A Year Already

I can't believe a year has passed already since my dad has died.  The English date was October 16 but the Jewish calendar marks tonight to end the year.

I go to say my last Kaddish tonight.  I couldn't handle going twice a day and I only managed to get to temple 4 days a week, but still, I am glad I went.  I decided to go when my mom died.  I know people like me often pay more religious people to say the prayer for them but paying someone to do my praying just did not seem right.  My mom and her family were religious and while there is no obligation for women to say Kaddish, I felt it was my obligation as there was no one else available to do it.  Besides, I never bought into the idea of women being less than men and wanted to do my part. My dad wasn't as religious but he said Kaddish weekly for my mom (his temple did not have daily services) and I wanted to honor him the way I honored her.  I started for them but ended up doing it for me.  While I am not sure what I believe, I know being in the presence of people who do believe and were committed to what they believed felt good.  Every night I was welcomed and made to feel a part of the community.  It felt good to be "10" (10 people are needed for a minyon, the number of people needed for prayer).  Orthodox only count men.  My temple counts everyone.

Two weeks ago an elderly temple member lost his wife.  His daughter brings him every evening.  They walk in together, her arm around him.  She gently helps him remove his coat and open his book to the correct page.  She helps him stand and sit and assists him up the stairs when the service is over.  Seeing them warms my heart and reminds me of the days I did this with my dad.

My son is getting married Sunday.  There is nothing my dad (and mom) wanted more than to see him walk down the aisle.  My dad loved his wife to be.  He won't be there but I know he would be happy and thrilled to see her wearing my mom's ring.

I've lit his candle and leave in a little while.  (This will be posted later this evening.)  I've gotten so much from the daily service and intend to stay a part of it, although not daily.

A year has gone by.  I don't know if there is any after life and I am not even sure what I believe happens after death.  But if there is something, I hope it is a world filled with happiness and my parents found each other and are getting ready to celebrate their upcoming anniversary together.

My Dad

My dad loved order and he loved keeping his affairs in order.  He paid his phone and cable bills the minute they came in and he called the credit card company daily, kept track of every charge and had a check in the mail days before the actual bill arrived.  His rent was sent in on the first of the month even though there was no problem as long as payment was in by the 10th.  The first line of his will stipulated that all his debts be paid immediately upon his death.

Because of this I ordered the foot marker for his grave early on.  I contacted the government and made sure he got a veteran's plaque for the stone.  He earned it.  He served as a medic on the front line in Germany and France during WW II.

The cemetery where dad is buried has a nine month waiting period between burial and stone setting, something about the ground having to settle.  Well, the nine months passed and the stone is set.  The ivy has been planted.  Sunday was his unveiling.  (We uncover the stone and say some prayers.)  My dad was not a showy person so we kept the gathering small.  We prayed and cried and then went to a nearby diner to celebrate his life.  (Usually unveilings happen closer to a year from death.)

I still go say Kaddish (prayer for one who has died) several times a week.  There is no requirement for females to do this, but there is no one else.  I know some people hire a man to do this, but that doesn't feel right to me.  I can't do the required twice a day and I can't go every day, but I do the best I can.  It makes me feel good.  My dad wasn't overly religious but I like to think he would be proud of what I am doing for him as he was when I did same for my mom.

It is almost 10 months.  I know he is in a better place.  I still have the urge to call him all the time.  I still miss him.

Father's Day 2014

Today is my first Father's Day without my dad.  It feels strange not to be making that early morning trip to the Bronx to take him out for his favorite meals.  We only went to the diner near his house and he only ordered a short stack of French toast but he insisted on reading the menu every single time and asking me if they served what he wanted.

It has been 9 months since he died, but my fingers still itch to call every night at 6 and first thing every morning.  I miss the strong, confident man he once was, the father who could and did everything and I also miss the needy, dependent man he became. He was my dad and I loved him so much, as much as he loved me.

There are no words to describe the impact a father (or mother) has on a child.  Most children think of their father as being the best father and I know my dad was one of them.  He was always around when I needed him, from the time I was a little girl until the age I was when he got sick.  I knew he was gone when he stopped telling me to call him when I got home or when he stopped telling me to stay home whenever the weather was bad.

I miss the crazy phone calls consisting of weather reports and what he ate (which was always the same thing.)  I miss preparing his favorite meal-meatballs.  I miss him but I am happy he is spending this Father's day with my mom, the love of his life.  He had no quality of life at the end.  I pray there is quality in death.

