“$25,000 Pyramid” - The Story of Jim Kish (Roxy)
I rang the doorbell at least four times while waiting for a nurse to let me in to St. Paul’s Memory Care Unit. This is where my dad had been living for the past 22 months. Once I entered, I immediately found Tessa, one of our favorite nurses. All I had to do was make eye contact with her. Words weren’t necessary, but she started talking anyway. “He’s not good, Roxy. I don’t think it will be long. He is not responding to us, but he has opened his eyes a couple of times. Maybe he will talk to you.”
I doubted that. Mostly he just smiled at me over the past few months. Yes’s and no’s or a few mumbled phrases, but usually he either smiled or had no real expression. I couldn’t remember the last time he actually used my name. Once in a while he had a good day and his personality shone through, but most days the Alzheimer's had clouded the man I had known and loved my entire life. I hated this disease.
As we walked, Tessa ran down the list of my father’s ailments with me, I tried to listen, but it was hard to focus. I couldn’t tune out the noise of the television in the common area. All I could hear were the clues and responses coming from the television where a few of the elderly dementia patients sat “watching” from their wheelchairs. For obvious reasons, the volume was always cranked up to the maximum level. It was always so loud. This time the T.V. was blasting the voices of two contestants on “The $25,000 Pyramid” game show.
Baseball… Monopoly… Card Games… ~Things you play
Newspapers… Magazines… Books... ~Things you read
I only heard it for a minute as I was heading into my father’s room, but it kept replaying in my head. Meanwhile, another nurse started talking to me. “Your dad’s fever is 101.2, but his feet and hands are cold. This is typical during end of life. His body is in survival mode, so it’s keeping his trunk warm.”
She explained more, but I didn’t hear her after she said, “end of life” because I didn’t want to accept that. It’s strange the way we hide in our own minds when dealing with difficult situations. I wanted so badly to focus on what the nurse was saying, but instead I found comfort in thinking about that stupid game show. The $25,000 Pyramid game show? Is it even on anymore? Maybe it’s a Game Show Network thing? Is that even a station? Honest to God, I couldn’t tell you who my cable carrier is, or if we even have cable. But if the “$25,000 Pyramid” is still on, I would be pretty good at it because I couldn’t stop creating categories and clues the entire weekend.
LECTURES… MONOTONE VOICES… BAD NEWS…
~THINGS YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR
I asked how long the nurses thought my dad would last, because my siblings hadn’t arrived yet and I knew they would want to see him one last time. She was still running through the status of his condition, “He is cold because his heart is not pumping very well. He is working hard for each breath. There’s no way to tell exactly. Might be today, but if I had to guess, I’d say in the next two days for sure.”
She was very matter-of-fact when she gave me the news. There was really no way of sugarcoating this situation. Death was a reality the nurses and Hospice staff dealt with every day. They had life (and death) down to a science. They predicted “end of life” like a meteorologist forecasts a storm. I should have been prepared for this. I have seen the signs for the last three years, but I wasn’t ready and I found myself wanting to hide. So that’s what I did. I hid.
I hid right behind my computer screen. Just like a child, I shrunk down and retreated from the news I didn’t want to hear. Instead of listening, I wrapped myself up in a blanket of my own thoughts. I felt safer in my memories than in my present situation. I think I hoped maybe this would all go away if I just stopped listening. I could just pretend everything was right in the world. My mom could be alive and my dad could be healthy again. Wouldn’t that be amazing? In my mind I pictured them in their early 60’s. Raising me through my high school years, baby siting their grandchildren, and advising all of us on life. They were so good in their prime!
MUSIC… PODCASTS… MY FATHER...
~THINGS YOU LISTEN TO
When no one else had the answers I was looking for, I listened to my father. When my mother couldn’t get through to me, when my friends didn’t seem to know what I needed, when I was unsure of myself, my father would lead me down the right path. He was so wise; so well respected by my entire family. When I tuned everyone else out, I always listened to Dad. He was the voice of reason for me. He was the one person who could calm my fears, or shed light on any subject. My dad was a GREAT man.
I’m not the only person who listened to him. He spent almost 60 years advising people on health insurance and financial planning! Jim Kish loved the stock market! He was good at helping people save money and invest it wisely! More importantly he was good to people. He took care of his family, his employees, and his clients...in that order! My father wasn’t pretentious or showy. He didn’t care what people thought, he just did what was right. The world could use more people like him.
Not only did my father love people, he loved life! He was incredibly generous, and so damn funny! It may have been impossible NOT to like him. He was the best story teller. At weddings, picnics, or social events, people flocked to him. Most of his stories ended with some kind of inappropriate joke. You could often find him surrounded by people who were listening and laughing. He was so engaging, so charming. My dad had the most beautiful, blue eyes. They were honest. Ya know how you look at someone and you just know you can trust him? That was Dad. He had a way of drawing you in and making you feel welcome. When he looked at me with those eyes, I listened.
