Requiem

When I came home Monday, Dad was unresponsive, laying there, in the hospital bed we had moved into the bedroom a week earlier. A priest was standing over Dad as I walked in, speaking some sort of blessing over him. I joined my family around him. Tears flowed freely as we realized how close our dear father was to death.

Over the course of the day, Dad miraculously sustained somewhat stable conditions while family and friends arrived at house. Mom's friend Beth, and Gary's father, Don. Dad survived the night, but remained unresponsive and of declining, hopeless health. By the end of the next day, Uncle David, Uncle Brian, Uncle Jeff, Aunt Kim, and Aunt Amy, as well as a few of their spouses. We convened in Dad's bedroom, sitting by him, standing watch.

His whole family was there in the house.
His wife, laying next to him on the hospital bed, squeezed up against the metal bars.
His siblings, scattered around the bedroom, or throughout the house helping.
His dad, sitting solemnly in the armchair.
His kids, kissing him goodnight and sleeping on the floor to be near to him.
Even his dog Yogi was there, sitting vigilantly next to him on the bed.

A hospice nurse came by, and estimated that he could last a couple of days. By Wednesday, Mom began to prepare us, telling us she anticipated Dad's death sometime that night. But he held on.

By Thursday, Gary's vitals were decreasing. Not shocking, but an ominous sign of his imminent death. Mom, with more certainty this time, told us Dad would probably die during the night. But he held on.

On Friday, a chaplain from St. Luke's came by and prayed a blessing over Dad. Mom cried silently into Dad's shoulder. The chaplain left. And suddenly, Dad's breathing became astoundingly shallow. Mom called us over, intuiting her husband's last moments. His kids came to him and held his hand, whispering "I love you, Dad"s as Gary passed away.

It was no surprise, really, to anybody.

Somehow I thought that would soften the blow.

It didn't.

The problem here is that this is more than the death of a father, or a husband, or a brother, or a son. It's so much more. Words fail to explain it.

(to be continued?)

VHL-Stock

Let me start by saying something: there is no magic but music, and there is no magic like music. I came to VHL-stock expecting to learn that, and sure enough, I did.

As many of you know, I flew in to Los Angeles on Saturday with my aunt Amy. Unfortunately, we ended up missing our direct flight to Los Angeles and had to go through Seattle. And then the rental car took hours to get. I finally was able to go to bed at around two in the morning. It was a long, long trip.

But the trip was worth it. In the morning I got up early and had some breakfast and I practiced with the band. The band consisted of Uncle David (Calvin's Dad on the drums), Uncle Brian (guitar), my cousin Calvin (guitar), Nick (keyboard and guitar), and Wes (6-string electric bass). I really never knew music could sound quite that good. I was lucky to be part of it.

As the day progressed and practice ended, we started setting up lights and equipment for the event. In case you don't know, VHL-stock was a fundraiser for the VHL foundation. VHL stands for Von-Hippel-Lindau syndrome, a rare disease that leaves the affected person(s) especially susceptible to tumors on the eyes and adrenal glands. Unfortunately, Calvin has it. When he found out, he decided to be active and put together this fundraiser-music event thing to raise money for the VHL Foundation. Just about the whole family showed up. Aunt Kimmi even pulled a few strings to get the event sponsored by Activision.

The music, as I've said, was incredible, and the whole event was really inspirational and a fun time. And for me it was the end of the summer. I went out with a bang having an incredible musical experience with my family.

So I'd just like to say, Thank you Brian, Thank you Uncle David, and Thank you Calvin. I'm so glad we got the chance to do this. I hope to see you guys again soon!