Dear Ole’ Dad is Dead…

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I knew my Dad was sick, but he was told he had 2 years left.

He came to Seattle a few months ago to get some test run and to find out what he needed to do to get on a transplant list. The University of Washington Hospital was of little help, so when he left my house to head back to Richland, I think he was quite depressed – but he wouldn’t let on, no way – not my Dad.

We talked over the phone over the next several weeks and I could tell he was declining. Slurred speech, longer pauses between comments, and sometimes he’s just trail off and not finish a point he was trying to make. As you can imagine this was very depressing but inevitable.

At the beginning of March, his brother Joe from California flew in for a short visit. After his visit with my father, I received the following correspondence: (Joe, I hope you’re not offended I omitted some details.)

“I visited and stayed with my brother Mike between Mar 9, 2009 and Mar 13, 2009. He isterminally ill. In September of 2009, it was estimated that he would have at most two years of life left. I had not had an opportunity to spend time with him in several years, and made my visit to see him before that was no longer possible.

I thought that Mike would have almost 17 months yet and expected a normal visit where we would take a walk, visit a coffee shop, have some meals together, and do many things that people do when they want to re-connect with old friends.

But the illness has progressed faster than expected. Mike could not do some of these things. And despite the fact of a worsening condition, Mike has not been successful at getting normal medical help for his condition. His experience with the world of institutional medicine and been disappointing.

While Mike knows he is going to die, and possibly sooner than expected, he does not fully comprehend the extent of the problem, or what is ahead as he approaches death. Mike copes well with adversity, but goes day by day.

Mike wants to die at home with his dogs. He does not want institutional medicine to subject him to extended evaluations, complicated restrictions, or care for him in invasive ways.

Mike is hurting now. Pain control, possibly requiring prescription drugs, is necessary, but there is no present access to such a possibility.”

Joe also left me a great list if things to increase my father’s comfort level. Thanks Joe. He also shared with me the following:

“Hi Dave,
Here is a thought you might want to share with your siblings.
I visited mike just before his death. We talked of many things. We recalled how in our childhood we would see our mother pray on March 26. On that day you could receive a special favor if you said one thousand Hail Mary’s. When Mike and I were between 5 and 10 years old, we would say them with her. It was a considerable chore for us, and took the better part of a day to get through it. In those days we felt that a special favor from the Almighty had considerable utility.

Mike told me during my visit that he was actually more religious than many people knew or suspected. In fact he had continued this activity down thru the present day. On March 26 every year he would say the thousand ‘Hail Mary’s’. When I inquired as to his need for a special favor, he said ‘Its for my kids’.”

I guess my Father was more spiritual than I ever knew.

March 13th I got FaceBooked from one of my Dad’s closest friends Bob that simply read:

“This is bob. He ain’t good. Call me
Call now. don’t wait!!”

Within a few days, Bob graciously picked me and my 3 dogs up from Sammamish and drove me to Dear Ole Dad’s house to take care of him.

Bob is truly aces and I know we will remain close friends even after this horrible ordeal.

It was truly a very sad and gruesome sight to see my father after only just a few short months. He was not the same guy that came to Seattle to have some tests run at U of W. He was a confused skeleton – but he was my Dad and I loved him.

We spent over a week of the best quality time we could have had under the circumstances.

Then, the last day, we woke up around 6:30am and talked and smoked and watched TV until about 10am. He looked at me and said “Boy, I’m not feeling so hot Dave.” He rolled over on his tummy, used his left arm as a pillow and when to sleep.

His wishes were not to be resuscitated so I sat there and waited.

He went how he wanted to go – in his home with six dogs laying around him in his waterbed.

When I finally got my shit together, I called in the Calvary. I did ask them not to cover his face as they took him out of the house.

He didn’t want a service, so he’ll be sitting in my living room in a box next to the other puppies we’ve lost over the years. Next time you’re over at my place, please say hi to him.

After the word got out, there were more condolences than I could count, but I would like to share that really touched me and had my Dad read it, it would have touched him to.

“Hi Dave,
I was very sorry to hear from my mother about your father’s health. She didn’t have a lot of details, but it sounded like things were very serious. I just wanted to send my condolences. I have very fond memories of your father.

When we were kids, he was a pretty cool guy to be around. Funny, irreverent, and full of one liners that would make my adolescent jaw hit the floor.

Your father was definitely one of the reasons we all congregated at your house.
Kappl land was bursting with toys, pinball machines, club houses, juke boxes, and your father. What a wonderful character with his silver hair, curly mustache and baritone voice.
Your dad was the eccentric counterpoint to all our Beaver Cleaver fathers.

I can still remember falling asleep night after night on your living room floor to the vibrations of Meatloaf’s “Bat Out Of Hell” rising up from your basement. A basement painted brothel red, that also housed the holy grail of middle school cool. – A pool table. – Probably the only pool table in Richland village.

Your dad was a great big kid, and we all loved it when he’d sit in on our poker games, kick our ass at pool, or poke his head in the room to crack a joke. He was often the life of the party. A trait that you inherited from him.

Your dad loved you a lot Dave. And we all loved your dad. I know things got complicated in your house as we grew older. But there was a time where all of us kids wished we were growing up as part of the Kappl flock. We certainly spent enough time at your place. But your Dad and mom truly opened up their home and hearts to all your motley friends.

Your family was cool, unpredictable. None of us knew what to expect when we spent the night over there. Gallons of soda pop, board games…maybe a goat running through the house? There were many summers where the Kappl house was ground zero for all our adventures.

I believe I can speak for Dale, Sean, and Lude when I say that the mere thought of your Dad brings a big smile to all our faces.

I hope you’re holding up ok Dave. And please give that old guy a hug from me; The “long haired hippy type pinko faggot commie.”

All the best,
BC”