Friday, March 8, 2019

Good news:  Well, I'm still happily out of touch with reality.

Bad news: I woke up after 4 hours of sleep, my mind full of all of the things I had to do. 

    It was a day filled with to-do activities. The first thing was walking Elsa, the start again of my daily routine.  Next, unpack. Since I have trouble bending down and the rip-stop nylon duffle bag was too heavy, I pulled stuff out of it and threw them on the bed.  What a mess! Mike hated mess. 

    At one point in our marriage, he came up to me and said, "I'm neat, your messy. My way is better than yours." I said, "Excuse me, this is a marriage.  I have as much right to my neurotic need to be messy, and you do to your neurotic need to be neat." And it was neurotic.  Mike had a fear of chaos.  Even as he was dying, he was concerned about creating order.  Or, at least that was my take on what his thinking was as a noticed his furrowed brow.  Telling him my plans for organizing my life, his funeral, his books, etc., after his death resulted in smoothing those worry lines. 

    I spoke to Clarence several times.  He asked me to put together an obituary.  Then he sent me a wonderful composed one.  It was a resume with mention of me and his son, Damon.  His work as a deacon was more complete than I could have made it, and it was very well written, probably someone who is the professional for the NADD, National Association of Deacon Directors.  I have to contact the person, ask if I can use it as a base, and add a few more details.  I want to include the colleges Mike attended and expand the list of family members:  His wife, Betty, his first wife and mother of his son, Jean, his son Damon, Damon's wife Cylin, his grandson August, his sister Randy Ross, and his nieces Tara and Shivani Ganguly, and Shivani's son Sidney Roth-Ganguly.  Both our families are very small, and each person is important.

    When I spoke to Clarence, he reminded me that it was Ash Wednesday. I guess I'm about to start my 40 days in the desert. I called Judy to see her plans and tell her I wanted to go to church with her.  When she picked up the phone, she said she had been reaching for it to call me about the same thing.  She said she and her sister, Paulette, would pick me up at 11:30 for the noon mass.  I continued bustling around the house, putting things away.  Many of the things I brought back were Mike's.  There were not just the clothes on his back, but I had packed books, his power book, things I thought he would use in the hospital, and the need for the trip home.  Lots of little stuff. 

    I also called St. Paul's in Princeton, where Mike served as a deacon from 1994 to 2003, and then the diaconate office in Trenton to tell them both of Mike's death.  I spoke to someone at St. Paul's.  The person had heard of Mike but only started working there after he had left.  I talked to a machine at the diaconate office.  I got a call back telling me they had no record of a Mike Ross. What?! "They must be thinking of deacons who are currently active in the diocese."

    I was working away when I finally looked at the clock: 11:21. Oh, dear. Stripped down, jumped in the shower, did just enough of washing so I was reasonably presentable at a distance, and got dressed as quickly as I could.  11:30 arrived, and no Judy and Paulette. 

    While standing in the driveway, Marsha and Charlie, my neighbors across the street, came back from their walk around the area. They expressed their condolences and waited with me.  They have been wonderful, helping out with Elsa.  They love her too. I am so lucky to have the support and help when I need it.  I find Hawaii such a generous place.

    At 11:42, Judy and Paulette arrived.  We made it late to mass.  I thought I would see more people who I know and who know me.  Brenda, Don, Zola, Jack, Mindy, and Ed, and Cindy were there.  I caught glances from other people who may or may not have recognized me or just wondered who these rude women were coming in so late.

    The thing that's the hardest is watching other loving elderly couples. Then I think I will never have that again with Mike. Most people just looked at me and smiled wanly. Then one person gave me that oh-poor-you look. I didn't take that well. For me, that said rejection. They were focusing on my loss of Mike and not on the life ahead of me.  As I walked back down the aisle to get to my seat after communion, Mindy gave me a hug and said, "I love you." That's what I want. I can't imagine why anyone would want it differently. I'm sure I'm wrong, but I find I don't understand it.  I don't want to focus on the loss; I want to focus on what I have left.  I hope the community will still embrace me even though Mike, their beloved deacon, is gone. I hope I am enough to hold my value in this world. 

    Judy, Paulette, and I drove back home (they live right down the street from me.) Judy and Paulette were part of team Elsa while I was gone.  Elsa couldn't be in the house all day by herself.  She needed to get out to do her business.  She slept with Yvette and Josh at night.  In fact, she was downstairs with them whenever they were home.  But because Elsa has an issue with the next-door neighbors' four dogs, and got into a fight to the death with Liner, one of Yvette and Josh's dogs, over a ball, they couldn't leave her down there unsupervised.  Yvette had to throw water on them to get them to stop.  There were no injuries, but Yvette, erring on the side of caution, has picked up all balls from the yard and the house.  All balls play must be supervised.

    Elsa can play ball pretty much non-stop.  Everyone who comes into the house is a likely play partner.  She will bring the ball back to you, knowing that's the best way to keep you going. If you don't pick it up, she'd take the ball in her mouth and drop it on your foot. This is serious business.  She won't tolerate being ignored.  Mike loved to play with her.  She loved to be with Mike.  He was her person of choice.  She seems to be adjusting, but when I first came home she kept looking at the door waiting for him to come in. I keep telling her, "It's just us from now on, girl." 

    Judy stopped in the house to help me put ear drops in Elsa's ears.  She and Paulette not only walked her, at their scheduled times, played with her, whenever Elsa could get them to, they took care of her physically.  Judy noticed that the hair between her toes was too long and getting dirty and matted.  They washed her feet and did somewhat of a trimming.  Judy made arrangements to get her groomed at Petco and took her down there before I got home. At the time, we still didn't know when I would be back, and if I would be alone at that time.  

    Elsa has a persistent skin rash since we've had her.  I have medication for her, but it never clears up completely.  When I got home, I noticed it was gone.  Judy said it was in evidence before she took her to Petco, and gone shortly after.  We suspect it may have something to do with the soap they used.  It may also be that Mike and I never got around to bathing her once a week as we were supposed to. Negligence, your name is Ross.

    Our friends from Maryland, John and Carol Zimmerman, had asked about the funeral arrangements.  We are planning a service here in Hawaii.  It will be on March 30.  My sister's family won't be able to make it because my niece is expecting April 2, and my sister, her mother, will be there to assist with the baby care.  Mike and I were planning to go in for the bris or baby naming.  It was going to be a visit with family.  Now, the visit will serve two purposes: I will get to see the baby, and mainland family and friends will join together for a memorial for Mike.  The parish funeral is primarily for the parish, with some family.  Mike and I are the only Catholics among our family and friends, so the mass will not be that meaningful for them.  The memorial in Seattle will be small and intimate. We just have to find a place to do it because Karin, my niece, and her husband, David, are on overload, understandably.

    I was going to text the Zimmermans about the funeral plans. Then I figured it would be easier to talk in person since there were choices to be made. I had these poor folks on the phone while I went through a pile of mail, opening the envelopes and sorting them according to throw away and save for further processing. While we were able to keep up the conversation, talking to someone who is somewhat distracted and interrupts every once in a while, to give more attention to the sorting task isn't anyone's idea of a good conversation.  I thanked them for keeping me company during this tedious task.  It really was good to speak to them.  They have been long time friends.

