Two moves in two months. An insane concept in normal circumstances. Changes should not be made six months after a death so they claim. Whoever penned that thought was right on the money. Seemed to stay in a fog and go through the motions for quite a long time but there was no deadline to meet or time frame to incorporate. Really didn’t know how to enjoy life and it only took my sister-in-law a short observation to determine that I didn’t know how to enjoy most anything. (Wonder how she became so smart, but she’s an educator who can speak multiple languages.) Whatever the case, she had it pegged right. Have no doubt it stemmed after the Christmas holiday in the 9th grade those many years ago.
The house was picture perfect. The nicest place I had ever lived. Exquisitely landscaped with palm trees and birds of paradise. After a two-week delay the moving company finally brought our items. Think my parents got tired of sleeping on the floor and take-out. It was an adjustment living with parents once again after so many years and now a new addition of a teenage grandson. There were difficult times, but we tried to make the most of it. Jonathan was back at the high school he attended one semester in the 9th grade. Mom and Dad found a Church of Christ that was in close proximity, and I periodically attended the evangelical covenant church Carl, Jonathan, and I had gone to years earlier. Also, our next door neighbor, Nina, was an opera singer, and we were blessed to be serenaded throughout the daytime hours while she practiced (can’t say the same when her son started practicing a musical instrument).
Experienced invasion of the Iridomyrmex humilis and not just on the outside of the house. Ants coming out of the electrical sockets, ceiling lights, and skylights; marching in droves over floors and carpets; emerging from cabinets and closets. A literal horror story. (Although names were changed and some of the dialogue was embellished, read my blog of 1/27-28/07, “The Eleventh Plague,” for the “E Truly Hollywood Story.”)
School was no different here than at the technology institute in New Mexico. Jonathan skipped numerous classes especially the last one of the day to the point that he was kicked out in his senior year at age 18. Because he was 18, California policy would not allow Jonathan to come back so his only option was to get a GED which he did and luckily was also awarded a regular high school diploma. Unfortunately, didn’t escape the trials and tribulations of the parent and teenager in the juvenile justice system. Jonathan’s moment of indiscretion came at the minimal price. Still it felt odd sitting in the office on the other side of the desk of the juvenile probation officer; a role I once held 14 years earlier. It was an experience I never wanted to reprise.
A majority of Jonathan’s friends, including his girlfriend at the time, were Mormon, and guess it didn’t surprise me when he decided to practice this faith and was baptized. Can’t confess disappointment in this turn of events--I was just glad Jonathan had a faith he chose to acknowledge. Although he had always acknowledged his belief in God, I questioned it at times, but who am I to judge? Jonathan no longer follows Mormonism; however, I cling to the hope in the truth from Proverbs 22:6--“Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”
Although my parents never expected it and Mom insisted I get a full-time job, I felt obligated to become their housekeeper, cook, chauffer, yardman, and maintenance worker. It was a way to say “thank you” for everything they had done for me and Jonathan during a very difficult time. Of course, if I had known my future job frustrations, would have heeded the advice. However, I did take the opportunity to take a few medical classes at the adult school, but never could land a job--something about not having any experience (So why does anybody bother getting an education?).
During the 4-½ month grocery strike, worked at Ralph’s just around the corner from the house. Started out as a courtesy clerk (an upper level term for bagger). Also had to gather the carts and push them back into the store. If there was any doubt about my lack of upper body strength, it was evident now. How I struggled and it was most embarrassing. Increased my weight lifting, researched protein powders and headed to the nutritional shops. After some inquiry, it was determined that whey protein would build muscle strength faster. Bought protein bars and the powder to make shakes and received one bit of advice--lots of ice in the shakes. Actually love the stuff even the bars; not at all the cardboard taste most claim. I was amazed at the results and my ever increasing strength and must say I liked it.
Had never worked in retail and many of us were fishes out of the water and trying to help the managers keep the store afloat. But we worked together as a team and tried to appease the customers who were visibly upset having to cross the picket lines. Really liked the job and also got to work in other departments, stock, and ring up the items. Averaged 51 hours a week and was paid VERY well. Several cars in the parking lot were keyed (didn’t take a genius to figure out the culprits but no proof). Glad I was within walking distance. Some of the young squirts developed ego-inflated heads with their supervisory titles, but it was an equal playing field--no one better than anyone else. Felt close to several of these people; sort of like a family, but had a special rapport with the produce guy, Ralph. The running joke--Ralph at Ralph’s. We were about the same age, had been employed by the government, and knew about work ethics.
