A year ago today, my life changed forever.
I got a call from my mother's cell phone at 5 am. I ignored it, thinking she accidentally pushed a button in her purse by mistake. Voicemail. Then another call. Then another. I groggily picked up the phone, ready to grumpily ask my mother why in the world she'd bug me at such an ungodly hour.
I didn't hear my mother's voice, but my aunt Treissa. Her voice was numb, somber but sweet. All I heard was "Baby, we need you to come home...right now." I asked how long I needed to be there, and I was told to get a one way ticket.
I wasn't in my body after that. I levitated for the next 4 hours. I had gone through this drill a year earlier with my grandmother's accident. Email all immediate parties of the situation: boss, higher boss, art director, and anyone I had appointments with for the next two weeks. Throw clothes in a bag. Toiletries were already packed from all the work travel from which I'd just returned. Go to work in my pajamas to make arrangements for my absence. Then get. on. that. plane.
This time, though, was different. With Grandma, the damage was done, and she was gone. Moment to moment this situation changed, improved then worsened. He's going to die...nope, he's not...and back again. For the two hours I was in the air with no communication, I had no idea whether he was already gone. All I could think of was my mother, and how much I wanted to be there to protect her. Protect her from all the pain and fear and wondering "Why us again?" that was creeping into my soul.
The hours, days, weeks and months that followed made me the person I am today. I witnessed defiant strength, indescribable compassion, boundless love, and the power of kindness of strangers. I was amazed by the wonders of the human body, and devastated by its limitations. As much as I thought I knew my mother, that connection expanded to facets I'd never discovered. And through everything, I grew to understand that I'll never understand why things happen the way they do, only that they do and your only power is your response to them. Fight like hell for what you believe in, but accept defeat gracefully if it fails.
There are days when I forget anything even happened. More than once I've picked up the phone to call my father, ready with a great story that I know he'll love. I've even dialed a few times before I snapped out of it. Other days I'm consumed with the overwhelming reality of it all. There were days I'd see a little girl on a swingset in a park with her daddy, and it was all I could do to keep upright. I've never been the type of woman who dreamed of her wedding day, but now all I know is that he won't be there in a corduroy jacket with some ridiculous comment moments before we walk down the aisle.
But it's ok.
This is what has happened. It is what is our present, here and now. And to be able to get out of bed every day, we look the painful memories in the eye, find the good and smile. Get up, shower, drink the coffee, and live another day. We see the little girl in the park with her daddy. Watch her curls bounce and hear her giggle. Even wave if you feel up to it. And know that no matter where life takes us, the spirit of the little girl remains, giggling, curls bouncing, and forever loving her big strong Daddy.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Requiem aeternam et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Today, I bury my father.
The funeral service was beautiful. The church was packed almost to capacity. Last night's visitation had around 400 people, with a line out the back door and an hour's wait to visit the family. Though the weather forecasts predicted rain, during graveside there wasn't a cloud in the gorgeous Arkansas blue sky. I spoke on behalf of the family at the funeral. Those words are listed below:
For those in the back that can’t see just how much I look like him, I’m Ashlee, Tim’s daughter. And for thirty years I had the most loving, precious, witty, thoughtful, generous, and hysterical father imaginable.
My family and I would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you’ve shown us, specifically in the last few months. Judging by your warmth and support, you all seemed to know just how neat of a guy Dad was. Although recent focus on my father had to do with his devastating accident, those aren’t the definitive memories of him I’d have you remember.
I want you to remember his smirk. His love of every artist on the Motown record label. His ridiculously dry sense of humor. That uncontrollable cackle he had when something really cracked him up. The way his face lit up when he talked about his dog. His unending, humble love of God and the church. His quiet, intense love for his family. How he always loved hunting, but only magically got better after the year 2000. Seriously, he was horrible for 20 years, then boom- marksman. His incredible memory, at a moment’s notice, for every lyric ever sung by the Temptations. The way he’d poke fun at his wife Gloria, but with a sparkle in his eye that let you know just how much he adored her. His hearty baritenor voice while he belted out gospel hits in the church choir. The seemingly endless supply of couduroy jackets with elbow patches. That ever-present glass of iced tea. How with a few very carefully selected words, he’d speak what it took others pages to say.
Countless memories flood my headspace as I think of how I should illustrate the father I knew, from our yearly trip each fall to get firewood to the silly made-up language that only me, my parents, and the dog understand to “name that tune” games on rock radio when I was nine. But this one sticks out to me right now:
My father was obsessed with weather and watched the Weather Channel incessantly, but I’m pretty sure it started because they plated smooth jazz in the background during the weekend forecast (after he turned 50, he had this thing for Spyro Gyra). After moving to Chicago, Dad would call me to check in, and would always ask how the weather was. I’d tell him, and then he’d explain to me how he already knew that. He’d been watching the forecast for Chicago for the last ten minutes, and wanted to make sure they were “doing their job.”
Times with my father weren’t always rosy. In fact, there were times when "rosy" seemed light years away. But in the end you knew that no matter what, underneath it all, he’d do everything in his ability to make you happy. That’s who I remember.
I refuse to let this be a day of sorrow, remorse or self-pity. I choose for this day to be one of joy, love, and tribute to what an amazing guy he was. I’ll remember that he was a fighter, to the very end. A man of God, a brother, a husband, a father. And hopefully to all of you, a treasured friend.
The funeral service was beautiful. The church was packed almost to capacity. Last night's visitation had around 400 people, with a line out the back door and an hour's wait to visit the family. Though the weather forecasts predicted rain, during graveside there wasn't a cloud in the gorgeous Arkansas blue sky. I spoke on behalf of the family at the funeral. Those words are listed below:
For those in the back that can’t see just how much I look like him, I’m Ashlee, Tim’s daughter. And for thirty years I had the most loving, precious, witty, thoughtful, generous, and hysterical father imaginable.