    The Zimmermans moved in next door to us when we were living in our rental home in Princeton.  The previous owner introduced us to them before they moved in.  Within days after they arrived, Mike and I were leaving town for a weekend. John told me that their refrigerator broke.  I handed him the key to the house and told him to use ours.  I never heard if they actually used it, but understood how they thought I was the strangest person just handing over the key to my house to total strangers.  Now, it was Princeton New Jersey, not Hawaii.  In Hawaii, it would be absolutely normal.  And, they had just moved from New Haven where Carol completed her Ph.D. at Yale. They had been robbed at least once.  They didn't live in the safest neighborhood.

    I made an appointment with the funeral home for 4 pm.  Paulette went down with me.  Judy was willing to, but she is getting chemo, and I don't want her to exhaust herself.  I had a great time driving with Paulette.  Her husband was a drummer whose favorite music was jazz fusion.  She talked about how the band he played with would work together, co-creating this wonderful music.

    Mike and I were into co-creating; we assumed whatever we did 'our' way would be an improvement over either one of ours.  I thought of it as an exciting process, one in which an unexpected delight awaited me.  The clearest example of this occurred early in our relationship.  We were shopping at Fortunoff's in Manhattan for a stainless-steel silverware pattern. Each of us went off on our own to find something we liked.  I found something ultra-modern; Mike picked something akin to the silver pattern my grandparents picked at the end of the 19th century.  We looked at each other's selection, and without a word, we went back for a second look.  I selected something that reflected his taste while it was still modern, and he selected something suitable for the 19th century. Again, after a quick indication that neither of us was satisfied with either selection, we each went back to the troth to look for something else. The third attempt was a charm.  It was Mike who found the pattern we both like: something clearly modern but with soft lines.  I don't think either of us has ever regretted that choice.  

    I remember when I first discovered co-creation. I was at a Be-in (anyone remember those) at the University of Wisconsin in Madison.   There were two men improvising music, one on drums, a person I knew Phil Chumack, and one I believe on a saxophone.  I like to do improvisational dance and just took off. It was an unusually elevating experience. The sun, the situation in which free expression was expected. When we stopped, Phil came running up to me and said, "I followed you every minute." I told him, ," I followed you." That was a mind-blowing revelation. You could follow someone and be yourself completely. I now believe it is always that case.  Even for those who are trying to lose themselves in their sacrifice to others can't stop doing it in their own way.  We are always stuck being ourselves, whether we like it or not.

    I lived with some people in a commune I didn't get along with very well. They believed things either worked or didn't work between people; it shouldn't require any effort.  Needless to say, most of these people didn't have successful marriages or any marriages.  I worked out a code for myself;" I vastly prefer to do things OUR way, but if that fails, it will have to be mine."

Mike said it was one of the qualities that attract him to me: I was prepared to take care of myself while still being concerned about the needs of others.  He saw me as I wanted to be seen, and he helped me to become more of that person both in taking care of myself and being more generous to others. However, for better or for worse, I still have limits.

    The man at the funeral home said it would take about an hour to fill out all the paperwork.  Yeah, it took about that because he operates on Hawaiian time and pacing.  Not bad. I got macadamia nut and chocolate pralines out of the deal.  Someone gave them to him, and he doesn't eat sweets.  Hmmm! 

    When I got home, I took Elsa for her evening walk and worked on getting the bed cleared so I could go to sleep in it again.  I ate some of the dinner Brenda had bought for me.  She got a vegetarian soup for today because of Ash Wednesday.  It was the type of soup Mike and I both loved.  I needed some bread. I asked Yvette if she had any. She brought up half a loaf.  Nothing like bread and butter.

    I watched some more Inspector Lewis, took Elsa for her last walk of the day, and went to bed.

Thursday, March 7, 2019

Good news: I'm still doing well, mostly out of touch with reality.

Bad news: I think of little things that Mike would have done around the house and realize he is gone.

            I slept well last night. I woke up before 7 am.  I am so glad it's spring.  When I do Bikram, I have to get up at 6 am to do my whole morning routine and get there for the 7:30am class. I don't like getting up in the dark.  I like being awakened by the birds. 

            Okay, so I weighed myself today.  No, I have not lost weight.  I think I gained a pound or two.  What a surprise!  No real exercise for 5 ½ weeks, and for the first 2 to 3 weeks a cheese-filled croissant a day.  Fortunately, one day I didn't eat one I bought until the next day.  The cheese was bad.  That turned me off  them. I still had my share of chocolate chip cookies and Hersey's Milk Chocolate with almonds, preferably whole. 

            I walked Elsa and restarted my regular morning routine. I did an oil rinse while I washed the dishes.  I had been letting them go because there were some in the drying rack (my dishwasher) that Mike always put away. They go on a shelf that is too high for me.  

            I also finally swept the floor.  There was a dead roach I had killed while Mike was in the dialysis clinic that fatal day.  It was my job to kill the creepy crawly critters and his to pick them up. I thought, "Where are the ants when you really need them?" I finally got a broom and swept the kitchen floor.  Sweeping stuff into a dustpan isn't easy for me because I don't do bending well.  Lo and behold, I missed the bug.  It was still sitting on the floor after I got most of the stuff up.  I guess bending down to pick them up is definitely my job now.

            Yesterday, I had called Chris Schreck, the rector of the Pontifical College of Josephinum in Columbus again.  Hmm! He's not answering my calls.  Should I take a hint?  I think it's about the books; the librarian has probably said, "Absolutely not!!! What am I going to do with 3,000 books?" One of my questions to Chris was, "Could the seminary in New Orleans use these books?  They lost everything in Katrina.  Of course, it is perfectly possible that everyone is donating books to them, and they're starting to feel like China with the recycling.  No more!! I know, I know. China's motivation is probably very different.

            I finally called the diaconate office in Trenton back. Very, very nice ladies. They asked me if my husband was a Roman Catholic,  I said yes.  They said, "Well, you called the Episcopalian diocese in Trenton." They had looked through all their archives and could find nothing.  They finally entered Mike's name online and found the problem.  How sweet!  Real aloha spirit and as far away from the aloha state as you can get and still be in the USA. I called the number they gave me, reported his death. Done.

            I called Deacon Clarence to ask him about the obituary someone wrote for the National Association of Diaconate Deacons to see if I could modify it for distribution to other newspapers.   Tom Dubois, the author, works out of the Josephinum, where Mike worked in Columbus.  He told me that he, Clarence, and John Coughlin had all had some input.   He said I'm free to use it any way I like. If a newspaper I submit it to has any problems, he is happy to sign a release form.  Now I have to make the changes.

            But that wasn't on the agenda for the day.  Once I had started a load in the washing machine, I got to work looking for pictures which Damon could use to create a montage for me personally which we can use at the funeral and another one which reflects his church life.  I found a picture of us which was taken the day of his ordination and a plaque designating him an ordain deacon on May 14, 1994.  Then another picture taken at the last diaconate retreat. I'll have to live with the fact that I look like a dumpy old lady in the second photograph.  I found one other picture showing him in some church activity, don't even know what.  

