6 October, 2011 was 365 Days since that fateful day; One year exactly. I mentally checked off calendar squares leading up to this date wondering what was in store. As every step of this journey has been, even the anniversary of Geoff's death is confusing. What is today in California is tomorrow in Australia. Yesterday in Sydney is my today. There was no confusion, however, when my smartphone told me it was 5:30 p.m. Wednesday afternoon Pacific Standard Time, that it was exactly one year since "The Call".
It's all fresh in my mind, still, I took the opportunity to revisit the details of those next devastating hours, days and weeks of a year gone by reading my own blog entries. I listened to the haunting music that was played at Geoff's service at Our Lady of Fatima in Kingsgrove. I poured over my mementos of Geoff (and my other children). I laughed with tears in my eyes at some of the silly things I've kept among my treasures while happy to have what I do and wishing I had more. I watched the slide presentation played at his wake. I viewed the DVD that compiles years of bad videography by Dad but in many places includes the unmistakable voice of my son that accompanies his precious image. I spoke with Robin and Melissa. I received and responded to a text from Joanne. Other important people in my life signaled their support in the various ways our electronic age allows.
I miss Geoff more than words can describe. I imagine him present when my intellectually knowing tells me he is not. I can't help myself from wondering what might have been. My instincts tell me Geoff would have been just as good a husband and father as he was a son, brother, nephew, cousin, friend. I'll never know and yet somehow I do.
Reflecting on those hazy days of a year gone by a few things stick in the forefront of my conscious mind:
Geoff's body lying in The Tazmanian Blackwood Timber Coffin at the WN Bull funeral home; cold, expressionless, unreal, diminutive, staged, empty.
My favorite memory of Geoff as an adult standing in the doorway of the guestroom at the Four Points Darling Harbour; happy, loving, expectant, carefree, handsome.
Geoff perched with a toy guitar on the staircase at the Lake Tahoe ski resort in California at perhaps 2 1/2 years of age singing "Born in the U.S.A." (yes, he was).
The strength, courage and kindness of everyone: family, friend, vendor, acquaintance during those dark days and the time since. Some of Geoffrey's closest friends put together a heartwarming memorial in the form of a booklet with photos of happy times and personal letters about their relationships. I was provided a copy by one of his good friends right about the time I was recovering from my surgery for tongue cancer in January. In every epistle the message was clear: Geoffrey had positively impacted their lives in some meaningful way. Typically, his mantra of positivity in all things left an indelible mark on their psyches combined with his love of art, music and food. In every case his friends chose to dwell on that which they will always have rather than the things they had no longer. It's a lesson I have been studying since.
Certain things that take place in my life are indicative of his spiritual presence. The most recent manifestation is a card I purchased for my daughter, Melissa, commemorating this anniversary. I chose this particular card from the hundreds available in the stationery store because of the beautiful ocean wave sculpture (albeit mass-produced) made of paper that frankly reminded me of Geoff and Melissa's love of the ocean and I told her so in the handwritten message. When Melissa received the card at her home in Canberra, ACT, Australia she sent me a text: "I just got home to your card in the mail box. The way those waves are drawn comes from a Japanese style of art. I had to recreate them for an art project in high school and Geoff helped me get the "swirls" right. Could never draw like he could explain! He's with us all the time." I never saw the drawing or heard the story before Melissa's text message.
One final awareness that struck me as I wrote the first few words of this entry. Wanting to believe there is a message in the numerology of the date of Geoffrey's passing I struggle to understand the message while knowing it exists: 6 October, 2010 is the 6th day of the 10th month of the 10th year of the millennium. 6+10+10=26. Geoffrey's age when he died was 26 and every year after for the next 90 years that calendar date will equal his age using the same formula.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Kaanapali Maui
It's nearly a year since Geoffrey left us so suddenly and without warning; doesn't seem possible. The chaos of my daily life continues against a background of remorse. All those things I should have done or didn't do while he was with us haven't faded in my consciousness but at times seem to be screaming for attention. I know enough about cancer and Lymphoma to question to the point of distraction "Why" - Why weren't additional tests done as followup to his care for Hodgkin Disease? Why didn't Geoff let the paramedics take him to hospital when they visited the house a few days before he died? Why did the doctors jump to the conclusion he was suffering from Mononucleosis (Glandular Fever) in the face of his known history? In my 59th year I am fully aware that there is no answer to the questions that begin with Why; only justifications.
When Geoff was barely a year old Robin and I met up with her sister, Maggie, in Maui. We stayed in a unit right on Kaanapali Beach in a condo development named "Kaanapali Alii". We all had a wonderful time and indulged Geoff in his love of water with days spent in the swimming pool and the ocean. At times I've wondered if Geoff must have been born with set of gills as he loved so much being in the water . Some of my fondest memories are of him at various stages of his life wading, swimming (for fun and competitively), body surfing, boogie boarding, water skiing or just walking along the beach.
During this particular trip I remember vividly a bright, sunny morning we spent at the condo's beachfront pool. Geoff spent as much time in the water as we allowed between our constant admonishments of "Don't drink the water" because that's what he seemed compelled to do. At the point where it was apparent he was nearly exhausted we decided to freshen up and head over to a Mexican restaurant (no longer in existence) in the nearby Whaler's Village, only a few steps from the condominium property. Once we ordered our drinks and lunch the waiter presented the mandatory basket of tortilla chips and salsa. Geoff (like most toddlers) loved the crisp and salty chips and made a habit of inserting them into his mouth like a factory worker on an assembly line; left, right, left, right, between parental instructions demanding a reduction in the speed at which he was consuming the appetizer. Fellow diners would nod our way their approval of our way too cute son as they passed by our table or glanced in our direction from seats nearby.
As Robin, Maggie and I continued our conversation and sipped on our drinks the waiter appeared with our various orders and started distributing the meals to the appropriate diners. Just as he deposited the last of the burritos, tostados and enchiladas on our table my son, Geoffrey John Loe, projected the entire chlorinated contents of his stomach in a dispersion pattern of 270 degrees directly over the just served food.
Amidst the chaos and cacophony that followed we gathered up our son, paid our bill and stumbled the few steps back to the condo in unbridled, hysterical laughter; Although too young to accurately articulate his thoughts, the look on Geoff's face told us he was feeling much better now that he had ejected the pool water we previously suspected he was ingesting. We put him down for a nap and most likely fixed ourselves peanut butter sandwiches in lieu of the Mexican feast that had now gone to waste.
I've been back to that beach in Maui numerous times since that trip 26 years ago and have walked by that property, pool and beach many, many times always with thoughts of Geoff in mind. Mitzi and I were there in mid-September. While packing for the trip I made sure I had a good portion of Geoff's cremains that are still in my possession with the intent of returning the physical manifestation of the vessel that held what was Geoff to the ocean in front of that property, pool and beach.
On a bright, sunny morning I entered the water directly in front of the Kaanapali Alii condominium complex with my waterproof bag and its precious contents after gazing for some time at the calm ocean and the islands of Lanai and Molokai on the horizon. I then swam 100 yards or so offshore and tread water while I distributed the volume of the bag in the ocean, returning this vestige of my son to an environment he loved so much. Once I had determined that the bag was empty and completely rinsed clean I floated on my back for some period of time while observing the tropical clouds in an otherwise crystal clear sky, consumed by my thoughts of Geoff. As I began my swim back to the beach I caught the outline of a sailboat in my periphery that was moored offshore near where I was swimming. As I turned to get a better look the name of the vessel stared directly at me: GEMINI. Geoff's birthday is June 8.
When Geoff was barely a year old Robin and I met up with her sister, Maggie, in Maui. We stayed in a unit right on Kaanapali Beach in a condo development named "Kaanapali Alii". We all had a wonderful time and indulged Geoff in his love of water with days spent in the swimming pool and the ocean. At times I've wondered if Geoff must have been born with set of gills as he loved so much being in the water . Some of my fondest memories are of him at various stages of his life wading, swimming (for fun and competitively), body surfing, boogie boarding, water skiing or just walking along the beach.
During this particular trip I remember vividly a bright, sunny morning we spent at the condo's beachfront pool. Geoff spent as much time in the water as we allowed between our constant admonishments of "Don't drink the water" because that's what he seemed compelled to do. At the point where it was apparent he was nearly exhausted we decided to freshen up and head over to a Mexican restaurant (no longer in existence) in the nearby Whaler's Village, only a few steps from the condominium property. Once we ordered our drinks and lunch the waiter presented the mandatory basket of tortilla chips and salsa. Geoff (like most toddlers) loved the crisp and salty chips and made a habit of inserting them into his mouth like a factory worker on an assembly line; left, right, left, right, between parental instructions demanding a reduction in the speed at which he was consuming the appetizer. Fellow diners would nod our way their approval of our way too cute son as they passed by our table or glanced in our direction from seats nearby.
As Robin, Maggie and I continued our conversation and sipped on our drinks the waiter appeared with our various orders and started distributing the meals to the appropriate diners. Just as he deposited the last of the burritos, tostados and enchiladas on our table my son, Geoffrey John Loe, projected the entire chlorinated contents of his stomach in a dispersion pattern of 270 degrees directly over the just served food.
Amidst the chaos and cacophony that followed we gathered up our son, paid our bill and stumbled the few steps back to the condo in unbridled, hysterical laughter; Although too young to accurately articulate his thoughts, the look on Geoff's face told us he was feeling much better now that he had ejected the pool water we previously suspected he was ingesting. We put him down for a nap and most likely fixed ourselves peanut butter sandwiches in lieu of the Mexican feast that had now gone to waste.
I've been back to that beach in Maui numerous times since that trip 26 years ago and have walked by that property, pool and beach many, many times always with thoughts of Geoff in mind. Mitzi and I were there in mid-September. While packing for the trip I made sure I had a good portion of Geoff's cremains that are still in my possession with the intent of returning the physical manifestation of the vessel that held what was Geoff to the ocean in front of that property, pool and beach.
On a bright, sunny morning I entered the water directly in front of the Kaanapali Alii condominium complex with my waterproof bag and its precious contents after gazing for some time at the calm ocean and the islands of Lanai and Molokai on the horizon. I then swam 100 yards or so offshore and tread water while I distributed the volume of the bag in the ocean, returning this vestige of my son to an environment he loved so much. Once I had determined that the bag was empty and completely rinsed clean I floated on my back for some period of time while observing the tropical clouds in an otherwise crystal clear sky, consumed by my thoughts of Geoff. As I began my swim back to the beach I caught the outline of a sailboat in my periphery that was moored offshore near where I was swimming. As I turned to get a better look the name of the vessel stared directly at me: GEMINI. Geoff's birthday is June 8.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Baby Smells and 9/11
Mitzi and I welcomed our 5th grandchild into the world on the 10th of July this year. Thomas James Powell, the first offspring of Mitzi's son Tom and his wife Carrie, arrived with a handsome face, a roaring appetite and the biggest hands and feet I've ever seen on a baby. Each of these attributes will no doubt serve him well. As young Tommy completes his second month on this side of his mother's womb he has already successfully wrapped his paternal grandmother around his substantial finger. Although Tom and Carrie live in Irvine, a couple of hours away, Mitzi has made a number of pilgrimages to spend time with the youngest Powell as often as she has been able. Mitzi's love of her grandchildren that are progeny of my daughters, Carri and Candi is without doubt, but this is her first opportunity to bond with a "blood" grandchild. "I can't believe how long the baby smell stays with me" she reconnoiters long after she has last spent time with young Tommy proving olfactory sensory theories that have long been proffered. Its amazing to think what incredible things our brains do to preserve that which we hold dear.
The CBS television network ran a documentary on this the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attack on New York's World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The film had originally been commissioned as a simple observation of the matriculation of one probationary fireman that joined the FDNY just prior to the senseless attack but following the law of unintended consequences became the only window most of us had to what exactly transpired inside the massive World Trade Center Towers that came crashing to earth that day along with our national sense of well being. The incredible devastation and loss of life is indisputable. The continuing negative impact on all our lives is not in question. The ongoing collateral damage to those closest to Ground Zero is becoming clearer and clearer every day; psychological and physiological wounds fester and multiply even after 10 years have passed. The loss of innocence and sense of security radiates throughout the free world. The hauntingly beautiful memorial that has been erected in place of the footprint of those iconic structures that came tumbling down on that infamous day calls to all of us to visit, and pay our respects.
The incongruity of the thought of Mitzi and her attachment to the baby smell and the haunting memories of those closest to Ground Zero stimulates my own ever present conscious thoughts about the death of my son, Geoffrey, gone now nearly a year. Can I remember the sweet smell of his presence when he was just a baby? I think I can. I can certainly hear him laugh; watch him run the bases on the baseball diamond; dance shamelessly without clothing in the backyard faucet on a hot summers day; stand in the doorway of the Four Points at Darling Harbour anticipating our embrace; hammer away relentlessly at whatever villain he was defeating on his Nintendo; pridefully order from the menu at his favorite Thai restaurant to make sure those closest to him shared his passion for ethnic foods. Can't I?
