This is a marathon post and I imagine it is pretty depressing... you have been warned.
So, alot has changed. Life is different now. A bit lonelier, a bit darker, I suppose. Loss is always hard. But such a loss as this? It is monumental. A Kennedy assassination, Challenger explosion, 9/11 moment... I will always know where I was before it happened, and where I was after.
"So, what is it? What is this great loss?", you might ask. Something simple. Something common. But no less striking when it happens to you. The loss of a father. Well, a father-in-law to me. But a father to the man that means more than life itself to me. It's... huge. It's bigger than me. Bigger than my experience. And I don't know what to do for it. I guess there is nothing to be done for it. But, to a woman of action, this is an unbearable, unconscionable thought. So, as Hamlet said, I am left with no other choice but to "Like a whore, unpack my heart with words."
We went to Arizona for a wedding. A happy occasion. The beginning of a new life... two becoming one and what not. One of Franz's neices was tying the knot in what was, ultimately, a beautiful ceremony. Lovely rehearsal dinner where I got to know some of my relatives... there are so many that there are a bunch I have not yet met. I think that if you could take a random stranger off the street, anywhere in the world, the odds are there are less than 6 degrees of separation between me and them. It gives me cause to be much nicer to people... the Hass______ family is so prolific, I might be related to just about anyone. :) Love you guys!
Anyway, before we left, we knew Franz's father was in the hospital. We knew it was bad. So much so that I actually had the (rather practical) thought that the outfit I was packing for the wedding might also be suitable for a funeral. It was all black, after all. I think sometimes that I am too practical. We also knew that he has been hospitalized, on average, about three times a year for the last few years and he had always pulled through. I didn't really believe it was possible. I didn't believe that it was his time. I wasn't ready.
The wedding went off without a hitch. Well, a few small ones that just lent it character. I had a terrible, cold and sinus-induced headache. Of course, keeping with my usual pattern, I got sick before going to AZ. I know Franz's family must think I am the most sickly person in the world. But, I had been healthy for months before it was time to visit. (sigh) Anyway, I had to leave the reception early and head back to the hotel to rest. Blech!
And then the next day we got the word that it seemed Franz's father would not pull through. It was a very Hamlet-esque (in reverse) turn of events. "Come for the wedding, stay for the funeral." I kept thinking of that quote, "Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats - Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables." It wasn't quite that dramatic, but it was heart rending, nonetheless. Dialysis was painful and delirium-inducing. He couldn't keep anything down, and he was in pain. The decision was made to just make him comfortable and not to try to treat his myriad complications. Again, the thought took root, "This is the end". And I began to be afraid. "What can I say or do? How can I help?" No answer was forthcoming. God is quiet sometimes when you wish your hardest that He wasn't.
The last day was hard, and confusing, for me. We woke late. We went to the hospital. I know there were colors on the walls, but all I remember is white. A starkness and coldness inherent to all hospitals... whether it is truly there or not. The state we were in, color bleached itself out of our surroundings and was so pointless as to be un-noticeable. We stayed with him as he slept soundly... I later learned it was a morphine-induced slumber. I peeked into his room, not wanting to take the chance that my cold germs would make things worse for him. I still thought there was a chance. I stayed out in the waiting room and told the extended relatives there about my first experience with hospitals- the time I broke my arm while speed skating. I tried to be funny and self-depricating. They seemed entertained. I thought perhaps I had helped, or at least been a distraction for some small amount of time. Then we left at about lunch time.
We began our drive back to the family homestead... Franz's parents' house. About 5 blocks away we got the call, "He has taken a turn for the worse, Mom is crying and things are getting bad." I kept thinking, "But we were just there and he was fine!! What did they do?!?!" I wanted to blame the hospital. They must have screwed up somehow. We could go back. We could protect him from their incompetence. I could watch the nurses and doctors (if they bothered to show their faces in between tee times) and we could protect him. How wrong I was.