Was promoted to price integrity coordinator and scanned the entire store to make sure the product matched the listed price. The freezer sections were a bear--needed thermals and gloves. However, the other position gave me more of a variety. Unfortunately, the strike ended and we could no longer stay; however, could be hired back as a bagger for minimum wage but the manager told me that I wouldn’t want to do that (Did she know something I didn’t?). The last day was quite somber for me.
Since Jonathan had graduated it was time to move on. Mom and Dad sold the house and rented an apartment in downtown Long Beach. I remained in Oceanside and house sat for our neighbors while Nina went on a European tour.
Went on my monthly sale’s jaunt to Vitamin World to appease my addiction to protein powder and bars. Up on the ladder adjusting a sign was a man who looked very familiar. As he came down and turned around--“Ralph.” “Debbie.” Yes, Ralph was now the manager and was desperate for help so asked if I would be interested. Not exactly what I was looking for but needed some income so Ralph hired me on a temporary basis--could leave at any time and if decided to stay, would transition me in as an assistant manager, with the long-range goal of manager. Although had the job, company policy dictated that I take one of those personality profile tests. Didn’t pass. What is this? In college I can graduate magna cum laude with a criminology degree but can’t pass a lousy personality profile--in retail, FBI, or internet dating. Ralph insisted that the district manager override my score and would vouch for me at the corporate office about my employability. Met the DM who had me geared to become the manager of this store while Ralph would move to one that needed a jump start. Never thought I would be any good at customer service or sales, but seemed to hold my own in these type of jobs.
After a couple of months decided to head for Long Beach to check out the prospects. Jonathan stayed behind--he had different plans.
(to be continued)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
INCONVENIENCES
How often do things go the way you want or the way you had planned? Would guess that the majority would say seldom. Nobody likes to be inconvenienced but it seems to REALLY BUG me to the point I want to blow, especially when those inconveniences pile up on the same day.
The Metro Rail. Oh, it’s what it claims--gets you there fairly quickly, lets you avoid bumper to bumper traffic, runs pretty consistently without much waiting, reasonably priced, and several stations have free parking. What you don’t know until your first experience--that free parking has very limited spaces; the rest park on the street and how far away, depends on the time of day (hey, that rhymes). The seating--standing room only. More people board than get off and it’s a game of musical chairs at each stop--a mad rush to get the empty seats. Was relatively quiet until a man who was standing decided to preach to everybody within hearing capacity of our compartment. Fire and brimstone material, without the yelling, with Bible verses quoted. The guy didn’t miss a beat; no hesitation, and I looked around to see if he was reading a script. None. Have a feeling this individual does this on a regular basis. No wonder so many people ride--there are no security or checking systems to see whether everybody has paid.
Worked at the downtown LA Convention Center for four days, two of those days ten hours each and getting home at 9:00pm. Arrived in plenty of time and walked around to find the area we would be located. Sat for a while and then called the boss at the time she was to be there. Of course, she was still at the office in Orange County. Can’t say I was surprised. She is always late to the office and lives within walking distance.
Some of the rides were more relaxing than others because there was plenty of seating, but Saturday was the worse. The tracks between two stations were being repaired which meant getting off the train and taking a bus to the next station and catching the next train to go to your destination. Had I known that ahead of time, would have made other arrangements, meaning I just would not have worked (spent about three hours time round trip and only worked four). A homeless gal sat there with her bus pass and cart full of her belongings and felt somewhat sorry for her until I caught a glimpse of the empty Bacardi bottle in the mix. Also on this Saturday decided the majority of the commuters are either drunks, sluts, foul-mouth psychos, or ill-mannered teens (although felt it at the time, this is somewhat of an exaggeration, but it makes for more interesting reading). Yes, public transportation does seem to entertain and you can expect the unexpected.
However, after four days of this I will not get a job in downtown LA and drive or commute by train or any other means of public transportation.