Next to my bedside stands at attention a large green candle from the service we held in celebration of Geoff's life at Our Lady of Fatima Church in Kingsgrove, New South Wales on Wednesday, October 13, 2010. Draped around the candle in a red velveteen bag is a lock of Geoff's hair. I can't bring myself to open the bag to validate that, in fact, the mostly protein relic is still in tack but my heart tells me that if I did open the bag, the beautiful scent of my son would wash over me like the sweet essence of a newborn child. Dare I?
The CBS television network ran a documentary on this the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attack on New York's World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The film had originally been commissioned as a simple observation of the matriculation of one probationary fireman that joined the FDNY just prior to the senseless attack but following the law of unintended consequences became the only window most of us had to what exactly transpired inside the massive World Trade Center Towers that came crashing to earth that day along with our national sense of well being. The incredible devastation and loss of life is indisputable. The continuing negative impact on all our lives is not in question. The ongoing collateral damage to those closest to Ground Zero is becoming clearer and clearer every day; psychological and physiological wounds fester and multiply even after 10 years have passed. The loss of innocence and sense of security radiates throughout the free world. The hauntingly beautiful memorial that has been erected in place of the footprint of those iconic structures that came tumbling down on that infamous day calls to all of us to visit, and pay our respects.
The incongruity of the thought of Mitzi and her attachment to the baby smell and the haunting memories of those closest to Ground Zero stimulates my own ever present conscious thoughts about the death of my son, Geoffrey, gone now nearly a year. Can I remember the sweet smell of his presence when he was just a baby? I think I can. I can certainly hear him laugh; watch him run the bases on the baseball diamond; dance shamelessly without clothing in the backyard faucet on a hot summers day; stand in the doorway of the Four Points at Darling Harbour anticipating our embrace; hammer away relentlessly at whatever villain he was defeating on his Nintendo; pridefully order from the menu at his favorite Thai restaurant to make sure those closest to him shared his passion for ethnic foods. Can't I?
Next to my bedside stands at attention a large green candle from the service we held in celebration of Geoff's life at Our Lady of Fatima Church in Kingsgrove, New South Wales on Wednesday, October 13, 2010. Draped around the candle in a red velveteen bag is a lock of Geoff's hair. I can't bring myself to open the bag to validate that, in fact, the mostly protein relic is still in tack but my heart tells me that if I did open the bag, the beautiful scent of my son would wash over me like the sweet essence of a newborn child. Dare I?
Thursday, June 2, 2011
80th Birthdays and Dreams
I'm sitting in a restaurant with a business associate and over his shoulder I notice a large, round table with a number of people glancing in my direction: I recognize some of the diners at that table, some I don't. The faces that are familiar to me are from past associations; all people I have good memories about. As I continued my conversation with my business associate I was sub-consciously thinking I needed to go over to the other table to say hello to all these old friends. My business conversation seemed to take longer than I would have liked and when I finally extricated myself to greet these old friends they were no longer seated at the table. I hurried out to the parking lot quickly enough to see the departing figures - all walking away from where I was standing. One old friend turned to face me and wordlessly conveyed the message with her eyes that seemed to say "we waited as long as we could". I awoke and found it impossible to go back to sleep.
I made a trip to the Hill Country in Texas in May to spend my Mother's 80th birthday with her and my Dad. The weather was glorious, unusual by comparison to most May's when it has been known to be hot and sticky in this part of the world. On the Saturday I played 18 holes of golf with my Mom and my 2 brothers, Bob and David at the golf course we affectionately refer to as "Rock and Root Country Club" but known as QuickSand at Woodcreek by everyone else. Sunday afternoon saw a family dinner at brother David's home in the same community where my parents have lived for these past 20 plus years. David and his wife, Suzanne, bought the home near my parents just this last fall. I had buried some of Geoff's ashes deep in the 9th hole sandtrap that is just yards away from their new back yard when I was in the same little town for my Father's 80th birthday celebration in December. Suzanne says she tries her best to keep an eye out for Geoff, there, in what used to be a favorite playground. Brothers and sisters, wives and husbands, granddaughters and grandsons, nieces and nephews, sons and daughters gathered in my brother's home to eat the rib eye steaks so deftly grilled by David and enjoy the cake my sister, Barbara, provided from a special Austin baker. We sang "Happy Birthday" to Mom and we meant every word.
Earlier that Sunday I accompanied my Mother and Father to St. Mary's Catholic Church in Wimberley, Texas for Mass on what was the actual 80th anniversary of my Mother's birth . It did not escape me that the last time I had been in a church was Geoff's service at Our Lady of Fatima in Kingsgrove. The familiarity of all the details of this country building for public worship in which I had never set foot before caused me to draw parallels with the parish facility in New South Wales, albeit on a smaller scale, where I said goodbye to my son. The sameness is striking, if not in detail but in the general layout of the building, but I suppose that could be said of most Catholic Churches. My watery eyes were immediately drawn to the baptismal font and its obvious symbolism combined with the memories of Geoff's baptism and the still fresh details of the ceremony on 13 October, 2010. My mind wandered through most of the service, fixated on memories of that still unbelievable day but, of course, that's a now familiar path for my thoughts.
Robin and I made a number of trips to visit my parents in Wimberley beginning in the early 80's with just Geoff until Melissa was born and then the two. Candi and Carri would come along but not every time. We would commandeer the "golf cottage" adjacent to the 9th tee box that was used mostly as a rental after my parents had moved full time into their retirement home above the 4th green and were trying to decide what to do with the house that was previously their weekender. Geoff had a talent for striking round objects with long sticks and his favorite adventure involving golf clubs was to dump as many balls as he could locate into the sand trap adjacent to the 9th green and attempt to extricate them with the sawed off golf club my Dad had fashioned. Once the well used balls were all freed from the gritty bunker he would gather them up and return them to the sand and repeat the process more than once. I have a memory of Geoff beginning this routine at an age when he was hardly 2 years; there he was, taking mighty whacks at the shag balls, with his diaper hanging quite low. As with most things, he had a talent for becoming particularly accomplished at the task before he was willing to give it a rest. I've probably played that 9th hole at least 100 times and every time I approach the tee box I've thought of that little blond boy deftly knocking ball after ball out of the greenside bunker. I assumed we would compete on that hole one day, Father and Son, just as my Dad and I had many times before, and perhaps a still younger version of Geoff beginning the cycle anew. How naive I was.
Monday morning found my Mother and me taking a hike along a newly built footpath from just outside the community in which they live to the "Blue Hole" located some 3 miles away. 20 odd years ago the Blue Hole was a quintessential deep in the woods swimming hole complete with well worn tires hanging from large trees by ropes in such a manner as to provide a swinging entry into the cool water from various heights and degrees of safety. The local emergency medical facilities made a good business out of patching up those swimmers who mistimed their jumps or hung on a little too long. Geoff and I made a few pilgrimages on the well worn path to the Blue Hole with his Mother, Aunts and Uncles and had great fun avoiding any serious injuries. In those days the Blue Hole was open to all who dared; some years later what was thought to be the landowner started charging a small fee for admission and now the city has acquired the facility and is "improving" the area with plenty of parking lots, concrete, asphalt, lighting and picnic benches. You can't improve perfect.
I made a trip to the Hill Country in Texas in May to spend my Mother's 80th birthday with her and my Dad. The weather was glorious, unusual by comparison to most May's when it has been known to be hot and sticky in this part of the world. On the Saturday I played 18 holes of golf with my Mom and my 2 brothers, Bob and David at the golf course we affectionately refer to as "Rock and Root Country Club" but known as QuickSand at Woodcreek by everyone else. Sunday afternoon saw a family dinner at brother David's home in the same community where my parents have lived for these past 20 plus years. David and his wife, Suzanne, bought the home near my parents just this last fall. I had buried some of Geoff's ashes deep in the 9th hole sandtrap that is just yards away from their new back yard when I was in the same little town for my Father's 80th birthday celebration in December. Suzanne says she tries her best to keep an eye out for Geoff, there, in what used to be a favorite playground. Brothers and sisters, wives and husbands, granddaughters and grandsons, nieces and nephews, sons and daughters gathered in my brother's home to eat the rib eye steaks so deftly grilled by David and enjoy the cake my sister, Barbara, provided from a special Austin baker. We sang "Happy Birthday" to Mom and we meant every word.
Earlier that Sunday I accompanied my Mother and Father to St. Mary's Catholic Church in Wimberley, Texas for Mass on what was the actual 80th anniversary of my Mother's birth . It did not escape me that the last time I had been in a church was Geoff's service at Our Lady of Fatima in Kingsgrove. The familiarity of all the details of this country building for public worship in which I had never set foot before caused me to draw parallels with the parish facility in New South Wales, albeit on a smaller scale, where I said goodbye to my son. The sameness is striking, if not in detail but in the general layout of the building, but I suppose that could be said of most Catholic Churches. My watery eyes were immediately drawn to the baptismal font and its obvious symbolism combined with the memories of Geoff's baptism and the still fresh details of the ceremony on 13 October, 2010. My mind wandered through most of the service, fixated on memories of that still unbelievable day but, of course, that's a now familiar path for my thoughts.
Robin and I made a number of trips to visit my parents in Wimberley beginning in the early 80's with just Geoff until Melissa was born and then the two. Candi and Carri would come along but not every time. We would commandeer the "golf cottage" adjacent to the 9th tee box that was used mostly as a rental after my parents had moved full time into their retirement home above the 4th green and were trying to decide what to do with the house that was previously their weekender. Geoff had a talent for striking round objects with long sticks and his favorite adventure involving golf clubs was to dump as many balls as he could locate into the sand trap adjacent to the 9th green and attempt to extricate them with the sawed off golf club my Dad had fashioned. Once the well used balls were all freed from the gritty bunker he would gather them up and return them to the sand and repeat the process more than once. I have a memory of Geoff beginning this routine at an age when he was hardly 2 years; there he was, taking mighty whacks at the shag balls, with his diaper hanging quite low. As with most things, he had a talent for becoming particularly accomplished at the task before he was willing to give it a rest. I've probably played that 9th hole at least 100 times and every time I approach the tee box I've thought of that little blond boy deftly knocking ball after ball out of the greenside bunker. I assumed we would compete on that hole one day, Father and Son, just as my Dad and I had many times before, and perhaps a still younger version of Geoff beginning the cycle anew. How naive I was.
Monday morning found my Mother and me taking a hike along a newly built footpath from just outside the community in which they live to the "Blue Hole" located some 3 miles away. 20 odd years ago the Blue Hole was a quintessential deep in the woods swimming hole complete with well worn tires hanging from large trees by ropes in such a manner as to provide a swinging entry into the cool water from various heights and degrees of safety. The local emergency medical facilities made a good business out of patching up those swimmers who mistimed their jumps or hung on a little too long. Geoff and I made a few pilgrimages on the well worn path to the Blue Hole with his Mother, Aunts and Uncles and had great fun avoiding any serious injuries. In those days the Blue Hole was open to all who dared; some years later what was thought to be the landowner started charging a small fee for admission and now the city has acquired the facility and is "improving" the area with plenty of parking lots, concrete, asphalt, lighting and picnic benches. You can't improve perfect.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Facebook Friend
"Geoffrey is Unavailable" so says his Facebook page when I hover the mouse over his name and the circular"chat" icon there. No shit, I think to myself. But then there is his photo where he is slouched on the sofa in the living room, staring right at me, daring me to make the message pop up one more time, right next to his name and the icon.
These technological tools can be cruel. I don't have a clue how to take down his page, not that I really want to since it lets me connect with vague vestiges of my son whenever I want. Occasionally I am called to check his page, by whom or what I cannot know and it makes all the memories and emotions flood back into my consciousness. Can this be a good thing? I wonder in self-interrogation.
Through my laptop I can connect to pieces of Geoff. His house music mixes are still out there in the ether, waiting for anyone to listen. Old emails, mostly trivial stuff, can be reviewed. I'm sure if I wanted, I could send him a new one, but I know I won't get a response and not because he is too preoccupied. He no longer tweets, although most of those escaped my understanding and always seemed a bit rude.
The mother (Carol Glenn) of my son-in-law, Shawn Duke, died on the first day of April this year at 65 years of age. She had been waiting for months for a new liver, even got to #1 on the transplant list at UCLA but never got the chance to see if that operation could save her life. Shawn related so clearly at her touching memorial service what it meant to lose someone you love so much, that you cared so much about that in spite of whatever difficulties there were in the relationship, whatever upset there may have been in the too short of a lifetime spent together that he would gladly go through all of those challenges again to be able to experience one more day with his mother. That's a bargain I would make in a second, to have one more day with my son. Maybe I should post it on his wall?
