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
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