March 7, 2012 · 10:26 am

The remains of a loved one

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Dad's cremains

Here is a part of what remains of my Dad in this world. My mom has the remaining portion, but she’s not ready to set Dad out on display yet. We picked out a pretty rainbow-painted container for her, but it still sits in a plastic shopping bag on her dresser, surrounded by bills and all of the paperwork involving the dead.

Dad will soon board a plane with me and head back home to Atlanta. He never had the chance to visit me there, but his remains are arriving just in time for Spring, the city’s most glorious season.

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March 6, 2012 · 8:04 am

Saying goodbye to another family member

Yesterday, I had to put my beloved cat Michigan to sleep. Michigan and I had a very close bond and he’s been in my life for over 14 years. He had battled a rare form of cancer for over three years. He was your typical scaredy cat that turned out to be quite the fighter when it came to the cancer. He wanted to stick around and for the most part, the last years of his life were still good quality. But finally, it was time to say goodbye. I was prepared for the event, but not for the moment.

My kitty Michigan, 1997-2012. RIP sweet boy.

Of course, Michigan’s death made me think about my father. I was not present at the moment of his death, and that bothered me as well. I’m actually headed out to Mom’s this week to pick up my portion of his ashes. Little did I know that I would be receiving two urns this week.

My dad never met Michigan, but he would always ask about him and the other pets when we talked. When his memory started fading, he asked me once, “How’s Missouri doing?” Close enough Dad, close enough.

Hopefully Dad and Michigan/Missouri are in a better place now, free of pain and suffering. Michigan was picky about the people he liked in his life, but I think he would have approved of Dad.

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March 5, 2012 · 9:20 am

Dad’s phone conversation with my teddy bear

For my third Christmas I received a teddy bear, which I named Honey Bear. It was by far my favorite toy of my childhood, and in fact, I still have him to this day, though he now resides in a box in the basement. As an only child, my stuffed animals were my main playmates and took on unique personalities. For example, Honey Bear could talk.

Honey Bear, 34 years later.

Or at least that’s what my dad said. We were away on an overnight trip and I was sulking because I was not allowed to bring my prized teddy bear, because Mom feared it might get dirty or lost. Dad tried to make me feel better the next morning over breakfast by telling me he talked to Honey Bear.

I was probably four or five at the time, but already had a healthy suspicious streak. I called Dad’s bluff and told him I didn’t believe him. But Dad was insistent, saying he talked to him after I went to bed, and that they didn’t want to wake me.

I still wasn’t buying it. “How could Honey Bear reach the phone, it’s so high up on the wall,” I retorted.

“Well he just grabbed a chair and climbed up,” Dad offered up wisely.

I’m not sure if I ever bought the story completely, but that night when we got home, I rushed to my room, hugged Honey Bear to my chest and cried my little heart out. Mom and Dad even let him have a special seat at the dinner table that night.

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March 4, 2012 · 8:00 am

Dad with Band-Aids on his face

As a kid, I remember Dad emerging from the bathroom with Band-Aids stuck to his freshly shaven chin. “I nicked myself again,” he would sigh, and being squeamish at the sight of blood, he would slap on the first thing he could find. It was not always the ideal match. Sometimes he would be sporting the little round bandages, sometimes the skinny long ones. On the rare occasions of multiple shaving wounds, he would have a mix of bandages adorning his freshly shorn stubble. 

The last month of his life, Dad was in the CCU at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque. The nurse, a gregarious type who had called me in Atlanta to tell me that the doctor said keeping my dad on life support was futile, came in to shave my dad. My mom and I stepped out for lunch, and upon our return, the nurse rushed back into the room. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed.

Dad had a Band-Aid on his face, and a bit of dried blood could be seen around the edges.
“I accidentally cut him while shaving him,” the nurse said with great remorse.

Dad was unaware of the shaving snafu. He was under sedation and on a ventilator. I guess one could call it adding insult to injury, but considering everything Dad was going through at the time, floating somewhere between life and death, something with a simple fix like a shaving cut was almost a relief.