My family and I would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you’ve shown us, specifically in the last few months. Judging by your warmth and support, you all seemed to know just how neat of a guy Dad was. Although recent focus on my father had to do with his devastating accident, those aren’t the definitive memories of him I’d have you remember.
I want you to remember his smirk. His love of every artist on the Motown record label. His ridiculously dry sense of humor. That uncontrollable cackle he had when something really cracked him up. The way his face lit up when he talked about his dog. His unending, humble love of God and the church. His quiet, intense love for his family. How he always loved hunting, but only magically got better after the year 2000. Seriously, he was horrible for 20 years, then boom- marksman. His incredible memory, at a moment’s notice, for every lyric ever sung by the Temptations. The way he’d poke fun at his wife Gloria, but with a sparkle in his eye that let you know just how much he adored her. His hearty baritenor voice while he belted out gospel hits in the church choir. The seemingly endless supply of couduroy jackets with elbow patches. That ever-present glass of iced tea. How with a few very carefully selected words, he’d speak what it took others pages to say.
Countless memories flood my headspace as I think of how I should illustrate the father I knew, from our yearly trip each fall to get firewood to the silly made-up language that only me, my parents, and the dog understand to “name that tune” games on rock radio when I was nine. But this one sticks out to me right now:
My father was obsessed with weather and watched the Weather Channel incessantly, but I’m pretty sure it started because they plated smooth jazz in the background during the weekend forecast (after he turned 50, he had this thing for Spyro Gyra). After moving to Chicago, Dad would call me to check in, and would always ask how the weather was. I’d tell him, and then he’d explain to me how he already knew that. He’d been watching the forecast for Chicago for the last ten minutes, and wanted to make sure they were “doing their job.”
Times with my father weren’t always rosy. In fact, there were times when "rosy" seemed light years away. But in the end you knew that no matter what, underneath it all, he’d do everything in his ability to make you happy. That’s who I remember.
I refuse to let this be a day of sorrow, remorse or self-pity. I choose for this day to be one of joy, love, and tribute to what an amazing guy he was. I’ll remember that he was a fighter, to the very end. A man of God, a brother, a husband, a father. And hopefully to all of you, a treasured friend.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Visitation Today
Today the public events begin. I'm juggling 3 phones, finishing the music selections for tomorrow, eating breakfast and feeding Daisy.
So many ask what they can do, and now my answer is this: please don't disappear after Tuesday. Or next week. We are overwhelmed with the love and support we've received in the past few days, but the real healing begins after the services.
Again, visitation is today 5-7 pm, Shinn Funeral Home. If flowers are going to be sent, they should probably be there before 4. After that, in lieu of flowers, please donate to the memorial fund.
The obituary from The Courier:
Timothy Lee Hardgrave, 60, of Dover died Thursday, March 4, 2010, at the Dardanelle Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.
A son of the late Johnie Hershel and Alma Luella Waits Hardgrave, he was born February 9, 1950, in Russellville. He was employed by Arkansas Tech University, working in the physical plant and was a member of the Hatley Missionary Baptist Church at Dover. He was also preceded in death by his sister, Janet L. Courson, and a nephew, Donald Hargrave.
Survivors include his wife of 31 years, Gloria Hardgrave; two daughters, Ashlee D. A. Hardgrave of Chicago, Ill., and Tamara Davis of Dublin, Georgia; a brother and sister-in-law, Johnie R. and Valli Hardgrave of Sulphur Springs, Texas; a brother-in-law, Daryl Courson of Crossett; five nephews and nieces, Chuck Sitton, David Sitton, Mark Courson and his wife, Carmen, Jana Brezinski and Brian Hardgrave; an aunt, Dorothy Sanders; cousins Evelyn and Jay Johnson; and other relatives and friends.
A funeral service will be at 10 a.m. Tuesday at the Hatley Missionary Baptist Church, officiated by the Rev. Ronnie Canard. Burial will be in East Point Cemetery near Russellville by Shinn Funeral Service.
The family will receive friends from 5-7 p.m. Monday at the funeral home.
The family requests donations be made to the Timothy Lee Hardgrave Memorial Fund, c/o River Town Bank.
The online obituary and guestbook are available at www.shinnfuneral.com.
So many ask what they can do, and now my answer is this: please don't disappear after Tuesday. Or next week. We are overwhelmed with the love and support we've received in the past few days, but the real healing begins after the services.
Again, visitation is today 5-7 pm, Shinn Funeral Home. If flowers are going to be sent, they should probably be there before 4. After that, in lieu of flowers, please donate to the memorial fund.
The obituary from The Courier:
Timothy Lee Hardgrave, 60, of Dover died Thursday, March 4, 2010, at the Dardanelle Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.
A son of the late Johnie Hershel and Alma Luella Waits Hardgrave, he was born February 9, 1950, in Russellville. He was employed by Arkansas Tech University, working in the physical plant and was a member of the Hatley Missionary Baptist Church at Dover. He was also preceded in death by his sister, Janet L. Courson, and a nephew, Donald Hargrave.
Survivors include his wife of 31 years, Gloria Hardgrave; two daughters, Ashlee D. A. Hardgrave of Chicago, Ill., and Tamara Davis of Dublin, Georgia; a brother and sister-in-law, Johnie R. and Valli Hardgrave of Sulphur Springs, Texas; a brother-in-law, Daryl Courson of Crossett; five nephews and nieces, Chuck Sitton, David Sitton, Mark Courson and his wife, Carmen, Jana Brezinski and Brian Hardgrave; an aunt, Dorothy Sanders; cousins Evelyn and Jay Johnson; and other relatives and friends.