Franz did not want to return. "There is nothing we can do," he said. "And we can be a 'second shift' (of sorts), to relieve the ones who are there now." It seemed heartless and, at the same time, infinitely logical to me. "Perhaps this is what it means to be part of a large family now", I thought. The division of labor is automatic and planned, without question. I explained that to me, how I was raised, there was no question that it should be "all hands on deck"... everyone should be there because it was getting bad. Franz quietly disagreed. I learned later that he was right.
Franz began to go through the boxes in the garage that were labelled as his from his old childhood room. I paced, my thoughts like a caged tiger. "We should be there! We could stop it! We could fix it! Why can't we go? What good is it to go through boxes here? That's history and material junk! We should be there!" I struggled to find private places to blow my nose and cough. I think my nose makes too much noise when I blow it. And the last thing I wanted was for someone else to catch my cold. We talked with people who were at the house. We looked at pieces of Franz's childhood. All in all, it was small and fitting. Slight sections of life continuing as another life was ending. In some way, I know now that it was the right thing to do. It was all that could be done right then. My inclination to take charge would not have been welcome, and later (when I met Franz's father's nurses- who were saints, by the way) I knew that Franz had gently steered me away from being a nuisance. The beauty of Franz is that he does these things unintentionally... there is an intelligence and simplicity to him that transcends conscious thought. He amazes me.
At some point, Matt came out into the gargage. What would he be? My nephew-in-law? Who knows. Anyway, his silent wife/girlfriend was walking behind him like a haunting ghost. I swear I don't think she has spoken two words in my presence. Poor girl. She has had such a horrible introduction into the family. Matt has unknowingly cheapened her to everyone by the way he has handled her introduction. It is a weakness that can't sustain itself in the face of so many people... all curious and with their own opinions. Myself included, of course. This is my blog and I will write whatever I think. I must say at this point that I was pissed off with Matt. He had lied to my face at Thanksgiving, telling me he was not yet married to his pregnant girlfriend. I have little patience with men who lie to me, much less men who disrespect women that are bearing their children by lying about their relationship to them. I am reminded too easily of my father and how he wanted us to accept his mistress while at the same time not telling us about their marriage until 6 months after it had happened. I wanted to tell him, "We take our cues from you, my friend, and your actions say that you are ashamed of her." At any rate, he didn't further endear himself to me when he lovingly caressed Franz's father's truck and said, "I'm going to drive this thing someday." On one level I knew he was just being a kid lusting after a cool vehicle, on the other I was imagining flying across the garage and grabbing him up by the neck, pinning him to the wall and shouting at him, "He's not dead yet, you selfish little bastard!!! Get your damn hands off his things!!!" I wanted to kill him. I had to mentally shake myself to see him again as he was. I spoke not a word as he looked at both Franz and me, neither of us reacting to him. He turned and left, his silent wife/girlfriend in tow.
We stayed at the house until it was late. We left to return to our hotel and I asked Franz again, "Are you sure you don't want to go back to the hospital?" He agreed and we stopped by on our way. We stayed until 12:30 a.m. We sat with everyone in his room, all of us talking quietly and laughing over things he would have thought were funny. The nurse, Heather, was a sweet girl. She must have thought it strange that the eight or nine of us were sitting in this tiny room, so late at night, in a big circle around his bed. Must less that we all started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably, when she came in and asked for a moment of quiet to listen to his chest. We were all punchy, tired and in such a state that if we didn't laugh we would cry. She took everything in stride and said she wanted some of whatever we were drinking. We all fell out again. I like to think that Franz's dad was aware of us... and was laughing with us in his head, even as he slept on.
I had to step out at some point. I think it hit me that this was the end. I realized that we weren't gathering to support, but to say goodbye. I looked at Franz and said, "I don't want him to go." Then I had to leave. I didn't want to let everyone else see me cry. I went to the chapel, cried and prayed my hardest. At first it was selfish, you know, "I'll give you anything you can think of that I have to give if you will just make it not be true." Then I caught myself and remembered who I was talking to and said, "I bet you just can't wait to talk with him. He's a pretty good guy, and he always tries to entertain people. I just wish you weren't in such a hurry to say "hi" to him." I cried my eyes out, watching the tears falling on the leather wrapped kneeling thing that was attached to the pew in front of me. Of course, OCD person that I am, I wondered how often they clean those things, then laughed at myself for thinking it. Franz would sing, "You down with OCD? Yeah, you know me!", if he knew what I was thinking. I thought of him again and felt guilty for taking so much time away. I cleaned myself up and went back.