            For the church montage, we're planning to use those two pictures and whatever other pictures we can gather, showing him in church activities.  I promptly called Brenda and asked her to put out a request for photos and gave her Damon's email address.  

            Today, I found an email I had missed.  Someone responded to my blog/ log/ journal entry on my interaction with a visitor who said, "He wanted to remember Mike before he got sick and still had his dignity." I gave that gentleman what-for as I had given Mike what-for when he described himself as not being a person anymore in his helpless condition. "How dare you describe yourself that way. Regardless of your condition, you are always someone of great dignity, integrity, and love." Boy, was I ever pissed! This letter reflected my thoughts. Below is the response is that response. There is no name attached because the person asked to remain anonymous.  I can appreciate the sentiment.  I think it is beautifully written, a wonderful tribute to our humanity in our weakened condition and to Mike. 

           

 Dear Betty,

            I just read your last letter.  The fact that someone should suggest that Deacon Mike lacked dignity because of his physical state, just infuriates me.

             People have been twisting the meaning of that word for years to absolve themselves of responsibility to care for the lives of the weak, the dying , the special needs people, and anyone else that they deem should not have the right to live anymore.  It is a crock!

             Dignity is the way you live your life, the goodness that springs from your heart, the kindness you show, and the strength that moves you to push through weakness, the love and faith that make a mere mortal strive to move mountains,  and in the end, your immortal soul.

             No one, no machine, no tube, no catheter, nothing ..could ever take away Deacon Michael Ross' Dignity.

             I just have to tell you, that many a Thursday evening,  I was not looking forward to getting off the couch and driving to Church for a Liturgy class,  but always, without exception,

            I was so glad that I did.  And I always marveled at the energy and motivation and zeal that made him continue as long as possible when he was so ill.

             He touched so many lives for good, I will never be able to do a reading at Mass without  whispering a thank you to him for the insight he gave about the Scriptures.

            May the memories bring you joy!

            Assuming that Damon would want to do the eulogy, I called him to tell him I was comfortable with him doing it. He said that he was not interested or willing to do the eulogy.  Holy Cow!   I guess I am the one doing the eulogy. 

            I called Clarence to ask him what the difference was between the eulogy and the homily since he would be talking about Mike, too. He explained to me that it was his job to relate Mike's life to whatever the readings were for the day.  The eulogist has a great deal more freedom. I would have a max of 15 minutes. I don't think anyone who has read this blog will have any doubts about my ability to fill 15 minutes. The question is , can I limit it to that time limit? I've done it before. A little rehearsal with a stopwatch. If not, Walter can start playing music to signal it's time to stop. It will be like the Oscars.

            I spoke to Susan Bender, the parish secretary, about the schedule for the funeral.  At 9:00 am is visitation. That means people come to the Church to see the family. (Get me out of there!  All I need is to be reduced to tears by their sympathy, or, worse yet, their pity right before I have to do the eulogy.)  Zola gave me some support.  She has just recently lost a second child.  It was devastating.  She also can't stand pity. She said when her mother was diagnosed with cancer, she told people if you want to offer me pity, stay away from me. My sentiment exactly.

            I think I have a solution to avoiding the visitation situation without looking entirely off the social mark.  I asked about the possibility of having the Hulu ministry dance at the funeral.  Because it is Lent, they can't do it during the Mass. But, they can do it before or after the Mass.  Mike always wanted me to join that ministry.  Bending down is out, but my arms are still good. I watched the dancers; the older ones don't do those bends.  A little late for Mike to enjoy my participation. Hopefully, I won't be overcome by emotion while dancing.  Judy Glickstein recommends that we do the Ava Maria has been already choreographed. The plan is for Walter, the cantor, to do the singing.  I love his voice.  He says he's not trained, but his voice is just a joy to listen to.

            I spent most of the afternoon going through the pictures looking for those of Mike, which might be suitable for the picture montage of his personal life.  It was so much fun doing that.  I also found some of Yvette's mother when she was in her thirties Yvette had never seen, and many of me at many different stages of my life that she also had not seen.  

            I was planning to go to Walmart and spend several hours getting the paper pictures converted to digital images. Not a fun prospect. Sandor, our optometrist, a deacon candidate and a good friend of Mike's, called and offered to bring over his professional quality scanner, copy them and send them to Damon.  How much better. He said it shouldn't take much time.  With the two of us working together, it should be much more comfortable than me doing it alone at the store.  Zola also called and offered her scanner. She seems to have some good technological knowledge.  I asked her if she was really under 30 and only looked like she was 60.  No, she just has knowledge.  Can us old dogs learn these new tricks?  I suppose there's hope.  Zola also offered to do the program for the Mass and suggested setting up a slide show using these pictures of Mike. That's what they had for their daughter.  I am not doing this alone. 

            Clarence, head of the deacon program in Hawaii, who will be serving in the Mass and will be doing the homily, sent suggestions for the reading.  Judy, Paulette, and I will go over it together and make choices.  I promised Clarence that I would send him our choices for his final okay. He's the one who has to find a way to relate Mike's life to these readings.  I want to make sure he feels comfortable doing that with the readings we pick.

            I called Damon to tell him that Sandor would be helping me scan the pictures and send them to him.  August, his son, is the family's one-man Genius Bar.  His technological knowledge is fantastic.  He is an expert at 15.  Can you imagine, it is really possible to have a teenager an expert in this day and age. Is that good or bad? He told me he was getting tons of pictures from people from the Church.  He thinks it's wonderful.  Due to our in-contact-with-everyone world, Damon is receiving condolences from people he hasn't heard from in 20 years.

            Chris Schreck got back to me around my dinner hour. Most of my issues around the obituary had been resolved in my conversation with Tom Dubois. Chris will check if the seminary has any use for any of Mike's books. Tom said he would check to see if the New Orleans seminary can use them. He directed me to call Mike's colleague in the distance learning program to deal with the certificates of program completion, sitting on Mike's desk.  When I did call him, he said I could just throw them out.  I was planning to mail them to him today but got involved with the picture project and ran out of time. Tomorrow I have to do that and get to the Apple store to see if they can help me download the information from my old phone to Mike's, now my new phone before it completely dies. For now, I can consider it just among the halt and the lame.

            I also talked to Chris about the tabletop computer and printer that the seminary gave Mike because he was doing work for them. Mike got a laptop computer and stopped using the other one.  I hoped that I would get to keep the printer.  Chris said absolutely; keep them both. Mike worked on the distance learning program for free and never asked for anything.  

        Sandor called while I was on the phone with Chris.  It was actually his wife, Meallinani, also an optometrist, and a dear friend of Mike's also. They were picking up Thai food, did I want any? Hmm. I had tried to eat before they came.  Had some salad and soup.  But I find there is a new type of hunger in my belly that I'm not used to.  I actually hope its grief instead of some illness. 

