Topic: Religion
Excerpts from My Father Died Today
An obituary to the man who most influenced my life, whose life successfully
touched so many people, and whose death is a devastating example of why
political extremism and government bureaucratic management can have real,
negative consequences in every day life.
by Walt Thiessen
(Libertarian)
I got the news at 8:30 AM when my mother phoned to say that my father had
died just after midnight. His passing was not unexpected, and it fact it was
a relief, because my dad died of starvation induced by Parkinson's Disease.
His body had slowly wasted away due to his inability to swallow food and
drink until there was nothing left but skin and bones at the end. The
disease had cut off the nerves' ability to distinguish objects in the
throat. Swallowing was an ordeal, and he was often at risk of choking to
death. He had a great deal of therapy, and it worked for awhile, but the
disease ultimately won out.
Yes, Parkinson's Disease is a truly horrible disease. As many know, there
are famous people like Mudhammad Ali and Michael J. Fox who are afflicted by
the disease. Parkinson's isn't normally a cause of death. Normally, causes
of death are less directly influenced by Parkinson's. Furthermore, the
course of the disease varies dramatically from victim to victim. It doesn't
always work its way into the throat, but it can, and it did in this case.
The highlight of my dad's retirement was that, due to the housing boom in
Connecticut during the early 1980s, their house had acquired enough of a
rise in value that it enabled my parents to retire on Smith Mountain Lake in
Virginia where they built their retirement house. It is a beautiful lake,
and it was an idylic place for my dad to be. He loved the lake, and he loved
being there. It should have given him many, many years of happy living, and
it did do that to a large extent.
The problem is that this is the same period when he became afflicted with
Parkinson's Disease. It's a disease you can't ignore, because it constantly
affects you. His body soon developed an ongoing tremor that only eased when
he was asleep. I'd give him a hug hello or goodbye, and I'd feel the tremor
directly. It was like he had a strong electric current that was constantly
running through his body. Imagine having your hands connected to both
terminals of a strong battery, endlessly, all day long, and you'll have a
taste of what it's like.
He did very well living with the disease, and there was always hope for a
cure. Much research had shown great promise from stem cells. Indeed,
researchers had repeatedly placed stem cells directly into the brains of
Parksinson's sufferers and it had eliminated most or all of the symptoms
they were experiencing. But stem cells, sadly, are also a political issue,
because one source of stem cells is aborted fetuses. They are not the only
source, and indeed we now know that stem cells can come from other sources
as well including embryos, umbilical cords, and bone marrow, but because of
the virulent attitudes of pro-life extremists and the highly restrictive
requirements of the FDA, stem cells have been and continue to be virtually
unavailable for Parkinsons's sufferers to use.
I think you can now see why I hold "compassionate conservatives" partially
responsible for the horrible effects of the disease my dad suffered under.
Their fervent resistance to stem cell research has made stem cells virtually
unavailable to Parkinson's sufferers. There is no doubt that my dad did not
deserve such a horrible end. We had the means to prevent his death by
starvation, or at least to give it a good fight. Chances were good that stem
cells would have succeeded.
At the time of his death, the hospice volunteers marveled at how strong his
heart, lungs, and other organs were. If not for the starvation, my dad could
easily have lived another 10-20 years. He was 89 when he died, and by most
estimates that would be considered a long and happy life, but I feel that he
was cheated by Parkinson's Disease from truly enjoying what should have been
his well-earned golden years. And I am quietly enraged that he was forced to
starve to death amid plenty in order to assuage the consciences of so-called
"godly" people who denied him his best opportunity to be healed by medical
science.
My dad suffered from the disease for roughly 20 years before he died. He
bore the disease in dignity, but it also greatly saddened him. He had always
been an active man, who took full responsibility and dove into action
whenever action was required. For him to have to give in and let others do
the work that he wanted to do, merely because a horrible disease was
ravaging his body was almost more than he could bear. Even on his death bed,
when my siblings and I came to see him on more than one occasion, he would
struggle to wake up and "join the party" even though his body wouldn't let
him do it.
The last two months of his life were horrible to watch. It took a terrific
toll on my mother, and to a lesser degree on my sister who lives nearby.
When I last saw him this past Sunday, he was largely unresponsive. He was
still struggling to live and breathe, even in unconsciousness. When my wife
greeted him and asked him if he could open his eyes, he struggled to do so
unsuccessfully. I tried to use techniques I know to summon spiritual energy
to calm him, and to a certain extent I succeeded. But as I touched him in
this effort, I couldn't avoid sensing through my fingertips how little there
was left to his body. All the meat was gone, consumed by the rest of his
body in its ongoing struggle to survive. There was literally nothing more
than skin, bones, and some organs left. He was a tall man, 6'2" in his
prime, but in his death bed there was so little left of him that he barely
made an impression under his blankets.
