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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 [log in to unmask] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- To sign-off Parkinsn send a message to: mailto:[log in to unmask] In the body of the message put: signoff parkinsn