            Today, a package arrived from the ashram with the brewer's yeast I left there.  Now that was prompt.

            I started dealing with some of Mike's laundry that I had sorted and folded but hadn't had time to put away.  Not one of the most pleasant tasks. I'd consigned it to him because he has so many clothes, I couldn't fit the clean laundry in the drawer anymore.

            Sandor and Mealliinani took much longer than I expected to get here.  When they did, they said it took them an hour to get their food.  I had set the table for three, and we sat down together. Sandor said the blessing. The food was good; the company was even better.  After dinner, Meaali’inani washed the dishes, and Sandor and I got to work on scanning the pictures.  Now, this is my idea of good guests: they bring their own food and do the dishes. Mike would have been mortified.  He had a more formal idea of hosting.  I called him the Martha Stewart of the family.  

            Mike loved to cook.  For him, it was a way of relaxing.  Even planning his meals was a way to relax. His grandmother had taught him to cook.  She did it professionally in an Orthodox Jewish community in Lakewood, New Jersey over the summer. It was Mike who picked out all our dishes and pots and pans. He also did all the food shopping.  I haven't cooked a meal in 45 years.  I did before, somewhat.  I was trying to learn to cook when I met Mike. I was cooking tuna casseroles and a favorite from the NY Times cookbook called pork apple pie.  Forget that.  Mike made fun of my cooking for years.  Just as well. I don't think he could have easily shared a kitchen with someone else. 

            At one point in our marriage, he came up to me and said, "I've decided it's not fair. I do all the cooking.  You should do some, too." Okay.  So, I got out a vegetarian cookbook and went to work.  I wanted more of that in my diet.  I hated every minute of the job.  Mike objected to what I was cooking and declared, "You're not supposed to cook that. You're supposed to cook what I want to eat." I responded, "If I'm cooking, I'm going to cook what I want to eat." After a few days of that, Mike came up to me and said, "I've been thinking about it.  When I cook, you do the dishes.  When you cook,  you do the dishes. That's not fair. From now on, I'll do all the cooking, and you do the dishes." Deal!!

            A short while after that incident, Mike needed shoulder surgery.  He assumed he would be home to cook dinner. However, he had a difficult time recovering from the anesthesia.  When the dinner hour approached, he frantically called my mother, who lived with us in the mother-in-law extension (ohana), to ask her to put some dinner together.  His desperation was probably made worse because he was still somewhat under the influence of the drugs. We got home at 11 pm that night. Dinner wasn't an issue.

            Scanning the photographs went like a breeze. Sandor has this high-end machine which he uses for work.  Something like 60 photos were rapidly uploaded.  Amazing!  A chore I envisioned having to do alone at Walmart for hours, went quickly, and was an absolute delight. Again, Mike has taken care of me by bringing these folks into my life. I'll say it again: I am so lucky.  I was lucky to have Mike in my life, and now I am fortunate to have Mike still looking out for me.  I could feel him smiling a relaxed, satisfied smile as he observed our time together that evening. 

            Before they left, Sandor went back into Mike's library, a very Mike room.  We converted a 2-car garage into his library for his 3,000 books. Mike's will states that his books should be given to the Josephinum Seminary library.  Oh, well. But I will be moving all those books out of this house at some point. I'm thinking there may be other people who studied with Mike who would like to see his study/library before it's dismantled. It's so him.

            Sandor and Meali'inani left shortly before 10pm.  I was too stimulated and happy to go to bed right away.  I watched some tv, took Elsa for her before bed walk, and finally went to sleep myself.    