A DOOR… A BANK ACCOUNT… YOUR EYES…
~THINGS YOU OPEN
It was 2:00P.M. Friday when I knelt down next to him and said, “Dad? Hey Pops...It’s me. I left work so I could be with you. I thought you might want some company. I know you’re not feeling well, but I want you to know that you’re not alone. I love you.”
At those words he opened his eyes. It was like a gift from God. I told him again. “I love you, so much.” He whispered back, “I love you,” and then he closed his eyes again.
FORGIVENESS… A CURE… YOUR FAMILY…
~THINGS YOU PRAY FOR
I have been praying for forgiveness for over three years since my mom died. Guilt is a horrible feeling, and no matter what I tell myself I can’t get over it. Rationally I know it’s not my fault, but my guilt stems from the fact that I wasn’t there when my mother died. It’s ridiculous that I’m still upset over this, but it’s true. She was with me through every ailment I ever endured, and I tried to be there for her, but when it came to the end of her life...she died alone. It almost seemed like she was waiting for our family to leave so she could die privately.
I wondered if my dad would do the same. Was he waiting for me to leave? Did he want to be alone? Did he even know if we were here or not? Over the last three years, Alzheimer's Disease has caused him to forget how to walk, how to care for himself, how to speak more than a few words, and most recently, how to swallow. I continue to pray for a cure for this dreadful disease. I also pray that it doesn’t affect anyone else in my family.
YOUR TURN.... A BUS.... DEATH…
~THINGS YOU WAIT FOR
This is WAIT TRAINING at its finest moment. Waiting is not my strong suit. Never has been. This is ironic because I practice the fine art of waiting every day of my life. You’d think we’d be good at it, but no one likes to wait.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
It has been five days since my father has eaten. His breathing is shallow. His body is shutting down. His fever is 102, but his knees and hands are cool to the touch. His hands and face are frail and sunken. Not plump like they used to be. He is receiving morphine every hour around the clock.
My siblings and I take turns, sitting next to my father, holding his hand, praying for his peace, tracing crosses on his forehead with our fingers, praying that his pain subsides. Praying ...and waiting. While we wait we thumb through old photos, talk about final arrangements, bury our faces in our phones, politely ignoring each other while we listen to my dad’s sporadic gasps; and because it is how I deal with stress, I’m writing.
I know there’s nothing I can do to change this situation. I try not to worry, but I always do. If something big is coming up, I think through a situation several times before it ever happens. Kara always says, “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” but I can’t help it. I prepare mentally. Making lists in my head.
BLACK DRESS... BLACK TIE… TISSUES…
~THINGS YOU NEED AT A FUNERAL
I’m ready to let him go. I have been ready. I know he’s in pain, and I have to say goodbye. In my mind, I have mentally buried my father several times. Dressed my children in black. Held Brian’s hand as we took a ride in a limousine from the funeral home to the cemetery where my father would be laid to rest in a mausoleum next to my mother. This scene is both a vision and a memory for me, and I cannot wait for it to end. It’s like a bad television rerun that pops up every time I press the power button. I’m so sick of watching people suffer.
The only thing worse than being here in this tiny room is knowing that the rest of the world outside goes on without us. That may be the hardest thing for me. Figuring out how to go on and find a new normal that doesn’t include my dad. Everyone talks about FOMO; fear of missing out. Right now, I have several fears. I fear I won’t be there for my dad at his time of death. I fear that I’m missing out on my children’s daily life while I cling to my only living parent. I’m also scared that I will not know how to find the new version of myself once he is gone. How do you learn to be yourself when the people who created you and shaped you are no longer with you?
SHOW UP… SHOW UP… SHOW UP AGAIN…
~THINGS YOU DO FOR PEOPLE YOU LOVE
Saturday, I left my dad’s side and showed up at Gracie’s soccer game. I drove separately in case I needed to leave in a hurry. I didn’t. I also made a last minute appearance at church on Sunday. The 11:15 Mass was beautiful, and I was glad I showed up to watch Grayden as he made his altar boy debut using the incense and following the priest. He made the job look easy, and Grace hugged me through most of the Service. Brian and I were both so proud that our son was serving. My dad would be proud too.
After Mass, my family of four went back to the nursing home where my dad’s favorite CNA, Tyeisha, was with him. I was beyond thrilled to see her. She no longer worked in Dad’s unit, but she came back to be with him because he meant so much to her. She showed up!
