little less fat. She said no: Death Hog.
The nurses started the Atavan (sp?) drip that would keep Tank from having seizures and would keep him nice and relaxed and comfy. The doctor described it as over-riding the fight-or-flight response, so the body didn't produce epinephrine (which would keep it in an agitated state). I didn't know how quickly things would proceed, so I asked Terry for a moment alone with Tank, to talk.
Soon, they moved us to another room, so that we would have more privacy. It was a room with two beds, but the other bed was empty. Kelly, Terry, and I sat with him.
Kelly fetched drinks and snacks, as required. I didn't want to leave, so if I needed something, Kelly would get it for me. Terry paid him the supreme compliment (perhaps unintentionally) when she said to me, "He's doing EXACTLY what Tank would do in this situation."
(Right now, Sally--in PJs--is getting drinks for us from the motel vending machine. Nice.)
Tank was resting comfortably. In fact, Tank spent the next three days resting comfortably. He seemed to be asleep, but could not be awakened. He was wearing a hospital gown, and his large bald head was warm and friendly. His right hand was the hand I wanted to hold, because the left hand had lost some feeling after the seizures. Well, it had lost some strength; I only assumed it had lost some feeling. I was usually able to score the chair by the right hand, and just sit there holding it.
I think that was the night Kelly found a BBQ joint nearby and brought us huge sandwiches and huge portions of fries. He always brought me diet Dr. Pepper on ice. He fetched endless frappuccinos for Terry. He told us stories about people he met outside the hospital.
That night, we watched NCIS. I don't remember actually watching it, but I was aware that it was on, and glad. Tank recently told me that when he got out of Bayside he wanted to buy a new car: a Dodge Charger. That surprised me, since Tank's always been a Ford F-150 guy. When I told Kelly about the Dodge Charger, he laughed merrily, and said that Jethro Gibbs from NCIS drives a Dodge Charger. :)
After NCIS, we watched The Big Bang Theory, not because Tank liked it, but because it was amusing. Tank liked TV in general, so it seemed okay to leave it on.
I think Kelly drove home that night. Terry slept in a chair, and I slept for a few hours on the other bed. It was comfortable. I could hear Tank breathing. The nursing staff was wonderful. The new shift nurse always introduced herself (they were always women, usually middle aged) and every three or four hours she and a CNA would take Tank's vital signs, adjust his medication, clean him up, and change his gown and bedding. When they left, he always smelled like baby powder. He was always fresh and sweet-smelling and shiny clean.
I woke refreshed, and moved to Tank's side again. I think all of us were surprised that Tank survived the night. One nurse offered that she thought he would "go" at about 1 or 2 a.m., but he sailed on past. That morning, I think we had a visit from a social worker and a hospice volunteer, but Terry dismissed them both, even though Kelly pointed out that the social worker looked like Chuck Conners. Stephanie visited occasionally, offering hugs to all.
The days get mixed up in my mind, but one day Stephanie brought her little dog to visit. I had to walk to the courtyard to see Lucy the dog, and I left Tank alone to do so. Lucy recently suffered her own tragedy, and is healing, and is probably ready to "laugh lots" in her own little shi zhu (sp?) way.
I spent the day holding Tank's hand (and touching his face and head when no one was looking). It just seemed okay to touch him as much as I wanted to. I noticed that my hands look like his hands, but 25 years younger. The more I held his hands, the less I disliked my large, spotted, ruddy, wrinkled hands. How could I love his hands, but dislike my own? I decided to love mine.
Doctors came and went, always loving and encouraging, always sincere and serious, with plenty of eye contact and shoulder patting. Everyone agreed that things were proceeding as expected and that Tank was particularly strong. They were watching for signs such as a weaker pulse and a loss of color in the extremities, but those things hadn't happened yet. Tank's pulse was still irregular, and it was very interesting to me to monitor his pulse. :) I usually monitor Dan's pulse when I hold his hand. I've never hand my fingers on an irregular pulse. Tank's was strong, so it was easy to detect the irregularity. It was also fast (about 124, if they'd all been there), but it seemed to miss one occasionally, like maybe 1 out of every 6. I couldn't get enough of it.
