Jumping the Gun

Yesterday, news reports stated that WWE wrestler Chris Benoit and his family were found slain in their suburban Atlanta home. In response, WWE cancelled their regularly scheduled programming (a "funeral" for their "murdered" chairman Mr. Vince McMahon, a storyline they began two weeks ago), and aired a three hour tribute to Chris Benoit. The tribute included video of Benoit's previous wrestling matches and images of him hugging the wife and child that he is believed to have killed.

According to the WWE, Benoit called them on Saturday night to say he could not perform due to a family emergency. Early on Sunday, people with WWE received "curious text messages" from Benoit. These messages prompted the WWE to contact authorities and request that the police check Benoit's house. The WWE also has said that they have further information about the deaths, which the police have asked them not to release.

I have a couple of problems with all of this.

First, and obviously, the death of Benoit's wife and 7 year old son is a tragedy. My heart goes out to their families.

I am hoping that the WWE wouldn't have aired a tribute to him if they knew with 100% accuracy that he killed his wife and child. However, it seems clear that the WWE had reason to believe, "curious text messages," that Benoit killed himself and his family from the moment it was announced that they were dead. Why, therefore, didn't they wait to air a tribute to him until they knew for certain how the Benoit family died and who the culprit was?

I believe that the WWE was highly irresponsible for honoring this man so quickly when they had knowledge that the fans didn't about what happened to their wrestler. I think that a better option would have been to air a re-run with a footer explaining that the deaths of Benoit's family were under investigation and the McMahon "funeral" was cancelled out of respect for the tragedy.

The Living Years

Today is the one year anniversary of my father's passing. He died of prostate cancer about four and a half months after my mother passed away. I miss my father terribly right now and I wish more than anything that he and my mother could see what I am doing now.

My dad and mom on their wedding day.
Or as my Daughter said: "Aww... That's your Daddy. He's a Prince! and there's your Mommy, she's a Princess, like Cinderella!"

I am sitting in the front stoop on my house, typing on the laptop computer that they gave me for Christmas a few years ago. Their only grandchild is asleep in her bedroom, dreaming about who knows what. My father's organ is in my living room, waiting for someone to play the old songs again, "Those Were the Days," "Blowing in the Wind," "Have I Told You Lately (That I Love you.)"

I wish that they could see what I've done with the money they bequeathed my little family and that they could know that without them, none of it would be possible.

It is hard for me to write about my father because as he told me once, we never really understood each other. My sister and I have spent many hours talking about him and trying to figure out who he was and why he did some of the things he did.

Dad holding Daughter. He was already sick with prostate cancer at this time.

My father was a good man who loved his family. In some respects, I think he loved us too much. As his children grew up, he never wanted to let us go. He had great difficulty dealing with me as I became a woman and we struggled with each other as I began to assert my independence. It was incomprehensible to me at the time why he fought so hard to keep me dependant on him, but maybe he was just scared to let me go.

Now all I have left of my parents are memories, and there are a lot of happy ones. The trip to Knott's Berry Farm and laughing as my dad hammed it up with the street performers outside the Birdcage Theater. I would stand and watch him mix a cauldron of off-brand macaroni and cheese. The day my father led me down the aisle, the two of us never quite could walk in step. When he held my daughter for the first time and commented that she has his eyes, and she does... so do I.

My Dad

The Living Years
Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door

I know that I’m a prisoner
To all my father held so dear
I know that I’m a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got

You say you just don’t see it
He says it’s perfect sense
You just can’t get agreement
In this present tense
We all talk a different language
Talking in defence

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

So we open up a quarrel
Between the present and the past
We only sacrifice the future
It’s the bitterness that lasts

So don’t yield to the fortunes
You sometimes see as fate
It may have a new perspective
On a different day
And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in
You may just be o.k.

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

I wasn’t there that morning
When my father passed away
I didn’t get to tell him
All the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I’m sure I heard his echo
In my baby’s new born tears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

- BA Rutherford

For Seth

Hi April,

have you heard from seth in the last week? no one can get a hold of him and his apartment complex apparently says he doesn’t live there anymore.... sam got worried enough to call me. any thoughts?