A funeral service will be at 10 a.m. Tuesday at the Hatley Missionary Baptist Church, officiated by the Rev. Ronnie Canard. Burial will be in East Point Cemetery near Russellville by Shinn Funeral Service.
The family will receive friends from 5-7 p.m. Monday at the funeral home.
The family requests donations be made to the Timothy Lee Hardgrave Memorial Fund, c/o River Town Bank.
The online obituary and guestbook are available at www.shinnfuneral.com.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Service Information
We've just returned from making arrangements. Here they are:
Visitation: Monday, March 8, 5-7 pm
Shinn Funeral Home
800 West Main Street, Russellville, AR
Funeral: Tuesday, March 9, 10 am
Hatley Missionary Baptist Church
3271 Landers Loop Road, Dover, AR
Graveside following service
East Point Cemetery
4435 Mill Creek Road, Russellville, AR
His online obituary and guestbook will be available soon at http://www.shinnfuneral.com.
Flowers are acceptable, or in lieu of flowers, we have asked that donations be made to the Timothy Hardgrave Memorial Fund at River Town Bank, www.rivertownbank.com.
We are so grateful for all of the love and support you as a friendship/community have demonstrated to us. I will ask, however, that Sunday be a day of privacy for Mom and me. We will most likely be finishing plans and getting things done, so Sunday would not be a good day to pop by for a visit, even if the car's in the driveway. Monday's visitation and Tuesday's service will be a much better time.
Again, thank you all...for everything. Your love is what will help us heal.
Visitation: Monday, March 8, 5-7 pm
Shinn Funeral Home
800 West Main Street, Russellville, AR
Funeral: Tuesday, March 9, 10 am
Hatley Missionary Baptist Church
3271 Landers Loop Road, Dover, AR
Graveside following service
East Point Cemetery
4435 Mill Creek Road, Russellville, AR
His online obituary and guestbook will be available soon at http://www.shinnfuneral.com.
Flowers are acceptable, or in lieu of flowers, we have asked that donations be made to the Timothy Hardgrave Memorial Fund at River Town Bank, www.rivertownbank.com.
We are so grateful for all of the love and support you as a friendship/community have demonstrated to us. I will ask, however, that Sunday be a day of privacy for Mom and me. We will most likely be finishing plans and getting things done, so Sunday would not be a good day to pop by for a visit, even if the car's in the driveway. Monday's visitation and Tuesday's service will be a much better time.
Again, thank you all...for everything. Your love is what will help us heal.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Eternus sileo, pater. Ego diligo vos
Timothy Lee Hardgrave, 60, of Dover, Arkansas, passed away last evening, March 4.
Mom and I are making arrangements now, and I'll be posting them here as soon as they're solidified.
We are at peace. He is at peace. We love all of you.
Mom and I are making arrangements now, and I'll be posting them here as soon as they're solidified.
We are at peace. He is at peace. We love all of you.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
One more thing: family bank account
Hi again,
Our friend Shirley reminded me that I hadn't posted this info yet- my apologies!
Our dear friends the Faulkners have set up a bank account to help with my father's medical expenses. While we've so far been covered by insurance and Medicaid, that's only going to go so much longer. Only my mother and I will have access to the account, and I am completely comfortable with disclosing a complete report of where funds go once used.
The account is at River Town Bank; the account number is 1360930. Deposits can be made at any branch: https://www.rivertownbank.com
I feel a bit awkward using this format, and this is in no way a sales pitch. Just letting you know our family friends are trying to find ways to help.
Our friend Shirley reminded me that I hadn't posted this info yet- my apologies!
Our dear friends the Faulkners have set up a bank account to help with my father's medical expenses. While we've so far been covered by insurance and Medicaid, that's only going to go so much longer. Only my mother and I will have access to the account, and I am completely comfortable with disclosing a complete report of where funds go once used.
The account is at River Town Bank; the account number is 1360930. Deposits can be made at any branch: https://www.rivertownbank.com
I feel a bit awkward using this format, and this is in no way a sales pitch. Just letting you know our family friends are trying to find ways to help.
Mmmmmarch
My apologies on the lack of updates; CCPA's audition season in Chicago kept me terribly busy for the last few weeks. In just 30 days, I had 1,000 actors and musicians visit my conservatories for auditions. That's a LOT of stage parents!
At any rate, Dad's progression is slow but steady. He's had a string of good days, with a few bumps that he's been able to recover from. Through good fortune we were able to acquire a Passy-Muir speaking valve for his tracheostomy tube. Before the December infection, when he had lots of energy, he'd sometimes try to make noise. We got him a valve and this happened. He's not always up to it these days, but it's nice to have in case he gets there. Here's how it works:
His cervical collar is off now, so his neck's going to be a LOT less stiff. I'm heading home to see his new place Saturday, and I CAN'T WAIT!!! For those of you who would like to visit (which, ahem, you should) he's in the Dardanelle Nursing Center, 510 Green Street. I would suggest calling ahead- (479) 229-4884 - to make sure he's up to visitors. Do me a favor and don't call Mom first; she's barely got enough phone minutes as it is, so check with the nurses.
Again, leaving on a jet plane and flying into Northwest Arkansas' enormous airport (see the humor there?) for 2.5 days of Mama/Papa time. Full report on the new digs as soon as I can.
