Life, Loss and Lefse.

My father is gone. Just like that, in what felt like a minute, my dad has died. The man with the pain tolerance of a bull or a Buddhist, the man with a sly smile and an unmatched wit, the man with a life so loved he never, not once, wanted for more, has died. He’s gone, leaving behind family and friends who will miss him forever and love him always.

My dad’s superpower was somehow besting the odds and surviving things that should have killed him. Ten years ago he went septic and needed emergency surgery. With his level of inflammation and the meds he took for decades of rheumatoid arthritis, meds that likely caused the sepsis (that’s another story), he was not a strong candidate for survival. But he survived. Had a few bad reactions to medicine in the hospital, a lengthy recovery where my mom had to do the heavy lifting (yet another story about healthcare in this weird country), yet by some miracle, he made it.

Last February my dad had a stroke. And for a few days we thought we were losing him. He got to the hospital later than was ideal, and he was delirious and confused. And somehow, this man made it without lasting implications. He walked outta the hospital. His mind was not impacted, nor was his body. I prepared for the worst, but my dad showed me that sometimes pure grit will get you through.

Then last April, just before his 79th birthday, racked with autoimmune disease, high blood pressure, and a list of meds that would blow your mind, he got Covid. And crushed that, too. Suddenly it seemed my dad was built like aN ox with the perseverance of a junkyard cat with far more than nine lives. It started to feel like he might live to 120.

I started to believe he would.

Then last week, the smoke cleared and the mirrors reflected back a different reality. My dad had been walking around uncomfortable for what had to be months. Maybe years. He was always tired, as RA was brutal on his body. He was more lethargic, and feeling lots of pain. We all assumed it was due to decades of arthritis, but it was deeper than that. He wasn’t breathing at full capacity. No wonder he was tired. When he got a little confused at times, we wondered if the stroke caught up to him. Nope. You get confused when not catching as much air as you should. He went to the ER on a Thursday, and never made it home.

It all makes sense now. But he was always at the doctor, so we figured he was in good hands. While there was no intentional misdiagnosis—we wonder why this was not caught earlier. Was he too strong for his own good, not wanting to admit he was sick? Did they miss the elephant in the room? There is no way to know. Yet we will grieve this forever.

Last Tuesday night I had the clarity to bring my 14 and 11 year old children over to see their Bebop, and it was the best decision of my life. I have a photo of them by his bedside, and they got to see him before it felt like he wasn’t gonna make it. I’m not sure what made me bring them, but I’m pretty sure I was guided by angels whispering into my ear, take the kids. My dad’s ancestors nudging me to bring his grandkids to his bedside.

In the end what really matters is that my stoic dad had the most beautiful last two days on earth a human could ever dream for. He was close to dying on Wednesday afternoon. Had he gone then he would have died afraid, confused and combative. But gifted yet another miracle, he held on for one more glorious day, and showed his family what true love looks like.

My sister and I arrived at the hospital to news that he would die, that we would have to decide when to remove the oxygen, and that he was very uncomfortable with the machine that could give him more oxygen. He looked terrible, and was sleeping off the confusion of the moment he almost died.

But early that night he slowly woke up, saw us, and started to come back. Then my brother in law Jeremy brought my sister’s son, and when he went in for a hug, Bebop kissed him. I swear to god, his grandkid being there made him rally. Soon Jeremy brought their oldest child. And my ex husband brought my youngest to visit. We told my dad my brother was coming the next day from Wisconsin. My sister in law and their youngest daughter called. Bebop felt the love, talked a bunch, and told us he was gonna make it. We are not sure if it was lack of oxygen or denial, but he did not realize he was dying. And after consulting the nurses—we went along with it. Why ask someone to die afraid, when they were so happy to just … be present.

That night my mom, sister and I decided we could not remove oxygen while he was chatty and happy and positive. We knew the time would come, and his body would get tired, but Wednesday was not that day.

And neither was Thursday.

On Thursday morning my sister and I arrived to find my mother and father chatting with nurses and staff. Dad was telling the nurse how wonderful it was that Brittney Griner was released, and how tall she looked next to the guards. My sister and I looked at each other bewildered. He was Superman.

My brother called in and told me to tell dad he was on his way. His other daughter called from college and told dad about law school applications and that she was accepted by Arizona already. Dad told her he was proud of her, and that he was gonna make it. There was laughter, and regular conversation. There was joy. And there was so much love.

That morning, for hours, we held his hand and he told us stories. He asked to see pictures of the kids, so I pulled out my phone and got to it. He talked about visiting my family in Omaha, and trips to the zoo there. We talked about Thanksgiving and plans for Christmas. Then out of the blue he asked how my friend Kittie was doing. So I grinned and told him, let’s find out. In his room I texted Katie (she goes by a couple names) and she replied instantly with an ask of, “what can I do, what do you need?“

I told him, and mom shouted out, “he could use some Lefse.” It was mostly a joke, as he was barely sipping water, but she said it because Katie makes Lefse every holiday season and would bring him some. It’s his absolute favorite as it reminds him of his mother and sisters, and he loved it. So I texted back that I could use a dozen paleo cheesecakes and he could use some Lefse. In that moment she asked how long he had as the potatoes had to soak over nite. I told her probably not that long, and she said she’d figure it out.

My friend, the one who spent countless hours with my parents poolside at their apartment as we had play dates with our kids, she riced potatoes and had Lefse at my dads deathbed by 3PM. He was barely eating, had only had a few sips of diet coke—but on his last full day of life he had two tiny bites of homemade Lefse with butter and sugar. When I sent a pic of Katie prepping a piece to one of my best friends she immediately texted back that Katie is true blue.

