From the Heart: A Valentine's Day Tribute In Memory of My Dad

This is a very special Valentine's Day tribute for my dad, a man that lived a simple, quiet life with great love in his heart for God and family.  For nearly eighty three years my dad developed the ability to love deeply and care intently for his family, friends and God.  Dad endured many trials during his life with his final trial enabling what was perhaps the greatest outpouring of love a family could receive.  On this Valentine's Day I would like to share how my dad's strong heart was able to facilitate an outpouring of love in my family.

My mom and dad in their kitchen just over a year ago.

My dad was in skilled care for his Alzheimer's.  I wrote a post about the disease and the impact it had on our family that you can read about here.  Mom made regular visits to see dad and my siblings and I made visits as often as we could.   My last visit to dad found him somewhat hunched over in his wheelchair and sleepy.   Mom and I started talking to him and wheeling him over to a table.  A meal was about to be served so we continued to talk about this great meal including a hamburger was going to taste.  I was able to give dad a small bite of his hamburger that he chewed very slowly.   At one point he dropped his head down.  I bent down real low to make eye contact with him and as he saw me he followed me back up with a little smile on his face.  That smile warmed my heart and was the last time I would receive that gift of love from my dad.

The majority of our family made a visit to see dad over the Christmas holiday.
In this photo are two of my sisters, a niece and our daughter, Ginger's, family.

The group text message came at 9:30 p.m. on Tuesday, January 31st.  "Dad is not doing very well, he's unresponsive and they're taking him to the ER in Grand Island".  I was my hotel room in Nashville going over my schedule of meetings for the Cattleman's Beef Board.  First there was shock.  My siblings and I were also at least two hours or two flights away.  My sister-in-law stepped right in and assisted my mom as they met the rescue squad at the hospital.  Text messages continued to fly as the six of us tried to learn more details.  I sent a message to the CBB officer team with my news and immediate reply of heart-felt support to do what I needed to do.

I did manage to get a photo with these three lovely ladies
that serve with me on the CBB.  We had just finished supper
after a day of interviews and/or flying in to Nashville.

One by one my siblings and other relatives started to journey towards Grand Island to be with my dad and mom.  My sister, Sharon, arrived first to feed us the latest updates on dad's status.  One by one each of us arrived to be with one another and my parents.  We took shifts staying the night in the hospital and continued to send social media requests out for prayers.  The staff at St. Francis provided a cart of coffee, water and snacks to take care of us as well as my dad.   On Thursday morning dad's teary eyed doctor gave us news that involved the decision to place dad in hospice care.  A prayer was answered when we learned there was an opening at the VA Hospital in Grand Island.  We were told it would be a short stay.

The VA Hospital in Grand Island was not unfamiliar to my family.  My mom, siblings and I had many numerous trips to the hospital with dad to visit a variety of doctors over many years.  We walked the familiar path past the accordion player in the lobby, the check-in desk, the pharmacy and then to the elevators.  Our new destination was the third floor, unfamiliar to us at the time but soon to become our second home.

Upon arrival at the VA our new doctor concurred with doctors at St. Francis that my dad was very sick and had anywhere from 6-18 hours to live, through Sunday if we were lucky.  We sent the word out to extended family members, grandchildren, friends and the parish priest.  I was even blessed with the opportunity to talk to Bishop Hanefeldt over the phone to receive his love and prayers. The outpouring of love and prayers also continued through family and friends via social media updates.

My mom is wrapped up in blankets in the chair used
also as a bed when needed.  The nurses were great
at getting us warm blankets to snuggle up in.

What I would like to share next are the many experiences that unfolded during dad's hospice stay.  My mom, siblings and I pretty much moved in to dad's room.  The staff introduced themselves and gave us another room with a fold out bed in it.  We continued praying rosaries, the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, singing praise songs and old familiar songs, crying and laughing over stories from our childhood.  Grandchildren came with their own love and support for their grandparents and each other.  Our granddaughter, Ella, drew a picture for her great-grandpa that has been saved by her great-grandma.  We brought in food, more food and still more food as my dad's steady and strong heartbeat continued to take him through the weekend and through one weekday after another.  The excellent nurse care made sure dad was comfortable to the point of having him on an air controlled mattress that we named "the cloud".   Dad's two sisters were able to spend hours with us sharing stories from their childhood.  My siblings, mom and I continued our round-the-clock presence with dad with several near death episodes that were draining everyone emotionally.  We continued prayers, the Novena to Our Lady of Lourdes, songs, stories and more meals together with the bonds of love growing between us with each passing day.