The Metro Rail. Oh, it’s what it claims--gets you there fairly quickly, lets you avoid bumper to bumper traffic, runs pretty consistently without much waiting, reasonably priced, and several stations have free parking. What you don’t know until your first experience--that free parking has very limited spaces; the rest park on the street and how far away, depends on the time of day (hey, that rhymes). The seating--standing room only. More people board than get off and it’s a game of musical chairs at each stop--a mad rush to get the empty seats. Was relatively quiet until a man who was standing decided to preach to everybody within hearing capacity of our compartment. Fire and brimstone material, without the yelling, with Bible verses quoted. The guy didn’t miss a beat; no hesitation, and I looked around to see if he was reading a script. None. Have a feeling this individual does this on a regular basis. No wonder so many people ride--there are no security or checking systems to see whether everybody has paid.
Worked at the downtown LA Convention Center for four days, two of those days ten hours each and getting home at 9:00pm. Arrived in plenty of time and walked around to find the area we would be located. Sat for a while and then called the boss at the time she was to be there. Of course, she was still at the office in Orange County. Can’t say I was surprised. She is always late to the office and lives within walking distance.
Some of the rides were more relaxing than others because there was plenty of seating, but Saturday was the worse. The tracks between two stations were being repaired which meant getting off the train and taking a bus to the next station and catching the next train to go to your destination. Had I known that ahead of time, would have made other arrangements, meaning I just would not have worked (spent about three hours time round trip and only worked four). A homeless gal sat there with her bus pass and cart full of her belongings and felt somewhat sorry for her until I caught a glimpse of the empty Bacardi bottle in the mix. Also on this Saturday decided the majority of the commuters are either drunks, sluts, foul-mouth psychos, or ill-mannered teens (although felt it at the time, this is somewhat of an exaggeration, but it makes for more interesting reading). Yes, public transportation does seem to entertain and you can expect the unexpected.
However, after four days of this I will not get a job in downtown LA and drive or commute by train or any other means of public transportation.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 14
Back to my hometown. Back to the place Carl and I started our lives together. Back to Jonathan’s place of birth. As we near the city, traces of a recent March snowfall still covered some areas of the ground. It had been 12 years since we left (Jonathan was 3). What a change. Albuquerque was already considered the biggest metropolis in the state but the tiny northwest side of town was now a city all its own. Came to town with a full blown cold (haven’t had one since). Got some spicy chicken soup from a Greek restaurant. A miracle cure--it literally burned the cold right out of me.
The first order of business was to enroll Jonathan back into school. Grew up on the NE side and thought it would be great if Jonathan attended my high school alma mater and found an apartment in the same school zone. What a weird feeling walking on campus after 28 years. Had played tennis on the outside courts many times since graduating but never had stepped inside the compound. Don’t think Jonathan was all that thrilled but there was a twinge of excitement for me while entering the administrative office. Pulled out his records and all the information required for enrollment and was dumbfounded when told that the three months of home school made Jonathan’s first semester of high school in California null and void. In the opinion of the New Mexico Department of Education, Jonathan was still considered an 8th grade student and could not enroll in the Albuquerque Public School system. All the arguments in the world weren’t going to change the results. They gave me some phone numbers to call to make arrangements for alternative types of schooling. What a fiasco! Doubt we could have screwed up life more if we had planned it.
We were fortunate to find the first technology-based charter school of its kind in New Mexico that just opened up and even in close proximity to home. This school focused on individual needs, used computers as the main tool for instruction, and was certified as a college preparatory institute. At least the education problems seemed to be resolved for the moment. Jonathan could get credit for work study so he got a job as a waiter with a Marriott retirement facility just up the street from our apartment complex.
Saw an advertisement in the classified section regarding manager teams for self-storage facilities. Replied, interviewed, and Carl and I were the onsite management team for the Storage USA facility just ½ mile from where I grew up and across the street from Jonathan’s new school. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Our living quarters above the office had a huge kitchen with lots of cabinet space with a view of the city lights on one side and a view of the Sandia Mountains on the other. The living room was even big enough to hold a brand new pool table, not my choice, but soon learned to love playing. All we had to do was walk down the stairs to the office (once you do that or get a job within walking distance, nothing else compares). Didn’t mind the job and were given somewhat autonomy. But there must be something about first days on the job for me. Had a run in with one of the tenants. Part of the job involves collecting rent and if payments aren’t made--foreclosure process is followed. No phone number for the tenant but found a number in his file for a contact person. Called and left a message. The tenant called our District Manager (Mike) and wanted me fired. The history of this tenant--always late with payment to the point where his storage unit will be auctioned off. Mike appeased this “gentleman.” I met the guy and learned how to handle him. He was a timebomb ready to snap. Yep, this tenant was going to be a literal pain in the butt! Also became the self-storage police and had a tenant evicted for running a business in his unit which was against company policy. (He only had been doing it for two years but no one seemed to care until yours truly.)