At some point, I asked the nurse, Heather, if she was sure this was it. I said I wanted to hug him and tell him "goodbye" but if there was any chance that he might get better, I didn't want to risk it. I knew a cold at this point could kill him, I tried to say. To her credit, she understood my stuttering and hesitating speech. She fixed me with a compassionate gaze, her bright blue eyes flecked with gold and green. She looked at me and quietly said, "I don't think so. I think this is the end. I think you should say goodbye." I did my best not to crumple all over again and thanked her. She was a sweet woman, and probably should not have given the answer she did. A lawyer for the hospital would have told her to say that there is no such thing as a medical certainty, and that anything was possible, blah blah blah. But, she spared me by telling me the truth. And I will always be thankful to her.
I went back in and waited until everyone had cleared out to say my goodbyes. I told him that I loved him very much, and that I was honored to have had the chance to call him "Dad". I told him that he had raised an incredible family and that I was happy to have gotten the chance to be a part of it. I told him that I would be forever grateful for the son that he raised that became my husband. I told him that I thought that he had done good and that he deserved to be able to rest, safe in the knowledge that he had done right by this world and added much more to it that he had taken. I told him that I was sure that God was waiting for him, but I sure would miss him. And I said I loved him one last time. I was mad at myself because I couldn't raise my voice above a whisper throughout this whole speech. I was starting to cry and I didn't want to him to hear the wobble in my voice, so I whispered as loudly as I could. I don't kinow if he heard me, but I hope he did.
Franz said his goodbyes, and we went back to the hotel. Four hours later we were awakened by Franz's phone. His father had slipped away in his sleep. His respiration had slowed and he had eventually just stopped. I was drugged by Tylenol PM's and Nyquil, and I told Franz that I was sorry that it was over. I went back to sleep. Not my finest hour as a wife. I don't know how long it took for Franz to go back to sleep, if he did at all. I thought we would have more time. I thought we would have until the next morning. I wish now I had not taken so many medications to try to sleep. I am learning that you don't get second chance at some things, though. I will know better if there is ever a next time. I will make sure that I am aware and alert if he needs me.
The wake was a hilarious disaster and the funeral was beautiful. The man who came to lead the wake was something lesser than a priest. I think they said he was a deacon. It was my first Catholic funeral service, so I had no clue what was going on. Franz and I were seated in the back of the church. Sort of far away from everyone else. It was totally a case of musical chairs... that just happened to be where we were when the whole thing started. When the preacher got up to say his peace, he said something along the lines of, "I know I'm going to kill this last name... Hass-latcher? Hass-latcher. Perhaps not the best choice of words, given the situation." I was thinking, "Yeah, 'killing' probably not a word you want to use at a wake. Idiot." So far, my faith in the Catholic church was not enhanced. Then he got to the point where he read off all of the children's names. ".... Peter, Teresa and Frank." Franz bowed his head and shook it quietly. I wanted to stand up and yell at the preacher, "His name is FRANZ, you birk!!" But, I just put my arm around Franz and said, "I'm sorry." I mean, the idiot preacher was there for a half an hour before he started the whole thing... you would think he would have had time to verify pronunciation of everyone's names. Wanker.
As I looked forward, though, I noticed another of my niece-in-law's shoulders shaking violently. Then she flopped over and hit the pew. I thought, "Poor thing, she is so upset." Then, everyone in the pews in front of her had an attack of the "shaking shoulders." I didn't realize it at the time, but everyone was laughing at the deacon and his mis-pronunciation of Franz's name. For the rest of the night, people were asking me about my husband "Frank". Funny. Weird, but funny. I still wanted to punch the deacon. But everyone agreed that Franz's father would have cracked up laughing at the whole thing.