Cleaning and Remembering Dad

We've begun the process of clearing out my dad's house.  It is both physically and emotionally draining.  No one would believe how much can be collected while living in the same place for almost 45 years.  And, who knows how much he brought with him from a former apartment.  In addition to normal stuff, dad believed in keeping records.  He had copies of every letter he ever wrote, including the envelopes he mailed them in, every bill he ever paid, including copies of checks he wrote and papers galore documenting every person he ever spoke to, including the time of day.

Dad's coffee pot is pictured above.  He started every day with a freshly brewed cup of coffee, freshly brewed a night or two before and reheated.  He liked it to be ready in the morning.  Since he stopped working 30 years ago, I never caught on to why he had no time to make it when he got up, and he never caught on to why I refused to drink it.  The inside of the pot is quite black.  I bought him a new one several years ago.  It is sitting in the kitchen where he put it when I handed it to him.

Dad labeled everything. My husband got a charge out of this free Radio Shack battery he got in 1986.  I believe he would have tried to use it if he knew where it was.

The one thing this has taught me is that when I finish with his house, I better start on my own.  I don't want my children to have to spend months cleaning out my stuff, stuff they won't understand why I saved either.

Thanks

The selection posted above is a piece I read Thursday morning, after getting up from Shiva, before the rabbi came over and walked around the block with me.  This is the official ending of the Shiva period, the first time I set foot out of my home. A week is an arbitrary mourning time, but nevertheless, it sets some sort of boundary and is a way to cope with a loss.

 I am not especially religious and neither was my dad, but my mom was.  She would have liked me doing this.  I couldn't do it when she died as my dad was so distraught, caring for him became my only concern. Doing it for him also honored her.

We had a minion in my home every evening.  A minion is a group of at least ten Jews who gather and pray.  It is something my temple does for mourners.  Again, it was something I couldn't do for my mom as we sat in the Bronx so I am happy I was able to do it now.  Most of my friends are day people so it filled my heart with joy when people I barely knew from the congregation stopped by to help in my time of need.  I made a vow to be available to help others, a vow I intend to keep.

Friends and community came together to help me.  Words cannot express how much this meant to me.  I cried when I saw Mr. AP walk into the funeral chapel and hug me.  His words, that we were family in spite of our differences made the world of difference to me.  In spite of anything I have ever written, he showed he has a good heart.  There were others too. others who I won't mention here, others I would have thought forgot me, who showed care and concern by coming to the funeral and Shiva.  I have thanked them personally.

And now it is time to return to life.  I intend to continue saying Kaddish (prayer for dead) the full 11 months  (Parents are good and don't need the full year to get into heaven.)  I have hospital bed and oxygen tanks to return, phone calls to make and an apartment to empty.  Bless my wonderful husband for always being there, for being a son to my dad and helping me through this time.

Only My Dad

My dad was obsessed with family and with having his affairs in order. 

I just went through some of the papers I brought home.  Only my dad would have an enveloped labeled this way.  He wanted to make sure things would be easy for my sister and I when the time came.

Dad's Honor Guard

My dad never liked to talk about his time in the army.  It was painful and he didn't want to inflict the memories on his family.  Mostly though, he thought of it as a job he had to do.

Dad was a medic who served on the front lines in Germany.  An aptitude test pointed to his ability in this field.  He amputated arms and legs and saved lives.  Dad was at the battle of the Bulge.  His whole unit was gone except for him and another medic.  He took off his red cross badge and picked up a gun.  He and his comrade held the enemy off until reinforcements arrived in the morning.

Dad got real lucky on two occasions.  One, a call of nature pulled him from the fox hole when a bomb exploded killing everyone inside.  The other was bad meat.  The bad case of hepatitis had him recuperating in a British hospital when the unit he was with was wiped out.  He recovered and was sent home.

Dad always got very upset when he saw us sending troops anywhere.  He knew what it was like to be in combat and he never wanted anyone else to go through what he went through.

I would like to thank my wonderful niece for taking these pictures.  This ceremony, with the taps is something I want to remember for a very long time.

My Son's Tribute To His Grandpa

My son was not exactly a student when he was young.  My husband always wanted to wear a bag over his head at parent-teacher conferences, not wanting anyone to recognize him in case they overheard what the teacher said.  He didn't believe in homework or books.  Those spelling word sentence assignments were torture for both of us, but mostly me.

Well, things change.  Boys grow up.  My on is a wonderful success today, yet every time he does something wonderful, I still am in awe.  Can this really be coming from my little goof ball?  Friday morning he did it to me again when he read the most beautiful eulogy I have ever heard.  He might be pissed, but I am sharing it here.  My son and my dad share a birthday.  My son is the only boy (two daughters and three granddaughters.)  My dad and my son shared unconditional love.  My parents loved all their grandchildren equally but my kids always believed they were just a little more special, daughter for grandma and son for grandpa.