Liesl

My friend Seth moved to Colorado from San Diego about three years ago. It was shortly after the wildfires that raged through San Diego county in the autumn of 2002. The owners' of the house he was living in decided that they needed it back. There was some confusion over whether or not their other home burned in the wildfires. I'm not certain on that point. While trying to figure out what to do, he felt that he had been touched by God and directed to move to Colorado. Without warning, he left San Diego one night and drove to an apartment that he had leased over the phone and moved in.

Seth disappeared last year in late October; it was as if he had fallen off the face of the earth. Seth did not leave any messages as to where he was going, or what he was up to. At first, no one was very concerned. Several friends were guessing that he probably had resumed his long haul truck-driving career and was on the road. Or perhaps he had packed up and moved once again.

Eventually, several of Seth's friends became concerned enough to do a little bit of investigating. They called his apartment complex, and the manager said that Seth had moved out and the only notice he had received was the apartment lease torn up and left inside an envelope in his mailbox. None of his stuff was left behind in the apartment, but by that time there was no way to know if Seth had placed his things in a dumpster or had taken them with him. Seth's mother filed a missing person's report with the local police from her home in Florida. The police told her that since there was no evidence of foul play and because Seth was an adult, there was not much they could do (or would do).

This whole time though, I feared the worst. Seth was 29 when he disappeared, and he had told me several times throughout the years that he "did not expect to live to be 30." Knowing that Seth was not interested in skydiving or street lugeing, I did not understand why he felt this way. He never said this in a way that made it seem that he feared for his life, just a matter-of-fact statement that his life would be over sooner rather than later. Of course, this made me worried for him, but when I asked him to elaborate on why he felt that way, he would just repeat, "I don't know, I just don't think I am going to live to be 30."

When I learned that he was missing, I was filled with dread. I prayed that he hadn't done something to harm himself. I tried to hold out hope that he had just re-located again without notifying anybody. But then the packages began to arrive.

His mother received in the mail a package that contained the urn of Seth's brother. Another friend received a computer joystick that Seth owned. Yet another friend received Seth's brand-new computer and a check for $1300.00. Seth did not owe this friend any money. Then his aunt received a large package that contained Seth's gun collection. One of the guns from the collection was missing.

At that point, I think everyone realized that Seth would never be found alive, although I heard that Seth's mother "had a feeling that he is in Canada." There was nothing further that anyone could do though. Seth had obviously plotted his disappearance very carefully and had no interest in ever being found. It was only dumb luck that he was.

Hi April,

I tried to get your phone number from mom (I'm assuming you have a cell still) since you haven't been on aim (i'm imagining you don't have much time to be on the internet being that you moved 2? days ago) but she couldn't find it. Anyway... bad news. Some fishermen found Seth's body by a lake in the mountains near Denver. Apparently he had driven out there, hiked a ways from his car and then shot himself. I'm sorry you had to hear about it via e-mail but it's the only way I could think of to contact you.

Hope the move is going good. Sam has the most info, he talked to Seth's mom. If you need to talk drop me a line...

Liezl

Seth had driven his car to a national park in Colorado, and then hiked several miles to an off-limits area. He committed suicide on the shore of a lake. A fisherman had gone to the same off-limits area to do a little illegal fishing and noticed a pile of clothes from a distance.

I don't know when or why he decided that he could not live to be 30. Was it when the girl he loved revealed that the baby she was carrying wasn't his while they were driving to Vegas to get married? Was it because his father used to say that he himself wouldn't live to be 40, and then died of a heart attack when he was 38? Or did Seth feel that God had spoken to him once again? No suicide note was ever found and now Seth's friends and family only have these questions to ponder.

I was angry when I learned what Seth had done to himself. But I have come to accept it and I try to console myself with happy memories of the time we had together. The hours spent at coffeehouses, poring over the San Diego Reader. Sitting with him in a BMW Z4 that he rented for $1,500 and watching him enjoy the admiring glances of women in La Jolla as he drove the car. Sitting in his lap and doing shots of rum at parties.