My wife pointed out to me last night that people often have out-of-body
near-death experiences, and she believes that when suffering becomes too
great, they engage in such behavior in order to escape the immediate,
physical torture of the ordeal, until their tether to life is finally cut
and they can return to the original Source Energy which many people call God
or Allah or Higher Power. Her idea gave me comfort, and I believe that it is
likely to be true.
My father's hospice care was provided by Medicare. It showed me first-hand
the downside of bureaucratically managed care. One of Medicare's
bureaucratically mandated ways to keep expenses under control is that you
can't get Medicare-paid hospice care in your own home. They'll only provide
it in a medical facility, such as the rehab center where my father spent his
last days. One of the most gut wrenching experiences was during my
second-to-last visit to my dad, the last time he was able to consciously
engage me in limited conversation. Not only had the Parkinson's affected his
ability to swallow, but it also affected his ability to speak. Communication
was a tremendous ordeal, but he made a huge effort at one point when I was
alone with him in the room to make himself understood, and he succeeded.
I'll never forget the look on his face, a ghastly look, when he pleaded with
me to help him go home. He knew he was dying. He knew what was happening. He
knew he could handle it better in his own home, in his own bed.
But there was no way for us to pay for in-home care financially. Medicare
wouldn't cover it; the Medicare system has made alternatives virtually
impossible to afford except for people with lots of money, while it has
contributed to forever increasing medical costs over the years, and my
parents didn't have enough funds left to pay for him to get private care at
home. There's no way my mom could have cared for him directly....his daily
needs were far more than she could meet by herself. He required professional
assistance, so the rehab option was the only option available if we were to
preserve enough funds for my mom to continue to survive financially after
his passing. I don't know if I can adequately convey the emotional distress
my dad's request caused me, because I knew I couldn't honor it. I lost it
entirely and cried that I desperately wanted to take him home more than
anything. I sat there sobbing, wishing that I could somehow honor this last,
simple wish of my father's, knowing simultaneously that there was no way I
could do so short of engaging in personal bankruptcy for myself and my
mother.
Then my father did something extraordinary, but something which was so like
him. He was the one starving to death. He was the one who so desperately
wanted to go home. He was the one who felt the most helpless. Yet, he chose
that moment to take me in his weak arms and try to comfort me! Tears are
streaming down my face as I type this; it was such an incredible, loving
gesture for him to make. I shall always remember.
The last words we expressed to each other consciously were words that said
how much our love will continue to go with each other. I never saw him
conscious again after that.
The call came this morning, and I know that my father is, finally, no longer
suffering. I am grateful that he has moved back toward the greatest Love
there is, and I am grateful that he made such a huge and largely positive
impact on my own life. I shall miss him, of course, but I know he is not
really gone. He has merely moved onto the next great adventure.
I shall miss a lot of things about him. As an example, I shall miss when I
visited him at the lake during vacations. We would always take at least one
hour each time I came to walk down the road where they lived, called Island
Lane, toward the short foot bridge to the island at the end of the road that
extended into the main body of the lake. We walked and talked just to be
together. There was very little signficant about the conversations, and
there didn't need to be.
I shall miss seeing him standing on the dock, waving to us as we brought the
boat in from exploring the lake or swimming or water skiing. If he was
around the house (and not tied up with another activity), he always made it
a point to greet us as we returned. The image of him standing on the dock
and waving to us is etched upon my mind and my soul.
I shall miss his quiet sense of humor, which was oriented around small and
gentle subjects rather than subjects of great distress or pain. For him, a
shaggy dog story was much funnier than the raving antics of an on-stage
comedian. He didn't say much, and when he said something it was meaningful.
He rarely engaged in throw-away phrases. He spoke quietly, but his words
always carried in the room. He had a pleasant, baritone voice. It was
untrained in singing, and his lack of training showed, but he could carry a
tune nicely, and his voice was pleasing to the ear. He loved banging away at
the piano. He had only had a few lessons as a child, because the family was
so poor it was more than they could afford. So his skill level was always
pretty tenuous, and he made lots of mistakes when he played. It was
sometimes painful to hear him play, but he did play his favorite song,
Souza's "Stars And Stripes Forever," pretty well. And he played it as loud
as he could bang the keys.
I shall miss his presence, his quiet simple wisdom, and his example of
courage. But most of all, I shall miss just being able to quietly talk with
him and hear what he had to say to me.
I love you, Dad, so very very much. Go joyfully into the endless deep that
is the love of God, and know that my love goes with you.
2008 Walt Thiessen, all rights reserved.
Published: Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Last modified: Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The views expressed in this article are those of Walt Thiessen only and do
not represent the views of Nolan Chart, LLC or its affiliates. Walt Thiessen
is solely responsible for the contents of this article and is not an
employee or otherwise affiliated with Nolan Chart, LLC
Rayilyn Brown
Board Member AZNPF
Arizona Chapter National Parkinson's Foundation
rbrown@xxxxxxxxx
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