When I picked my kids up from school today I paid careful attention to their faces. Their expressions revealed slight excitement to see me and a bit of reservation to leave the play they are always wrapped up in at this time of day. My heart hurt looking at the innocent, happy faces of my older boys. Sure, we’ve had our share of hurt feelings, rough mornings, sibling fights, kids picking on them, mommy/mama yelling but all in all their innocence has not been tainted. And I knew that would all change very soon.
This morning right before I dropped them off to school I booked all 5 of us on a flight out of LAX that leaves tomorrow. We are heading to Philadelphia to say goodbye to Liz’s dad, my father in law, and the boy’s Pop-Pop. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease a few years ago and over the last year they properly diagnosed him with Progressive Super Nuclear Palsy (link) which is far worse than Parkinson’s. Quite literally, it was a death sentence. We knew once he was diagnosed that he didn’t have more than a few years to live.
Some parents may choose to shelter their kids for as long as possible from death and other scary situations. I want to be clear that if you have chosen that path I do not judge your approach, I’m only explaining my why. While I’m certainly not out there looking for ways to expose them to these situations, I welcome them into our lives as an avenue to talk to our kids about the inevitability of life. I know that my own experience of losing my dad young has done this to me. I wish he would have talked to me about death, about what he thought happened after, about how to carry on if anything ever happened to him. But he didn’t and when he died my heart was not only ripped from my chest but I was left asking myself questions about his feelings on all of the above. I would spend time desperately cataloguing our conversations for talks of an afterlife or advice on moving on.
Today at pickup I told my kids not to get onto their skateboards because we were going to have a family meeting at the park across the street. I led them over to the park and they both apprehensively sat down and looked into my eyes. These are the moments they don’t prepare you for as a parent. There’s no “What to Expect When You Have to Explain Death to your Kids” book to lean on. Or maybe there is but I should have read it much earlier than this moment.
Nonetheless I felt the weight of the world sitting in front of their big hungry eyes. And I felt unworthy and woefully unprepared for this conversation. “Boys, you know we are going back to Philadelphia, tomorrow right? (heads nod in agreement) You know Pop-Pop is really sick and isn’t doing well…guys, we are going home to say goodbye to Pop-Pop. We think he is going to die soon, probably when we are home with him. The body cannot go on forever…remember just like the butterfly who had a hurt wing, everyone/everything dies. But their soul is something different. Even when he does die Pop-Pop will be with us forever in our hearts.” I doubt it came across as smoothly as is written here and I cried when I told them, but I tried my best to hold it together. My tears and emotion…that’s another thing I try not to shelter them from. Raising boys, I believe it’s even more important they know its ok to cry.
Our older boys are so different in the way they process things…15-20 seconds into our conversation McKay had put his head down. His eyes were wet with tears that welled up but didn’t fall yet. Gabe looked at me nervously wringing his fingers and said with innocence: “Mommy, can you not tell me when Pop-Pop dies? I don’t want you to tell me.” I apologized to him for not being able to make that promise. I told him part of the reason we were flying home was to be there with Nonna and the rest of our family so that we could comfort each other when Pop-Pop died. I assured him that even if I tried to hide it from him he would find it out. I hugged them both hard and told them how much I love them. I also told them how much their Mama would need to feel their love when we got home and when we went back to Philly.
We travelled from LA in the late afternoon and it was 2am by the time we made it to my mother in law’s house outside of Philly. The next morning, we did our best to get up, shower, eat and hustle over to the hospital. One of our biggest fears in all of this was that we wouldn’t make it home in time to say goodbye. Joe had been put into the Hospice care building on Monday and the doctor told us that he believed he only had 7-14 days to live. He had stopped eating and stopped drinking water a few days prior to that. We’d prepared the boys for seeing him by telling them it would seem like Pop-Pop was sleeping and that even though he couldn’t talk to them he could hear them perfectly well, especially with his bat ears. He could always hear a baby crying long before anyone else in the house could.