Kelly brought huge amounts of food from the same good BBQ place. He brought biscuits from McDonalds every day. He brought diet Dr. Pepper from the cafeteria. Wednesday night, Kelly prepared to drive to Terry and Tank's to sleep but, before he left, he took a fistful of pooled coins and one-dollar bills and went to the cafeteria vending machines. He brought back a dozen items: chips, granola bars, candy bars, drinks.
That evening, they moved us to a new room. It was a private room with a shower, and more room for chairs. They brought in a cot. There was a big window, and lots of good light the following morning. The view was beautiful, with eucalyptus and magnolia trees.
Terry and I decided to spend the night again. She suggested that I go home, and I suggested she go home. She chose to sleep in a comfy chair, so I took the cot. I slept for about four hours, half awake and listening to Tank breathe. It was more gurgly than it had been earlier. You know that sound of coffee perking? A humid, bubbly noise? It sounded like that. Inhale, exhale, gurgle, repeat. He continued to be turned frequently, with lots of pillows tucked on one side, then the other. I used a pink swab to moisten his mouth occasionally, and applied lip balm. I kept the room neat.
Kelly had plans to drive back to Utah the next morning (Thursday). Terry hadn't left the hospital Tuesday or Wednesday, so she drove home to shower. I was alone with Tank, and it was quiet and peaceful. I'd been calling Sally and Peggy a couple times a day. Also, Sally was now on her way from Utah, and would arrive by early evening. I pulled a chair close, and held his hand. I noticed a slightly funky smell, and thought it was Tank, but then realized it was me. I was savoring my filthiness, though, and was unwilling to go home, or even to use the shower in the bathroom.
I think it was the previous day, Tank was occasionally making a slightly louder breathing noise. It seemed a little distressful, and the nurse showed us how to press a yellow button that would give him a little burst of Atavan to calm him. We'd done that a couple of times. The same nurse observed the little cries of distress, and said something that probably violated hospital protocol. She said that she didn't know what our spiritual beliefs were, but that some people thought that those sudden disruptions in an otherwise-peaceful sleep indicate that a patient is kind of standing on the brink between this world and the next, and that he's reaching out to someone he loves on the other side. :)
Terry was in touch with the crematorium during this time, making arrangements.
While Terry was home, I noticed the same erratic eye movement that had preceded the earlier focal seizures. Then, his whole body seized, to a degree somewhere between the grand mal seizure and the focal seizure. I pressed the yellow button to give the extra Atavan (turns out I pressed it nine times, although it gave only one dose...apparently my actions were recorded for the nurse to see). The nurse came in, and I think she gave him some morphine. They sometimes gave him a little morphine before they turned him, just in case it caused him pain.
Oh! Right after Terry left to go home to shower, Kelly arrived with breakfast for me, and to say good-bye. We chatted for a while. It was really a treat spending time with him, and it broke my heart to see him go. While here, he repaired the threshold at Tank and Terry's house, making it safer and more attractive. He'd spent a lot of time locating the correct grab bar for their bathroom, but then it became clear that it wasn't necessary to install it, so he put it in Terry's backseat, with the receipt. While trying to find Home Depot, he stumbled upon Carlock's Bakery, which seemed to me like a sign, and I encouraged him to buy treats for us. They were delicious. He hasn't spent time in San Luis Obispo County, but he got to know it quickly, and was able to find anything, even Rite Aid late at night, when Terry needed a prescription filled.