These technological tools can be cruel. I don't have a clue how to take down his page, not that I really want to since it lets me connect with vague vestiges of my son whenever I want. Occasionally I am called to check his page, by whom or what I cannot know and it makes all the memories and emotions flood back into my consciousness. Can this be a good thing? I wonder in self-interrogation.
Through my laptop I can connect to pieces of Geoff. His house music mixes are still out there in the ether, waiting for anyone to listen. Old emails, mostly trivial stuff, can be reviewed. I'm sure if I wanted, I could send him a new one, but I know I won't get a response and not because he is too preoccupied. He no longer tweets, although most of those escaped my understanding and always seemed a bit rude.
The mother (Carol Glenn) of my son-in-law, Shawn Duke, died on the first day of April this year at 65 years of age. She had been waiting for months for a new liver, even got to #1 on the transplant list at UCLA but never got the chance to see if that operation could save her life. Shawn related so clearly at her touching memorial service what it meant to lose someone you love so much, that you cared so much about that in spite of whatever difficulties there were in the relationship, whatever upset there may have been in the too short of a lifetime spent together that he would gladly go through all of those challenges again to be able to experience one more day with his mother. That's a bargain I would make in a second, to have one more day with my son. Maybe I should post it on his wall?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Six Months Gone
Does it get any easier? In most every way, no. Having had these past 6 months to reflect on the what might have beens and the why didn't I questions I find myself feeling awfully inadequate and foolish. Before 6 October, 2010 I had all the answers; now I have none.
182 days have passed since that fateful phone call. 175 since the service at Our Lady of Fatima. Not one minute, though, without the memory of my son burning in my brain. Yet, I know I am not alone with these thoughts and feelings. His mother, sisters, girlfriend, grandparents, uncles and aunts, nieces, nephews and cousins along with Geoff's many friends and co-workers have expressed similar feelings. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was going to be a long lifetime of visits and get togethers, accomplishments, events and milestones. I saw it in my mind's eye. I had no doubt. I was wrong.
I've read and re-read the autopsy report. I've requested and been provided additional opinions on the information and conclusions of the examiners. I've scoured the internet and spoken with doctors in Australia and California performing my amateur freelance medical investigation and found no reward for my effort. There is no answer as to the why. There's no comfort in hearing that the doctors didn't know Geoff had been stricken with Lymphoma for a second time; that their years of training and practice didn't provide them with the knowledge to anticipate this recurrence of the cancer or the ability to arrest the malignancy even if they had found it.
For every thing we know it's now obvious to me there is a huge imbalance with that which we do not. I've spent my life gathering facts, devouring printed words, listening to other's opinions and can only now conclude that maybe I wasn't really paying attention as well as I might have believed. The lessons I thought I learned were perhaps not those that were being taught. Many things I used to think important seem trivial in retrospect. I want my son back. I want another chance to be a better father to him. But that will never be. It's a lesson I've only learned too well.
182 days have passed since that fateful phone call. 175 since the service at Our Lady of Fatima. Not one minute, though, without the memory of my son burning in my brain. Yet, I know I am not alone with these thoughts and feelings. His mother, sisters, girlfriend, grandparents, uncles and aunts, nieces, nephews and cousins along with Geoff's many friends and co-workers have expressed similar feelings. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was going to be a long lifetime of visits and get togethers, accomplishments, events and milestones. I saw it in my mind's eye. I had no doubt. I was wrong.
I've read and re-read the autopsy report. I've requested and been provided additional opinions on the information and conclusions of the examiners. I've scoured the internet and spoken with doctors in Australia and California performing my amateur freelance medical investigation and found no reward for my effort. There is no answer as to the why. There's no comfort in hearing that the doctors didn't know Geoff had been stricken with Lymphoma for a second time; that their years of training and practice didn't provide them with the knowledge to anticipate this recurrence of the cancer or the ability to arrest the malignancy even if they had found it.
For every thing we know it's now obvious to me there is a huge imbalance with that which we do not. I've spent my life gathering facts, devouring printed words, listening to other's opinions and can only now conclude that maybe I wasn't really paying attention as well as I might have believed. The lessons I thought I learned were perhaps not those that were being taught. Many things I used to think important seem trivial in retrospect. I want my son back. I want another chance to be a better father to him. But that will never be. It's a lesson I've only learned too well.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Lucky
I know when most people think of being lucky they think of something good they didn't expect. Probably for the same reason most gamblers play the "pass" line in craps and most stock investors don't "short" the stock market, luck is something the majority chooses to believe only happens in a good way. In fact, Webster's defines the word "lucky" as "having good luck". But there is another kind of luck and it gets doled out in equal amounts, I presume. We are taught that in our universe, for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction, according to Sir Isaac Newton and his law of motion. How this translates into the application of luck for any given person may not be so definable or applied in the same way but sometimes I wonder. Do good and bad luck accrue in equal amounts to everyone? Or, does the totality of bad luck get offset by good luck in balancing the universe without respect to any individual?
You can't measure luck; at least I don't think you can. If it's my bad luck that my TV blew up and cost me $500 to be repaired does that get offset by a single $2 winning lotto ticket? After all, its one bad luck event and then one good. Or could I expect to have an equal amount of winning lottery tickets over my lifetime to offset the cost of the TV repair? It's a ridiculous concept, I agree, trying to balance a TV repair with winning lotto tickets but we make these kinds of bargains with ourselves continuously.
Luck has been defined by some as "when preparedness meets opportunity" in trying to describe what it's like when you, perhaps, make your own luck. Now that's not really luck based on that definition, is it? But luck is defined in the eye of the beholder. Consider a baseball game where one father's son is pitching and different father's son is the batter. Both players are among the best on their respective teams. In the last inning, the batter strikes out looking at the game's final pitch. The father of the batter that struck out could rationalize that the pitcher got "lucky" sneaking a fastball by his accomplished son but I doubt the pitcher's father would see it the same way; he would perceive that the strikeout was the product of years of playing catch with his son in the backyard, thousands of dollars of private pitching lessons and hard work and dedication on the part of his offspring.
Is it luck that is in play when a young person dedicates himself to their studies and then gets a scholarship to a prestigious university? Some may perceive it to be so but I doubt the young student would see it that way. I suppose luck is one of the terms we use to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, in the mind of the individual. Certain events take place in our lives and since we are unable to conjure the reason we can only rationalize that they are the result of good luck or perhaps bad.
My own challenges these last few years, as the readers of these pages can understand, find me debating the relative lucky quotient in my life. Foremost on my luck scorecard: I developed Lymphoma in 1998 (bad luck) but I was cured (good luck). My son, Geoff, developed Hodgkin Disease in 2007 (bad luck) but was thought to be cured in 2008 (good luck). In 2010 Geoff died from a rapidly developing Lymphoma that was undiagnosed (really, really bad luck). Later that same year I was diagnosed with Squamous Cell Carcinoma in my tongue (bad luck) but I have been pronounced "cured" after major surgery and an uneventful recovery (good luck). Try as I might, I am unable to find or understand the reason these things have occurred so they must be attributable to luck; It would be a relief to be able to think so but, alas, it's not the way my brain works. I'm going to have to figure it all out.
You can't measure luck; at least I don't think you can. If it's my bad luck that my TV blew up and cost me $500 to be repaired does that get offset by a single $2 winning lotto ticket? After all, its one bad luck event and then one good. Or could I expect to have an equal amount of winning lottery tickets over my lifetime to offset the cost of the TV repair? It's a ridiculous concept, I agree, trying to balance a TV repair with winning lotto tickets but we make these kinds of bargains with ourselves continuously.
Luck has been defined by some as "when preparedness meets opportunity" in trying to describe what it's like when you, perhaps, make your own luck. Now that's not really luck based on that definition, is it? But luck is defined in the eye of the beholder. Consider a baseball game where one father's son is pitching and different father's son is the batter. Both players are among the best on their respective teams. In the last inning, the batter strikes out looking at the game's final pitch. The father of the batter that struck out could rationalize that the pitcher got "lucky" sneaking a fastball by his accomplished son but I doubt the pitcher's father would see it the same way; he would perceive that the strikeout was the product of years of playing catch with his son in the backyard, thousands of dollars of private pitching lessons and hard work and dedication on the part of his offspring.
Is it luck that is in play when a young person dedicates himself to their studies and then gets a scholarship to a prestigious university? Some may perceive it to be so but I doubt the young student would see it that way. I suppose luck is one of the terms we use to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, in the mind of the individual. Certain events take place in our lives and since we are unable to conjure the reason we can only rationalize that they are the result of good luck or perhaps bad.
My own challenges these last few years, as the readers of these pages can understand, find me debating the relative lucky quotient in my life. Foremost on my luck scorecard: I developed Lymphoma in 1998 (bad luck) but I was cured (good luck). My son, Geoff, developed Hodgkin Disease in 2007 (bad luck) but was thought to be cured in 2008 (good luck). In 2010 Geoff died from a rapidly developing Lymphoma that was undiagnosed (really, really bad luck). Later that same year I was diagnosed with Squamous Cell Carcinoma in my tongue (bad luck) but I have been pronounced "cured" after major surgery and an uneventful recovery (good luck). Try as I might, I am unable to find or understand the reason these things have occurred so they must be attributable to luck; It would be a relief to be able to think so but, alas, it's not the way my brain works. I'm going to have to figure it all out.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Recovery And A Report
Upon parking the car in the garage Mitzi guided me into our family room and had me sit on the dual recliner love seat, which was to become my base of operation for the next few weeks. Carri had followed us in her own vehicle and when she arrived Carri and Mitzi made a plan for picking up the prescriptions and other supplies we might need and Mitzi subsequently left to pick up those items. I was happy to be in my familiar surroundings. I had a small challenge trying to find an appropriate shirt to wear around the house because the incision in my neck was just painful enough that I couldn't tolerate anything rubbing against it. We solved that problem by taking an old T Shirt and cutting it straight up the middle then using a safety pin to fasten it about half way between my waist and neckline which worked out perfectly until Mitzi was able to find me a pair of pajamas at Kohl's later in the week that provided the same comfort.
Carri spent the night sleeping on the sofa in the adjacent living room; not because we didn't have a bed for her but to satisfy her concern that she wanted to be available if something "happened" and the living room was much closer to where I was located than was the spare bedroom. It was a very sweet gesture on her part. Mitzi slept in the Master bedroom and I spent that first night (as well as the next 6 or 7) on the recliner, semi-sitting. Because of the 2 drains in my neck and still tender wound I couldn't lay down but fully reclining in the chair was akin to the sleeping arrangement I had in the hospital but with far less noise. Nothing "happened" that night (or any other). Carri spent the next day working on her computer and keeping track of me so that Mitzi was able to run errands and try to get our home in order. Toward the late afternoon Carri packed up and headed back to her home in San Diego and her husband and two children after confirming we would be able to get along just fine on our own.
Mitzi left a stack of mail for me that came in while I was in the hospital. I started to sort through the pile the first morning I was home and among the golf magazines and catalogs was a large white envelope with the return address "New South Wales Government - Justice and Attorney - State Coroner's Court". I knew exactly what the envelope contained but I couldn't bring myself to open it. "Tomorrow" I found myself thinking "I'll be up to opening it tomorrow". There hadn't been a minute since Geoffrey died in October that he wasn't with me. The night stand next to my bed has a candle from his service and a lock of his hair in a red velveteen pouch is tied around the candle. His photos are all over our home interspersed with photos of all of our children and grandchildren. Far more often than when he was alive I find myself wondering what he would have thought about something or how would have reacted to a situation. My self talk includes regular unilateral dialogue with Geoff. Mostly I find myself being sad about my sense of loss and the grim reality that I will never see his incredible smile or hug him hello or goodbye or hear his voice again. But I'm also pissed off mad that all of these interactions have been taken away from me, his mother, Melissa, Joanne and the countless other family members and friends that knew him and loved him so much. My expectation was that the envelope would provide some answers but most likely even more questions. I wasn't ready for either so I didn't look at the documents.
Over the next few days I progressed from a purely liquid diet (protein drinks, ensure, fruit juice) to some soft foods like pudding and generous amounts of ice cream. My speaking gradually improved and the incision seemed to be healing up nicely but was begining to become obscured by my new full beard as I was unable to shave. I had very little pain but occasionally my swollen tongue or the neck wound would be uncomfortable. My first few days at home were spent watching various golf tournaments or other sporting events on television between frequent naps. Mitzi was able to take care of the drain in my neck without much challenge and save for a visit from a home health nurse on the first Saturday we had virtually no interaction with any other healthcare professionals as we never felt the need.
I don't remember exactly when it was but after a few days of having that big white envelope staring at me I finally tore it open and removed the contents. There was a cover letter with all the expected platitudes and invitations for questions followed by a thick stack of paper, comprised of a 16 page document entitled "POSTMORTEM EXAMINATION REPORT FOR THE CORONER" along with 4 additional pages of forensic and patholigical information.