She was not the only one. THREE of his nurses came back to see him when they heard he had taken a turn for the worst. They prayed over him. They said their goodbyes. They teared up as they hugged me, and talked about the time they had spent with my dad. The staff at St. Paul’s truly cared about him. He was more than a patient. They went above and beyond to bring comfort to my family when they could have been enjoying the weekend with their own. I can’t believe they all showed up on their days off of work. I think the reason my dad loved these individuals so much is because they went out of their way to make him feel special. And it’s appropriate too, because this is exactly what he did for people his entire life. Maybe it’s good karma. Maybe it’s a God wink. I don’t know, but I loved all of the attention he was getting.
I left him in the middle of the day to make sub plans for my class on Monday. I wanted to continue to be with my dad which meant I would not be showing up for my students. They understood.
When I finished my sub plans I returned to St. Paul’s and watched my father sleep for a few more hours. I finally went home at 9:00pm, to get some rest in my own bed. Two of my sisters stayed the night, so I knew he was in good hands. I knew he wouldn’t be alone. I didn’t feel guilty anymore. I didn’t feel anxious. If anything I felt numb, but I was okay with that.
Monday September 17, 2018
I drove my own kids to school in the morning and returned to my dad’s side at 8:00am. My sister and brother-in-law were with him. They were reading books and magazines to pass the time. I figured I was in for another long day of waiting too, so I started to grade papers. Looking back I feel like such a jerk for doing that. I was there in the room, but I wasn’t really present. I was avoiding my feelings by staying busy. It’s what I do.
After about 15 minutes of grading, I became distracted from my school work when the nurse came in to check his vitals and said, “He is really working hard for each breath...11 seconds between each inhale. I don’t think it will be much longer.”
My head spun. I felt this sort of panic flow through my entire body. This was it. I quickly put my papers down. Now kneeling by my father’s side, I rubbed his shoulder and arm while I started spewing “word vomit” over him. I had already said, “I love you,” and the best part was that he said it back! But all of a sudden it wasn’t enough. I needed to tell him more. Everything I could think of, as fast as I could, just to get the words out, any final thoughts that might help him. It was like the contestants on the $25,000 Pyramid game show. Quick! Just say the first thing that comes to mind...You’re running out of time!
Dad? Dad? I love you more than you’ll ever know. I’m so glad I got to have you for my father. Thank you for reading Curious George books to me. Thank you for cuddling up back-to-back with me at night when I couldn’t sleep. Thank you for tap dancing in the grocery store with me and not caring what others thought. Thank you for making me go to church. Thank you for teaching me to pray. (I no longer heard him breathing, so I prayed in a whisper.) Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name…..Dad? (I made eye contact with my sister who of course was crying. She said, “I think that’s it.” But I didn’t want to believe it. I just kept whispering.) Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for loving my mother unconditionally. You can be with her again. It will be okay. I love you. I’ll miss you. I love you. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. (I’m not sure if I was trying to convince him or me.)
~THINGS YOU SAY AS YOUR FATHER TAKES HIS LAST BREATH
At 9:00 A.M. my father died. My sister and I were at his side. We got to be there. It was like a final gift from our Dad to us. He wasn’t alone. We found peace in that.
INFORM YOUR RELATIVES... GET THROUGH THE FUNERAL… HONOR HIS LIFE…
~THINGS YOU DO AFTER SOMEONE YOU LOVE DIES
Phone calls and text messages spread throughout the family within minutes of our father’s passing. News of his death weighed heavy on more hearts than just mine. The next three days went by in a blur. During the visitation, the funeral home directors seemed to be in a tizzy. It’s like they didn’t know how to handle the crowd. The line to enter my father’s viewing was wrapped around the building within the first 30 minutes. Dad would have gotten a kick out of all the people who showed up for him.
The funeral was beautiful. My nephew honored my father with an incredible eulogy that reminded us all of the memorable things my dad used to do and say. Like the way he ended every single phone conversation saying “Bye now,” or the way he drove my mother crazy by standing in the middle of the kitchen when she was trying to make a big family dinner.
We were reminded that this sweet man is the person who taught his grand kids to dip Oreo cookies in milk. He was the king of clipping coupons and saving money. He took power naps at his desk and snored so loudly he could be heard two floors up. He taught us to watch the History Channel, and to pay attention to the stock market. He modeled an appreciation of “real” music and theater, and taught us to enjoy the talents of others rather than being jealous of them. My dad worked so hard to please my mom, and he loved his children unconditionally. Honoring this man was easy because he had so many honorable qualities.
As I think about the last few years with my dad, I realize that Alzheimer’s disease did change his memory, his personality, and his daily quality of life. But Alzheimer’s would never take away the effect he had on others. There was a point in my father’s decline when he didn’t remember my name for a while. I was heartbroken when that happened. But the more I learn, and grieve, and grow, the more I understand how much he loved me. I know it’s not important if he remembered my name. What’s important is that I remember him.
Generous… Honorable… Loving… Unforgettable…