Carl dealt with the maintenance and sales aspect of the position, and I pretty much ran the office. We made a great team and always considered Carl the best at dealing with people, but never did give myself much credit for anything. Mike came into the office to do his monthly observation and commented about one of Carl’s telephone conversations with a potential customer. Mike was amazed and said it sounded as if Carl was talking to his best friend.
Although living just across the street from school, it was like pulling teeth trying to get Jonathan to be on time. He was finding it difficult to even go and would feign sickness quite often. (It’s funny how he recovered after school was over and well enough to go to work. Although there was a basketball team, Jonathan hated to play with a "bunch of losers" so soon ended his association. Luckily the administrative staff was supportive in our attempts to want Jonathan in school and made him sign a contract--either buckle down or there was the door.
One of the tenants brought a couple of lab pups into the office. So adorable and decided to go to the facility in the mountain area that bred these gorgeous creatures. In the past had looked at animal shelters but never found the right one. Learned from a PBS program the proper technique of choosing the right one--lie on back and if doesn’t squirm (the dog, not the potential owner); raise your hand and if doesn’t flinch. There were several to pick from and chose the cutest male white lab. Went to the pet store and bought all the paraphernalia that goes with the territory. It was around Christmas time so Jonathan bought a little red doggie hat to mark the occasion. Decided a classy name for a classy canine would be appropriate so we chose Dante. The first day let Dante loose inside to roam. He stopped by the kitchen chair--SQUAT… Then made his way underneath the pool table--SQUAT. That night Dante whined and whined and whined. The crate was a mess--newspapers torn up and alleviation throughout. Cleaned the crate and decided to put Dante down into the office hallway but still could hear the whining. I sat with him for a while and decided to try the same technique as used for babies--leave alone and let them cry themselves to sleep. Still couldn’t sleep so went back downstairs. The crate was a mess again so decided to release the prisoner and let him roam the hallway the rest of the night and would deal with the mess in the morning. I didn’t have the patience of Job and after a few nights of this just couldn’t handle it anymore (had enough on my plate) and knew I would be the one who would end up doing all the work anyway. So Carl had the honors of returning Dante. It was a tearful goodbye.
A majority of companies offer counseling benefit assistance to employees and their families. Having difficulties with Jonathan and decided to get therapy as a family and one on one. Discussed my history of depression and eating disorders. The doc believed it to be a chemical imbalance and could prescribe some antidepressants. Ain’t gonna happen and didn’t want it changing my metabolism so for now chose to just use talk therapy. Completed our limited sessions and she would continue to “treat” me for a price or could recommend some other therapists. Should come as no surprise that I chose not to continue.
Came back to the church I knew so well but it was no longer the same. There was a split during our 12-year absence and the majority of the members scattered and not just to other churches of Christ. Just glad I wasn’t there to see it transpire. Although tried to go regularly at least on Sunday morning, attendance was somewhat sporadic. Periodically Carl, Jonathan, and I had to work or the aftermath of Carl’s insulin reactions.
The two-year looming dread of kidney failure was now a reality and dialysis was a necessity. In preparation took Carl to the hospital every week to receive either blood transfusions or iron shots. Acquired all the pertinent information regarding dialysis procedures to be done and choices to make and getting on the transplant list (seem to recall it was a seven-year wait). Carl would get extremely cold and stayed in the office standing in the sun a majority of the days. My brother and sister-in-law came for a visit and had front row seats to one of Carl’s reactions and acknowledged their new found appreciation for what I had endured over the last 17 years. Very scary for the first-time observer.
Carl hated his plight more and more each week. The poking and prodding and hours lying on a bed receiving numerous pints of anonymous donors’ blood through an IV. One of the final procedures to be done was a echocardiogram or in layman’s terms, heart echo. The doctor wanted to notate any fluid build up around the area. It was the end of the week, and Carl didn’t want to go so it was rescheduled for Monday afternoon.