On page 2 of the examination report under the heading of "OPINION" was the statement "Geoffrey Loe died on 6 October 2010 at St. George Hospital and that the cause of death was as follows:
1. DIRECT CAUSE: Disease or condition directly leading to death:
(a) DISSEMINATED DIFFUSE LARGE B-CELL NON-HODGKIN'S LYMPHOMA
ANTECEDENT CAUSES: Morbid conditions, if any, giving rise to the above cause, stating the underlying conditions last:
(b)
(c)
2. Other significant conditions contributing to the death but not relating to the disease or condition causing it:"
There is no misprint in the above or typographical errors. The Antecedent causes were blank in the coroner's report as was the the area for "other significant causes". I started flipping through the other pages but my concentration had been intercepted. What happened to the Glandular Fever theory? Why isn't that at least mentioned as an underlying condition or a signficant contributing condition? We had been told that the likelihood that the Lymphoma had returned was very low or that even if it had, that it was the primary cause of death was a remote possibility by Geoff's doctors (see "Meeting the Doctor" posted to this blog December 3, 2010). Why does the report reference Large B-Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma when Geoff had previously been treated for Hodgkin Lymphoma? As I leafed through the rest of the documents and quickly put the report back into the envelope I found myself with feelings of disbelief and betrayal. I knew I would need an opportunity to pursue my questions about the report and the treatment he received. I also knew I didn't yet have the energy to pursue those questions right away.
Carri spent the night sleeping on the sofa in the adjacent living room; not because we didn't have a bed for her but to satisfy her concern that she wanted to be available if something "happened" and the living room was much closer to where I was located than was the spare bedroom. It was a very sweet gesture on her part. Mitzi slept in the Master bedroom and I spent that first night (as well as the next 6 or 7) on the recliner, semi-sitting. Because of the 2 drains in my neck and still tender wound I couldn't lay down but fully reclining in the chair was akin to the sleeping arrangement I had in the hospital but with far less noise. Nothing "happened" that night (or any other). Carri spent the next day working on her computer and keeping track of me so that Mitzi was able to run errands and try to get our home in order. Toward the late afternoon Carri packed up and headed back to her home in San Diego and her husband and two children after confirming we would be able to get along just fine on our own.
Mitzi left a stack of mail for me that came in while I was in the hospital. I started to sort through the pile the first morning I was home and among the golf magazines and catalogs was a large white envelope with the return address "New South Wales Government - Justice and Attorney - State Coroner's Court". I knew exactly what the envelope contained but I couldn't bring myself to open it. "Tomorrow" I found myself thinking "I'll be up to opening it tomorrow". There hadn't been a minute since Geoffrey died in October that he wasn't with me. The night stand next to my bed has a candle from his service and a lock of his hair in a red velveteen pouch is tied around the candle. His photos are all over our home interspersed with photos of all of our children and grandchildren. Far more often than when he was alive I find myself wondering what he would have thought about something or how would have reacted to a situation. My self talk includes regular unilateral dialogue with Geoff. Mostly I find myself being sad about my sense of loss and the grim reality that I will never see his incredible smile or hug him hello or goodbye or hear his voice again. But I'm also pissed off mad that all of these interactions have been taken away from me, his mother, Melissa, Joanne and the countless other family members and friends that knew him and loved him so much. My expectation was that the envelope would provide some answers but most likely even more questions. I wasn't ready for either so I didn't look at the documents.
Over the next few days I progressed from a purely liquid diet (protein drinks, ensure, fruit juice) to some soft foods like pudding and generous amounts of ice cream. My speaking gradually improved and the incision seemed to be healing up nicely but was begining to become obscured by my new full beard as I was unable to shave. I had very little pain but occasionally my swollen tongue or the neck wound would be uncomfortable. My first few days at home were spent watching various golf tournaments or other sporting events on television between frequent naps. Mitzi was able to take care of the drain in my neck without much challenge and save for a visit from a home health nurse on the first Saturday we had virtually no interaction with any other healthcare professionals as we never felt the need.
I don't remember exactly when it was but after a few days of having that big white envelope staring at me I finally tore it open and removed the contents. There was a cover letter with all the expected platitudes and invitations for questions followed by a thick stack of paper, comprised of a 16 page document entitled "POSTMORTEM EXAMINATION REPORT FOR THE CORONER" along with 4 additional pages of forensic and patholigical information.
On page 2 of the examination report under the heading of "OPINION" was the statement "Geoffrey Loe died on 6 October 2010 at St. George Hospital and that the cause of death was as follows:
1. DIRECT CAUSE: Disease or condition directly leading to death:
(a) DISSEMINATED DIFFUSE LARGE B-CELL NON-HODGKIN'S LYMPHOMA
ANTECEDENT CAUSES: Morbid conditions, if any, giving rise to the above cause, stating the underlying conditions last:
(b)
(c)
2. Other significant conditions contributing to the death but not relating to the disease or condition causing it:"
There is no misprint in the above or typographical errors. The Antecedent causes were blank in the coroner's report as was the the area for "other significant causes". I started flipping through the other pages but my concentration had been intercepted. What happened to the Glandular Fever theory? Why isn't that at least mentioned as an underlying condition or a signficant contributing condition? We had been told that the likelihood that the Lymphoma had returned was very low or that even if it had, that it was the primary cause of death was a remote possibility by Geoff's doctors (see "Meeting the Doctor" posted to this blog December 3, 2010). Why does the report reference Large B-Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma when Geoff had previously been treated for Hodgkin Lymphoma? As I leafed through the rest of the documents and quickly put the report back into the envelope I found myself with feelings of disbelief and betrayal. I knew I would need an opportunity to pursue my questions about the report and the treatment he received. I also knew I didn't yet have the energy to pursue those questions right away.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Surgery
35 days ago I wrote about my upcoming surgery for Tongue Cancer. I checked into Loma Linda University Hospital with the assistance of my wife, Mitzi, shortly before 5 a.m. on January 21, 2011 after spending the previous day in various pre-op examinations and consultations at the hospital and then the night at the Loma Linda Inn. The Loma Linda Inn is located directly adjacent to the hospital, was definitely no frills, but proved to be a good spot to hang out before my surgery as well as a place for Mitzi and a number of other family members to retreat and at least attempt sleep or rest for a few days after my surgery was completed. After a last meal of a double double (my choice) at the nearby In and Out Burger we made a round trip to our home in the Palm Springs area to do some last minute packing and returned to the motel in the late evening of January 20. Surprisingly, I was able to get a few hours of sleep before our appointed arrival time at the hospital but certainly didn't need an alarm clock to wake up.
Once at the hospital we were escorted to the pre-op staging area in military like fashion with 4 or 5 other families that had similar appointments but no doubt for other reasons. After the march through the hallways and an elevator ride to an upper floor of the hospital we were assigned to a particular area of the facility, separated from the other occupants by only haphazardly drawn curtains. I was required to exchange my clothing for the requisite hospital gown, open to the back, just like in the movies. The uncomfortableness I felt donning the gown was the last vestige of any sort of personal dignity or modesty I would feel for the next number of days. Once appropriately attired I climbed into the bed to which I was assigned and patiently waited for the procedures to begin. We knew that Carri and Candi were on their way to Loma Linda at this early hour and could only hope they would make it so that I could see them before I was wheeled away to the Operating Room. Between blood pressure, temperature and heart rate checks it was discovered that within the voluminous paperwork that made up my "chart" a specific consent form that was to be signed by my surgeon and me was missing. The nurses seemed a little agitated about the missing document and paged my surgeon. While waiting for the surgeon to respond I noticed most of the other folks involved in similar pre-op routines were being wheeled out of the staging area. The delay, although short, proved to be fortuitous because Candi and Carri arrived within minutes of the time I was to be taken since the missing paperwork snafu had been corrected and I was able to visit for a short amount of time with them before the real fun began. Had the missing document never been I would have been removed from this area of the hospital without having the opportunity to see them before the surgery. It was comforting being able to spend those last few minutes with my wife and 2 oldest daughters and it kept my mind off what was to quickly be my reality.
An orderly was summoned to wheel me from the staging area to a more official pre-op facility that didn't allow for visitors. There was then a process that included the starting of various IV lines and other preparatory requirements that typically involved needles during which I was asked no less than 5 times if I knew where I was and why I was there. Apparently I answered all the questions correctly. I was visited by my surgeon, Dr. Paul Kim, a head and neck surgeon and a professor at the Loma Linda University Medical School along with his assistant. He reviewed the impending surgery with me and drew lines on my neck to indicate the pattern of incision. I was then introduced to the anesthesiologist who described his process and involvement and had his own battery of questions for me. He then told me he was going to inject something to relax me into one of the various lines of fluid that were routed into the back of my wrist. I vaguely remember being wheeled into the operating room that was abuzz with activity and having a number of people introduce themselves to me in my waning consciousness.
I have had general anesthesia more than once before this surgery and it always strikes me that, unlike sleep, you cannot account for the time. There is no dreaming, no sense of what is taking place, just a large black hole in one's reality that begins when the anesthesia takes hold of your awareness and ending in some recovery room at a future point in time. The time that had passed could have been 20 minutes or a month, you have no way of knowing without someone else telling you. I remember awakening on Saturday, January 22 at approximately 9:00 a.m. (or so I was told) and immediately set upon by 2 male anesthesiologists who, after quickly ascertaining my level of consciousness, rudely removed the nasotracheal intubation equipment (breathing tubes inserted in my nose) apologizing all the way but explaining that it was necessary to perform this procedure while I was awake so that I would begin breathing on my own. If I wasn't fully awake before I was then. Mitzi arrived soon after in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) and told me that I was doing well and that I had an incision that ran from my right ear to the left side of my mouth, roughly along my jaw line, that I was missing approximately 1/3 of what was my tongue and 40 lymph nodes, more or less, from the right side of my neck. She went on to tell me that Dr. Kim had told her that he was very happy with the results of the surgery and felt he had achieved some very clean margins on the tumor and saw nothing unusual in the lymph nodes he had removed. As part of the surgery I had a portion of the tissue directly beneath my chin removed (submental island flap) that was utilized in the reconstruction of my tongue. I came to learn later the official nomenclature for the surgery "Hemiglossectomy with submental island flap and selective neck dissection". I had a nasal gastric tube inserted and sutured in for feeding and various IV lines running in and out of both wrists and one ankle. There were 2 drains emanating from either side of my neck. Mitzi told me over and over how worried she had been and how happy she was to see me awake and I understood her relief and tried as best I could to reassure her of my own sense of well being now that I was fully awake, even though I was unable to speak, through eye contact and head nods. She had plenty of company during my surgery and the following hours; her father, George and his wife, Cheryl, Carri, Candi and Mitzi's daughter, Katie. Katie and Carri had spent the night with her at the Loma Linda Inn and Mitzi expressed how grateful she was for the support. Carri had gone home to San Diego earlier that morning and Katie was going to stay with Mitzi at the hospital for the balance of the day.
I spent the next 3 days in the ICU and was moved to a regular room on Monday evening, January 24. A number of people came by for visits, including Candi and her husband, Shawn and my neighbors, Jacques and Matilde. Mitzi also related a funny (in retrospect) story about my business partner, Art Alvarez, who decided to come by the hospital on Friday evening. Not knowing that I was still under the anesthesia and would be for another 12 hours he was allowed into my room in the ICU around 8:00 p.m. on the night of my surgery. Apparently I was laid out, head fully tilted back with the new incision in full view. He later wrote in an email to Mitzi describing his visit "...not for the squeamish!". I had a few challenges with choking, primarily related to the nasal gastric (NG) feeding tube and a reaction to morphine that caused me to reject additional offers of the pain killer.
On Tuesday morning, January 25 I was told by the doctor that visited me during his rounds (an associate of my surgeon) that I could go home as soon as I demonstrated the ability to swallow. Further, that they felt my progress had been so good that they were willing to remove the NG before releasing me as long as they thought I could get sufficient nutrition by way of my mouth. By then I was able to croak out a few words around my very swollen tongue but let the doctor know in a most adamant way that I was prepared to demonstrate my ability to swallow as soon as they would allow me having no idea if, in fact, I actually could pull it off. Around noon time I was brought a tray with some vegetable based broth, a small container of green jello and a cup of cold decaf coffee. I managed to slurp down enough of the substances that were pawned off as food to convince the nurse I had the ability to swallow and she communicated my accomplishment to the doctors' office. While awaiting my discharge order I was visited by the physical therapist who made a few laps around the floor where my room was located with me. Earlier that day I had been allowed to sit in a chair in my room which was the first time I had been out of bed for more than a few minutes. In the late afternoon I was visited by an associate of my surgeon who confirmed I was to be released that evening, wrote me a couple of prescriptions for antibiotics and hydrocodone and gave Mitzi instructions for the drain that was still sutured into my neck. The doctor told us to make an appointment with Dr. Kim for the following Tuesday (February 1) and when I inquired if the pathology results from the tissue and lymph nodes that had been removed were available was told that information would be provided at our appointment the following week. The doctor then roughly removed the NG tube upon which happening gave me instant relief and pleased me greatly in spite of the discomfort associated with its extrication.