Seth Morrison was a good man. He cared very much for his friends and was very generous. I wish that he was still with us, and I know that he enjoyed his life while he was here. And maybe if enough of us remember him, a piece of him will still be alive in those who loved him.

Lonesome

The morning that my mother died, Daughter was just beside herself. I don't think she understood what had happened, but she knew we were all upset. She is a very empathetic creature and there was nothing that myself or my husband could do to calm her. Daughter refused her sippy cup, she wouldn't lay down for a nap, she didn't want comfort from either of us. Finally, after about a half hour of wailing, my father asked if he could try.

We knew that he had been in physical pain that day and we asked him if he was sure. He said, "Yes."

I picked up Daughter and gently placed her on Dad's lap. He began to coo at her and say sweet words into her ear. Within minutes, both of them fell asleep. For four hours.

Yesterday, April 2^nd, 2005, my father passed away.

A Death Story

For at least a month, my father has been sleeping his recliner each night because his cancer makes it too painful to sleep lying down. On Monday, December 13th, Dad woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bedroom to check on Mom. She hadn't been feeling too well the past few days -- kind of spaced out and listless. Mom was asleep, but breathing funny. Also, she had shit all over herself. Dad and Brother called the paramedics and she was taken to the hospital.

My mom has had bowel problems as long as she could remember, so it wasn't much of a suprise when the doctors decided that she had a bowel obstruction. This was serious, but fixable. The doctors could go in, clear out or remove the obstruction and put everything back together. However, for the first time in her life, she refused to have the medical treatment. My sister called me at about 1:00 pm that day and told me all this. Along with the news that if she did not have the surgery, she would die in four or five days.

I called the hospital's ICU and asked for Mom. They handed her a cordless phone. We talked for a few minutes, and for the life of me I can not remember a thing she said. I do remember though that she wasn't making a whole lot of sense. And then the battery on the fucking phone died. When I called back, the hospital said that there was no way for them to get her a phone.

Well, it was my turn to lose my shit.

Fortunately, Husband works at the same company I do. I called him up and asked him to go on a break with me. I explained the situation to him. While I smoked a cigarette (and I'm not a smoker), he held me. We went together up to see my supervisor and asked if I could please go home so that I could go see my Mom. My supervisor said that of course I could go and to keep in touch.

I picked up the baby from day care and raced home. I packed a couple of bags, diapers and all that. I got my email and sent one out to my professors telling them why I was ignoring my classes (see the archives). At about 4:00 pm I was getting the baby into the car when I got another call from Sister. Sister said that Mom had come to and had agreed verbally to have the surgery. The doctors whisked her into an operating room.

After I hung up the phone with Sister, I thought, "Hmm... maybe I don't even need to go up there."

You see, my mom has gone through incidents similar to this one (in severity, but not the actual condition) about a thousand times. She always pulled through.

My next thought was, "Fuck it. I might as well go up there. It is only a ninety minute drive. I will have plenty of time to visit and still come back in time for work tomorrow."

When I arrived at Dad's house, Brother was there and Sister was still at the hospital. Maybe 15 minutes after I arrived, Sister called Dad and said that the doctors needed to talk to him. The doctors told my dad that when they opened Mom up, they found that her entire large intestine was gangrenous. The doctors told Dad that they could remove Mom's large intestive and she would be fed the rest of her life through a tube in her neck and be hooked up to a coloscopy bag. If they did nothing, Mom would probably pass away in 24 - 48 hours.

My parents had many discussions in the past about their wishes in situations such as these. We all knew instantly that my mom would not want to live that way. Dad told the doctor to close her up, make her as comfortable as possible and not to put her on any life support. The doctor said that they would do that.

I asked my brother to watch the baby and I went down to the hospital. My sister was already there. My mom was unconscious, but I talked to her anyways. After about a half an hour, I went home so that we could bring Dad and Daughter to see her.