The hospice setup was better than one hopes for with hospice I guess. Joe was in one room with an adjoining sitting room that had a door to the outside grounds. There was lots of green grass and a place for the kids to play. The boys all went in to see him and tell him that they loved him. Gabe, processing in his own way, would go into his Pop-Pop’s room and then come out and color furiously, reenter and hang up his picture. Rinse/Repeat. He must have colored 10 different pictures in a few days’ time. The first day was tough to watch but Joe was squeezing our hand at times and even smiling on occasion. The hard part was when we could tell he wanted to say something to us. He would start moving his lips but no words came. As we sat by his bedside Betsy told me that day that the previous day had been their 42nd Wedding Anniversary. Josh Grobin or Michael Bubble were alternated in the CD player. Liz picked up the CD’s desperately wanting to play something different and grabbed Rod Stewart. Her first choice, the Big Chill soundtrack seemed too upbeat and not the right setting.
We dragged ourselves home after about 7 hours at the hospice and stopped to get the kids some real food for dinner. It had been a long 36 hours and we knew the next few days wouldn’t be any easier. Liz and her sister went together early the next morning and I took the boys to a nearby park with a pond and a walking path. We felt like they could use a break from the hospital. They spent time pointing out frogs, geese, birds, water striders, butterflies, fish, and every other creature possible. With spring had come new life, green grass, flowers. The yin and yang of life wasn’t lost on me.
We arrived back at the hospital and Joe’s decline over just a day’s time had been dramatic. He was colder to the touch and he couldn’t squeeze our hands or interact with us much more. The doctor had come by that morning and said 24-48 hours. We stayed with him for hours. I found myself willing him to let go, to end the pain he was in, to end his fight. I told him that Betsy had an amazing support system and that we would look out for her. I promised him that I would love and take care of Liz and his grandson’s for the rest of my life. I told him it was ok to let go. Joe’s physical stature and sheer strength was working against him in the end. Some of his brother’s came to say goodbye that evening. The kids were brought candy and played football and ran around in the grass. If you let yourself forget for a minute, it almost didn’t feel like we were at a hospice facility waiting for someone to take his last breath.
When I left with the boys around 10pm the night nurse had just done an exam of him and told us not to leave Betsy alone because death was imminent. These nurses were wonderful and I thanked her for taking such good care of Joe. She looked me right in the eye, and said ‘it’s my honor’, these men protected us and put their lives on the line, it’s the least I could do.’ I believed her; what she said was so simple and so powerful. I said goodbye to Betsy’s best friend Bev and thanked her for being with Betsy during this time and she said, ‘it’s my honor, it truly is.’ And I knew she meant it too…Betsy and Joe had been by Bev’s side when her husband Jerry died 10+ years prior.
Liz was struggling with whether to stay or to come with me and the boys. The juxtaposition of the moment was very apparent…on one end she had this family that she’s built, and her responsibility lies with us now. I knew she wanted to just come with us, to cling to us, to put the kids to bed, to feel normal for a little while. On the other end this man that raised her and made her the person she today is was lying in a bed about to leave this world…and the mother that had nurtured her needed her there. In the end she stayed. I don’t know how she feels about it now…does she wish she came with us? Is she happy she was there at the end? The events of the days leading up to her dad’s death and his death itself will forever change her. I know they will and I knew when we got onto that airplane that they would change all of us.
I fell asleep with the boys and woke up at 2am to a phone call. I hurried into the hallway outside of the bedroom so I didn’t wake our boys and Liz’s voice echoed through my head “He’s gone”. She told me how she was sitting by the edge of the bed when she thought he’d stopped breathing and asked her brother Billy to see what he thought. They decided to go get the nurse. Betsy had been asleep on the little chair in the corner but woke up. The nurse told them he was still breathing, but barely and that they should say their goodbyes. They all stood around him and he exhaled his last breath.
Liz crawled into bed at 5am as the sun was rising and making the room bright. When the kids woke up early I hurried them out of the house because I didn’t want them waking anyone who had been with Joe the night before. I drove McKay and Gabe to get donuts knowing that I would have to tell them the news while we were there. I let them sit and enjoy their donuts and play a game of eye spy first. When I told them McKay made a fist, punched his hand down on the table, and cried (Bisland’s have tempers and big emotions). Gabe looked sad and worried and silently crawled into my lap. I held him and cried and said “Pop-Pop’s body isn’t with us anymore but…” Gabe finished my sentence “but he will be in our heart always”. I nodded in agreement, unable to vocalize the words and cried tears onto his curly hair.