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Good news: Well, I'm still happily out of touch with reality. Bad news: I woke up after 4 hours of sleep, my mind full of all of the things I had to do. It was a day filled with to-do activities. The first thing was walking Elsa, the start again of my daily routine. Next, unpack. Since I have trouble bending down and the rip-stop nylon duffle bag was too heavy, I pulled stuff out of it and threw them on the bed. What a mess! Mike hated mess. At one point in our marriage, he came up to me and said, "I'm neat, your messy. My way is better than yours." I said, "Excuse me, this is a marriage. I have as much right to my neurotic need to be messy, and you do to your neurotic need to be neat." And it was neurotic. Mike had a fear of chaos. Even as he was dying, he was concerned about creating order. Or, at least that was my take on what his thinking was as a noticed his furrowed brow. Telling him my plans for organizing my life, his funeral, his books, etc., after his death resulted in smoothing those worry lines. I spoke to Clarence several times. He asked me to put together an obituary. Then he sent me a wonderful composed one. It was a resume with mention of me and his son, Damon. His work as a deacon was more complete than I could have made it, and it was very well written, probably someone who is the professional for the NADD, National Association of Deacon Directors. I have to contact the person, ask if I can use it as a base, and add a few more details. I want to include the colleges Mike attended and expand the list of family members: His wife, Betty, his first wife and mother of his son, Jean, his son Damon, Damon's wife Cylin, his grandson August, his sister Randy Ross, and his nieces Tara and Shivani Ganguly, and Shivani's son Sidney Roth-Ganguly. Both our families are very small, and each person is important. When I spoke to Clarence, he reminded me that it was Ash Wednesday. I guess I'm about to start my 40 days in the desert. I called Judy to see her plans and tell her I wanted to go to church with her. When she picked up the phone, she said she had been reaching for it to call me about the same thing. She said she and her sister, Paulette, would pick me up at 11:30 for the noon mass. I continued bustling around the house, putting things away. Many of the things I brought back were Mike's. There were not just the clothes on his back, but I had packed books, his power book, things I thought he would use in the hospital, and the need for the trip home. Lots of little stuff. I also called St. Paul's in Princeton, where Mike served as a deacon from 1994 to 2003, and then the diaconate office in Trenton to tell them both of Mike's death. I spoke to someone at St. Paul's. The person had heard of Mike but only started working there after he had left. I talked to a machine at the diaconate office. I got a call back telling me they had no record of a Mike Ross. What?! "They must be thinking of deacons who are currently active in the diocese." I was working away when I finally looked at the clock: 11:21. Oh, dear. Stripped down, jumped in the shower, did just enough of washing so I was reasonably presentable at a distance, and got dressed as quickly as I could. 11:30 arrived, and no Judy and Paulette. While standing in the driveway, Marsha and Charlie, my neighbors across the street, came back from their walk around the area. They expressed their condolences and waited with me. They have been wonderful, helping out with Elsa. They love her too. I am so lucky to have the support and help when I need it. I find Hawaii such a generous place. At 11:42, Judy and Paulette arrived. We made it late to mass. I thought I would see more people who I know and who know me. Brenda, Don, Zola, Jack, Mindy, and Ed, and Cindy were there. I caught glances from other people who may or may not have recognized me or just wondered who these rude women were coming in so late. The thing that's the hardest is watching other loving elderly couples. Then I think I will never have that again with Mike. Most people just looked at me and smiled wanly. Then one person gave me that oh-poor-you look. I didn't take that well. For me, that said rejection. They were focusing on my loss of Mike and not on the life ahead of me. As I walked back down the aisle to get to my seat after communion, Mindy gave me a hug and said, "I love you." That's what I want. I can't imagine why anyone would want it differently. I'm sure I'm wrong, but I find I don't understand it. I don't want to focus on the loss; I want to focus on what I have left. I hope the community will still embrace me even though Mike, their beloved deacon, is gone. I hope I am enough to hold my value in this world. Judy, Paulette, and I drove back home (they live right down the street from me.) Judy and Paulette were part of team Elsa while I was gone. Elsa couldn't be in the house all day by herself. She needed to get out to do her business. She slept with Yvette and Josh at night. In fact, she was downstairs with them whenever they were home. But because Elsa has an issue with the next-door neighbors' four dogs, and got into a fight to the death with Liner, one of Yvette and Josh's dogs, over a ball, they couldn't leave her down there unsupervised. Yvette had to throw water on them to get them to stop. There were no injuries, but Yvette, erring on the side of caution, has picked up all balls from the yard and the house. All balls play must be supervised. Elsa can play ball pretty much non-stop. Everyone who comes into the house is a likely play partner. She will bring the ball back to you, knowing that's the best way to keep you going. If you don't pick it up, she'd take the ball in her mouth and drop it on your foot. This is serious business. She won't tolerate being ignored. Mike loved to play with her. She loved to be with Mike. He was her person of choice. She seems to be adjusting, but when I first came home she kept looking at the door waiting for him to come in. I keep telling her, "It's just us from now on, girl." Judy stopped in the house to help me put ear drops in Elsa's ears. She and Paulette not only walked her, at their scheduled times, played with her, whenever Elsa could get them to, they took care of her physically. Judy noticed that the hair between her toes was too long and getting dirty and matted. They washed her feet and did somewhat of a trimming. Judy made arrangements to get her groomed at Petco and took her down there before I got home. At the time, we still didn't know when I would be back, and if I would be alone at that time. Elsa has a persistent skin rash since we've had her. I have medication for her, but it never clears up completely. When I got home, I noticed it was gone. Judy said it was in evidence before she took her to Petco, and gone shortly after. We suspect it may have something to do with the soap they used. It may also be that Mike and I never got around to bathing her once a week as we were supposed to. Negligence, your name is Ross. Our friends from Maryland, John and Carol Zimmerman, had asked about the funeral arrangements. We are planning a service here in Hawaii. It will be on March 30. My sister's family won't be able to make it because my niece is expecting April 2, and my sister, her mother, will be there to assist with the baby care. Mike and I were planning to go in for the bris or baby naming. It was going to be a visit with family. Now, the visit will serve two purposes: I will get to see the baby, and mainland family and friends will join together for a memorial for Mike. The parish funeral is primarily for the parish, with some family. Mike and I are the only Catholics among our family and friends, so the mass will not be that meaningful for them. The memorial in Seattle will be small and intimate. We just have to find a place to do it because Karin, my niece, and her husband, David, are on overload, understandably. I was going to text the Zimmermans about the funeral plans. Then I figured it would be easier to talk in person since there were choices to be made. I had these poor folks on the phone while I went through a pile of mail, opening the envelopes and sorting them according to throw away and save for further processing. While we were able to keep up the conversation, talking to someone who is somewhat distracted and interrupts every once in a while, to give more attention to the sorting task isn't anyone's idea of a good conversation. I thanked them for keeping me company during this tedious task. It really was good to speak to them. They have been long time friends. The Zimmermans moved in next door to us when we were living in our rental home in Princeton. The previous owner introduced us to them before they moved in. Within days after they arrived, Mike and I were leaving town for a weekend. John told me that their refrigerator broke. I handed him the key to the house and told him to use ours. I never heard if they actually used it, but understood how they thought I was the strangest person just handing over the key to my house to total strangers. Now, it was Princeton New Jersey, not Hawaii. In Hawaii, it would be absolutely normal. And, they had just moved from New Haven where Carol completed her Ph.D. at Yale. They had been robbed at least once. They didn't live in the safest neighborhood. I made an appointment with the funeral home for 4 pm. Paulette went down with me. Judy was willing to, but she is getting chemo, and I don't want her to exhaust herself. I had a great time driving with Paulette. Her husband was a drummer whose favorite music was jazz fusion. She talked about how the band he played with would work together, co-creating this wonderful music. Mike and I were into co-creating; we assumed whatever we did 'our' way would be an improvement over either one of ours. I thought of it as an exciting process, one in which an unexpected delight awaited me. The clearest example of this occurred early in our relationship. We were shopping at Fortunoff's in Manhattan for a stainless-steel silverware pattern. Each of us went off on our own to find something we liked. I found something ultra-modern; Mike picked something akin to the silver pattern my grandparents picked at the end of the 19th century. We looked at each other's selection, and without a word, we went back for a second look. I selected something that reflected his taste while it was still modern, and he selected something suitable for the 19th century. Again, after a quick indication that neither of us was satisfied with either selection, we each went back to the troth to look for something else. The third attempt was a charm. It was Mike who found the pattern we both like: something clearly modern but with soft lines. I don't think either of us has ever regretted that choice. I remember when I first discovered co-creation. I was at a Be-in (anyone remember those) at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. There were two men improvising music, one on drums, a person I knew Phil Chumack, and one I believe on a saxophone. I like to do improvisational dance and just took off. It was an unusually elevating experience. The sun, the situation in which free expression was expected. When we stopped, Phil came running up to me and said, "I followed you every minute." I told him, ," I followed you." That was a mind-blowing revelation. You could follow someone and be yourself completely. I now believe it is always that case. Even for those who are trying to lose themselves in their sacrifice to others can't stop doing it in their own way. We are always stuck being ourselves, whether we like it or not. I lived with some people in a commune I didn't get along with very well. They believed things either worked or didn't work between people; it shouldn't require any effort. Needless to say, most of these people didn't have successful marriages or any marriages. I worked out a code for myself;" I vastly prefer to do things OUR way, but if that fails, it will have to be mine." Mike said it was one of the qualities that attract him to me: I was prepared to take care of myself while still being concerned about the needs of others. He saw me as I wanted to be seen, and he helped me to become more of that person both in taking care of myself and being more generous to others. However, for better or for worse, I still have limits. The man at the funeral home said it would take about an hour to fill out all the paperwork. Yeah, it took about that because he operates on Hawaiian time and pacing. Not bad. I got macadamia nut and chocolate pralines out of the deal. Someone gave them to him, and he doesn't eat sweets. Hmmm! When I got home, I took Elsa for her evening walk and worked on getting the bed cleared so I could go to sleep in it again. I ate some of the dinner Brenda had bought for me. She got a vegetarian soup for today because of Ash Wednesday. It was the type of soup Mike and I both loved. I needed some bread. I asked Yvette if she had any. She brought up half a loaf. Nothing like bread and butter. I watched some more Inspector Lewis, took Elsa for her last walk of the day, and went to bed.

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Good news: I’m out of touch with reality. I’m safe in my home in Kona. I am happy to be able to continue writing.  Brenda Nelson brought over my dinner.

Bad news: Since I’m not in touch with reality, nothing.