At any rate, Dad's progression is slow but steady. He's had a string of good days, with a few bumps that he's been able to recover from. Through good fortune we were able to acquire a Passy-Muir speaking valve for his tracheostomy tube. Before the December infection, when he had lots of energy, he'd sometimes try to make noise. We got him a valve and this happened. He's not always up to it these days, but it's nice to have in case he gets there. Here's how it works:
His cervical collar is off now, so his neck's going to be a LOT less stiff. I'm heading home to see his new place Saturday, and I CAN'T WAIT!!! For those of you who would like to visit (which, ahem, you should) he's in the Dardanelle Nursing Center, 510 Green Street. I would suggest calling ahead- (479) 229-4884 - to make sure he's up to visitors. Do me a favor and don't call Mom first; she's barely got enough phone minutes as it is, so check with the nurses.
Again, leaving on a jet plane and flying into Northwest Arkansas' enormous airport (see the humor there?) for 2.5 days of Mama/Papa time. Full report on the new digs as soon as I can.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Trip to the hospital
ROAD TRIP!
Dad's going to make a quick jaunt to the hospital- nothing serious, though.
Since the accident, he's been wearing a cervical collar to protect the teeny fractures in his collarbone/neck/jaw. Most of the time patients are allowed to take them off once they can say "Hey, this doesn't hurt anymore." Since that option's not currently available to us, we have to rely on CT scans to let us know if he's all good.
We'll know later today if we can take that off. Once it's off, there will be less pressure on his neck, less insulation near his head to contribute to his body temperature, etc. I'll keep you posted.
In other news, there's been a fund set up to help with my Dad's medical expenses. I'll get you the info soon.
Dad's going to make a quick jaunt to the hospital- nothing serious, though.
Since the accident, he's been wearing a cervical collar to protect the teeny fractures in his collarbone/neck/jaw. Most of the time patients are allowed to take them off once they can say "Hey, this doesn't hurt anymore." Since that option's not currently available to us, we have to rely on CT scans to let us know if he's all good.
We'll know later today if we can take that off. Once it's off, there will be less pressure on his neck, less insulation near his head to contribute to his body temperature, etc. I'll keep you posted.
In other news, there's been a fund set up to help with my Dad's medical expenses. I'll get you the info soon.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Call for Help: Help us find her!
There is a woman to whom we owe my father's survival. We'd like to find her.
The morning of the accident: Tuesday, November 10, 2:45 am. A nurse on her way home early from a shift at St. Mary's hospital found my father at the accident scene, before paramedics arrived. She was the one who noticed that his airway was obstructed and opened it, which is the only thing that allowed him to breathe/have any oxygen to his brain. If it were not for this woman, we would've had a funeral later that week.
I have no idea who or where she is, or what I'm going to say to her, but I MUST find her. I'm 800 miles and 2 states away so I need your help. I believe her name was a "J." Jennifer/Jessica, perhaps? From what we've been told, she's a nurse at St. Mary's hospital, and perhaps lives outside of Dover or in Hector along Highway 27.
If you can help me find her, or if you let her know I'm looking for her, please send me a private email: ashleehardgrave@gmail.com.
I must thank this woman for the joy she's brought to our lives. Yes, you read that right: joy. She made it possible for me to still have my father. She's helped me see a beauty and strength in my mother I never thought imaginable. She brought my family, my friends and my community together in an incredible demonstration of love. She gave me hope.
The morning of the accident: Tuesday, November 10, 2:45 am. A nurse on her way home early from a shift at St. Mary's hospital found my father at the accident scene, before paramedics arrived. She was the one who noticed that his airway was obstructed and opened it, which is the only thing that allowed him to breathe/have any oxygen to his brain. If it were not for this woman, we would've had a funeral later that week.
I have no idea who or where she is, or what I'm going to say to her, but I MUST find her. I'm 800 miles and 2 states away so I need your help. I believe her name was a "J." Jennifer/Jessica, perhaps? From what we've been told, she's a nurse at St. Mary's hospital, and perhaps lives outside of Dover or in Hector along Highway 27.
If you can help me find her, or if you let her know I'm looking for her, please send me a private email: ashleehardgrave@gmail.com.
I must thank this woman for the joy she's brought to our lives. Yes, you read that right: joy. She made it possible for me to still have my father. She's helped me see a beauty and strength in my mother I never thought imaginable. She brought my family, my friends and my community together in an incredible demonstration of love. She gave me hope.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Happy Birthday Daddy!
Today is my father's 60th birthday!
Birthdays are always a big deal in my family: since Dad's and mine are thirty years minus two days apart, we've always had joint celebrations (7 & 37, etc). The fun lasts the entire month of February, and Mom's is all July long. This year is 30 & 60, and I'm more grateful than ever to share it with him.
To celebrate this day and how many people my Dad has touched, comforted or just plain cracked up, I'd like to extend this challenge to you: Leave a comment here today with a fond or funny memory you have of Timbo. I love hearing stories about him, no matter how ridiculous. I'll read them to him when I talk to him later tonight.
There are so many for me, from singing and dancing to Sam Cooke in the living room to pretending to ignore my aunt Violet's wheezing in her later years. But for today, here's mine:
Summer in Arkansas is one of the grossest things imaginable; the humidity is approximately a thousand percent. The moment you walk outside you feel as if a warm wet blanket is thrown at your face. The great thing about all this moisture is that your yard grows lush and green, but you have to mow it constantly. All that heat and moisture, combined with the rural land our house is built on, equals snakes. Lots of them. That's the other reason you need to mow frequently- don't give them any more places to hide.