Carl became exceedingly tired and seemed to walk at a snail’s pace one Sunday afternoon. After church got Carl to rest while Jonathan and I went downstairs to the office. We heard a thud and ran upstairs. Carl had become light headed and fell out of his chair but seemed all right.
Started out as a typical Monday morning--exercising, getting ready for work, and fixing breakfast. Carl was sluggish and it took Jonathan’s prodding to get him to come to the table. My concentration of pouring the OJ was interrupted by Jonathan’s shouts of “Dad!” Carl’s head was slumped backwards; eyes affixed. Told Jonathan to call 9-1-1 as I pulled Carl down to the floor. The paramedics came and transported him to the ER, and we followed shortly thereafter.
It was a long wait and the doctors filed in and out of the room numerous times. Carl’s heart had stopped five times and was comatose (there was a lot of fluid around the heart). That night the neurologist advised that if Carl were to come out of the coma, he would be in a vegetative state. There was no hope. In the beginning of the year one of our tenants who was a lawyer composed living wills for us. It had never occurred to me it would be used so soon in our lives. Carl’s sister, Donna, flew out, Mom and Dad drove down, and many friends came from the church. They were my lifeline. Jonathan felt uncomfortable in the hospital environment and was quite stoic throughout the entire incident. The doctors tried dialysis to see if there would be any improvement but no luck. After a few days life support was disconnected and Carl died within 15 minutes with Donna and me in the room holding on to each other. Kissed Carl goodbye and walked out of the hospital with legs wobbling like bowls of strawberry jello and teeth chattering as if stuck in the Alaskan snow. Sorrow and heartache as never experienced.
A member of the church employed at one of the main mortuaries in town made sure all arrangements were done as requested. Decided on cremation and a memorial service at the church. Mom always thought it would be more difficult having a funeral at church instead of the funeral home, but our lives together started here; it made sense that it should end here as well. Family and friends came to pay their respects, even several teens from the youth group came in support of Jonathan. Most people didn’t know about Carl’s artistic side and received many favorable comments about the drawings we displayed out in the foyer along with some other memorabilia. Odies flew in to sing solo (as he did at our wedding), but he felt odd doing it at a funeral so lead the audience in a few songs instead.
I am a solver and try to find reasons for why things happen in my life, whether right or wrong; otherwise, nothing seems to make sense. Think it has helped me to keep going. Doubt it was a coincidence that we returned to the place I knew the best surrounded by life-long friends who would be my biggest support group. Some of those individuals who came to the memorial service were former members who hadn’t stepped foot inside that building since the split and those who could not bring themselves to go back personally dropped by to see me. Even old time friends who had lost touch for years became reacquainted.
There was a meeting for all the management teams in New Mexico the day before Carl died. Obviously, I was not in attendance, but Mike told me the room was full of tears. Thought I was going to lose my job because Carl and I were hired as a team (as was done at the retirement facility except under different circumstances). Mike and someone from the corporate office came by to assure me that my position was secure and to take as much time as needed. Worked one more month and resigned. Living and working in the same place did have one drawback--no daily break from the memories.
[You can read my blog of 2/24/07, “Death Call” for a more extensive look at the last few months of Carl’s life.]
Packed up and returned to the place Jonathan knew the best--Austin. Moved in with my parents, and Jonathan could go to the high school a few blocks up the street. Went to California to scatter Carl’s ashes in the ocean. Since Don (my brother) and Donna (Carl’s sister) lived in California, my parents felt it a good idea to relocate and after some searching, it was Murrieta or Oceanside. Mom and Jonathan wanted Murrieta (Mom liked the concept of a brand new house). Dad and I wanted Oceanside. (There was nothing in Murrieta.) The ocean won out. My parents put their house up for sale and bought one in Oceanside where Jonathan would be attending the same high school he started in the 9th grade. (I thought that would be easier for him; however, should have listened to my son--he wanted something new, but thought I knew better. And just think if we had chosen Murrieta--would now be in closer proximity to a certain family, but then again, it’s doubtful we ever would have moved to Long Beach and never would have met them in the first place.)
What a whirlwind! Oh, by the way, the original owners of the house in Oceanside--Tony Hawk’s parents.