My Aunt Stella had this picture in her purse and shared
with us the story about my dad (sitting) and his friend
 converting my grandma's lawn mower into a go cart.

Some of our significant moments included my dad opening his eyes long enough for my sister, Sandy, to get that one last look into what she called his baby blues.  One morning my dad gave us a few second of a lift of his head with eyes open and a big smile.  That would be the last physical response I would see.   One of the nurses came into the room at the close of her shift and saluted dad from the foot of his bed.  That was a very powerful moment.  Dad defied all predictions of time with that very strong heart of his until on Thursday, February 9th he took his final breath.

We had a beautiful slide show for the services showing dad in a variety of
situations including camera man.  The painting by my niece, Megan McCoy,
was the response to our request for the painting to honor the many times we
sang "You Are My Sunshine" to my dad with our own memory verses.

Several of the grandchildren pooled their creative
minds together to create this memory tree using some
of dad's tools, ink hand prints and memory leaves.

 

Though many tears continue to fall we have so much to rejoice in from the love, support and prayers we have received.  The rosary and funeral brought the majority of the family home to share final thoughts, prayers, reflections, art from several grandchildren and an ice cream salute.  My dad's funeral was on the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, a very special day for my parents as they had made a pilgrimage to the shrine in France many years ago.  My dad left us with an experience of such profound love and the mystery of faith that no amount chocolate or flowers on this Valentine's Day could ever match.

Here is the poem written by our daughter, Ginger Eikmeier, that she read for the rosary and funeral mass communion reflection:

Grandpa, you didn’t remember me.
Alzheimer’s had a firm grip on your mind,
crowding out most of those you knew and loved.
But it’s okay, Grandpa, because I still remember you.

I remember your shop out back,
shiny silver tools filling the drawers,
the smell of grease permeating the air
as we made our way back to the workbench to greet you.
I remember your trips to Ace Hardware,
usually resulting in a special present
for the lucky grandchild who got to go along,
like my prized white Barbie Ferarri.
I remember your fifty-cent-piece collection
and how excited we were to come across one of those coins
because you’d trade us three quarters for that one piece.
I remember your clunky rectangular video camera
perched on your shoulder as you chased us grandkids around,
never staying a silent cameraman
but always adding your own colorful commentary.
I remember your chair at the end of the table,
the bottom spring stretched past its limit
from years of leaning back during kitchen conversations.
I remember your metal canes,
whose primary purpose was to help your hips
move like they couldn’t move any more
but whose secondary purpose was a comedy prop,
ready to draw the attention of a great-grandchild.
I remember your conversation with me just over a year ago
when, in a moment of clarity, you asked if I still liked teaching,
and as you watched me play with my six-month-old,
you said you didn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt a baby.
I remember your black beaded rosary
used in prayer on so many occasions,
a symbol of the deep faith you developed.
I remember your quiet chuckle,
sometimes in response to a funny story,
more often in response to some private joke.
I remember your generosity, your playfulness,
your love for God and Grandma,
for your kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids.
Your own memories may have been taken away,
but these are the things I will remember,
long after God has called you home.

Signs of God's presence are all around us if we look.  This sunrise on the Monday morning following dad's funeral gave
me more than the beauty of color, it gave me the beauty of a gold cross to remind me of the beauty of the resurrection.

You can read more about my dad here.

A Few of my Favorite Things

If you've ever watched "The Sound of Music" then you know there is a suggested technique of thinking of your favorite things to chase away fear.  The technique was mentioned by Fraulein Maria in the song "My Favorite Things" as she consoled the von Trapp children during a thunderstorm.  I believe Fraulein Maria was onto something by teaching the children to focus on good things so they would replace their fear with joy.

I have learned that focusing on my favorite things can fill me with gratitude.  Looking at a drawing that our daughter, Emily, drew of our family when she was in kindergarten makes me smile as I think back to a time when our five children were all under the age of ten.   The smell of chili powder takes me to a pantry in my aunt's house that I loved to visit when I was a child. Watching the sun come up fills me with awe as I think about God's love and power.