It's summer. I'm eight years old, maybe nine. Dad had been mowing for an hour and was loopy from heat exhaustion. Mom went out to relieve him and he sat down with a glass of sweet tea. Not a minute and a half later, Mom came running in the house, screaming and flailing her arms Muppet-style above her head. She had seen a garden snake in the mower's path and flipped. This was the conversation:
Mom: "TIIIIIIIIIMMMMMM! It's a SNAAAAAAAAKE!"
Dad: "Shiminey, Gloria, calm down. What did it look like?"
Mom: "Ii-i-it was green, and-"
Dad:"--you came screaming in her for a dang garden snake? You skeered me so much I thought it was a copperhead."
Mom: "I don't care, Tim, it's still a snake!"
Dad: "No, it's not, it's nothing. Just get back out there and run over it."
Mom: "OOOOHHHHHHHHH MAAAAAAAAAH GOOOOOOOD No! I can't!"
Dad: "Why the heck not?"
Mom: "Well, won't it jump up and try to bite me?"
Dad: "No, Gloria, he'll stand up and fight like a man. Now go."
Birthdays are always a big deal in my family: since Dad's and mine are thirty years minus two days apart, we've always had joint celebrations (7 & 37, etc). The fun lasts the entire month of February, and Mom's is all July long. This year is 30 & 60, and I'm more grateful than ever to share it with him.
To celebrate this day and how many people my Dad has touched, comforted or just plain cracked up, I'd like to extend this challenge to you: Leave a comment here today with a fond or funny memory you have of Timbo. I love hearing stories about him, no matter how ridiculous. I'll read them to him when I talk to him later tonight.
There are so many for me, from singing and dancing to Sam Cooke in the living room to pretending to ignore my aunt Violet's wheezing in her later years. But for today, here's mine:
Summer in Arkansas is one of the grossest things imaginable; the humidity is approximately a thousand percent. The moment you walk outside you feel as if a warm wet blanket is thrown at your face. The great thing about all this moisture is that your yard grows lush and green, but you have to mow it constantly. All that heat and moisture, combined with the rural land our house is built on, equals snakes. Lots of them. That's the other reason you need to mow frequently- don't give them any more places to hide.
It's summer. I'm eight years old, maybe nine. Dad had been mowing for an hour and was loopy from heat exhaustion. Mom went out to relieve him and he sat down with a glass of sweet tea. Not a minute and a half later, Mom came running in the house, screaming and flailing her arms Muppet-style above her head. She had seen a garden snake in the mower's path and flipped. This was the conversation:
Mom: "TIIIIIIIIIMMMMMM! It's a SNAAAAAAAAKE!"
Dad: "Shiminey, Gloria, calm down. What did it look like?"
Mom: "Ii-i-it was green, and-"
Dad:"--you came screaming in her for a dang garden snake? You skeered me so much I thought it was a copperhead."
Mom: "I don't care, Tim, it's still a snake!"
Dad: "No, it's not, it's nothing. Just get back out there and run over it."
Mom: "OOOOHHHHHHHHH MAAAAAAAAAH GOOOOOOOD No! I can't!"
Dad: "Why the heck not?"
Mom: "Well, won't it jump up and try to bite me?"
Dad: "No, Gloria, he'll stand up and fight like a man. Now go."
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
House Warming
Dad's in his new digs, all snug and sound. Mom's been with him since he arrived- he's got a different breathing tube in his trach and she's not comfortable leaving until she knows the darn thing will stay on.
It's a lovely facility. He's safe and he's home. As soon as I have the ok from Mom and the home I'll post his info so you can visit. Here's the deal: because he's not in skilled nursing, it's up to US to help him recover brain activity. He's going to need lots of stimulation from lots of familiar voices. I need your help with this. Keep this in mind. But for now, be thankful with me that he's home.
It's a lovely facility. He's safe and he's home. As soon as I have the ok from Mom and the home I'll post his info so you can visit. Here's the deal: because he's not in skilled nursing, it's up to US to help him recover brain activity. He's going to need lots of stimulation from lots of familiar voices. I need your help with this. Keep this in mind. But for now, be thankful with me that he's home.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Playing Catch Up
Well guess what? We didn't get answers later that day. Or week. Or month.
A lot has happened since I left you, and somehow very little has happened. I visited my parents two weekends ago, and here's where we were:
The infection on NYE wiped out every ounce of progress Dad had made, but he had started to pick up again. By the time I got there on Jan 22, he was, developmentally-speaking, almost where he was when I left on December 28. Not a bad thing, but the glacial pace of the progress can get discouraging. SSH hospital was ready to release him, because he was finally stable and they felt they had done all possible. The natural progression was to be to a skilled nursing facility...which might have been a possibility had he not almost died from infection on Dec 31. He had exhibited enough progress then to be moved to SkN, but that was no longer the case.
We worked with Dad's insurance company (name to be protected, but let's just say it rhymes with "Who Flossed the New Field") to find out our options. WFNF was supportive of sending him to skilled nursing, ready to write a check. Doctors and officials from the hospital let WFNF know Dad's state, and they backed out. Oh, we could still send him...but Mom and I would pay the full ticket ourselves. In the end, SkN was not the best place for him, because he can't follow the "squeeze my hand" commands with 100% accuracy. So on to the next option.
Oh wait...there WASN'T one. Not according to WFNF.
At that point we had one option: sending him to a nursing home. There's technically a second: bringing him home and having round the clock care/staff (HA! No- my millionaire dating club membership's expired, sorry), but not really. So on to nursing home shopping.
We'd found comfort at a few facilities when we looked for skilled nursing, so we approached them first. Literally no room at the inn. At 4 different facilities. We finally found some places that had a space available, but when they found out about our healthcare coverage we were once again turned away; they didn't accept private insurance, only Medicare and Medicaid. And once WFNF got wind of our only option being a nursing home, they made sure to let us know they wouldn't be helping with that.
