It's the Last Day of Summer..Smoking Sucks

It's the last day of summer, so how did you spend yours??
When I began my summer vacation this year, a little early thanks to my decision to leave a job that was no longer "doing it for me," I had hopes and dreams of travel, blogging, reading, tennis, and finding myself.  Well, its been quite an adventure, with one sad detour that has shaken my soul and brought me unexpected clarity.  I am just going to go right to that and hope that I will complete this blog without turning into an Ativan popping, soggy mess.

My Dad Died...
There, I said it..
Just about three years ago my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, which, to be honest, did not come as surprise.  Dad was a three pack a day smoker for nearly 50 years..they call that a 150 smoker..You do the math (and calculate the expense).  He had stopped more than five years ago when he had a big ass heart attack with blockages, congestive heart failure, etc...but seemed to recover nicely.  I have to tell you how much I loved my non-smoking dad.  My previous dad, militant smoking dad, was a belligerent entitled angry smoker who saw his universe of places he could light up shrivel into a dried up stub of a filter lying in the curb.

My grandfather died of lung cancer (Mom's dad) and I got to spend my 18th birthday attending his funeral (super fun).  In retrospect, I should have realized the level of denial my father had when we left the post burial luncheon and he bought me a car..not any car, it was used...but it was the KIT car from Knight Rider. Of course, I had to share it with my brother, but it was pretty damned cool and replaced my Red Camaro that had black louvers.  Dad was a car guy..

Its not to say my dad didn't try to quit, he tried many many times, always unsuccessfully, and as we all got married and had children, my siblings and I got more pissed off that he would not quit, and in fact, thought it was okay to smoke in the other room while our infants inhaled second hand smoke.  We all love our dad, and it was during those years that I realized what is often said by those who lose family members to drug addiction, "The drug was stronger than them." Don't fool yourself, nicotine is a horribly addictive drug...My otherwise intelligent, successful, loving father chose to smoke a cigarette rather than hold his grandchildren.

That being said..
I always knew my dad loved all of us more than his cigarettes, but it hurt and became the source of many unpleasant family arguments and tainted holiday celebrations.  Enough about fucking cigarettes and smoking...but don't expect me to be tolerant of anyone who smokes..anywhere.anytime.

So Dad made it nearly three years, but in the end, it was the COPD, the anxiety of not being able to control his breathing, the anxiety of those quarterly CAT scans and visits to the Cleveland Clinic, and the anxiety which was kept at bay by nicotine and a smooth vodka on the rocks that caught up to him.

I wish I had known that my Dad had these anxieties when I was younger, I probably did not become aware of them until I became a parent, and he started to share more with me.  I also wish that he was able have found someone who could've helped him manage these anxieties.  If I told you some of the shit my father dealt with, you would go running for your Ativan and have your shrink on speed dial.  Men in his generation, just did not do that..and I have begun to understand why he so identified with Tony Soprano, sans the killing and Russian girlfriends (I think!).

A Week to Remember..or not..
So, I went to visit my parents over Labor Day weekend.  This had been long planned, as my big Italian family that was brought together through the genealogy research I had done (partially sponsored by Dad) and the enthusiasm of some cousins..Dad happened to be in the hospital for his latest flare up of COPD, but he was in good spirits, eating well, and when I left him on Sunday he was stepping down to rehab and on his way home.  He asked me to promise him I would come home over the holiday, I asked him to call my brother and make the same request.  He promised he would, and he did. But, as I tried to keep my shit together as I walked out of that hospital room, with my big unnecessary sunglasses on to cover my tears, my heart told me I would never see him alive again. I had seen the signs, and well, I had a pretty prophetic visit from my grandma the night before (umm..she is no longer with us, but she does drop in now and again)..

Tuesday my mom called me in a panic telling me that things had taken a turn for the worse, and by Wednesday morning, before I could get back to Ohio, he had passed, died, left us...

Here comes my honest moment, I was terrified to be there when he died.  I did not want that to be my final memory of him.  I wanted it to be our time we spent together that Sunday, alone, looking at pictures of his grandchildren together in Florida and Hawaii that summer, complaining about the Tribe and the Browns, and discussing the family reunion he missed the day before.  It was a normal Norm day.

Mom was with him, as always.  It went as well as expected.  The doctors held her hands and comforted her at the end.  I was on the phone while my husband drove me across the state of Pennsylvania as I "handled" arrangements, notified people, and tried to figure out how we would explain all of this to our teenage son who was off to his second day of high school, thinking only that his grandfather was having another one of his twists and turns, but not the final one. It was a blur...

Wow, its hard to keep your shit together when everyone you call, email, text responds with their grief.  Its like I was a giant grief sponge...

Fast Forward
I could write volumes about the generosity of family,neighbors, friends, and sometimes former strangers  as we moved through the funeral plans, viewings (it was a two city tour), and ultimately the funeral (thankfully at the funeral home) and burial.

I turned down all my friends who offered to take that dreadful trek across the PA Turnpike, soundly, I needed them when I got home.

I also told those who had poorly met my expectations when it came to "respecting my parents" over the years that this was not the place to come to reconcile with my mom, me, or their god..Take it up with him.  I am pretty hard core on this one.

I was stunned and touched by those who came to visit with us.  Of course, we stunned them too...because, well, my family is a little twisty.. yes, that is stand up Dad with our family friend, Joe, who drove up from North Carolina to be part of our grief entourage.

Oh, and mom placed his remote control and Gold Sheets in his casket and my son placed a golf ball. It was kind of fun in an American Horror Story kind of way to watch people go up to the partially open casket and see Norm..with his toys.

I had my friend Sid...her name is not Sid, its Kim.  Did you see The Descendants? She was my Sid.  Click this link..its a great interview with Nick Krause, who played the quientessential Hawaiian laid back kid.  Of course, she said nothing inappropriate, and nobody punched her. She kept me properly medicated and tissued at all moments.

http://carpetbagger.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/02/sid-in-the-descendants-and-why-getting-punched-is-fun/

Funerals are also about expectations, as is death.  I think everyone has their preconceived notions how other people are supposed to act when someone dies.  I am probably a "death over achiever".  It comes partially with being Italian, and partially just fearing my own parents death.  I really don't do well at viewings, funerals, etc (nor do I think my performance at these will improve after this week), but I do well with thoughtful notes, donations and hugs and listening (I am also good at crying with you.)

Meeting Expectations..a final word..
So, here are my two parting thoughts..

First, the obvious - DON'T EFFING SMOKE!!! STOP NOW...

Second..as uncomfortable as it may be for you, acknowledge when somebody loses someone close to them (or their pet if that is their thing).  It does not need to be via food, flowers, cards (though all of them are wonderful and greatly appreciated), or donations to the charity of the families wishes (these are special places to us).  An email, a FB post, a text, a hug when you see them, perhaps try to be a little proactive.  Just acknowledge, and be prepared for them to tear up a bit.  But don't ignore them and pretend it did not happen.

Even if its not a close friend or someone you have not seen for a while, and you find out that they have lost a loved one, unless they are your mortal enemy or on your officially "written off" friends list, reach out.

Your soul will feel better for it..and so will I..