(to be continued)
The first order of business was to enroll Jonathan back into school. Grew up on the NE side and thought it would be great if Jonathan attended my high school alma mater and found an apartment in the same school zone. What a weird feeling walking on campus after 28 years. Had played tennis on the outside courts many times since graduating but never had stepped inside the compound. Don’t think Jonathan was all that thrilled but there was a twinge of excitement for me while entering the administrative office. Pulled out his records and all the information required for enrollment and was dumbfounded when told that the three months of home school made Jonathan’s first semester of high school in California null and void. In the opinion of the New Mexico Department of Education, Jonathan was still considered an 8th grade student and could not enroll in the Albuquerque Public School system. All the arguments in the world weren’t going to change the results. They gave me some phone numbers to call to make arrangements for alternative types of schooling. What a fiasco! Doubt we could have screwed up life more if we had planned it.
We were fortunate to find the first technology-based charter school of its kind in New Mexico that just opened up and even in close proximity to home. This school focused on individual needs, used computers as the main tool for instruction, and was certified as a college preparatory institute. At least the education problems seemed to be resolved for the moment. Jonathan could get credit for work study so he got a job as a waiter with a Marriott retirement facility just up the street from our apartment complex.
Saw an advertisement in the classified section regarding manager teams for self-storage facilities. Replied, interviewed, and Carl and I were the onsite management team for the Storage USA facility just ½ mile from where I grew up and across the street from Jonathan’s new school. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Our living quarters above the office had a huge kitchen with lots of cabinet space with a view of the city lights on one side and a view of the Sandia Mountains on the other. The living room was even big enough to hold a brand new pool table, not my choice, but soon learned to love playing. All we had to do was walk down the stairs to the office (once you do that or get a job within walking distance, nothing else compares). Didn’t mind the job and were given somewhat autonomy. But there must be something about first days on the job for me. Had a run in with one of the tenants. Part of the job involves collecting rent and if payments aren’t made--foreclosure process is followed. No phone number for the tenant but found a number in his file for a contact person. Called and left a message. The tenant called our District Manager (Mike) and wanted me fired. The history of this tenant--always late with payment to the point where his storage unit will be auctioned off. Mike appeased this “gentleman.” I met the guy and learned how to handle him. He was a timebomb ready to snap. Yep, this tenant was going to be a literal pain in the butt! Also became the self-storage police and had a tenant evicted for running a business in his unit which was against company policy. (He only had been doing it for two years but no one seemed to care until yours truly.)
Carl dealt with the maintenance and sales aspect of the position, and I pretty much ran the office. We made a great team and always considered Carl the best at dealing with people, but never did give myself much credit for anything. Mike came into the office to do his monthly observation and commented about one of Carl’s telephone conversations with a potential customer. Mike was amazed and said it sounded as if Carl was talking to his best friend.
Although living just across the street from school, it was like pulling teeth trying to get Jonathan to be on time. He was finding it difficult to even go and would feign sickness quite often. (It’s funny how he recovered after school was over and well enough to go to work. Although there was a basketball team, Jonathan hated to play with a "bunch of losers" so soon ended his association. Luckily the administrative staff was supportive in our attempts to want Jonathan in school and made him sign a contract--either buckle down or there was the door.
One of the tenants brought a couple of lab pups into the office. So adorable and decided to go to the facility in the mountain area that bred these gorgeous creatures. In the past had looked at animal shelters but never found the right one. Learned from a PBS program the proper technique of choosing the right one--lie on back and if doesn’t squirm (the dog, not the potential owner); raise your hand and if doesn’t flinch. There were several to pick from and chose the cutest male white lab. Went to the pet store and bought all the paraphernalia that goes with the territory. It was around Christmas time so Jonathan bought a little red doggie hat to mark the occasion. Decided a classy name for a classy canine would be appropriate so we chose Dante. The first day let Dante loose inside to roam. He stopped by the kitchen chair--SQUAT… Then made his way underneath the pool table--SQUAT. That night Dante whined and whined and whined. The crate was a mess--newspapers torn up and alleviation throughout. Cleaned the crate and decided to put Dante down into the office hallway but still could hear the whining. I sat with him for a while and decided to try the same technique as used for babies--leave alone and let them cry themselves to sleep. Still couldn’t sleep so went back downstairs. The crate was a mess again so decided to release the prisoner and let him roam the hallway the rest of the night and would deal with the mess in the morning. I didn’t have the patience of Job and after a few nights of this just couldn’t handle it anymore (had enough on my plate) and knew I would be the one who would end up doing all the work anyway. So Carl had the honors of returning Dante. It was a tearful goodbye.