I see. So to review: he's got "full" coverage that he's paid into for for almost 20 years with no more than an office visit for a sniffle. He's too young for Medicare and too "wealthy" for Medicaid (again, ha. He simply lives above the poverty line). So because we're responsible Americans and pay our own way, versus joining in the bankrupting of an already bloated and abused government program, we've got to either sell kidneys to pay for a nurse or just wheel him down the damn street ourselves and hope he hangs in there?
Oh, disability! Of course! When and where do we get that? Ok, sure I've got time for these 60,000 papers. And when do we find out if he qualifies....? Oh, yeah, 3-5 months. Got it. But once he gets disability benefits, he can get Medicare according to the loophole, right? Awesome, and how long does that take....up to 2 years? Ok. Sure. Excuse me while I wheel him down the street, as we can't afford the ambulance any longer.
Anyone who dares to tell me that this nation's healthcare system doesn't need repairing will meet the business end of my fist. We've been painted into every corner imaginable, all the while there's that whole "keeping Dad alive" thing that we're working on.
Mom drives 160 miles to see him every single day. This has been her new normal. The only people she talks to on a regular basis are me and Dad's daily nurse, whoever that is. Well, and Dad, but he's not so chatty lately. She's put god knows how many miles on her car and questionable tires. Our primary objective has been to get him home, whatever the cost. Every day that goes by is exhausting. We've been at the breaking point.
So finally, after a little sweet talking and good-ole-boy hometown insiders politicking, we have FINALLY found him a new home. It's only 20 minutes from home, so Mom won't be on the road 3 hours a day. Once she sees a level of comfort from the facility, she might -gasp- even go back to work. The facility is brand new and the staff already has experience with patients like Dad. It really couldn't be a better fit.
We found the place last week, so guess what! More waiting. Clear this, verify these, approve that. "We'll move him Friday." That was last week. Thanks to the weekend ice storm, that didn't happen. Pushed to Monday. Nope! Got to run eighty bazillion brain scans and tests.
Finally, after weeks of rushing, waiting, red tape, and doors slamming in our face. I JUST received a call from my mother. Dad's in a MEMS van en route to his new home. Mom's driving behind them and will let me know when they get there.
We have no idea how we're going to pay for it.
But we don't care. We just want him home. We'll figure it out. Dad magically got a Medicaid card in the mail somehow, so as long as that's valid, we're set for a bit. We are very mindful that things happened in the order they did for a purpose, and that as long as we are prepared and open, we will make it as a family. Now...off to buy a lotto ticket.
A lot has happened since I left you, and somehow very little has happened. I visited my parents two weekends ago, and here's where we were:
The infection on NYE wiped out every ounce of progress Dad had made, but he had started to pick up again. By the time I got there on Jan 22, he was, developmentally-speaking, almost where he was when I left on December 28. Not a bad thing, but the glacial pace of the progress can get discouraging. SSH hospital was ready to release him, because he was finally stable and they felt they had done all possible. The natural progression was to be to a skilled nursing facility...which might have been a possibility had he not almost died from infection on Dec 31. He had exhibited enough progress then to be moved to SkN, but that was no longer the case.
We worked with Dad's insurance company (name to be protected, but let's just say it rhymes with "Who Flossed the New Field") to find out our options. WFNF was supportive of sending him to skilled nursing, ready to write a check. Doctors and officials from the hospital let WFNF know Dad's state, and they backed out. Oh, we could still send him...but Mom and I would pay the full ticket ourselves. In the end, SkN was not the best place for him, because he can't follow the "squeeze my hand" commands with 100% accuracy. So on to the next option.
Oh wait...there WASN'T one. Not according to WFNF.
At that point we had one option: sending him to a nursing home. There's technically a second: bringing him home and having round the clock care/staff (HA! No- my millionaire dating club membership's expired, sorry), but not really. So on to nursing home shopping.
We'd found comfort at a few facilities when we looked for skilled nursing, so we approached them first. Literally no room at the inn. At 4 different facilities. We finally found some places that had a space available, but when they found out about our healthcare coverage we were once again turned away; they didn't accept private insurance, only Medicare and Medicaid. And once WFNF got wind of our only option being a nursing home, they made sure to let us know they wouldn't be helping with that.
I see. So to review: he's got "full" coverage that he's paid into for for almost 20 years with no more than an office visit for a sniffle. He's too young for Medicare and too "wealthy" for Medicaid (again, ha. He simply lives above the poverty line). So because we're responsible Americans and pay our own way, versus joining in the bankrupting of an already bloated and abused government program, we've got to either sell kidneys to pay for a nurse or just wheel him down the damn street ourselves and hope he hangs in there?
Oh, disability! Of course! When and where do we get that? Ok, sure I've got time for these 60,000 papers. And when do we find out if he qualifies....? Oh, yeah, 3-5 months. Got it. But once he gets disability benefits, he can get Medicare according to the loophole, right? Awesome, and how long does that take....up to 2 years? Ok. Sure. Excuse me while I wheel him down the street, as we can't afford the ambulance any longer.
Anyone who dares to tell me that this nation's healthcare system doesn't need repairing will meet the business end of my fist. We've been painted into every corner imaginable, all the while there's that whole "keeping Dad alive" thing that we're working on.
Mom drives 160 miles to see him every single day. This has been her new normal. The only people she talks to on a regular basis are me and Dad's daily nurse, whoever that is. Well, and Dad, but he's not so chatty lately. She's put god knows how many miles on her car and questionable tires. Our primary objective has been to get him home, whatever the cost. Every day that goes by is exhausting. We've been at the breaking point.