Terry got back right after the morphine injection, and we got her up to speed. We each settled in on each side of Tank, and I held his hand. I tried to stay present, and not get distracted, and to memorize each second of this time. His pulse was weaker, and still irregular. When Terry was out of the room, I peaked under the sheet to see his thighs, and noticed a new sallowness. Maybe I mentioned this earlier, but Dr. Lewis said that we should expect a slow "winding down." Terry and I continued to sit with him, and I kept holding his hand, appreciating its warmth.
It was very quiet in the room. I noticed Tank's breathing change slightly. Before, his lips were parted about 1/2 inch as he breathed, but now his lips were closed. The sound changed slightly, with a bit less gurgle. "I think this is the winding down," I said. "What?" said Terry. "I think this is the winding down." And sure enough...
It was very quiet in the room, and I had a chance to hug him and kiss him and touch his face and hands some more. So did Terry. Death came swiftly, and everything seemed to shut down in unison. He was there, and then he wasn't. I thought--not for the first time--of that final scene in "Gladiator" when Maximus dies, and he walks through the fields, and his fingertips graze the tips of the tall grass, as he moves toward his beautiful wife and child.
Soon, I called Sally, who was en route. In what seemed like a happy coincidence, she and Kelly were together in Bakersfield having lunch. Then, I called Peggy.
It was a pleasure being with Tank at the end. It was a pleasure being with Tank always.
1/28/2011
Hi all. Thanks to so many for sending notes of love and encouragement. Thanks to Dan for blogging in my absence.
I want to include some information here about the last few days. Not a eulogy, or a love letter, or a list of traits I want to emulate...but just some stuff that happened. The chronology will be messy.
I think I wrote about Sunday, when Kelly watched football with Tank all day long. I'm sure they had conversations that I wasn't privy to. It seemed like a relaxing day, with football and food and occasional chat. I was in and out. It was clear that Kelly and Tank were enjoying each other. That night, the nurse reported that they had extra "trays" for dinner, and offered them to me and to Kelly. He declined, but I liked the idea of having a meal with Tank (even though it was mac-and-cheese and chicken nuggets). The nurse pulled up a wheeled tray for me, put the tray of food on it, and did things like open my milk, sprinkle my food with packets of salt and pepper, and remove the lid from my cranberry juice. I felt so well taken care of. It was fun, sitting there with Tank and Kelly, eating my toddler meal.
I told Tank that I'd love to make macaroni and cheese for him, using his recipe, if he'd tell me how. That kind of request often served to bring Tank to total alertness. He was completely lucid and enthusiastic as he gave me the detailed instructions, beginning with "use a paper towel to wipe the inside of the casserole dish with one quarter of a stick of butter." :) I listened carefully, with every intention of making it the next day for lunch.
I can tell I'm skirting around the issue of his death.
So, today, Sally, Terry, and I went for a ride. She wanted to take us to "his favorite spot," where we'd both been before. It's up Highway 1, right after the elephant seals but before Ragged Point. It was gorgeous, of course. I sat in the back seat, and Sally sat next to Terry. It was painful being there without Tank, and--even though the view is breathtaking--I yearned to be with Tank. I fantasized about crappy places--like a crowded Taco Bell in Fresno--and how much fun they'd be with Tank.
We had lunch someplace cool, of course: a favorite of Tank's called Sebastian's. It's an old post office in San Simeon, converted to a restaurant. We ate sandwiches on the patio. We could hear the ocean, and smell the eucalyptus.
So, last Monday, Tank had the seizures. Doctors seemed optimistic that he hadn't lost ground permanently. On Tuesday, I got to the hospital about 8 a.m., and David the speech therapist showed up to test Tank's ability to swallow. He started with ice chips, then water, then thickened cranberry juice, then vanilla pudding. Tank did okay, although he seemed VERY tired and not very interested. He showed a little interest in the pudding, and was able to mumble "yeah" when David asked a question, but I was actually hoping for more "Tank" by then, since the doctors anticipated an improvement within 6 or 8 hours after the seizure medication began. In the end, David decided that it would be too dangerous for Tank to take liquids or solids, because of a persistent cough and generalized weakness. David put some signs up above Tank's bed, and left. Tank slept.