A majority of companies offer counseling benefit assistance to employees and their families. Having difficulties with Jonathan and decided to get therapy as a family and one on one. Discussed my history of depression and eating disorders. The doc believed it to be a chemical imbalance and could prescribe some antidepressants. Ain’t gonna happen and didn’t want it changing my metabolism so for now chose to just use talk therapy. Completed our limited sessions and she would continue to “treat” me for a price or could recommend some other therapists. Should come as no surprise that I chose not to continue.
Came back to the church I knew so well but it was no longer the same. There was a split during our 12-year absence and the majority of the members scattered and not just to other churches of Christ. Just glad I wasn’t there to see it transpire. Although tried to go regularly at least on Sunday morning, attendance was somewhat sporadic. Periodically Carl, Jonathan, and I had to work or the aftermath of Carl’s insulin reactions.
The two-year looming dread of kidney failure was now a reality and dialysis was a necessity. In preparation took Carl to the hospital every week to receive either blood transfusions or iron shots. Acquired all the pertinent information regarding dialysis procedures to be done and choices to make and getting on the transplant list (seem to recall it was a seven-year wait). Carl would get extremely cold and stayed in the office standing in the sun a majority of the days. My brother and sister-in-law came for a visit and had front row seats to one of Carl’s reactions and acknowledged their new found appreciation for what I had endured over the last 17 years. Very scary for the first-time observer.
Carl hated his plight more and more each week. The poking and prodding and hours lying on a bed receiving numerous pints of anonymous donors’ blood through an IV. One of the final procedures to be done was a echocardiogram or in layman’s terms, heart echo. The doctor wanted to notate any fluid build up around the area. It was the end of the week, and Carl didn’t want to go so it was rescheduled for Monday afternoon.
Carl became exceedingly tired and seemed to walk at a snail’s pace one Sunday afternoon. After church got Carl to rest while Jonathan and I went downstairs to the office. We heard a thud and ran upstairs. Carl had become light headed and fell out of his chair but seemed all right.
Started out as a typical Monday morning--exercising, getting ready for work, and fixing breakfast. Carl was sluggish and it took Jonathan’s prodding to get him to come to the table. My concentration of pouring the OJ was interrupted by Jonathan’s shouts of “Dad!” Carl’s head was slumped backwards; eyes affixed. Told Jonathan to call 9-1-1 as I pulled Carl down to the floor. The paramedics came and transported him to the ER, and we followed shortly thereafter.
It was a long wait and the doctors filed in and out of the room numerous times. Carl’s heart had stopped five times and was comatose (there was a lot of fluid around the heart). That night the neurologist advised that if Carl were to come out of the coma, he would be in a vegetative state. There was no hope. In the beginning of the year one of our tenants who was a lawyer composed living wills for us. It had never occurred to me it would be used so soon in our lives. Carl’s sister, Donna, flew out, Mom and Dad drove down, and many friends came from the church. They were my lifeline. Jonathan felt uncomfortable in the hospital environment and was quite stoic throughout the entire incident. The doctors tried dialysis to see if there would be any improvement but no luck. After a few days life support was disconnected and Carl died within 15 minutes with Donna and me in the room holding on to each other. Kissed Carl goodbye and walked out of the hospital with legs wobbling like bowls of strawberry jello and teeth chattering as if stuck in the Alaskan snow. Sorrow and heartache as never experienced.
A member of the church employed at one of the main mortuaries in town made sure all arrangements were done as requested. Decided on cremation and a memorial service at the church. Mom always thought it would be more difficult having a funeral at church instead of the funeral home, but our lives together started here; it made sense that it should end here as well. Family and friends came to pay their respects, even several teens from the youth group came in support of Jonathan. Most people didn’t know about Carl’s artistic side and received many favorable comments about the drawings we displayed out in the foyer along with some other memorabilia. Odies flew in to sing solo (as he did at our wedding), but he felt odd doing it at a funeral so lead the audience in a few songs instead.