The second Dad entered her room, my mom came to. She couldn't talk, but she could see us, hear us, move her head and squeeze our hands. My father began to talk to Mom and told her what the doctors had found. He told her that if they did nothing, she would pass away soon. What did she want? By nodding her head and squeezing her hand, she told him that she did not want to live in the unending pain and discomfort that removing her large intestine would bring.

One by one, we all said our goodbyes. We asked her if she was in any pain. She let us know that she was not. The nurse broke the rules and let us bring the baby in so that Mom could see her.

We left the hospital at about 3:30 am that night. The next morning when I got up, I began looking for our relatives' phone numbers so I could let them know that Mom was going to pass away. While telling my uncle (mom's brother-in-law), a pastor in the Seventh Day Adventist Church what had happened, my brother came in and said that mom had died. Between sobs I told my uncle that my mother had died. He said, "April, let's pray." Uncle gave a beautiful prayer for the comfort of us, Mom's family, for the beautiful release of Mom's soul to sleep until Christ's return, and for our reunion in Rapture.

2004 Ruled... 2005 is gonna suck

2004 has been an awesome year. I've lost about 40 pounds. My evil boss got sacked. Husband got a great job. Daughter is growing in all dimensions and bringing me joy everyday.

My dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer about 2 and a half years ago. At the time it was diagnosed, he was told that his cancer was a particularly agressive type. It laughs at radiation, and chemotherapy pisses it off. Dad chose to get neutered in the hopes that it would get all of the cancer. It didn't. Since the operation, the cancer has been fighting back. In the past couple of months, it has really been doing a number on him. It causes him pain and debilitating muscle weakness. Over the weekend, my dad lost the ability to walk.

I don't really know exactly what the numbers mean, but in one month, Dad's PSA levels went from 76 to 211. As in golf, a high score is a bad thing.

In the hospital today, the doctors determined that the cancer has metastisized to his bones. The doctors have decided that Dad should be put in a hospice for the next 6 months. You see, Medicare will pay for hospice care for patients for up to 6 months, including all prescription medication. Doctors try to transfer their patients to hospices when they believe that they will need that type of care for 6 months or less. I'll let you read between the lines.

My mom is suffering from congestive heart failure. Her heart is pumping at about 17%. It is too weak to counteract the effects of gravity on her blood and so when she walks or stands, her feet and calves swell to something resembling liverwursts. Earlier this year, a bladder infection strained her heart to the extent that she was in the hospital for a week.

I tend to be a "half-empty" kind of girl, but I don't think it is pessimistic to predict that 2005 is not going to be a very good year. It is realism.

The Man in Black meets the Ghost Riders in the Sky

Yesterday, the most influential man in popular music passed away. I found myself unexpectedly and profoundly saddened. Johnny Cash was an uncompromising, powerful baritone voice for the everyday working class dude, the cowboy in all of us, and the rebel we all wish we could be. Johnny reached his height of popularity at a time when country music was rhinestone and spangles and rarely more than folksy blues tunes. Johnny had the nerve to dress all in black and to sing for prisoners, American Indians, disenfranchised youth, and working class people.

Like many people my age, I first heard Johnny's deep voice in my father's car. Something about his music resonated with me. Perhaps it was that I appreciated the irony of someone my Dad liked saying that he was "wishing he was stoned." (Sunday Morning Coming Down). I was drawn to Johnny's humor in songs like "Onie", "A Piece at a Time", and of course "A Boy Named Sue." Given that my Dad usually listened to Merle Haggard and Marty Robbins, a little humor was refreshing. But most of all, Johnny's style was unique, he spoke of things that mattered, and he didn't care if you like him or not. You could tell though that he appreciated the people who got him.

As I grew older, I picked up a few Johnny Cash records of my own. He found his way to my ears during times when I was pissed off (especially if I was pissed at some authority figure) or sad. He always knew how to make me feel better and to see the humor of my situation. I am grateful to him and I miss him already.

Somehow I have a feeling that he will be the only angel in heaven to be wearing black.

Goodbye Mr. Cash, and Godspeed.