We are blessed with wide open spaces and the ability to see the sunrise and the
sunset.  The colors in this sunrise seem to add warmth to the cold winter day.

When the toil of farm work starts to get me I can be quickly changed as I drive by a pen of cattle and observe one steer licking himself, another steer rubbing his head on the water tank and another steer chewing contently.  Yes, one of my favorite things is seeing our cattle content with their life here.

This is a view of part of our feedlot looking towards the northeast.  You can
see one steer licking his hip and many others laying around.  We strive to
provide pen conditions like this so cattle always have a place to lay down.

Smelling an alfalfa field after it has been cut or the feedtruck as it drives by are more of my favorite things.  There are definitely farm smells that are not my favorite things, too! 

Listening to the birds sing is another one of my favorite things.  We are blessed to have a variety of bird sounds including the migration of geese in the spring and fall.  When I am walking pens in the summer I get to listen to Meadowlarks and Cardinals that seem to move around with me so I can hear them singing all over the farm.

Eating a juicy hamburger, steak or slice of eye of round hot off the grill is definitely one of my favorite things.  The taste of beef has always been a favorite of mine and I am blessed to have a husband that loves to grill.  Sharing beef meals with family and friends continues to be a favorite activity of mine.

Steve has a tray of hamburgers ready to be eaten.  Our
granddaughter is waiting to have one placed on her plate.

Memories of my dad have become another one of my favorite things.  I did not appreciate the value memories can bring to a relationship until Alzheimer's hit my dad.  I have many favorite memories of my dad including a childhood Christmas many years ago. 

It was Christmas Eve and my dad came home carrying several wrapped gifts with no name tags.  My five siblings and I could barely contain our excitement as we discussed who the presents were for.  On Christmas morning my mom was handed each of the gifts one by one. I can only remember two of the gifts.  One gift was a large, fuzzy, orange rug and the other was a ceramic canister set.  I remember sharing in the joy as mom opened them one by one.  Somehow the gifts were even more special because they were all for mom.  That Christmas is a favorite memory of mine.

This is the Merry Mushroom Canister set that dad bought for
mom! She used those in her kitchen counter for many years.

Did you notice that many of my favorite things include all of the senses and are more than just things?  Maybe thinking of our favorite things lifts us up because they tap into our senses of taste, sight, smell, touch and hearing as well as our emotions.   What are some of your favorite things?  Try naming them and see if they lift your spirits, especially in times of trial. Remember what Frauline Maria said, "I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad"!

Don't You Know Who You Are: Alzheimer's

A couple of months ago I was sitting across the kitchen table from my dad on his last night in the home he has known for almost 50 years.  Dad was going to be placed the following day in a memory care home for adults with Alzheimer's.  This was not a sudden decision but rather the agony of many months of discussion that culminated when my mom was diagnosed with cancer and started her chemo treatments.

I was working on getting some photos developed at Walmart for the room he would have.  As I finished up I heard my mom say something to Dad about Joan.

I looked up from my laptop and asked Dad "Who is Joan?"

He looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "Don't you know who you are?"

Oh, the heartache of Alzheimer's!  As dad posed the question to me, I melted inside, wondering if we were doing the right thing.  Was Dad really sick?  He seems so normal at times.

I looked at Mom with her scarf on, hiding her now bald head due to the affects of chemo.  Yes, we had to move Dad, so Mom could heal.  I shut my laptop and went to Walmart to get the photos, some frames and other supplies dad would need.

 My dad's family.  Front Row:  Verna,  Michael and Mary, Stella. 
Back Row:  Melvin, Clem, Helen, Leo, Joe

When I returned Mom and I moved Dad into the living room to pray a rosary.  The rosary has been a great source of strength for my parents and for Steve and I.  I'm not sure how well dad can reflect on the mysteries of Jesus' life, but I do know it is one activity his brain continues to know how to do.

One activity my dad still remembers very well is
praying his rosary.  This was a nightly routine and now
we pray it with him when we visit. Even though Dad
doesn't always hold a rosary, his hands act like one is there.

I then encouraged mom to get ready for bed so we could hopefully transition my now drowsy dad into bed as well.  Bedtime has been the most challenging time of the day for my mom in getting my dad to go to bed.  That night I was feeling very grateful because Dad was in his bed by eleven.