    I had big plans for today.  There were things to take care of before I boarded the plane at 2:25 pm to go back to Kona. 

    Yvette and I got up and the usual time. I had slept very well.  Yvette reported having some nightmares and didn’t sleep so well.  We got up, showered, and went to have breakfast.  My appetite seems to be repressed. Good.  I’ll probably do a 180 at some point and feel I can’t get enough food.  My body is preparing for the feast (none stop nervous eating) to come.

    Fortunately, I called my Turo guy yesterday to tell him about the damage to the car.  I finally got that over with.    He told me there were things I had to do: get the car cleaned and get the tank filled with gas. Didn’t I remember the list he sent me? No. I consider myself lucky that I remembered how I got the rental at all. Damon had helped me ordering it, and Shivani helped me pick it up. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for their help.  They were determined to see me safely settled before they left.  Wonderful!

    I had taken pictures of the damage to the car and sent them to him.  Yvette thinks the damage is so minor it can be buffed out by a detailer.  Maybe, maybe not.  

    We left around 9:30 to get the car washed.  We had to go to Waikiki to the one Kevin, the Turo guy, had recommended.  It wasn’t far, and it went smoothly.   When we got back to the ashram, we ate some lunch and then loaded the car. Govinda helped us carry our baggage from the cabin to the car. We got to the drop of location, Kevin’s house, in plenty of time.  Kevin wasn’t even home yet when we got there.  He told us he would be there later, but we wanted to make sure we left plenty of time to get stuck in Honolulu’s traffic.  Nine miles an hour can be a good speed at rush hour.

    While Yvette and I were sitting in the parked car waiting, a woman drove up and asked us why we were sitting in front of her house.  When Kevin came home, he told us the neighbors were pretty pissed with him because he was managing 37 (thirty-seven) cars.  Some of which were always parked on the street in his tightly packed suburban neighborhood.  Can’t exactly blame the neighbors.     He said he started doing this with one car part-time and developed it into his full-time job.

    When he looked at the damage, he said it wasn’t bad. I bought extra insurance because I don’t like to be messing with these things after I am through with the car. He also took a look at the mirror and was able to fix it himself.  No worries.  He’ll be in touch with me over the other problems. Then he drove us to the airport for free.  This pretty much covered whatever I spent on the car wash.  Even a 12-minute ride from his house would have cost us a good $30.

    Yvette and I got our tickets, checked our luggage, and headed for the security line.  I blissfully walked along, assuming Yvette was right behind me.  When I got to the line, the maze which was on the outside of the building was empty where it had been full to overflowing when we passed it before. I finally turned around. No Yvette. Did I lose another important person?  I turned to leave the maze and find Yvette.  Still no Yvette.  The guard told me to keep moving through the line.  I told her that I had lost someone.  She said, “Huh?”  I said it louder; she yelled, “Don’t yell at me.”  Great.

    Finally, Yvette showed up. She had stopped to organize what she was carrying.  She looked somewhat like a Sherpa with her load.  She had to carry more than her fair share because of my bad back. We started back through the empty maze.  Another section of the labyrinth had been opened, allowing people to get online before us. We moved to the end of that group.  Then this security guard came along with some part of her bent out of shape.  She yelled at people that they were going through the wheelchair access part of the line, and we all had to go downstairs with her. Yvette and I both protested because we had gone through the line correctly.  We refused to go with her. The more I think about it, the weirder that whole situation was.  Did she take those people downstairs?  Baggage was downstairs. Security was downstairs.  I hate to think what happened to those poor people.  I  had visions of them being detained on suspicion of something and missing their planes.  

    After that, going through the security line went quickly.  Between us, we had two carry-ons apiece, and Honolulu Elsa, a good-sized stuffed teddy bear, which was the closest I could get to our small white dog at home who Mike loved and who loved Mike to bits and pieces.   I couldn’t bring the real Elsa over; Mike made due.  We were surprised; the check in-attendant said nothing about that extra piece of “luggage.” When we got on the plane, we had our answer.  It was ¾ empty.  

    The flight was easy; the landing was rough. Picking up the luggage was easy, but it wasn’t so easy for Yvette to find a place curbside so we could load the car. She had to go around twice.  I actually stood in the parking spot and shooed folks away, saying, “I’m not moving.”

    Walking in the house was easier than I expected.  The living space of our house is never closed off from nature.  As a result, I didn’t feel confined and isolated.  I still felt part of the larger world.  Also, Mike has been preparing me for time alone with all his trips off the island to Honolulu and the mainland. Being alone in the house was not completely unfamiliar. Neither does it signal that Mike will never be with me again. Reality can wait.

    Brenda, a friend of Mike’s and mine, came over with dinner, roasted chicken, salad, and something for dessert.  So many people are watching out for me.     We talked about the funeral.  It is set for Saturday, March 30 here in Kona. Fr. Lio will officiate.  I am very happy with this because I know he loved Mike and valued his contribution to the church. Deacon Clarence and Deacon John Coughlin will be on the altar, and their wives will do the first and second reading of the funeral mass. He proposed that either Damon or Yvette do the eulogy.  I haven’t broken that piece of news to them yet.  

    I am planning to fill Mike’s soon-to-be empty closet space with a kind of memorial.  The area is open, not a normal closed in closet, so the back wall is visible. I want pictures there, so it’s still filled with him. Brenda talked about putting some photos together for the funeral.  Final resolution: Damon is going to put the pictures together and have them compiled by Shutterfly, and then have the board mailed to me. We have to get everything ready, so he can order it this weekend.  I have to find a place that converts real photographs, you know the individual type that comes on paper, to a digital one so I can send it to him.  I think we should also do a big one of Mike and me on the day of his ordination. I have to call Trenton tomorrow and see if I can find the exact date.

    Time to eat dinner and start tackling that huge amount of mail that has accumulated over the last 5 weeks, which Yvette didn’t bring over to Honolulu with her.  I spent dinner in front of the TV, watching Inspector Lewis, an English mystery. I find it relaxing.  Then sorted much of the mail, walked Elsa, and went to bed.

Monday, March 4, 2019

Good news: Mike was so happy here in Hawaii.  This was the happiest period of his life. What he had to give was appreciated by one and all here.  Thank you for your response to him and the great joy you gave him.

Bad news: Mike will no longer be able to give us anything from his enormous storehouse of knowledge, kindness, and love.

Now begins  MY YEAR of MAGICAL THINKING; hopefully,  mine will be more joyful than Didion's.

    Despite going to sleep late, at 11 pm,  and having just lost Mike, I slept well.  Yvette and I both woke up with the birds, as usual.  We went over to breakfast promptly at 8:30 am, unshowered, hoping not to miss the oatmeal again.  We were so distracted that both of us walked into the building without taking off our shoes, a requirement at the ashram. 

    I brought my computer with me, hoping for a better connection than I had in the cabin, and worked on Saturday and Sunday's entries.  