Katie got one last poolside chat, alas bedside. Ironically just a few blocks from my parents apartment and pool. All those visits and we never realized he would die in the hospital we could see from their pool.

My children got to see their beloved Bebop when he was lucid and happy. They get to go on knowing he loved them, with final moments of kisses on the tops of their heads.

My ex husband got to be of service to my family in a huge way, by showing up when we needed him most and bringing Bebop’s beloved buddy to his bedside. And he continued by texting my mom, offering support and love.

My sister’s family got to be there when Bebop first perked up, alerting us all to the fact that dad was not quite ready to go. Her kids felt joy. Her husband conveyed as he left how hard it was to see this strong man on his way out, because he convinced us all he was Iron Man.

My brother, well he made it in time and it was clear my dad was waiting for him. They were gifted a few hours of conversation and laughs. And my dad was given the opportunity to see all his children and know they were going to thrive. My brother’s wife and children were all able to speak to dad, and it was as perfect as it could be given the circumstances.

My sister got to sit with dad in a new way. She has a big job and dad has been proud of her every day of her life. But in these days she was just his child. Not a grown up with a big life, but a daughter soaking up every last minute with her dad. She laughed by his side. Shared glances with my mom and I where we thought for a few passing seconds that he might actually live. And she got the chance to love him deeply, as it was the only thing left to be done.

I sat there wavering between feeling like a 10 year old losing my dad, to the 51 year old I am in reality who has children of my own that I will need to help navigate this loss. I pictured myself in my favorite strawberry dress, and sitting on the driveway of our house on Naymut Street pranking my dad by giving him a candy cigarette, and being at a baseball field watching him play in one of a 200 teams he played ball with as a child followed by huge dinners out where my brother would order crab legs like a king, and sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner with my family in my childhood home, the one I still dream of. Then I went home to my adult life and reconciled the two. It was wildly confusing and equally glorious. I also took a minute when I was alone with him and shared something close to my heart. My best friend told me to say all that I wanted to say. And in truth, I talk to my dad every morning as I walk my dog to the lake. He knew everything about me and my boys. There was nothing unsaid. But there was one thing I was keeping close to my heart, and waiting on. But I decided to tell him. And when I did, he looked at me and smiled with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen and said, “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

And mom. Oof, that was hard to watch. To see my mother doing all she could to stay upright and present as her mind was swirling with memories and what-ifs. But she pulled through. My mother cried and laughed, often at the same time, and soaked up each minute she had left with the love of her life. She got married at 19 and spent 57 years by his side. Her loss is epic—so now it’s our job to lift her up and support her in new ways.

My sister and I were there by my mom and dads side for two beautiful days. I held my dads hand as he told us stores and memories. We laughed like it was our job, and hugged and cried, and felt all of the emotions. After one call from my brother, and telling our dad that Howie was on his way, my dad looked at the three of us and said, “What a precious day. What a beautiful precious time.” Not once in my life did I hear my dad use the word precious. And there, in that sunny boujee suburban hospital room, he used that word and simultaneously warmed and broke my heart. Then he said, with joy in his heart, “These past 25 minutes have been the best of my life. I appreciate all of you.” There he lay dying, and did us the grand favor of leaving no stone unturned. He said all the things you would pray you get to hear. He told us how much he loved us. He told us that our kids were gonna thrive. He talked about his brothers and sisters. He said it all.

He died magnificently the next morning. My sister and I left around 8PM so my brother could have some time. We set up a room in my mom and dads apartment for him then went up for one last hug with dad. As I drove Heidi home I told her that we have to accept that he could pass tonight, and we will miss it. And we agreed all was as it should be. So we went home.

The next morning as I walked my dog with a dear friend, I missed a call. Then felt something in my gut tell me to check my texts. And my sister was calling me. My brother got to the hospital just before 8AM and told my sister it happened and they were waiting for us. So I walked to my house, with my friend by my side, feeling blessed for the last few days, and sadder than I have ever felt in my life. I put on a Christmas sweatshirt as that was our thing—my dad and I never saw a holiday sweatshirt we didn’t love—got a hug from my friend, and then I drove to pick up my sister.

My dad died beautifully. He died just moments before my brother walked in, sparing him the final moment but gifting him the time with my mom seconds after his father died. My father died after two beautiful days. We thought we was going to die that Wednesday. But my dad had other plans, and gave his family the absolute miracle we all needed. We helped our dad die comfortable and at peace.

I do not wish this on anyone. But death is promised to us all, we cannot outrun it. My father’s death has left me feeling sad beyond measure. But it has also shown me that love makes living our lives worth the chaos and uncertainty. Love is all that really matters.

As I left my dad I hugged him a thousand times and told him I was gonna be alright, that the kids were gonna thrive. And I told him I would think of him everyday of my life, as I walk the dog during the time I would usually call him. Then I giggled and said, I love you most. Which isn’t true—everybody loved him. I just needed to pretend my love was somehow extra special. I’m pretty sure he understands.

PS: When my youngest and I walked Joey this morning, we passed a house just by the lake that I have walked by hundreds of times. And for the very first time I heard a wind chime. And it was really loud and chiming a lot, clamoring for my attention. I smiled, and said, “Hi, dad. Thank you for a beautiful life.” So there is, in addition to Christmas sweatshirts I will now smile and think about my dad every time I hear a wind chime. Life is weird, and I’m hear for all of it.