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March 3, 2012 · 10:00 am

Family time spent at the dentist

Even though my dad’s teeth were in pretty bad shape, I don’t remember him going that often to the dentist. He was the typical guy that would wait until the pain was unbearable before he’d go get the problem taken care of. I had plenty of cavities as a kid, but the main things I remember about my childhood dentist, Dr. Friedman, was the taste of the toothpaste (kind of like a berry bubblegum flavor) and the huge wooden chest of dollar store toys that you got to choose from when you completed your visit. So going to the dentist wasn’t traumatic for me at all.

My mom on the other hand, had a ton of problems with her teeth. Dr. Wyland was her dentist, and we made dozens of trips there as a family. While Mom was subject to the dentist’s drill, Dad and I had a blast. This place was the most awesome dentist office ever. First of all, I’ll never forget the giant homemade cookies that were in the waiting area. They were amazing. I always grabbed the chocolate chip, while Dad preferred the oatmeal raisin. I know, free cookies at the dentist? What an easy way to ensure a steady stream of future patients!

There was a soda and coffee machine, so Dad would buy me a Coke and he would get coffee, of course. Then, we went into the movie theatre. That’s right, the dentist office had its own theatre! They showed classic, family-friendly movies and Dad and I would hang out in there until Mom finally emerged, with her mouth all numbed up. Dad would sneak out a couple of times for a smoke break, of course, and he would always have the “usher” keep an eye on me. The usher was an older gentleman with white hair and a moustache. He looked a bit like Wilford Brimley. Dad liked to chat with him and I was more than content to eat cookies, drink soda and watch movies all afternoon long.

The dentist practice has changed names, but it still exists!

It’s crazy, but these trips to the dentist were enjoyable for me and my dad. I’m sure Mom would remember quite a different version of events.

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March 2, 2012 · 10:24 am

Dad and I in the photo booth

Another one of my favorite family photos is this series of snapshots taken in a photo booth when I was a baby. I don’t know if it was Dad’s idea or Mom’s idea, but Dad is flashing a big smile while I seem less than enthused about being in the spotlight. My mom always liked the way my head is in a different position in each photo. It’s a cute series, and Dad seems so relaxed in these shots, handsome and striking in his snazzy jacket.

I treasure the photos where Dad is smiling, because he was notorious for not wanting to smile in photographs. It became a family joke that ever photo with Dad looked like it was taken at a funeral. He was embarrassed about the condition of his teeth, which were not in great shape. Being raised during a time of war meant things like cleaning your teeth were a luxury, not a necessity. So I think he started out with less than perfect teeth, and then he smoked since the time he was 16, and as I’ve mentioned before, drank coffee all the time, so they became stained over the years. In another post, I will write about my family’s many trips to the dentist, but suffice to say for now, that we were frequent visitors to the dentist’s chair.

But in these photos, Dad is not holding back at all, showing off one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen on his face. The photos capture a sweet, carefree and innocent moment as a family, not bad for a set of cheap photo booth images. In fact, I like these shots better than any of the professional family photos we took later on. Candid is often better, especially when it comes to family, because then you capture people’s true essence.

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March 1, 2012 · 9:45 am

Daddy’s little girl

I don’t remember my dad breaking out the suit and tie very often in my childhood. He was more the “business casual” kind of guy. He usually wore slacks, a dress shirt or sweater and sturdy black walking shoes. He never owned a pair of jeans or a pair of sneakers. That’s why it was such a shock to see him in the nursing home for the first time, wearing Scooby Doo pajama bottoms and canvas sneakers. The next time I visited he had on a pair of sweat pants. The nursing home staff dressed the residents in whatever was the most comfortable and easy to manage with all of the diaper changes they had to deal with. I understood the reasoning, but it was also another blow to my dad’s identity.

But in this photo, one of my all-time favorites, Dad and I are ready to hit the town. I’m guessing this was a holiday picture of some sort. I love the joy that is radiating from both of our faces in this photo. It’s just love, pure and simple, in its natural essence. Dad’s sporting a groovy 1970’s tie and I have to say, I’m looking pretty darn adorable.