I chose to walk out of the hospital after getting dressed rather than use the offered wheel chair and while Carri (she was going to spend the night at our house to help out) and I rode the elevator down, Mitzi had gone ahead to pull the car around to the front door. I climbed into the passenger seat on what was a cool night and exhaled the sigh of relief one experiences when knowing that a challenge has been successfully met. Mitzi piloted the car to the San Bernardino freeway and began the drive back to our home.
Once at the hospital we were escorted to the pre-op staging area in military like fashion with 4 or 5 other families that had similar appointments but no doubt for other reasons. After the march through the hallways and an elevator ride to an upper floor of the hospital we were assigned to a particular area of the facility, separated from the other occupants by only haphazardly drawn curtains. I was required to exchange my clothing for the requisite hospital gown, open to the back, just like in the movies. The uncomfortableness I felt donning the gown was the last vestige of any sort of personal dignity or modesty I would feel for the next number of days. Once appropriately attired I climbed into the bed to which I was assigned and patiently waited for the procedures to begin. We knew that Carri and Candi were on their way to Loma Linda at this early hour and could only hope they would make it so that I could see them before I was wheeled away to the Operating Room. Between blood pressure, temperature and heart rate checks it was discovered that within the voluminous paperwork that made up my "chart" a specific consent form that was to be signed by my surgeon and me was missing. The nurses seemed a little agitated about the missing document and paged my surgeon. While waiting for the surgeon to respond I noticed most of the other folks involved in similar pre-op routines were being wheeled out of the staging area. The delay, although short, proved to be fortuitous because Candi and Carri arrived within minutes of the time I was to be taken since the missing paperwork snafu had been corrected and I was able to visit for a short amount of time with them before the real fun began. Had the missing document never been I would have been removed from this area of the hospital without having the opportunity to see them before the surgery. It was comforting being able to spend those last few minutes with my wife and 2 oldest daughters and it kept my mind off what was to quickly be my reality.
An orderly was summoned to wheel me from the staging area to a more official pre-op facility that didn't allow for visitors. There was then a process that included the starting of various IV lines and other preparatory requirements that typically involved needles during which I was asked no less than 5 times if I knew where I was and why I was there. Apparently I answered all the questions correctly. I was visited by my surgeon, Dr. Paul Kim, a head and neck surgeon and a professor at the Loma Linda University Medical School along with his assistant. He reviewed the impending surgery with me and drew lines on my neck to indicate the pattern of incision. I was then introduced to the anesthesiologist who described his process and involvement and had his own battery of questions for me. He then told me he was going to inject something to relax me into one of the various lines of fluid that were routed into the back of my wrist. I vaguely remember being wheeled into the operating room that was abuzz with activity and having a number of people introduce themselves to me in my waning consciousness.
I have had general anesthesia more than once before this surgery and it always strikes me that, unlike sleep, you cannot account for the time. There is no dreaming, no sense of what is taking place, just a large black hole in one's reality that begins when the anesthesia takes hold of your awareness and ending in some recovery room at a future point in time. The time that had passed could have been 20 minutes or a month, you have no way of knowing without someone else telling you. I remember awakening on Saturday, January 22 at approximately 9:00 a.m. (or so I was told) and immediately set upon by 2 male anesthesiologists who, after quickly ascertaining my level of consciousness, rudely removed the nasotracheal intubation equipment (breathing tubes inserted in my nose) apologizing all the way but explaining that it was necessary to perform this procedure while I was awake so that I would begin breathing on my own. If I wasn't fully awake before I was then. Mitzi arrived soon after in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) and told me that I was doing well and that I had an incision that ran from my right ear to the left side of my mouth, roughly along my jaw line, that I was missing approximately 1/3 of what was my tongue and 40 lymph nodes, more or less, from the right side of my neck. She went on to tell me that Dr. Kim had told her that he was very happy with the results of the surgery and felt he had achieved some very clean margins on the tumor and saw nothing unusual in the lymph nodes he had removed. As part of the surgery I had a portion of the tissue directly beneath my chin removed (submental island flap) that was utilized in the reconstruction of my tongue. I came to learn later the official nomenclature for the surgery "Hemiglossectomy with submental island flap and selective neck dissection". I had a nasal gastric tube inserted and sutured in for feeding and various IV lines running in and out of both wrists and one ankle. There were 2 drains emanating from either side of my neck. Mitzi told me over and over how worried she had been and how happy she was to see me awake and I understood her relief and tried as best I could to reassure her of my own sense of well being now that I was fully awake, even though I was unable to speak, through eye contact and head nods. She had plenty of company during my surgery and the following hours; her father, George and his wife, Cheryl, Carri, Candi and Mitzi's daughter, Katie. Katie and Carri had spent the night with her at the Loma Linda Inn and Mitzi expressed how grateful she was for the support. Carri had gone home to San Diego earlier that morning and Katie was going to stay with Mitzi at the hospital for the balance of the day.
I spent the next 3 days in the ICU and was moved to a regular room on Monday evening, January 24. A number of people came by for visits, including Candi and her husband, Shawn and my neighbors, Jacques and Matilde. Mitzi also related a funny (in retrospect) story about my business partner, Art Alvarez, who decided to come by the hospital on Friday evening. Not knowing that I was still under the anesthesia and would be for another 12 hours he was allowed into my room in the ICU around 8:00 p.m. on the night of my surgery. Apparently I was laid out, head fully tilted back with the new incision in full view. He later wrote in an email to Mitzi describing his visit "...not for the squeamish!". I had a few challenges with choking, primarily related to the nasal gastric (NG) feeding tube and a reaction to morphine that caused me to reject additional offers of the pain killer.
On Tuesday morning, January 25 I was told by the doctor that visited me during his rounds (an associate of my surgeon) that I could go home as soon as I demonstrated the ability to swallow. Further, that they felt my progress had been so good that they were willing to remove the NG before releasing me as long as they thought I could get sufficient nutrition by way of my mouth. By then I was able to croak out a few words around my very swollen tongue but let the doctor know in a most adamant way that I was prepared to demonstrate my ability to swallow as soon as they would allow me having no idea if, in fact, I actually could pull it off. Around noon time I was brought a tray with some vegetable based broth, a small container of green jello and a cup of cold decaf coffee. I managed to slurp down enough of the substances that were pawned off as food to convince the nurse I had the ability to swallow and she communicated my accomplishment to the doctors' office. While awaiting my discharge order I was visited by the physical therapist who made a few laps around the floor where my room was located with me. Earlier that day I had been allowed to sit in a chair in my room which was the first time I had been out of bed for more than a few minutes. In the late afternoon I was visited by an associate of my surgeon who confirmed I was to be released that evening, wrote me a couple of prescriptions for antibiotics and hydrocodone and gave Mitzi instructions for the drain that was still sutured into my neck. The doctor told us to make an appointment with Dr. Kim for the following Tuesday (February 1) and when I inquired if the pathology results from the tissue and lymph nodes that had been removed were available was told that information would be provided at our appointment the following week. The doctor then roughly removed the NG tube upon which happening gave me instant relief and pleased me greatly in spite of the discomfort associated with its extrication.
I chose to walk out of the hospital after getting dressed rather than use the offered wheel chair and while Carri (she was going to spend the night at our house to help out) and I rode the elevator down, Mitzi had gone ahead to pull the car around to the front door. I climbed into the passenger seat on what was a cool night and exhaled the sigh of relief one experiences when knowing that a challenge has been successfully met. Mitzi piloted the car to the San Bernardino freeway and began the drive back to our home.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Personal Note To All Readers
You may have noticed that I have not been quite as prolific in my updates to this blog over the last few days and weeks. And, in the coming weeks there may be very few new posts. I have another challenge to deal with that needs my more immediate attention.
When I was in Australia dealing with the events surrounding Geoff's death I had a flare up of a "lesion" in my mouth that had occasionally been a nuisance to me over the last few years. In August, 2007 I had the lesion examined through a "loop biopsy" (at that time it was the size of a pencil eraser) and it was determined to be benign. Over the past few years I was treated primarily by a dentist under the assumption I was grinding my teeth in my sleep and had a "night guard" made, along with some other recommendations which I followed. During that period of time the lesion was stable and didn't seem to get any worse, nor did it get better. However, when I returned from Australia toward the end of October, 2010 it had grown approximately 4 fold in size and was causing me considerable pain. Over the course of the following 8 weeks I was seen by an Internist, Dentist, referred to an Oral Surgeon and subsequently referred to an Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist (ENT). The ENT was immediately alarmed by the size and appearance of the lesion and he ordered some tests that culminated in surgery on December 17 to determine if, in fact, the lesion was benign or perhaps had become malignant.
The ENT had told me before the surgery that there were two possible outcomes: He would take a portion of the lesion and have it processed as a "frozen section" immediately and if the lesion was determined to once again be benign he would remove the entire mass, stitch up my tongue (where it resides) and after a few days I would be as good as new; OR, the analysis of the frozen section would indicate a malignancy, in which case he would terminate the surgery and refer me out to a different type of physician for a more invasive procedure. I awoke in the recovery room of the surgery center after the procedure on December 17 and noticed by the clock that it was approximately 3 hours after the surgery had begun. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came into the room and asked me how I was feeling. I could barely speak but I managed to ask her "What happened?" she then asked me if I had spoken to the doctor, I shook my head to indicate NO and she then said I would have to wait until I spoke with him to find out the results of the surgery. I had somewhat convinced myself before the operation that I was going to awaken afterward and be told that everything was fine and after a few days of healing I would resume the normal course of my life. Given the way the nurse responded to my garbled question I knew I was absolutely wrong in that assumption. After a few minutes my wife, Mitzi, came into the recovery room and reluctantly shared with me her conversation with the doctor since he had to leave the hospital to attend to other patients before I awoke.
I was diagnosed with a well differentiated, diffuse, Squamous Cell Carcinoma (SCC) of the Tongue based on the results of the analysis of the frozen section. We were to meet with the ENT doctor a few days later, after I had some time to heal, to talk about the next steps.
When we met with the ENT doctor the following week he explained that I was going to be referred to a Head and Neck Surgical team at a teaching hospital about an hour away from my home in Southern California. This particular hospital is well respected for their head and neck surgery along with many other specialities. The appointment with the surgeon was scheduled for January 4 and I had healed up about 70% from the first surgery by the time we met with the new doctors. After examination by two different physicians I was counselled that the most appropriate treatment was further surgery, specifically, a partial glossectomy and a selective neck dissection. In simpler terms they were recommending removing a piece of my tongue, approximately 5cm in diameter from the right lateral side along with the lymph nodes on the right side of my neck. During the past few weeks the details have been arranged such that the surgery is going to be performed on Friday, January 21. The surgery will last from 4 - 7 hours and I will be in hospital for 5 - 7 days. I will have a tracheotomy performed as well as a feeding tube (for approximately 2 weeks). Any further treatment will be based on the analysis of the lymph nodes after they are removed.
So, naturally, I have been asking myself if or how this could relate to Geoff's challenge with Hodgkin Lymphoma and my amateur research indicates that it does not. I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma in 1998 and have had no recurrence after treatment with chemotherapy. Apparently that is also unrelated to Geoff's cancer, according to those that are supposed to know. I will undertake this journey with the SCC and its treatment with the support of all my family and friends and the confidence that is needed to prevail. I ask only for everyone's best thoughts and good feelings. Keeping the memory of my son alive in the hearts of those who knew him and now for many that never did is so important to me that I will focus on that commitment to help get me through these next challenging weeks. Knowing that I have 3 wonderful, strong, daughters, 4 fantastic grandchildren, a wife that loves me, 2 incredibly supportive step children and my own parents, siblings and in-laws that will be with me every step of the way mitigates the fear I imagine one would normally experience about this next period of time.
I will be communicating with all of you as soon as I am able. I have been in constant contact with Geoff's doctors in Kogarah at St. George Medical Center and I expect to have the official coroner's report within the next month, or so, and am anxious to try to come to some understanding of just what happened to take the life away from just a wonderfully happy and productive young man.
When I was in Australia dealing with the events surrounding Geoff's death I had a flare up of a "lesion" in my mouth that had occasionally been a nuisance to me over the last few years. In August, 2007 I had the lesion examined through a "loop biopsy" (at that time it was the size of a pencil eraser) and it was determined to be benign. Over the past few years I was treated primarily by a dentist under the assumption I was grinding my teeth in my sleep and had a "night guard" made, along with some other recommendations which I followed. During that period of time the lesion was stable and didn't seem to get any worse, nor did it get better. However, when I returned from Australia toward the end of October, 2010 it had grown approximately 4 fold in size and was causing me considerable pain. Over the course of the following 8 weeks I was seen by an Internist, Dentist, referred to an Oral Surgeon and subsequently referred to an Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist (ENT). The ENT was immediately alarmed by the size and appearance of the lesion and he ordered some tests that culminated in surgery on December 17 to determine if, in fact, the lesion was benign or perhaps had become malignant.