Over the past few days I have been trying to decide what I could say about grandpa and couldn't put anything coherent together. Last night as I went to sleep I decided to try to come up with one word to describe him and see if I could go from there. Quickly I decided the word is "duty".
Grandpa always did what was best for those around him, always putting everyone before him. Don't take that the wrong way. No one ever took advantage of him.
From as early as a teenager he worked to support his sister and mother. I am sure he gave back to those close to him long before that but the stories I know start there when he delivered telegraphs. Even singing ones. Anyone who knew my grandfather could tell you that going out in public and singing like that wouldn't have been his first choice of activities.

Later in the army he gave everything and risked everything anytime he heard the word "medic" shouted. For years after the war he didn't speak of the things he did and the lives he saved, not because he was traumatized or wanted to repress the memories but because he never saw himself as a hero. In his mind he was just doing what he was supposed to do and moved on with his life.

Years later my mother was born and then my aunt. As they grew up he work 2 job so my grandmother could stay home with them. Even when they got older and were in school he kept both jobs and gave grandma only 1 rule. She had to watch over them and be home to see who they spent time with. Make sure they didn't get into trouble or fall in with a bad crowd. Aunt Regina I am not sure how you snuck by. Or was aunt Terri really the bad one?

Grandpa would and did anything for his daughters. When Hula hoops were the big thing he got his hands on 2 and carried them home on the bus and subway. He was offered money for them, much more than they were worth. He wouldn't sell. No amount was worth more than the happiness of mom and aunt Iris.
At least not until Lisa was born, then my sister with me coming soon after and Ronnie the next year. I will never forget the smile that came to him every time we came over. No matter what else was going on when he saw us nothing else mattered and nothing could upset him. Not even how it would always rain immediately after he washed the car in our driveway. Or how Jenn and I would go down to our basement where he would be sleeping on the recliner and wake him up.

He would pretend to be annoyed but I know he always loved it. He would watch us play Nintendo or whatever other silly thing we were doing. He would even take his turn at Duck Hunt. I can't really call it a turn though. If he didn't have to stop to eat or go back home I think he would still be going. He sat as far back as the cord would let him and he never missed a shot.

Later grandma got sick and instead of working 2 jobs he changed career paths and become a care giver. Working 3 shifts. 24/7 doing everything for her. Not because she needed him to, although she did. He did it because it was the right thing to do. It was his duty. He loved our grandmother more then anyone has ever loved another person.
As grandpa got older and he was unable to take care of himself another amazing person entered his life. Effie his aide was with him constantly doing the things for him that he had always done for others. I use the term aid because I can't come up with the right words but she was much more then that to him. Even as he was unable to give to her in the ways he gave to others he still gave with compassion. Always looking out for her, worried about her getting home safely. Even those who were there to take care of him he would try to take care of. In his mind anyone in his life he had the duty to look out for.
I learned so much from him. I learned my first curse word,  "Macy's" and some great insults, like "Your mother wears army boots". He taught me valuable life lessons like to quit while I was behind. I can't count the number of times he told me that when I was misbehaving or goofing around. I knew when he said that to me that I had better stop what I was doing before I made a bad thing worse. Most importantly I learned the most important life lesson of all. It is better to give than to receive. The joy of giving far outweighs the joy of receiving.
Almost 90 years after he started giving he can finally stop giving and just enjoy. No more wars, no more long hours at 2 jobs, no more taking care of others or worrying about others. Just eternity back together with grandma.

Hard

 



It is 6:45.  I rush to the phone because dad goes to bed early and I never miss saying goodnight.  I take out my phone and then put it away.  He can't answer.  I'll never be able to say talk to you in the morning again.  I never thought this would be so hard.

Transition

Transition is the time between life and death, the body is giving up and is ready to pass on to the spirit world.  At this time the body gets either hot or cold.

My dad hates the cold.  I would hate to see him freezing.  I like to think the temperature he is now running is G-d's way of making this transition more comfortable for him.

He Should Just Stop Fighting and Go

 



When my mom died, my dad wanted to die too.  He talked constantly of ending his life.  I cried.  I wasn't ready to lose both my parents at the same time.  Thankfully, his will to live was stronger than his will to die.

It is now six years since my mom has passed away.  Dad's health both physically and mentally is gone.  He is in hospice care.  I love him so much, but it is his time.  No one should be suffering the way he is.  The life he has is no life at all.  I'm ready to let him go.  I want him to stop fighting and go.  I want him to find my mom and be at peace.  I love him so much I want to him to be free.

