A Goodbye In Full

It's been a year and a few days since my dad died.  He was 94 and lived an incredible life involving travelling around the world (literally!) as a scientist.  In the end, my older sister and I did our best to keep him comfortable, along with some amazing nurses and the Frederick County Hospice.  He died in his new home here in Frederick, Maryland, with his family and friends all getting a chance to say goodbye.

Taking care of him was hard at the end.  Dementia had taken over, and it was hard not to be upset with him when he cursed at a nurse, or even at me or my sister.  The anger came from his own knowledge that he had lost and was losing control of the simplest things, and I don't blame him.  I guess I find myself a year later dealing with my own anger at -- what exactly?  Human biology?  Aging?  These are hard, immutable facts that we all have to deal with in our own way.

I'm substitute teaching now, but still looking for something full time.  I think he'd be pleased though.  He grew up dirt poor, and education was his pathway to having an amazing and fulfilling life.  I think he'd appreciate all my stories about the good days and the bad days.  I'm also missing simple things like watching college football with him, or having a meal or some coffee.

We're all deeply complicated as people.  And I think we generally do our best, and try to learn from those moments when we're not at out best.  I wish I'd given him more hugs, or been a little more patient with him.  At times it was so hard to know exactly what he wanted, and I hope just being there was usually -- certainly not always -- enough.

We miss you a lot Dad.  I know you can still hear me, sometimes, when I talk to you.  And if you're napping or busy in the garden, that's also fine.  It can wait.

Anyhow, here are emergency cat pictures -- Mandu the loving but anxious white and grey girl, and Chingu, the tuxedo wannabe Alpha of the World.  I fostered and adopted them while working at the Whatcom Humane Society all the way across the country.  Chingu was scheduled for euthanasia due to a serious bowl impactment.  After numerous kitten-level enema interventions he basically got better.  I have no idea how.

Chingu was basically walking anemia and malnutrition at this point, at probably about two months old.  His non-biological sister Mandu was actually larger than him for quite a while.

They celebrated their second birthdays together at the beginning of October.  They were picked up as abandoned kitties so we'll never know their exact ages (Mandu is likely about two weeks older).

We mark our lives by the good and the bad -- births and deaths, graduations and retirements.  And we say we're moving on but then again, I'm pretty certain we're always moving, because we have to.  And learning and adjusting as much as possible along the way.

I adopted these two because I had to.  As they saying goes, "they adopted me."  They were brought into my office at the Humane Society to get some extra attention, and on the first day they were both climbing my legs onto my lap, then both of them onto my shoulders, to help me work as a dispatcher.  I must have put them both down on the floor a dozen times a day but it didn't matter.  We choose you, buddy.  Move on all you want, get metaphysical about life all you want, but we're coming along for the ride.

In the end Chingu spent a lot of time sleeping next to my Dad during his last few years.  At the end he had a pretty involved mechanical hospital bed, but Chingu found places near and around him.  How are you doing?  Are we playing today?  No?  Then can I just rest with you and maybe soak up a little of the pain?

I'm ready to move on now.  And to keep moving, as well.  And I'll happily look back as much as I want to.