So finally, after a little sweet talking and good-ole-boy hometown insiders politicking, we have FINALLY found him a new home. It's only 20 minutes from home, so Mom won't be on the road 3 hours a day. Once she sees a level of comfort from the facility, she might -gasp- even go back to work. The facility is brand new and the staff already has experience with patients like Dad. It really couldn't be a better fit.
We found the place last week, so guess what! More waiting. Clear this, verify these, approve that. "We'll move him Friday." That was last week. Thanks to the weekend ice storm, that didn't happen. Pushed to Monday. Nope! Got to run eighty bazillion brain scans and tests.
Finally, after weeks of rushing, waiting, red tape, and doors slamming in our face. I JUST received a call from my mother. Dad's in a MEMS van en route to his new home. Mom's driving behind them and will let me know when they get there.
We have no idea how we're going to pay for it.
But we don't care. We just want him home. We'll figure it out. Dad magically got a Medicaid card in the mail somehow, so as long as that's valid, we're set for a bit. We are very mindful that things happened in the order they did for a purpose, and that as long as we are prepared and open, we will make it as a family. Now...off to buy a lotto ticket.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Monkey Wrench
Tis the time to throw one, apparently.
First, he wasn't well enough to transport. Then he was. Then the place we wanted to send him wouldn't take him because he wasn't well enough. Then they would take him, but not through insurance (and I've only got 2 kidneys for the black market...). Then a guy from the same place was in his room evaluating him today for a possible transfer.
Je suis troublé. Je ne comprend pas.
Hopefully I'll get some things straightened out when I arrive tomorrow.
First, he wasn't well enough to transport. Then he was. Then the place we wanted to send him wouldn't take him because he wasn't well enough. Then they would take him, but not through insurance (and I've only got 2 kidneys for the black market...). Then a guy from the same place was in his room evaluating him today for a possible transfer.
Je suis troublé. Je ne comprend pas.
Hopefully I'll get some things straightened out when I arrive tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Fingers Crossed!
Mom called me tonight with great news: Dr. Mumtaz is planning to forge ahead with Dad's transfer closer to home, and it may happen as soon as this week when I'm there!
Cross your fingers, hope, throw salt over your shoulder, whatever. We need to get him home.
Cross your fingers, hope, throw salt over your shoulder, whatever. We need to get him home.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Home Time!
Well, for me.
My mom's been awesome enough to help me find a way to get home this weekend, and I'm so grateful and excited. I'm flying in Friday and leaving WAY too early Monday morning. Can't wait!
Dad's doing ok. Not a ton of movement/changes, but that's ok for now. The ventilator was finally wheeled out of his room again, which is a step in the right direction. I'm hoping to have him back in Russellville by his 60th birthday on February 9.
Again, keep believing that this will get better. I'm trying, and most of the time I've got it.
My mom's been awesome enough to help me find a way to get home this weekend, and I'm so grateful and excited. I'm flying in Friday and leaving WAY too early Monday morning. Can't wait!
Dad's doing ok. Not a ton of movement/changes, but that's ok for now. The ventilator was finally wheeled out of his room again, which is a step in the right direction. I'm hoping to have him back in Russellville by his 60th birthday on February 9.
Again, keep believing that this will get better. I'm trying, and most of the time I've got it.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Rough Day
Well, it was yesterday, but I just found out about it.
Mom got an eerie feeling around 4am that something was wrong. She got up, drove straight there, and sure enough: Dad's fever had jumped to 103. The staff ran a lot of tests: EKG to check heart, and a laundry list of others. Nothing too crazy, but it's really irritating that his fever gets to such a treacherous level with no explanation. Sure, there's the hypothalmus/neuro fever explanation (as in his HT gland also sustained injury and is deciding to go bananas), but I feel like there's more.
At any rate, he's better today, much more calm. Thank goodness.
I'm currently still (yes, still) in my office researching travel options. CCPA's audition season is about to heat up, which means 50+ hour work weeks and all my weekends from late January to mid-March are gone. I cannot wait that long to see my father. My Boston conference for work just got canceled, so now I'm going to try to find a way to get home next weekend. In the event any of you know someone with a private plane, give them my number ;)
Mom got an eerie feeling around 4am that something was wrong. She got up, drove straight there, and sure enough: Dad's fever had jumped to 103. The staff ran a lot of tests: EKG to check heart, and a laundry list of others. Nothing too crazy, but it's really irritating that his fever gets to such a treacherous level with no explanation. Sure, there's the hypothalmus/neuro fever explanation (as in his HT gland also sustained injury and is deciding to go bananas), but I feel like there's more.
At any rate, he's better today, much more calm. Thank goodness.
I'm currently still (yes, still) in my office researching travel options. CCPA's audition season is about to heat up, which means 50+ hour work weeks and all my weekends from late January to mid-March are gone. I cannot wait that long to see my father. My Boston conference for work just got canceled, so now I'm going to try to find a way to get home next weekend. In the event any of you know someone with a private plane, give them my number ;)
Monday, January 11, 2010
Technology rocks/Almost
I title it this way because I'm posting directly from my iPhone! Steve jobs is my hero.
Why am I posting in the middle if the night? Because I keep waking up for no reason. Well, not no reason...someone may have had a little too much coffee a little too late in the day. I'm asleep for a moment, until Our Lady Of Starbucks decides I need to shoot out of bed in a panic, thinking it's daybreak. Awesome.
The second half of the title refers to my Papa. We get a lot of 'almosts' from the staff about him right now. He's almost completely off the ventilator after his little infection showdown. He's almost staph-free.
We ask, "is he back to the health level he was after Christmas?"
" Almost."