Doctors came in that day. Dr. Lewis said that Tank was taking longer than expected to rally, but he didn't seem too concerned. Two physical therapists worked with him, but it was more back rub than therapy. He could only sit up with a lot of help. An occupational therapist came in, but she realized quickly that Tank wasn't up to the task, and she left. It started to seem that something was amiss.
I spent most of the day in a chair by Tank's bedside. I held his hand occasionally. Kelly fetched food for us. I think Stephanie dropped by.
Tank was very warm. Terry and I noticed it, and when the nurse took his temperature, it was 102. He was sleepier than ever, and difficult to rouse. I think I was alone with him when he had what the nurse called a focal seizure (I'm just guessing at the spelling). I noticed some unusual eye movement (generally, his eyes were closed). The movement was fast and repetitive, as if he were looking straight ahead and then to the side and then back again. Then, his feet began to tremble. It only lasted ten seconds or so, and I called the nurse. As I recall, it happened again a short time later. They increased his dose of seizure medication. I assume they gave him something for the fever.
A girl came by and took blood to check for an infection and a fungal infection. She said it would take a couple of days to get the results. It was mentioned that he might have an infection in sutured wound on his head, in his throat (the thrush), or maybe in his lungs (he might have aspirated something during a seizure). I'm not certain about some of this. It doesn't seem like enough time would have passed since the seizure to get an infection in his lungs, but...I don't know.
I'm going to publish this, and then write some more.
I want to include some information here about the last few days. Not a eulogy, or a love letter, or a list of traits I want to emulate...but just some stuff that happened. The chronology will be messy.
I think I wrote about Sunday, when Kelly watched football with Tank all day long. I'm sure they had conversations that I wasn't privy to. It seemed like a relaxing day, with football and food and occasional chat. I was in and out. It was clear that Kelly and Tank were enjoying each other. That night, the nurse reported that they had extra "trays" for dinner, and offered them to me and to Kelly. He declined, but I liked the idea of having a meal with Tank (even though it was mac-and-cheese and chicken nuggets). The nurse pulled up a wheeled tray for me, put the tray of food on it, and did things like open my milk, sprinkle my food with packets of salt and pepper, and remove the lid from my cranberry juice. I felt so well taken care of. It was fun, sitting there with Tank and Kelly, eating my toddler meal.
I told Tank that I'd love to make macaroni and cheese for him, using his recipe, if he'd tell me how. That kind of request often served to bring Tank to total alertness. He was completely lucid and enthusiastic as he gave me the detailed instructions, beginning with "use a paper towel to wipe the inside of the casserole dish with one quarter of a stick of butter." :) I listened carefully, with every intention of making it the next day for lunch.
I can tell I'm skirting around the issue of his death.
So, today, Sally, Terry, and I went for a ride. She wanted to take us to "his favorite spot," where we'd both been before. It's up Highway 1, right after the elephant seals but before Ragged Point. It was gorgeous, of course. I sat in the back seat, and Sally sat next to Terry. It was painful being there without Tank, and--even though the view is breathtaking--I yearned to be with Tank. I fantasized about crappy places--like a crowded Taco Bell in Fresno--and how much fun they'd be with Tank.
We had lunch someplace cool, of course: a favorite of Tank's called Sebastian's. It's an old post office in San Simeon, converted to a restaurant. We ate sandwiches on the patio. We could hear the ocean, and smell the eucalyptus.
So, last Monday, Tank had the seizures. Doctors seemed optimistic that he hadn't lost ground permanently. On Tuesday, I got to the hospital about 8 a.m., and David the speech therapist showed up to test Tank's ability to swallow. He started with ice chips, then water, then thickened cranberry juice, then vanilla pudding. Tank did okay, although he seemed VERY tired and not very interested. He showed a little interest in the pudding, and was able to mumble "yeah" when David asked a question, but I was actually hoping for more "Tank" by then, since the doctors anticipated an improvement within 6 or 8 hours after the seizure medication began. In the end, David decided that it would be too dangerous for Tank to take liquids or solids, because of a persistent cough and generalized weakness. David put some signs up above Tank's bed, and left. Tank slept.