Babies and Old People

 



I remember holding my daughter for the first time and worrying about how I could possibly care for this little person who was totally dependent on me for everything.  I remember rushing her to the doctor two days after we brought her home because she was crying and I did not know what was wrong.  She could not express her needs, but, she was small and I could easily get medical help for anything bothering her.  Thankfully at that time there was nothing wrong with her and my breast in her mouth usually soothed the beast in her.

Now I am responsible for the well being of an 89 year old.  All of a sudden he can no longer express his needs or communicate what he needs and wants.  Like the baby who cries, he is frustrated and angry.  He refuses to leave the house and an ambulance to an emergency room is not an option.  I know he will never survive a hospital stay.  I am in the process of setting up a home hospice, but it is hard.  God bless his wonderful caretakers Effie and Nat. I do not know what I would do without them.  I can't soothe him and I can't take his pain away.  I hope somewhere deep within, he still knows how much I love him and pray for him to find peace.

I Miss My Dad

 



My dad is still alive, but he is not the dad I have known.  His health is failing.  He is always tired and sleeps more than he is awake.  And, when he is awake, he is confused about night and day.  He talks about things that make no sense to anyone but him.  He can't read his own mail or pay his bills.  Everything stresses him out.

My dad was strong.  He worked two jobs so my mom could stay home and take care of my sister and me.  Anything we wanted, he managed to get, whether it was hula hoops, text books or cabbage patch dolls. When my mom got sick, he cared for her both physically and emotionally.  She lived a comfortable, happy life because of him.

My dad deteriorates a little more every day.  I don't know what to do.  He has wonderful caregivers 24 hours a day as I believe he needs to be in his own home.  I speak to him two or three times a day and see him several times a week.

He's here and I love him and cherish every minute with him, but I miss the man he was.  I know he misses the man he was too.

Veteran's Day

This is my dad.  He was a medic during WW II.  He served on the front lines of Germany and France.  Often he had to amputate legs and arms and do all sorts of other stuff to save lives.

During the Battle of the Bulge, he had to take off his medic helmet and pick up a rifle to hold Germans off until back up forces showed up in the morning.

My dad never liked to talk about his war experiences and only started after I saw Saving Private Ryan and asked him tons of questions.  Now, he doesn't stop talking.

Veteran's Day honors my dad and all the veterans.  Thank you.

My Dad



I am blessed.  My dad, who will be 88 this summer is still alive and kicking.  Yes, he is a pain in the neck with his restricted diet (and no, there is no medical need for this) and his obsessive behavior, but I wouldn't trade one minute of having him for anything.

When my sister and I were growing up, my dad took an extra job so my mom could be home and watch us.  He wanted her to know our friends and know where we were at all times.  He left the house weekdays by 5:00 AM and on Mondays and Thursdays didn't return home until after 10:00 PM.  Those days we never got to even kiss him good night.  He worked Saturdays too, all day in the children's shoe department at Macy's, Herald Square.  My mom used to dress us up and take us to see him.  We were so proud watching him fitting shoes on children's feet and expertly handling the parents.  And he was so proud of us, bringing us over to all his colleagues to either introduce or say hello.  Lunch was a special treat in the employees cafeteria.  True, it was mostly home made sandwiches but just being there with him was so special.

I remember the times we waited in the building lobby for my dad.  He would run to the mailbox and excited pull out letters he said I got from the animals in the Bronx Zoo, the place he took me every Sunday.  I remember how real these letters were.  In fact, when I think back, I sometimes forget they weren't real.  I'll never forget how his face lit up when my mom brought us to the train station to meet him.  Nothing will match the joy of this man catching his two little girls as they raced under the turn style into his arms.

When hula hoops were the rage and all the stores were sold out, my dad found two and thought nothing of bringing them home on a crowded subway.  He got me books I needed for school and Cabbage Patch dolls for my children.  I believed there was nothing he could not get.  My dad was my super hero.

When my son was about 8, he developed a severe case of asthma and had to be hospitalized.  My husband was away on a business trip and I panicked and called my dad. He had just gotten to Macy's.  When he heard my need, he hung up his work jacket, clocked out and went home to get my mom and mother-in-law to stay with me.  I was an adult but I was still his little girl.  He was still taking care of me.

My dad gave up his full time job the year my son was born.  Every week he came over to babysit for the little boy, his only grandson, born on his birthday.  My dad had never changed a diaper in his life before this and my neighbors still laugh telling me how he stood in the middle of the street, calling after my car, as my little guy gave him a nice gift as soon as I left.  Needless to say, my dad learned very quickly how to make a baby comfortable.

Today is Father's Day.  My leg is mostly healed and I am going to spend the morning with him.  We'll go to the same diner or deli or Panera, the only places he likes, but that is okay.  I have my dad another year. Happy Father's Day.  I love you.