Can we finally get back on track to plan his transfer closer to home?
"Almost."
I'm crossing my fingers for a few more good days, after which I'll have the confidence to get on the phone and beg them to look at his transfer file. I certainly don't want to transfer him back home until he's strong enough, but I hope it's soon for my Mom's sake; she's been there and back every single day, including last week's school-closing bad weather days.
I'm almost sleepy again, so I'm off. Play some music from the oldies radio station tomorrow and take a second to think of Dad. I myself will now attempt to drift off to Sam Cooke.
Why am I posting in the middle if the night? Because I keep waking up for no reason. Well, not no reason...someone may have had a little too much coffee a little too late in the day. I'm asleep for a moment, until Our Lady Of Starbucks decides I need to shoot out of bed in a panic, thinking it's daybreak. Awesome.
The second half of the title refers to my Papa. We get a lot of 'almosts' from the staff about him right now. He's almost completely off the ventilator after his little infection showdown. He's almost staph-free.
We ask, "is he back to the health level he was after Christmas?"
" Almost."
Can we finally get back on track to plan his transfer closer to home?
"Almost."
I'm crossing my fingers for a few more good days, after which I'll have the confidence to get on the phone and beg them to look at his transfer file. I certainly don't want to transfer him back home until he's strong enough, but I hope it's soon for my Mom's sake; she's been there and back every single day, including last week's school-closing bad weather days.
I'm almost sleepy again, so I'm off. Play some music from the oldies radio station tomorrow and take a second to think of Dad. I myself will now attempt to drift off to Sam Cooke.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Snow day!
Well, not for me, but for lots of you Arkansans- congrats! I remember when I thought everyone had snow days, and how I learned the hard way. My first year in grad school in Chicago, we had our first snowfall in November, a whopping 2 inches. And since where I grew up everybody hits Wal-Mart for provisions, boils water and bunkers down at the first mention of a snowflake, I thought, "Yay! No classes tomorrow!" I slept in, only to find out that not only had I missed class sessions, I was being ridiculed for my naïveté...by both students and faculty. One professor took pity on me and cut me a break; he was originally from Louisiana. At any rate, congrats on having one more vacation day.
Dad's better now, but we had a pretty big scare right before the new year. We don't know the origin, but Dad contracted an infection that spread to his blood. On Thursday his fever spiked to 105. There were 6 very tense hours that day where his outcome was up in the air. This could have come from anyone or anywhere; the holidays bring multiple groups of people together, and one of them may have had a cough. He/she shakes hand with someone...you know the drill. But with Dad's fragile and bedridden condition, what's a tiny sniffle for me or you could be deadly for him. I can't stress this enough: please be cautious if you are coming to visit: sanitize your hands on your way in and out of his room, both for his safety and yours. If you've not felt well, wait to come visit. We're in this for a while, so there will be plenty of time.
With all the infection fun, his Sunday Speaking Spectacular has virtually gone unnoticed. The focus once again went to ventilators (he had to go back on one temporarily, and periodically thereafter for treatments), antibiotics and cooling blankets. Once we're fully in the clear and his strength grows, we'll try again.
The transfer to a closer-to-home venue is still on, but delayed. There are a few people on the SSH list ahead of him who need to go, and of course they're checking his immune system to make sure he'll still be strong enough to go. Most likely we'll be seeing it happen mid-to-late January. I crossing my fingers that I can be home for it, although a work conference in Boston might prohibit that.
I've been doing a lot of research on TBIs, sound therapy and music's effect on these types of patients. Things like Mozart versus Motown, the use of bitonality in energizing or relaxing the brain. Music was a big part of our lives before, so it's only natural that it can help us now. Fascinating-yet-not-totally-related book recommendation: Oliver Sack's Musicophilia. Awesome read. Grab it if you're looking for something new.
I plan on chatting with Mumtaz and company tomorrow to see how they feel about Dad post-infection. KEEP HOPING. We still need it.
Dad's better now, but we had a pretty big scare right before the new year. We don't know the origin, but Dad contracted an infection that spread to his blood. On Thursday his fever spiked to 105. There were 6 very tense hours that day where his outcome was up in the air. This could have come from anyone or anywhere; the holidays bring multiple groups of people together, and one of them may have had a cough. He/she shakes hand with someone...you know the drill. But with Dad's fragile and bedridden condition, what's a tiny sniffle for me or you could be deadly for him. I can't stress this enough: please be cautious if you are coming to visit: sanitize your hands on your way in and out of his room, both for his safety and yours. If you've not felt well, wait to come visit. We're in this for a while, so there will be plenty of time.
With all the infection fun, his Sunday Speaking Spectacular has virtually gone unnoticed. The focus once again went to ventilators (he had to go back on one temporarily, and periodically thereafter for treatments), antibiotics and cooling blankets. Once we're fully in the clear and his strength grows, we'll try again.
The transfer to a closer-to-home venue is still on, but delayed. There are a few people on the SSH list ahead of him who need to go, and of course they're checking his immune system to make sure he'll still be strong enough to go. Most likely we'll be seeing it happen mid-to-late January. I crossing my fingers that I can be home for it, although a work conference in Boston might prohibit that.
I've been doing a lot of research on TBIs, sound therapy and music's effect on these types of patients. Things like Mozart versus Motown, the use of bitonality in energizing or relaxing the brain. Music was a big part of our lives before, so it's only natural that it can help us now. Fascinating-yet-not-totally-related book recommendation: Oliver Sack's Musicophilia. Awesome read. Grab it if you're looking for something new.
I plan on chatting with Mumtaz and company tomorrow to see how they feel about Dad post-infection. KEEP HOPING. We still need it.
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