    Yvette and I spoke about the pictures Damon and Clarence had sent us.  We both saw something in them we hadn't seen before.  Yvette said Mike looked so happy.  She hadn't remembered him looking that way.  I saw a facial expression that I don't think I have ever seen before. To me, he was almost unrecognizable.  He was completely relaxed with an innocent, naïve joy on his face. I'm inclined to believe this is how he feels now, after his death.  It gives me much comfort to think that way.  If he's happy, I'll be just fine. 

    My biggest grief is not for myself right now, it is for the world at large.  Mike had so much left to offer in knowledge, kindness, and love. It feels like the loss of a young person who still had so much life ahead of him. 

    Dr. Izawa, the specialist in Mike's case, called.  He is back from his week and a half away at a conference.  He expressed his condolences. We talked a little about Mike's condition.  He said again, he might have tried to operate, but it was unlikely that Mike could have survived in his weakened state.  He told me that his lungs were so compromised from his time in the hospital, that surviving at all was unlikely.  

    I knew his lungs were a big problem.  I asked if he could have been saved if they but the nasal gastric tube in sooner and prevented bile from being sucked into his lungs the second time.  He had an NG tube in when he was in the ICU the first time.  He explained the problems with doing it as well as the issues with not doing it.  Nothing is clear cut. I'm glad to know this.  As grieving family members who are decision-makers do, I started beating myself up for what I had done and not done.  Was I responsible for his death in some way because I actually enjoyed my time alone when he was traveling?  

    I know that these thoughts are not rational. I believe they are driven not so much by assuming we have more power than we actually have, as neurologically driven thinking. We are social animals. When someone in our tribe is in trouble, we have to have an immediate reaction to help them.  Afterward, we have to think through what we did and did not do so we can learn from the experience and do a better job the next time.  The emotional end of the reaction is God-given so that we all work to preserve not only our own lives but the lives of others.

    Dr. Izawa also talked about how weird it was that he suffered from this disease.  The most common causes of pancreatitis are alcohol consumption and gall stones.  Tom, our friend who has been sending us encouragement, reminding us that he survived a severe bout of this disease, had gall stones.  He said he was told at the time that this problem could not lead to pancreatitis.  He is reading this, and I can tell him now that it is considered a common cause by the medical profession.   For those of you who don't know, the only alcohol Mike consumed was the communion wine at mass, and a very occasional glass at dinner, very occasional. 

    Another, less common, cause is high triglycerides. Mike's were somewhat high but not enough to be a possible cause of this disease.  Izawa said besides that there are medications and dialysis, but both of these are rare.  He said there is one other category, "I don't know."

Whatever Mike's case is weird. We'll just have to leave it that; God had other plans for Mike. I often told him while he was lying there, "You have done enough; you have been enough.  You don't have to do anymore."

    Now to get to work on funeral plans.  Fr. Lio had said it would be good to have his body, but that means getting him embalmed here in Honolulu and shipping him in whatever carrying case he has to be in to Kona – and then getting him cremated in Kona. How's that for a big deal?

            Today, I  made my  decision on how to deal with Mike's body – other than to have it resurrected at the earliest possible convenience.  Everyone on both sides of our family has been cremated, so that's a no-brainer. The question was should his body be whole and in a coffin for the funeral as Fr. Lio wanted. I was inclined to have his body embalmed, placed in a coffin, shipped to Kona, and then cremated.  I called to ask Damon what he wanted. Damon was clear: cremation from the get-go.  This means a funeral parlor in Honolulu will collect his body, cremate it and mail the urn to me.  Having him shipped whole to Kona is much more complicated, and expensive.  That left me wondering what I wanted.  I wanted a coffin because I wanted something to physically embrace. Damon said, "I bet they make urns you can hug." Within minutes, he had located  two options.  What a sweetheart!  That made letting go of my thoughts of having a coffin at the funeral much easier.  Mike won't be huggable anyway, and hugging a wooden box doesn't quite cut it.

     Damon called to tell me that Dr. Izawa called him too to offer condolences. Damon invited him to the funeral.  Izawa said yes, he would like to come. I think most people who met the people who visited realized that Mike was an amazing man before his illness struck and us.

            The date of the funeral has been decided. Fr. Lio called and told me that March 26 would be good because it would be an easy day for many priests to come. This was a weird coincidence because my dad died on March 26, 1956. It made me wonder. But, Damon wants the 30th because he, his wife and son, can come without his son having to miss another day of school.  The 30th it is.  There are priests Mike got to know well and I hope they can make it; but I can't imagine Mike needs priests he hasn't had extensive contact with to come. 

    I spoke to Jean, Damon's mother, today too.  She said she probably wouldn't make it to the funeral.  She had made two trips to Hawaii already in a month, each time Mike wound up in the ICU. These are short stays with long, long flights. It's exhausting.  I could understand if she said never again. But, we talked about the possibility of her coming for the funeral and staying a few weeks.  She and her husband have done that each year we have been living here, and did it when we lived in Ohio, too.  We are all good friends. Divorce is never great. Having parents and steps who get along and love each other is the best alternative. We talked about her coming out and helping me sort out Mike's stuff.

       On that note: some felt that in Mike’s weakened condition that he lacked dignity.  I object.  Mike never lacked dignity. There is nothing that could strip him of his humanity, of his integrity, and his ability to be a loving person, nothing. I take umbrage at the very idea that we only have dignity when we come from a place of strength and control. Yvette, our goddaughter, has posted pictures on Facebook, showing Mike and me together in bed at the end, and herself and Mike.  She not only had my consent, but she had my wholehearted encouragement.

     I spent most of the day at the ashram at a table in the sunshine and high wind, going through the mail Yvette brought from Kona.  Not knowing how long I would be in Honolulu, I became concerned that bills would mount up unpaid. I did them now because the paper weighed a ton and didn't want to carry them back home.

            Mike is the proud owner of some 3,000 books.  His will says he wants to leave it to the Seminary where he worked.  He originally wanted it to go to Mowgli, Yvette's brother, and our godson, but that seemed impractical. He rents, moves often, and frequently shares an apartment with roommates. Where would he put all those books? I called the rector of the Seminary.  He said they would take Mike's books, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice.  The seminary library is small, 3,000 books would be overwhelming.  He said he had at least 1,000 books himself.  That poor librarian.  I assured Mike that I would give his books to the Seminary, and they would welcome them.  Okay, so I lied.  I wanted him to go in peace and know that his will would be done on earth.  What can I tell you? The rector said he would ask the librarian and get back to me. Since I understood his ambivalence, I suspect he's forgotten about it, gratefully.  I will push.  I am thinking of others who would want some of Mike's books.  It means that the collection which he so cherished will be broken up, but this is the best I can do. 

      Yvette and I had lunch today at the ashram.  Lunch is better than dinner, mainly because it is the same food that is set out at lunch and sits there for the rest of the day.  I always found the food at dinner good, too.

    I made the decision to go home tomorrow.  No, I am not looking forward to walking into the house and finding no Mike to greet me after I have been gone for over a month. I am scared. 

    Lina, the diaconate secretary, made the flight reservation for me.  I thanked her and John Coughlin for taking care of that for me and saving me one unfamiliar task.  Yvette was able to get on the same flight home with a seat right next to mine.