In the NPR story on Alzheimer’s that features The Memories Project, I’m referred to as “daddy’s little girl” which I never thought would have applied to me. But as I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about Dad, discovering photos and recording the family stories from over the years, I cherish the close relationship that Dad and I had when I was a little girl. Of course, I was too young to appreciate it at the time, and sadly, as I got older, we drifted apart until the final few years of his life. But at least I have photos like this to remind me that I was indeed, “Daddy’s little girl.”

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February 29, 2012 · 9:55 am

Dad’s job as a freight checker

I wish I knew more about what dad did as an occupation for most of my childhood. He was called a freight checker, and the most I know about it is that he was responsible for unloading/reloading freight trucks and keeping track of the inventory on the trucks. It doesn’t sound like the most exciting job in the world, but it was steady work at the time. For most of his career, he worked for California Motor Express (CME).

I remember the logo, as it’s forever burned in my brain. As a small child, I would point to the CME trucks that I would see on the road, saying “that’s Daddy’s company.” My dad received plenty of logo-emblazoned swag over the years, and he was always wearing the cap or jacket. My dad was a hard worker, and I think he was proud of his job, even if it was blue-collar and didn’t pay that much. (I think he topped out at around $40,000 annually.)

It’s just one of those jobs that doesn’t necessarily have a textbook definition, so it’s hard to imagine what my dad did every afternoon and evening for all of those years. Much later, when he became a security guard, I could picture exactly what he did. I guess what’s most important is that my dad was always eager to work hard to support his family.

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February 28, 2012 · 9:04 am

Dad driving me to school

The final place we moved to in Downey, Calif. was just down the street from the high school, so I had an easy walk. Before that, my dad would have to drive me.

He did not enjoy this task. Since he worked nights, he would have to get up early just to drive me in, and then go back to bed to get a bit more sleep. He was also not a morning person, which added to his displeasure.

The logo for Warren High School in Downey, Calif.

I was not happy about the arrangement either. High school was not a good experience for me, and I usually dreaded each day there. Having to hitch a ride in dad’s boat of a car just added to my adolescent anxiety. He always offered to drop me off right in front of the school, but I always made him park around the corner from the school because I was embarrassed of our car. I would glance around to make sure no one I knew was coming, and then dart out of the car quickly, not wanting to be associated with my dad or the car at that moment. I think I usually said thanks for the ride, but of course at that age, one doesn’t really appreciate the small sacrifices our parents make for us.

I still can picture those silent rides, with dad looking disheveled and unshaven, having just been rudely stirred from sleep to play chauffeur for his awkward, ungrateful teenage daughter. Looking back at it now, I wish I had taken advantage of those rare moments when we were alone together to talk to him, even if it had just been small talk. Alas, one cannot go back in time.

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February 27, 2012 · 10:58 am

Dad’s love of coffee

Coming from Ireland, one might have expected my dad to be a tea drinker, but he drank coffee like it was water. He drank coffee with every meal, and in-between meals as well. Both my parents had a love of coffee, and they were from that generation that drank it throughout the day and also at night. How did they avoid getting the caffeine jitters back then? Now there are so many “experts” that warn people shouldn’t ingest caffeine after 3 p.m. if they want to get a good night’s sleep.

My dad liked his coffee with cream and sugar. I can still remember how the sweetened, caramel-colored liquid looked and smelled in his gold mug, the one he used when I was a kid. They drank instant coffee at home, but always appreciated the brewed stuff when they went out to eat. In fact, they almost always ended up enjoying a fresh pot of coffee when they were at a restaurant, because really, who drinks coffee at a Pizza Hut? My parents!

I would always cringe at the odd combination of food my parents would eat with coffee, from pizza to fish to pasta. But my dad had always lived that way, claiming that when he was a young man in New York City, he survived for years on coffee and hot dogs.

And yes, in case you are wondering, I love coffee as well. I’m a bit snobbier about my coffee, and no, I don’t drink it with pizza, but it is one of my favorite beverages.

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