The funeral was beautiful, though. The priest obviously knew Franz's parents, and didn't even attempt to name all the kids. Smart man. He gave a wonderful speech and service. My beautiful husband was a pallbearer for his father's casket. There was something about it. I rememeber thinking, "Why are there no women pallbearers?" Then I looked at the men, sons and grandsons and sons-in-law. I thought to myself that it seemed oddly right. It seemed to be men's work and something I didn't, maybe even couldn't, understand. (Those of you who know me will know this is a concept in direct opposition to my normally held opinions of the world.) Nonetheless, there was a certain surreal and heartbreaking beauty to it. A burden to bear that was meant to be borne by stronger shoulders than my own. I still wanted to go to Franz and hug him when it was all over, though.
Friends of Franz's parents put on a huge reception afterwards. I think about 200-300 people showed up for the funeral. That, in itself, is a testament to the type of man Franz's father was. He was loved and cared about by so many. They made a ton of food, and it was all good. Amazing. Sally gave a beautiful speech, and I played with some of the kids afterwards. We all went home and the "party" continued from there. There was so much food!! People were sending food from all over the country. It was weird and good all at the same time. Every once in a while I would catch myself thinking it was another family gathering, like Thanksgiving or Christmas. Then I would remember why we were there and my heart would stop for just a moment... wondering how I could be so forgetful. I mentioned it once and someone in the family told me that they were going through the same thing. That's just how his family is... forgiving, welcoming and altogether wonderful. See? I told you Franz's father gave more to the world than he took. He was a good man.
"He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again." Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2
The again, alot has stayed the same. We are home again. We are caring for the house and the dog. We are working at our respective jobs. We are working on our life makeover plans for the year. I have lost 10 pounds and the filing project and reading room are now done. I have irrational fears that I am going to lose Franz (either to depression or to a premature death) and have been having nightmares steadily for the last week. I sleep mostly during the day and can't seem to care much about anything other than trying to find a way to snap Franz out of his sadness. I take him for pointless drives around the area, trying to get him to notice the flowers that are blooming now and the way our world is waking up to Spring. I've tried being relentlessly cheerful and relentlessly obnoxious. I thought if I could get him to focus his attention on me he would have to not brood. He is smart and he called me on it. I am out of ideas at the moment.
I got to thinking about my Dad last night. Thus the drunkeness that started this blog entry over 4 and a half hours ago. Anyway, my Dad is a fool. Here Franz's father would probably have loved to have a chance to say something, anything, to any of his kids one last time.... and my Dad is stubbornly refusing to speak to me. All because I don't have any interest in sucking up to my grandmother... he hasn't spoken to me for over a year. It was an excuse to excise me from his life. I know it, he knows it. He probably couldn't care less whether I speak to her again. He was just looking for a reason to mark me off his list. It's hard to live up to the expectations of a man who is trying to find a way to not be guilty about cutting you out of his life. It is sad. He is using the last of his time on this Earth being petty and spiteful. And, yet, still... (and file this under the "sad but true" column) there is a part of me that thinks I did something wrong, that I should try harder and find some way to fix things between us. If I could just figure out a phone message or a letter that was eloquent enough, I could make him see the error of his ways and make him love me again. As John Mayer would say, "Don't you think we ought to know by now? Don't you think we should have learned somehow?" I guess I haven't, yet.
Anyway, I heard another song tonight that summed up how I am feeling.... about Franz's father's death, and about Franz himself and our future. A future that seems more in jeopardy and more uncertain than any future has a right to. I know it is necessary, but I wish there was no such thing as death. Anyway, about the song... it has sounds of the ocean for the first 2 minutes, so (of course) I was drawn to it.
It's called "Atlantic" by Keane.
I hope all my days
Will be lit by your face
I hope all the years
Will hold tight our promises
I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid
I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid
And if I need anything at all
I need a place
That's hidden in the deep
Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep
The modern world is broken
I need a place
Where I can make my bed
A lover's lap where I can lay my head
Cos now the room is spinning
The day's beginning
That's all for now. If you hung in for the whole thing, kudos to you. Now, take a Prozac and try to forget all this depressing stuff and go on about your day. Best of luck with that.
Love to all,
Sherry