The ENT had told me before the surgery that there were two possible outcomes: He would take a portion of the lesion and have it processed as a "frozen section" immediately and if the lesion was determined to once again be benign he would remove the entire mass, stitch up my tongue (where it resides) and after a few days I would be as good as new; OR, the analysis of the frozen section would indicate a malignancy, in which case he would terminate the surgery and refer me out to a different type of physician for a more invasive procedure. I awoke in the recovery room of the surgery center after the procedure on December 17 and noticed by the clock that it was approximately 3 hours after the surgery had begun. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came into the room and asked me how I was feeling. I could barely speak but I managed to ask her "What happened?" she then asked me if I had spoken to the doctor, I shook my head to indicate NO and she then said I would have to wait until I spoke with him to find out the results of the surgery. I had somewhat convinced myself before the operation that I was going to awaken afterward and be told that everything was fine and after a few days of healing I would resume the normal course of my life. Given the way the nurse responded to my garbled question I knew I was absolutely wrong in that assumption. After a few minutes my wife, Mitzi, came into the recovery room and reluctantly shared with me her conversation with the doctor since he had to leave the hospital to attend to other patients before I awoke.
I was diagnosed with a well differentiated, diffuse, Squamous Cell Carcinoma (SCC) of the Tongue based on the results of the analysis of the frozen section. We were to meet with the ENT doctor a few days later, after I had some time to heal, to talk about the next steps.
When we met with the ENT doctor the following week he explained that I was going to be referred to a Head and Neck Surgical team at a teaching hospital about an hour away from my home in Southern California. This particular hospital is well respected for their head and neck surgery along with many other specialities. The appointment with the surgeon was scheduled for January 4 and I had healed up about 70% from the first surgery by the time we met with the new doctors. After examination by two different physicians I was counselled that the most appropriate treatment was further surgery, specifically, a partial glossectomy and a selective neck dissection. In simpler terms they were recommending removing a piece of my tongue, approximately 5cm in diameter from the right lateral side along with the lymph nodes on the right side of my neck. During the past few weeks the details have been arranged such that the surgery is going to be performed on Friday, January 21. The surgery will last from 4 - 7 hours and I will be in hospital for 5 - 7 days. I will have a tracheotomy performed as well as a feeding tube (for approximately 2 weeks). Any further treatment will be based on the analysis of the lymph nodes after they are removed.
So, naturally, I have been asking myself if or how this could relate to Geoff's challenge with Hodgkin Lymphoma and my amateur research indicates that it does not. I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma in 1998 and have had no recurrence after treatment with chemotherapy. Apparently that is also unrelated to Geoff's cancer, according to those that are supposed to know. I will undertake this journey with the SCC and its treatment with the support of all my family and friends and the confidence that is needed to prevail. I ask only for everyone's best thoughts and good feelings. Keeping the memory of my son alive in the hearts of those who knew him and now for many that never did is so important to me that I will focus on that commitment to help get me through these next challenging weeks. Knowing that I have 3 wonderful, strong, daughters, 4 fantastic grandchildren, a wife that loves me, 2 incredibly supportive step children and my own parents, siblings and in-laws that will be with me every step of the way mitigates the fear I imagine one would normally experience about this next period of time.
I will be communicating with all of you as soon as I am able. I have been in constant contact with Geoff's doctors in Kogarah at St. George Medical Center and I expect to have the official coroner's report within the next month, or so, and am anxious to try to come to some understanding of just what happened to take the life away from just a wonderfully happy and productive young man.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Flying Fajita Sistas
While driving back to Robin's, Melissa let all of us know we were definitely going out for Mexican Food for dinner later that evening. My observation of Australians as a group is that they seem to love Mexican food and can't get enough of it when they are in California but the availability of authentic Mexican cuisine in the "Lucky Country" is quite lacking. Melissa proclaimed that this restaurant where we were headed after a stop in Bexley North was as good as it gets in Sydney. I trusted her judgment in that regard because she had been exposed to a good amount of the real stuff in California and Texas, not to mention Hawaii where they do an adequate job of reproducing the cuisine, at least the basics. The thing I always felt Australia was missing when it came to Mexican food were Mexicans to prepare it. We were first going to stop at Robin's place to freshen up and pick up Maggie before travelling to the restaurant where we already had a reservation.
We spent an hour or so at Robin's cleaning up for dinner, collecting Maggie (who had been at work that day) and waiting for Melissa to pack a bag as she let me know she was going to be spending the next couple of nights with me in Darlinghurst, which pleased me to no end. Seeing Melissa toss her bag into Robin's car was all that I needed to be assured that I would be able to spend some quality time with my youngest child. I was so looking forward to it but never wanted to press the issue under the circumstances. That she arrived at this conclusion without coaching from me made me even happier.
We set out with the Friday night traffic to Glebe, where the "Flying Fajita Sistas" restaurant was located. The name apparently combines a play on the "Flying Burrito Brothers" musical group with a term used by African American women when referring to each other. When we arrived at the restaurant after a stop and go trip along with the commuters trying to get home it was pouring rain. Robin left us at the front of the restaurant and went hunting for the ever elusive parking spot. The rest of us entered the Mexican Restaurant where the hostess seated us in the "patio" area, which provided covered outdoor seating at the very back of the facility. Robin joined us shortly after we were seated and the ladies all ordered frozen margaritas. I'm not a big fan of margaritas in any circumstance so I thought the house red wine was a better choice. As we perused the extensive menu it struck me that this Mexican Restaurant had things on the menu I had never seen before. See the Menu Here I laughed to myself as I tried interpreting a couple of the dishes and quickly came to the conclusion that the menu was a mix of different Latin cuisines, including Cuban, although it had some typical Mexican dishes. A number of the selections provided the option of "Ropa Vieja" for the protein, an unfamiliar term to me. I later looked up the definition of "Ropa Vieja" and found this in Wikipedia: "Ropa vieja, which is Spanish for "Old Clothes," is a popular dish of the Canary Islands, Cadiz, Greater Miami and the Caribbean, especially Cuba, Panama, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. It is a shredded flank steak in a tomato sauce base." No mention of Mexico anywhere in the definition. Nonetheless, the food was good and the eclectic menu provided some interesting topics for conversation.
Geoff always loved Mexican food and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to tell my one of my favorite stories about Geoff and what was one of his first experiences enjoying chips and salsa. When Geoff was barely a year old we made a trip to Maui, Hawaii and stayed in a condo in Kaanapali Beach. Geoff loved to swim even at that young age, but we always had a challenge with teaching him not to ingest the water, be it in the pool or the ocean. We sat down to lunch one afternoon after a morning at the pool and ordered our meals and snacked on the requisite chips and salsa while waiting for the food. I can remember Geoff, just barely able to stand at such a tender age, leaning over the table and helping himself to more of the chips and salsa than he should have and combined with the indeterminable amounts of pool water and chlorine he had already ingested he let loose with the entire contents of his stomach over the dining table just as our food was being served by the waiter. As Robin snatched him up from the chair I instructed the waiter to put our food in a "to go" container, settled the bill, and high tailed it out of the restaurant without making eye contact with a single soul. This story makes me laugh to this day and is as vivid in my memory as when it happened over 25 years ago. We all had another good laugh about it on that Friday night in Glebe.
When we finished dinner Robin, Maggie, Melissa and I drove to Darlinghurst with Jo, having driven her own car, heading back to her home. We located a nearby parking spot on Taylor Street and as we walked toward the unit we passed one of the neighboring homes, only a few doors away, and observed a large party in full swing as the front door was wide open. "Just another Friday night in Darlinghurst" someone remarked as I wondered how much sleeping would actually get accomplished that night. Robin and Maggie grabbed chairs at the dining room table as I helped Melissa take her bag upstairs to the bedroom that had been used up until a day before by Candi. Once she was situated and properly warned about the treacherous stairway we joined the others at the table and had a few wines to help wash down the Tim Tams and Peanut M&M's that became our dessert.
We spent an hour or so at Robin's cleaning up for dinner, collecting Maggie (who had been at work that day) and waiting for Melissa to pack a bag as she let me know she was going to be spending the next couple of nights with me in Darlinghurst, which pleased me to no end. Seeing Melissa toss her bag into Robin's car was all that I needed to be assured that I would be able to spend some quality time with my youngest child. I was so looking forward to it but never wanted to press the issue under the circumstances. That she arrived at this conclusion without coaching from me made me even happier.
We set out with the Friday night traffic to Glebe, where the "Flying Fajita Sistas" restaurant was located. The name apparently combines a play on the "Flying Burrito Brothers" musical group with a term used by African American women when referring to each other. When we arrived at the restaurant after a stop and go trip along with the commuters trying to get home it was pouring rain. Robin left us at the front of the restaurant and went hunting for the ever elusive parking spot. The rest of us entered the Mexican Restaurant where the hostess seated us in the "patio" area, which provided covered outdoor seating at the very back of the facility. Robin joined us shortly after we were seated and the ladies all ordered frozen margaritas. I'm not a big fan of margaritas in any circumstance so I thought the house red wine was a better choice. As we perused the extensive menu it struck me that this Mexican Restaurant had things on the menu I had never seen before. See the Menu Here I laughed to myself as I tried interpreting a couple of the dishes and quickly came to the conclusion that the menu was a mix of different Latin cuisines, including Cuban, although it had some typical Mexican dishes. A number of the selections provided the option of "Ropa Vieja" for the protein, an unfamiliar term to me. I later looked up the definition of "Ropa Vieja" and found this in Wikipedia: "Ropa vieja, which is Spanish for "Old Clothes," is a popular dish of the Canary Islands, Cadiz, Greater Miami and the Caribbean, especially Cuba, Panama, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. It is a shredded flank steak in a tomato sauce base." No mention of Mexico anywhere in the definition. Nonetheless, the food was good and the eclectic menu provided some interesting topics for conversation.
Geoff always loved Mexican food and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to tell my one of my favorite stories about Geoff and what was one of his first experiences enjoying chips and salsa. When Geoff was barely a year old we made a trip to Maui, Hawaii and stayed in a condo in Kaanapali Beach. Geoff loved to swim even at that young age, but we always had a challenge with teaching him not to ingest the water, be it in the pool or the ocean. We sat down to lunch one afternoon after a morning at the pool and ordered our meals and snacked on the requisite chips and salsa while waiting for the food. I can remember Geoff, just barely able to stand at such a tender age, leaning over the table and helping himself to more of the chips and salsa than he should have and combined with the indeterminable amounts of pool water and chlorine he had already ingested he let loose with the entire contents of his stomach over the dining table just as our food was being served by the waiter. As Robin snatched him up from the chair I instructed the waiter to put our food in a "to go" container, settled the bill, and high tailed it out of the restaurant without making eye contact with a single soul. This story makes me laugh to this day and is as vivid in my memory as when it happened over 25 years ago. We all had another good laugh about it on that Friday night in Glebe.
When we finished dinner Robin, Maggie, Melissa and I drove to Darlinghurst with Jo, having driven her own car, heading back to her home. We located a nearby parking spot on Taylor Street and as we walked toward the unit we passed one of the neighboring homes, only a few doors away, and observed a large party in full swing as the front door was wide open. "Just another Friday night in Darlinghurst" someone remarked as I wondered how much sleeping would actually get accomplished that night. Robin and Maggie grabbed chairs at the dining room table as I helped Melissa take her bag upstairs to the bedroom that had been used up until a day before by Candi. Once she was situated and properly warned about the treacherous stairway we joined the others at the table and had a few wines to help wash down the Tim Tams and Peanut M&M's that became our dessert.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Bondi Junction
We finished our lunch at the sidewalk cafe in North Sydney and made it back to the car just as the time was expiring on our meter. There was conversation between Melissa and Jo about doing some shopping and Robin suggested we visit the mall at Bondi Junction as it was somewhat on the way to Bexley North. Since Melissa lives in Canberra she thinks its imperative to make the effort to shop for clothing any time she returns to Sydney as the city offers greater selection and typically better prices. Now, I'm not much of a shopper, in fact I refer to myself as a "buyer" but not wanting to rain on the girls' parade I feigned my most enthusiastic confirmation of the plan. During the 30 minute trip to Bondi Junction we spoke about our visit to Zlata Creative Dezign and the good feelings we had about our time spent there.