    In preparation for going home, we had to pack.  We got all the shopping bags out of the trunk of the car and brought them to the cabin.  We laid everything out and put them in the hard suitcase Yvette brought, and the rip-stop nylon duffle bag Damon brought me on his first trip to Hawaii.  Remember, I couldn't take a suitcase on the ambulance plane and had everything in shopping bags.   I think we are good to go.  The only stopping point might be Honolulu Elsa, really a big white teddy bear I bought at Target. I do want to take it back home.  It had spent time with Mike in the hospital before Judy sent a little stuffed dog that looks exactly like our Havanese.  Amazing!

    My friend Jean called to say how sorry she was and how much she loved Mike and me.  For some reason I can't remember, she was at the airport one day with us when I dropped off Mike for one of his weekend jaunts. I got out of the car to kiss him good-bye.  Jean said she was struck by the love between us that she saw in that kiss.  She said Mike and I were soulmates. I like to think Mike and I worked for that relationship.  Yes, there was something there in our energy exchange in the beginning, but to keep that going took commitment and work. 

    Jean's husband, Randy, spent some time with Mike at the beach.  While Jean and Randy were sitting in their home in Tucson at the moment of Mike's extubation, he talked about a day he and Mike spent at the beach together.  He said they played together in the waves like young boys.  More testimony to Mike's capacity for love and joy.

    Yvette and I went over to the dining room at the ashram for dinner. Neither of us was very hungry.  I had some salad, and Yvette had a small cup of soup.  When we got back to the cabin, she told me that Josh, her husband,  had a device on his phone that allowed him to know where Yvette is at all times.  (No, he is not a control freak, not at all.  In fact, quite to the contrary. It just saves him from worrying about her.)  He told her that this app showed that she was frequently at a vegetarian restaurant.  He was puzzled as to why she would spend so much time there.  Yvette told him that it listed the ashram that way, which also functions as a restaurant. 

    I sat and wrote, Yvette did something with her phone. She's not a game player; she's a communicator. She is an excellent communicator.  She uses her skills to bring joy to all those she knows.  That is her intent.

Sunday, March 3, 2019

Michael David Ross: October 27, 1940- March 3, 2019, 8:45 pm

Good news: Mike passed peacefully on March 3, 2019, at 8:45 pm.  Hawaii time.

Bad news:  Mike is gone from our lives. 

    I slept well for part of the night and then more restlessly afterward. Yvette did get up at 4:00 am to join the Krishna’s for their morning meditation. She came back around 6 am and went back to bed. I didn’t realize that immediately.  I was out when she got back.

    Today was D-Day. We got to the hospital around 9:30 am.  We were told immediately that we already had a visitor. Jeff from the diaconate formation program was sitting with Mike. He left sometime after we arrived.

    I had made it clear to the staff that we wanted to have him off life support at 2pm. Around 10 am, I asked the nurse to remove any tubes he didn’t need to support life for the next 4 hours. I also requested that the bed be moved closer to the window so Mike could experience sunlight on his face, but not so close that Yvette couldn’t fit in on that side of the bed. The nurse asked us to leave the room for 10 minutes while they arranged the room.

    I took the opportunity to visit B.  I went down to the 4th floor ICU and waltzed into his room.  Only one problem:  there was a total stranger in there.  The nurse tracked B. down. He had been moved to the 2nd floor. He was doing much better.  Less pain and less pain medication. I didn’t stay long.  This was my last day with Mike, and it was there I wanted to be.

    Yvette sat with him more than I did. Writing has been a release for me, so I switched back and forth between writing and kissing Mike, and reminding him that he had done and been enough.  

    Then I asked if he could be shifted so I could get in bed with him early because I was so tired and hoped to be able to get some sleep lying next to him. Two nurses came in, shifted him, and I got into bed with him.  I thought I would fall asleep right away.  I didn’t; I couldn’t.  I usually can sleep anywhere. 

    Damon told me yesterday he wanted to say some final words to his father. He spoke of all the fun times they had together as he was growing up, and more recently.

     I was told that they would start the morphine drip to keep him comfortable 15 minutes to half an hour before they pulled the intubation tube. I think they did it around noon. 

    Deacon Clarence and his wife, Vi, came by shortly before two and sat with us. Almost precisely at two pm, the respiratory therapist came in to pull out his tube.  They warned us that it wasn’t a pretty sight.  I was lying next to him and covered my face with a towel. Yvette chose to watch it.  She said there was nothing gross about it, but it clearly made him uncomfortable.  His arm came up defensively higher than she had seen it move since she arrived.  But, after that, he was peaceful.

    I said what I wanted to say.  “I, Elizabeth Susan David-Ross, release you, Michael David Ross, from your earthly bond of marriage into the hands of God.” I thought if there’s a marriage ceremony where we were both there, there should be a ceremony for dissolving that marriage. While we may or may not be bound to each other forever into eternity, this earthly bond is surely over.  

    At three o’clock, which is the time of day that Christ died, Vi led us through the Divine Chaplet. This particular prayer is said to be helpful for the dying.  Clarence and Vi left after being there for quite a while. Their presence was a blessing. 

    Damon, Cylin, and August were on Facetime with us once the intubation tube was out.  He stayed in visual contact with us until Mike had clearly taken his last breath.  It was a long process: 6 hours and 45 minutes. (We had two cell phones, Mike’s and mine. We switched them out.) During part of it, Damon pulled up pictures he had of his father. He sent those to Yvette’s cell phone. We all shared memories of our time together with him and with each other. 

     After a while, it got boring.  The four of us talked about other things, Yvette was on her phone doing Facebook posts and taking pictures of Mike with me, with her, and with the three of us. I lay in bed and read the NY Times on my Kindle, something we did together normally. 

    I got up several times to go to the bathroom during the process. Each time Yvette had to help me.  The bar which blocks the lower body had to be lowered, and then she had to help me sit up. Around 6 pm Yvette went to the hospital cafeteria and got dinner for both of us.  I got out of bed to eat but didn’t finish the whole meal. The portions here are enormous.  

    Afterward, I got back In bed with Mike. I had been anticipating the process would be fast because he hadn’t been initialing any breaths on his own for days. The nurse even said he was stronger than she had thought he was.  God, I hope it wasn’t Mike fighting to live.  I asked her if he had any chance to live and if we should change direction. She looked at his vitals and said no. That was the hardest part of the waiting, not being sure I was doing what he wanted me to do and what had to be done to save him more agony. 

    The end came quickly when it came.  What was slow was watching his vital signs drop. His blood pressure kept dropping and dropping, finally at 60/30, and his oxygen rate to something like 62.  He seemed to be breathing at a consistent rate until he just stopped.  We thought he was through, but he took one more breath. We all noticed the time: 8:45pm.  The doctor didn’t come in for a while.  Understandably, Mike was not his priority in the ICU.  I think his legal time of death is something like 9:02pm if I remember what the nurse said correctly.

    Yvette and I packed up and headed to the ashram.  We stayed up for a while.  I wrote much of what is above.  We went to sleep around 11 pm.