My bedroom was just down the hall and adjoined the bedroom he was in.  About 2 a.m. I heard the sound of a power tool.  I got up and walked down the hall to peek into his bedroom.  Dad was kneeling on the floor next to his bed with a power tool in one hand and his other hand just laying nearby like he was trying to figure out what to do next.  I felt so sad that this man who had modeled hard work by repairing cars, tractors, trucks and drywall tools could no longer figure how what he was suppose to do with the tool.

I turned and went back to my room.  I didn't know what else Dad had hidden under his bed, so I just laid down in my bed just listening to him.   At some point I dozed off and was awakened by noise coming from the kitchen.   I got up and went to the kitchen to find Dad in a kitchen chair with a cookie jar lid on the floor.  I spoke to Dad about going back to bed and decided to try pulling him to his room while he sat on the rolling chair.  I did get dad back to his room and back in his bed.  It was about 4 a.m.

The morning came quickly with much to do to make sure the transition would go as smoothly as possible.  My dad could walk with two canes but spent most of his time sitting in his wheel chair.  When he was in bed it took a lot of time and patience to get him going and he was known for resisting efforts to get him up and moving.  We had extra help that morning to take care of Mom and keep Dad occupied outside, so I could transfer his bed and a desk to his new home without him seeing what was going on.

My mom and dad have a deck on the south side of their house.  During the fall
of 2010 my siblings and I worked together with dad to build this deck.  It was
  during those work sessions that we first noticed dad was having memory issues. 

My uncle helped me get Dad's bed and desk unloaded and put together.  We put on the newly washed bedding, put the pictures around the room, and I put his Bible, the Diary of St. Faustina and some of his prayer cards on his desk with a crucifix nearby.

The home Dad would be living in was only about five minutes from where he and Mom raised six children.  We felt the proximity would be very helpful to Mom and the daily visits she would make.  Our original intent was to hope a place would be available in the Veterans Home.  Dad was on a waiting list that could take up to a year for a spot to be available for him.

Back at home we only had to get dad in my car and load up his wheel chair.  His clothes and personal items were all waiting for him at his new home.  My aunt and uncle were going to meet us there to help get dad inside.  He was not one to be tricked.

We stopped at the Dairy Queen, my dad's favorite place to stop, and proceeded with ice cream to the new home.  Dad was feeling drowsy and wasn't able to eat all of his ice cream before we arrived.  My uncle greeted us at the car as I unloaded the wheel chair.   My aunt was inside and opened the door for us and greeted dad with a hearty hello.  Dad responded with his own hearty reply and we went inside.

Family is so very important during times of trial.  Here is my dad, mom,
Aunt Stella, Aunt Juanita and Uncle Paul.  Juanita and Paul have been
great friends as well as family support for me, my parents and my family.

My heart was feeling relief and a heavy sadness at the same time.  Dad would never go home again.  This was his new home.  This was where he would spend the rest of his days.  I looked at mom with her scarf wrapped around her head and remembered the many questions dad had recently asked me like "Where is my wife?" and "Where is everybody?"  He had been saying each night "I want to go home."   I knew this was not the home he was looking for and I hoped the photos of his parents and the one of his siblings would bring him some comfort.

My siblings helped me put together a book for dad for his
80th birthday that included photos from his youth to the
present day.  He is looking at it with his sister, Stella.

We were told not to spend much time with dad so the staff could start interacting with him and start to settle him in.  As my mom gave him a kiss I again felt the stab of sadness that one feels during many life moments--dropping a child off at camp, leaving a child at college, giving a hug to a child that is going overseas and now saying good-bye to the life dad had with my mom.

Mom comforts my dad with a warm blanket.

Alzheimer's is a cruel disease.  During my visits to see dad I met other Alzheimer patients that were funny, angry, silent or at moments very sane.  Dad seems to maintain some of his sense of humor with the help of medication to keep him calm.  "Don't you know who you are?" has come back to me many times since that last night of his at home and I can only hope that even though he may not know who he is I will never forget that he is my dad and he deserves all my love and the best possible care until he goes to his final home.

Dad has always loved playing with the little kids and his
face lit up when he saw the two great-granddaughters.  Jeff
also had a chance to visit his grandpa while home from Peru.