We arrived at the parking structure for the mall and Robin entered the multi-story garage and began the seemingly never ending hunt for a place to park. It's obvious to me that parking requirements for new construction projects (as this was a recently built shopping complex) in Sydney are much more liberal than in California as the search for a space to park one's vehicle is seemingly non-stop. This particular parking garage even had little lights over each space that were somehow linked to the current occupancy of said space and indicated the availability by shining either red or green. Although I don't remember encountering any red lights that were unoccupied there seemed to be a fair number of the green beacons that were obviously malfunctioning. After a series of spins around the various aisles we found a spot to leave the car.
We entered the massive complex that was at least 6 stories tall with every type of department store, boutique and specialty shop. The interior was well lit and modern and had the typical American been secretly translocated there would have not suspected they were at least 8000 miles from home but possibly just right around the corner. I was somewhat dreading the next period of time suspecting that the shopping routine of these 3 Aussie women would no doubt be exactly that with which I was familiar and held absolutely no interest for me. Then, I spotted what appeared to be rows and rows of computer screens mounted to permanent tables and benches that were available to anyone with a credit card for their personal use. I muttered something to the women about staying put there until they returned, needing to check my email and probably some other unintelligible remarks. They took the hint and headed on their way weaving their way through the great numbers of other mall walkers, promising to return to that very spot once they had exhausted their shopping requirements. I selected a work station that included a set of headphones along with the PC and monitor and booted up the machine. After a self-guided initiation which required the input of a credit card number for $6 Australian for 2 hours of usage I began to navigate my way through various processes. I spent a good amount of time checking my work related email as well as a personal account I have. The emails revealed a few business related questions I was able to respond to, as Mitzi and my business partner, Art, were handling virtually everything along those lines in my absence. There were many expressions of sorrow and support from various friends, business associates and family members that either I had not been able to access previously or had only been able to quickly read and now found that I had the time to absorb all the good wishes. I was taken aback by the outpouring of concern and sympathy; I suspect one never takes an inventory of all those we know that would feel that it was important to communicate in a situation such as this one in which I found myself. Even now its somewhat overwhelming to me to have received all the outpouring of support. I only hope I can be as considerate as my life continues to unfold.
I was able to access the program for Geoff's service at Our Lady of Fatima as I had saved it in a format to allow for just that. I read and re-read the various parts of the booklet and then decided to cue up the music on the YouTube website after donning the relatively high quality headphones. I listened to "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzales (listen to Heartbeats) and "Burial" by Miike Snow ( listen to Miike Snow "Burial") multiple times while staring straight ahead at the monitor, seemingly viewing the accompanying videos. Although video presentations that were airing on You Tube no doubt were those that were recorded by the artists my mind's eye took me back to the confines of that Catholic Church in Kingsgrove and played over and over the events that had unfolded only a couple days before. Suddenly, I became aware of a young Asian woman staring at me from just behind the monitor that had been working on a computer directly behind mine and as I made eye contact with her I realized that a flood of tears was streaming down my face. I saw what looked like obvious concern on her face and I mumbled something to let her know that I was alright, at least physically. I looked back toward the computer screen, closed out all the programs that were running and shut down the PC. I got up from the stool upon which I had been sitting, recognized a sign for a Men's room that was in close proximity and made my way there where I washed my face in the cool water from the tap. I wasn't embarrassed, I didn't feel apologetic, only sad.
I stationed myself at a railing that overlooked 3 or 4 stories of the mall below the level that I was inhabiting and was nearby the kiosk for the Internet computers. I could observe much of the foot traffic that was passing from that vantage point which would also provide a good position so as not to miss Robin, Melissa and Jo when they returned. After about 15 minutes of watching mothers pushing their babies in strollers or dragging reluctant toddlers that resisted walking and couples of all sorts going about their individual purposes for being at the mall along came the girls toting a number of large shopping bags emblazoned with the names of various stores. As is customary they each proudly commented on their respective purchases and bargains they had luckily happened upon as we walked to the car park.
We arrived at the parking structure for the mall and Robin entered the multi-story garage and began the seemingly never ending hunt for a place to park. It's obvious to me that parking requirements for new construction projects (as this was a recently built shopping complex) in Sydney are much more liberal than in California as the search for a space to park one's vehicle is seemingly non-stop. This particular parking garage even had little lights over each space that were somehow linked to the current occupancy of said space and indicated the availability by shining either red or green. Although I don't remember encountering any red lights that were unoccupied there seemed to be a fair number of the green beacons that were obviously malfunctioning. After a series of spins around the various aisles we found a spot to leave the car.
We entered the massive complex that was at least 6 stories tall with every type of department store, boutique and specialty shop. The interior was well lit and modern and had the typical American been secretly translocated there would have not suspected they were at least 8000 miles from home but possibly just right around the corner. I was somewhat dreading the next period of time suspecting that the shopping routine of these 3 Aussie women would no doubt be exactly that with which I was familiar and held absolutely no interest for me. Then, I spotted what appeared to be rows and rows of computer screens mounted to permanent tables and benches that were available to anyone with a credit card for their personal use. I muttered something to the women about staying put there until they returned, needing to check my email and probably some other unintelligible remarks. They took the hint and headed on their way weaving their way through the great numbers of other mall walkers, promising to return to that very spot once they had exhausted their shopping requirements. I selected a work station that included a set of headphones along with the PC and monitor and booted up the machine. After a self-guided initiation which required the input of a credit card number for $6 Australian for 2 hours of usage I began to navigate my way through various processes. I spent a good amount of time checking my work related email as well as a personal account I have. The emails revealed a few business related questions I was able to respond to, as Mitzi and my business partner, Art, were handling virtually everything along those lines in my absence. There were many expressions of sorrow and support from various friends, business associates and family members that either I had not been able to access previously or had only been able to quickly read and now found that I had the time to absorb all the good wishes. I was taken aback by the outpouring of concern and sympathy; I suspect one never takes an inventory of all those we know that would feel that it was important to communicate in a situation such as this one in which I found myself. Even now its somewhat overwhelming to me to have received all the outpouring of support. I only hope I can be as considerate as my life continues to unfold.
I was able to access the program for Geoff's service at Our Lady of Fatima as I had saved it in a format to allow for just that. I read and re-read the various parts of the booklet and then decided to cue up the music on the YouTube website after donning the relatively high quality headphones. I listened to "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzales (listen to Heartbeats) and "Burial" by Miike Snow ( listen to Miike Snow "Burial") multiple times while staring straight ahead at the monitor, seemingly viewing the accompanying videos. Although video presentations that were airing on You Tube no doubt were those that were recorded by the artists my mind's eye took me back to the confines of that Catholic Church in Kingsgrove and played over and over the events that had unfolded only a couple days before. Suddenly, I became aware of a young Asian woman staring at me from just behind the monitor that had been working on a computer directly behind mine and as I made eye contact with her I realized that a flood of tears was streaming down my face. I saw what looked like obvious concern on her face and I mumbled something to let her know that I was alright, at least physically. I looked back toward the computer screen, closed out all the programs that were running and shut down the PC. I got up from the stool upon which I had been sitting, recognized a sign for a Men's room that was in close proximity and made my way there where I washed my face in the cool water from the tap. I wasn't embarrassed, I didn't feel apologetic, only sad.
I stationed myself at a railing that overlooked 3 or 4 stories of the mall below the level that I was inhabiting and was nearby the kiosk for the Internet computers. I could observe much of the foot traffic that was passing from that vantage point which would also provide a good position so as not to miss Robin, Melissa and Jo when they returned. After about 15 minutes of watching mothers pushing their babies in strollers or dragging reluctant toddlers that resisted walking and couples of all sorts going about their individual purposes for being at the mall along came the girls toting a number of large shopping bags emblazoned with the names of various stores. As is customary they each proudly commented on their respective purchases and bargains they had luckily happened upon as we walked to the car park.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Zlata
I awoke on Friday morning 15 October, 2010 while it was still dark. Not daring to look at the display on my mobile phone, hoping to convince myself it was early enough that I could go back to sleep, my mind began to whir with incongruent thoughts of the past 10 days. Replaying the conversation with Geoff's doctors, the entire ceremony at Our Lady of Fatima and the walk around Botany Bay with Robin did nothing more than make me fully alert. Reluctantly I rolled over and took a look at the phone. 3:44AM glared back at me in fluorescent green from the tiny screen. Knowing there was no chance for further slumber I climbed out of the bed and descended the stairway knowing I didn't need to make the extra effort toward quietness as I was alone in the townhouse. Once I had the kettle boiling and poured the hot water into the espresso press I grabbed the remote control for the television in the living room. I discovered the availability of no less than 6 movie channels on the FOX TEL system that was included with the rental of the unit. Wondering to myself why I hadn't figured that out before now I started flipping through the movies currently being aired. I don't remember exactly but I think I settled on some action flick that I most likely had seen before but probably 10 years earlier.
After two or three cups of coffee I phoned Mitzi in California and had the leisure of spending a good amount of time with her on the telephone discussing the happenings of the last few days, some business related questions she had and general dialogue about our home in Cathedral City such as how to operate the barbecue and the backyard spa and other domestic concerns that I was happy to talk about, appreciating the diversion. Mitzi was incredibly supportive and strong in all of our communication while I was in Sydney and for that I was incredibly grateful. Mitzi's mother died on New Year's Eve, 2008 and I had never appreciated how truly devastating the death of someone so close is until this nightmare with the death of my son. I am not sure I was as valuable as her partner during that time as she had been to me during this trial but I certainly hoped so.
I occupied myself until 9:00 AM when I felt it was appropriate to ring the office of Zlata Creative Dezign. Geoff had gone to work at the design firm in North Sydney right after he finished his radiation therapy which in turn followed his chemotherapy for his Hodgkin Lymphoma in 2008. I remember well some conversations I had with Geoff while he was just to begin his radiation therapy. Before Geoff was diagnosed he had worked as a shift manager at the Virgin Record store in downtown Sydney. He loved music and I'm sure the thought of working somewhere outside the music industry created much conflict in his mind. As one would expect, the experience of the cancer diagnosis and treatment made him question his priorities and sharpened his focus on his own life. He had graduated from TAFE Sydney Institute some years before of a course in graphic design and was now of the belief that he needed to pursue a career in the design industry. He had started to work on assembling a portfolio that would be needed for job interviews and was going to send resumes to a number of firms where he had an interest in working. One of the companies he petitioned was the Zlata Creative Dezign Company (ZCD) (http://www.zlatacreative.com.au/) and after an interview and review of his portfolio he was offered a position which he assumed immediately after his final radiation treatment. I'm sure he had his bad days but I never heard Geoff complain about the work or the training and supervision he received. Typically, his only gripes were with co-workers that he didn't feel were as committed to the company's mission as they should be and those folks generally didn't last long at ZCD. All in all he had thoroughly enjoyed his time at ZCD from my perspective.
The office number rang and was answered by Fay, Zlata's sister (to this day I have no knowledge of either of their surnames, they apparently feel they aren't necessary). I was not a stranger to Fay or Zlata as I had visited the office in July, 2009 and occasionally spoke to Fay when I would call the office from time to time as she acted as the company receptionist among other duties. When I identified myself I immediately recognized the now familiar sound of emotional upset in Fay's voice and determined that she was weeping. She expressed to me her utter sorrow and shock about Geoff's death along with her sympathy. I explained to her that I had a desire to visit with she and Zlata and pick up Geoff's things that may be at the company headquarters. I inquired about the possibility of doing that within the next couple of business days and let her know that Robin, Melissa and Jo would likely accompany me. Fay said she would discuss my wishes with Zlata and get back to me. Within minutes she rang me back to let me know that Zlata would be available until 2 PM on that day if we felt we wanted to make the trip to North Sydney that quickly. I was confident we could manage that and I let her know we would be there before the stated deadline. I communicated the ability to make the trip to ZCD to Melissa by telephone and she said she would head over to Darlinghurst with whomever also wanted to come along and we could make the trip by train or perhaps we would drive over the harbour, depending on how many of us would attend the meeting.
Melissa was to ring me when they were leaving the house in Bexley North so I occupied myself until I heard from them a couple of hours later. Melissa, Robin and Jo would all be in the car and they would pick me up and Robin would drive us over to North Sydney. The ride from the townhouse to ZCD would only take about 20 minutes, or so. I watched for Robin's silver sedan with the crumpled rear and heard the familiar vibration associated with the damaged boot before I actually saw the vehicle. I jumped in the car as I met them at the curb in front of the unit so they would not have to find a parking place and we drove off toward the Harbour Bridge and North Sydney. Miller Street in North Sydney, where ZCD is located in a mid-rise, contemporary office building, is only a few blocks after exiting the highway. Robin grabbed a parking spot close to the office building and we loaded up the parking meter with enough coins to last 2 hours. I learned during the ride over that Robin had never been inside the office; she had dropped Geoff there occasionally but had only been as far as the street outside the building.