I am a solver and try to find reasons for why things happen in my life, whether right or wrong; otherwise, nothing seems to make sense. Think it has helped me to keep going. Doubt it was a coincidence that we returned to the place I knew the best surrounded by life-long friends who would be my biggest support group. Some of those individuals who came to the memorial service were former members who hadn’t stepped foot inside that building since the split and those who could not bring themselves to go back personally dropped by to see me. Even old time friends who had lost touch for years became reacquainted.
There was a meeting for all the management teams in New Mexico the day before Carl died. Obviously, I was not in attendance, but Mike told me the room was full of tears. Thought I was going to lose my job because Carl and I were hired as a team (as was done at the retirement facility except under different circumstances). Mike and someone from the corporate office came by to assure me that my position was secure and to take as much time as needed. Worked one more month and resigned. Living and working in the same place did have one drawback--no daily break from the memories.
[You can read my blog of 2/24/07, “Death Call” for a more extensive look at the last few months of Carl’s life.]
Packed up and returned to the place Jonathan knew the best--Austin. Moved in with my parents, and Jonathan could go to the high school a few blocks up the street. Went to California to scatter Carl’s ashes in the ocean. Since Don (my brother) and Donna (Carl’s sister) lived in California, my parents felt it a good idea to relocate and after some searching, it was Murrieta or Oceanside. Mom and Jonathan wanted Murrieta (Mom liked the concept of a brand new house). Dad and I wanted Oceanside. (There was nothing in Murrieta.) The ocean won out. My parents put their house up for sale and bought one in Oceanside where Jonathan would be attending the same high school he started in the 9th grade. (I thought that would be easier for him; however, should have listened to my son--he wanted something new, but thought I knew better. And just think if we had chosen Murrieta--would now be in closer proximity to a certain family, but then again, it’s doubtful we ever would have moved to Long Beach and never would have met them in the first place.)
What a whirlwind! Oh, by the way, the original owners of the house in Oceanside--Tony Hawk’s parents.
(to be continued)
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
ANOTHER NEW FOUND RESPECT
[Well, as you can see I still haven’t continued with my “therapy” and hopefully can post something before the week’s end. Dad’s still in the hospital and contracted a urinary tract infection but is on the road to recovery. All the thoughts and prayers we have received are very much appreciated. Why is it that hospital patients seem to become sicker than when they were admitted? But having hung around for the last 2-½ weeks, doesn’t surprise me. Not at all the sterile place it claims to be. Could be considered the least sanitary with the possible exception of the sewer.]
Besides people who live in their automobiles, also have a new found respect for those who work nights and graveyard shifts. On Monday I started a new job as an Ad Production Typist (wish I could say Editor in Chief) for the LA Times. It’s a temporary part-time position for at least six months with the hours of 8:00pm - 1:00am. Seemed doable and wouldn’t have to mess with traffic. By the time I arrived home and in bed could get a decent five hours of sleep and arise what still would be considered early for most people.
All of the ads have to be completed before anyone can leave no matter if it’s after your scheduled time to be off. The last two nights I’ve been getting home at 4am (the time when my alarm usually went off). I’m not having any trouble staying awake at work or even driving home. Feel tired but my eyes are opened wide as if on a caffeine high (and don’t drink coffee or eat much chocolate). Unfortunately, can’t seem to sleep more than three hours and trying to take naps are useless. Have been told that in time the body will become regulated to this new schedule. Hopefully that is true; otherwise, I’ll soon be dead on my feet.
Besides people who live in their automobiles, also have a new found respect for those who work nights and graveyard shifts. On Monday I started a new job as an Ad Production Typist (wish I could say Editor in Chief) for the LA Times. It’s a temporary part-time position for at least six months with the hours of 8:00pm - 1:00am. Seemed doable and wouldn’t have to mess with traffic. By the time I arrived home and in bed could get a decent five hours of sleep and arise what still would be considered early for most people.
All of the ads have to be completed before anyone can leave no matter if it’s after your scheduled time to be off. The last two nights I’ve been getting home at 4am (the time when my alarm usually went off). I’m not having any trouble staying awake at work or even driving home. Feel tired but my eyes are opened wide as if on a caffeine high (and don’t drink coffee or eat much chocolate). Unfortunately, can’t seem to sleep more than three hours and trying to take naps are useless. Have been told that in time the body will become regulated to this new schedule. Hopefully that is true; otherwise, I’ll soon be dead on my feet.
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