When we came home everyone was awake. I did what my Italian roots told me to do and made everyone breakfast sandwiches. I told Liz that I had let the boys know. We talked about him a little bit and McKay said, Mommy, ‘he can meet your daddy now.’ I burst into tears and Liz came to console me. Not exactly how this should have worked…after all, her dad is the one who just died.
The next few days were filled with all the stuff you busy yourself with when someone dies. Betsy took out a folder she had of old letters, newspaper clippings, and magazines highlighting Joe’s career in the banking industry. Liz met with the funeral home and wrote the obituary. We went to our nieces’ ballet rehearsal and the kids all ran around together afterwards. I know it helped everyone to see them together again. The next day we went to a horse show that was in town. Christian made everyone laugh with his dance moves. My mom has always called my brother and me her ‘lifeboats’. The analogy was never lost on me, but I never fully understood it until now. That’s how life works though isn’t it? Appreciation comes later in life with understanding.
We took the long flight home knowing that we’d be coming back for the funeral in a few weeks. This cross-country stuff isn’t for the weak. Emotionally and physically spent was an understatement.
The kids missed 4 days of school and as timing would have it they both had dentist appointments for cavities that I couldn’t move day 1 and 2 of being back. The morning of McKay’s appointment I dropped him off at school late. When I walked into the office I saw Ms. P. She knows McKay and Gabe because she happened to be the assistant in McKay’s kindergarten class and now she’s the assistant in Gabe’s kindergarten. She immediately hugged me and said she was so sorry to hear the news because Gabe had just shared it with her. I felt immediate relief that he told someone, that he’s talking about it, and dealing with it in his own way. McKay looked at Ms. P and said, yeah, the same thing happened to me (as in, I lost my grandfather too) and then he put his head down. Ms. P didn’t flinch: “I know sweetie” and then she embraced him.
When McKay went to off to his classroom I asked Ms. P more about Gabe. I told her that he and McKay had been dealing with it very differently but that I was worried because Gabe wasn’t really talking about it. Ms. P said that he told her that his Pop-Pop had died and that he was sad. He told her that he was able to say goodbye to him and that he couldn’t talk but that he knew we were there. She told Gabe that it was great he was able to see him and that she knew he loved his Pop-Pop to which Gabe responded, “yeah, and he loved me too”. Gabe knows he was loved by his Pop-Pop. He can still feel it.
One of the things I find toughest about moving on is that so many people around you are mulling about and living their normal lives. For you, time feels suspended. Mundane, unimportant things feel like an even bigger waste of time. You do your best to keep moving and keep talking about the person you lost. Here’s what I know about Liz’s dad: he was wonderful to me, he always accepted and welcomed me into his family. I called him one Christmas in 2008 and said, I know we aren’t really the prototypical couple and that this may feel old fashioned but I’m going to ask Liz to marry me and I want your permission. “That’s wonderful Biz, we are so happy, we love you sweetheart.” I called him when I had a job offer with CarMax and talked with him about the equity and stock options and all the things that his mind was so sharp on. I remember sitting on my deck out back in Arnold and listening to his views on stocks and what he’d been able to do for his family as a result. I learned how to mess with him, without pissing him off, which if you knew Joe, you understood it was a delicate balance. When we were on Bald Head Island or Joe and Betsy visited us I knew how he liked his coffee and poured him a cup in the morning. I made him a killer breakfast sandwich or a parfait that he always enjoyed. I would bring it to him, tell him I loved him even though he was a pain in the ass, and kiss him on the head. Without my own father in my life anymore and only one grandfather for our boys I made sure to cherish the time and take plenty of pictures. I will miss his laugh the most, it was this bellowing laugh that came from deep inside and his mouth was always open wide when he did it. There are a few pictures I have of him where I can still hear it. I’ll tell you this, I’ll do my best to honor you Joe. I know that we will keep your memory alive in my house because Joseph Thomas Drennan just happens to live in all of my kids: McKay Joseph, Gabriel Thomas, & Christian Drennan.