Doctors came in that day. Dr. Lewis said that Tank was taking longer than expected to rally, but he didn't seem too concerned. Two physical therapists worked with him, but it was more back rub than therapy. He could only sit up with a lot of help. An occupational therapist came in, but she realized quickly that Tank wasn't up to the task, and she left. It started to seem that something was amiss.
I spent most of the day in a chair by Tank's bedside. I held his hand occasionally. Kelly fetched food for us. I think Stephanie dropped by.
Tank was very warm. Terry and I noticed it, and when the nurse took his temperature, it was 102. He was sleepier than ever, and difficult to rouse. I think I was alone with him when he had what the nurse called a focal seizure (I'm just guessing at the spelling). I noticed some unusual eye movement (generally, his eyes were closed). The movement was fast and repetitive, as if he were looking straight ahead and then to the side and then back again. Then, his feet began to tremble. It only lasted ten seconds or so, and I called the nurse. As I recall, it happened again a short time later. They increased his dose of seizure medication. I assume they gave him something for the fever.
A girl came by and took blood to check for an infection and a fungal infection. She said it would take a couple of days to get the results. It was mentioned that he might have an infection in sutured wound on his head, in his throat (the thrush), or maybe in his lungs (he might have aspirated something during a seizure). I'm not certain about some of this. It doesn't seem like enough time would have passed since the seizure to get an infection in his lungs, but...I don't know.
I'm going to publish this, and then write some more.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tank passes away
Tank passed away peacefully this afternoon, with Polly by his side.
He was a father to four wonderful people... Sally, Polly, Kelly & Peggy.
Also a husband, U. S. Navy Veteran, California Longshoreman, "idea man", inventor, author, columnist, and all-around good guy.
He has 7 grandkids and 5 great-grandkids and still counting.
Tank loved talking, walking on the beach, watching movies, reading books & newspapers, writing.. but above all, laughing..
You could never talk to him without hearing that distinctive joyful laugh of his.
He often sent letters that simply said "Laugh Lots".. followed by an adorable sketch of a tank.
Tank was unfailingly generous and an immensely entertaining & joyful fellow.
I have NEVER heard him complain.. NEVER heard him utter a single word of profanity.
We should all strive to have that said about us.
He embraced the sweetness and joy of life.
Not only should you take a walk, but you should also stop to smell the flowers.. that's Tank.
I wish I could have walked on the beach with him one more time while listening to an idea he had for a movie or a book.
That I will miss.
Polly will write more here when she gets a spare minute or two.
Love to all,
Dan
He was a father to four wonderful people... Sally, Polly, Kelly & Peggy.
Also a husband, U. S. Navy Veteran, California Longshoreman, "idea man", inventor, author, columnist, and all-around good guy.
He has 7 grandkids and 5 great-grandkids and still counting.
Tank loved talking, walking on the beach, watching movies, reading books & newspapers, writing.. but above all, laughing..
You could never talk to him without hearing that distinctive joyful laugh of his.
He often sent letters that simply said "Laugh Lots".. followed by an adorable sketch of a tank.
Tank was unfailingly generous and an immensely entertaining & joyful fellow.
I have NEVER heard him complain.. NEVER heard him utter a single word of profanity.
We should all strive to have that said about us.
He embraced the sweetness and joy of life.
Not only should you take a walk, but you should also stop to smell the flowers.. that's Tank.
I wish I could have walked on the beach with him one more time while listening to an idea he had for a movie or a book.
That I will miss.
Polly will write more here when she gets a spare minute or two.
Love to all,
Dan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)