We entered the foyer of the building on Miller St. and rode the elevator to Level 12, where ZCD occupies the entire floor. Exiting the elevator to double glass doors one finds the reception area of ZCD exuding the aura of exactness and organization with clean lines and very contemporary furnishings. We were met in the reception area by Fay and after introductions, hugs and tears she ushered us into an adjoining conference room that housed an over sized table with more than 12 chairs and a display case of consumer oriented packaging that had been designed by the firm for companies all over the world. We were immediately joined by Zlata, a woman of small stature but with red hair as fiery as her personality. Zlata spent the next few minutes in concert with Fay explaining to us their disappointment, sorrow and devastation over the death of our dear son, brother and boyfriend. The words were heartfelt and comforting. Zlata then presented Robin with a binder of photos and other memorabilia from Geoff's time at the design firm. She also showed us a real sized mock up of packaging for a product known as "Tiffany Mango, Pineapple and Coconut Flavored Wafers". She explained that his mock up was the most recent project upon which Geoff had been working, specifically for the Indian Market and the Dawali Festival and that she had given the assignment to design this packaging to both Geoff and another designer at ZCD to independently come up with a design, from concept to completion. She further made sure we understood that this was the first time she had given such a complete responsibility to Geoff and that after reviewing his output and that of his co-worker the customer had chosen Geoff's design for the final version that would be used for the retail production. Her regret was that she had not had the opportunity to let Geoff know of that decision before he died. I looked around and everyone present had tears welling up in their eyes. Zlata went on to tell us other stories about how she would try to motivate Geoff and others to generate creative ideas. "A great start Geoff...now let's bring it to life with more vibrant colours and visual energy... Make it come alive!" was one of her motivating phrases. She gave us a tour of the area where Geoff's cubicle was located with his computer and various desktop items and introduced us to some of his co-workers. Geoff's office mates had arranged an informal shrine at his desk which Zlata indicated she would leave in place, undisturbed, for at least 40 days and with significant emotion advised us there was a chance she would never allow another employee to use that cubicle again. It was obvious Zlata and Fay both cared deeply about Geoff and appreciated his work while he was employed by ZCD. They told us stories about his original interview as well as other memorable events and how they took pride in his progress while he was employed there.
We collected Geoff's personal property and the binder that Zlata had prepared as well as the rendition of the cookie package that was Geoff's work and bid Zlata and Fay good bye before we exited the building. We collectively took a deep breath when we found ourselves back out on Miller Street and I suggested then we have lunch at a little sidewalk cafe, not for away, where I had lunch with Geoff when I visited him at the office in 2009. The four of us found a nice table with a good perspective for people watching and as I perused the menu I recognized the "Portuguese Chicken Sandwich" as the selection I had made when I dined at this very cafe with Geoff before. It was impossible for me to order anything else.
After two or three cups of coffee I phoned Mitzi in California and had the leisure of spending a good amount of time with her on the telephone discussing the happenings of the last few days, some business related questions she had and general dialogue about our home in Cathedral City such as how to operate the barbecue and the backyard spa and other domestic concerns that I was happy to talk about, appreciating the diversion. Mitzi was incredibly supportive and strong in all of our communication while I was in Sydney and for that I was incredibly grateful. Mitzi's mother died on New Year's Eve, 2008 and I had never appreciated how truly devastating the death of someone so close is until this nightmare with the death of my son. I am not sure I was as valuable as her partner during that time as she had been to me during this trial but I certainly hoped so.
I occupied myself until 9:00 AM when I felt it was appropriate to ring the office of Zlata Creative Dezign. Geoff had gone to work at the design firm in North Sydney right after he finished his radiation therapy which in turn followed his chemotherapy for his Hodgkin Lymphoma in 2008. I remember well some conversations I had with Geoff while he was just to begin his radiation therapy. Before Geoff was diagnosed he had worked as a shift manager at the Virgin Record store in downtown Sydney. He loved music and I'm sure the thought of working somewhere outside the music industry created much conflict in his mind. As one would expect, the experience of the cancer diagnosis and treatment made him question his priorities and sharpened his focus on his own life. He had graduated from TAFE Sydney Institute some years before of a course in graphic design and was now of the belief that he needed to pursue a career in the design industry. He had started to work on assembling a portfolio that would be needed for job interviews and was going to send resumes to a number of firms where he had an interest in working. One of the companies he petitioned was the Zlata Creative Dezign Company (ZCD) (http://www.zlatacreative.com.au/) and after an interview and review of his portfolio he was offered a position which he assumed immediately after his final radiation treatment. I'm sure he had his bad days but I never heard Geoff complain about the work or the training and supervision he received. Typically, his only gripes were with co-workers that he didn't feel were as committed to the company's mission as they should be and those folks generally didn't last long at ZCD. All in all he had thoroughly enjoyed his time at ZCD from my perspective.
The office number rang and was answered by Fay, Zlata's sister (to this day I have no knowledge of either of their surnames, they apparently feel they aren't necessary). I was not a stranger to Fay or Zlata as I had visited the office in July, 2009 and occasionally spoke to Fay when I would call the office from time to time as she acted as the company receptionist among other duties. When I identified myself I immediately recognized the now familiar sound of emotional upset in Fay's voice and determined that she was weeping. She expressed to me her utter sorrow and shock about Geoff's death along with her sympathy. I explained to her that I had a desire to visit with she and Zlata and pick up Geoff's things that may be at the company headquarters. I inquired about the possibility of doing that within the next couple of business days and let her know that Robin, Melissa and Jo would likely accompany me. Fay said she would discuss my wishes with Zlata and get back to me. Within minutes she rang me back to let me know that Zlata would be available until 2 PM on that day if we felt we wanted to make the trip to North Sydney that quickly. I was confident we could manage that and I let her know we would be there before the stated deadline. I communicated the ability to make the trip to ZCD to Melissa by telephone and she said she would head over to Darlinghurst with whomever also wanted to come along and we could make the trip by train or perhaps we would drive over the harbour, depending on how many of us would attend the meeting.
Melissa was to ring me when they were leaving the house in Bexley North so I occupied myself until I heard from them a couple of hours later. Melissa, Robin and Jo would all be in the car and they would pick me up and Robin would drive us over to North Sydney. The ride from the townhouse to ZCD would only take about 20 minutes, or so. I watched for Robin's silver sedan with the crumpled rear and heard the familiar vibration associated with the damaged boot before I actually saw the vehicle. I jumped in the car as I met them at the curb in front of the unit so they would not have to find a parking place and we drove off toward the Harbour Bridge and North Sydney. Miller Street in North Sydney, where ZCD is located in a mid-rise, contemporary office building, is only a few blocks after exiting the highway. Robin grabbed a parking spot close to the office building and we loaded up the parking meter with enough coins to last 2 hours. I learned during the ride over that Robin had never been inside the office; she had dropped Geoff there occasionally but had only been as far as the street outside the building.
We entered the foyer of the building on Miller St. and rode the elevator to Level 12, where ZCD occupies the entire floor. Exiting the elevator to double glass doors one finds the reception area of ZCD exuding the aura of exactness and organization with clean lines and very contemporary furnishings. We were met in the reception area by Fay and after introductions, hugs and tears she ushered us into an adjoining conference room that housed an over sized table with more than 12 chairs and a display case of consumer oriented packaging that had been designed by the firm for companies all over the world. We were immediately joined by Zlata, a woman of small stature but with red hair as fiery as her personality. Zlata spent the next few minutes in concert with Fay explaining to us their disappointment, sorrow and devastation over the death of our dear son, brother and boyfriend. The words were heartfelt and comforting. Zlata then presented Robin with a binder of photos and other memorabilia from Geoff's time at the design firm. She also showed us a real sized mock up of packaging for a product known as "Tiffany Mango, Pineapple and Coconut Flavored Wafers". She explained that his mock up was the most recent project upon which Geoff had been working, specifically for the Indian Market and the Dawali Festival and that she had given the assignment to design this packaging to both Geoff and another designer at ZCD to independently come up with a design, from concept to completion. She further made sure we understood that this was the first time she had given such a complete responsibility to Geoff and that after reviewing his output and that of his co-worker the customer had chosen Geoff's design for the final version that would be used for the retail production. Her regret was that she had not had the opportunity to let Geoff know of that decision before he died. I looked around and everyone present had tears welling up in their eyes. Zlata went on to tell us other stories about how she would try to motivate Geoff and others to generate creative ideas. "A great start Geoff...now let's bring it to life with more vibrant colours and visual energy... Make it come alive!" was one of her motivating phrases. She gave us a tour of the area where Geoff's cubicle was located with his computer and various desktop items and introduced us to some of his co-workers. Geoff's office mates had arranged an informal shrine at his desk which Zlata indicated she would leave in place, undisturbed, for at least 40 days and with significant emotion advised us there was a chance she would never allow another employee to use that cubicle again. It was obvious Zlata and Fay both cared deeply about Geoff and appreciated his work while he was employed by ZCD. They told us stories about his original interview as well as other memorable events and how they took pride in his progress while he was employed there.
We collected Geoff's personal property and the binder that Zlata had prepared as well as the rendition of the cookie package that was Geoff's work and bid Zlata and Fay good bye before we exited the building. We collectively took a deep breath when we found ourselves back out on Miller Street and I suggested then we have lunch at a little sidewalk cafe, not for away, where I had lunch with Geoff when I visited him at the office in 2009. The four of us found a nice table with a good perspective for people watching and as I perused the menu I recognized the "Portuguese Chicken Sandwich" as the selection I had made when I dined at this very cafe with Geoff before. It was impossible for me to order anything else.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Window Seat
It wasn't that I minded the idea of being alone for the night. On some level I welcomed the isolation. I felt safe enough in the townhouse in Darlinghurst and God knows, I'd been carrying on a non-stop conversation with myself in my sub-conscious since all of this began the week before, so it wasn't like I needed someone else to talk with. I'd spoken to Melissa earlier in the week about staying with me in the city after Candi left. I wanted to be able to have some time with just my youngest daughter before I, too, went back to California. Simultaneously, I knew Melissa felt that her mother needed her support and I didn't want to put her in the position of thinking she had to choose between us. It was with those conflicting thoughts that I suggested Robin and Melissa drop me in Darlinghurst as we exited the airport parking lot.
The conversation during that short ride back from the airport revolved around my desire to contact Geoff's employer and arrange a visit to his office. I thought it was important that we pick up his personal belongings and spend some time with Zlata (it's like "Cher", she uses no last name of which I am aware) and some of the other folks that worked with Geoff in the design firm and I said so. Melissa indicated she would like to come along and she volunteered that she felt JoJo would want to be included as well. As I was sitting in the back seat the only communication I had on the subject with Robin was some eye contact via the rear vision mirror. I knew the look; she was going to have to spend some time thinking about making that trip to North Sydney before she would commit. I would call the office of Zlata Creative Design first thing in the morning to find out what was possible and would advise Robin and Melissa once I knew.
The sky was clear but a little breezy when the two of them dropped me in front of the unit and waited until I unlocked the doors before driving off. Did I need anything? Would I be all right? Was I sure I didn't want to come to Bexley North for a while? Were all questions to which I had assuredly made the appropriate responses before they were comfortable leaving me. As I entered the townhouse in the dark I switched on the light in the living room and contemplated turning on the television. Knowing that, at best, the entertainment might be an Aussie situation comedy or re-runs of American shows, the idea held very little appeal. I remembered that at the end of the block there was a pub with seats in the windows that fronted to Oxford Street where I had observed others sitting and watching the world pass by. For lack of any better idea I decided to grab my jacket and make my way to the pub.
The brisk walk took only a couple of minutes and I entered the establishment and walked up to the service bar and ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon which I took to one of the stools that were positioned at the windows with a ledge at bar height that served as a table of sorts. Directly below the windows on the outside of the building was a row of bistro tables and chairs that allowed for al fresco dining and, of course, smoking. No sooner than when I had positioned myself in a way I thought would give me a good vantage point to observe the steady stream of humanity that would pass by an even more recently arrived patron than myself commandeered the table directly below me and lit up a cigarette. Having to satisfy no one except myself with my choice of seats and with a certain amount of annoyance I reassigned myself a new bar stool that was strategically upwind from any new tobacco burners that might frequent the facility.
I slowly nursed my glass of wine, it had all the the subtle characteristics of a construction grade of sandpaper, and spent the next 45 minutes, or so, watching the world pass by that window. I observed several small groups that built up as the participants arrived separately by foot that I surmised were business associates meeting for drinks or old friends celebrating a special event that for whatever reason had chosen this location to do just that. Couples would arrive and order drinks at the bar and then place themselves at one of the inside or outside tables and engage in isolated one on one conversation. More than one patron availed themselves of the ATM that was directly adjacent to where I was sitting. I watched person after person pass by that window seat on Oxford Street and all had strides that were purposeful. Somewhere to go, someone to see, some event to celebrate; I tried to guess what the objectives were of each individual that entered my field of vision. I found my mind wandering towards questions that have no answers and thoughts of which I was not particularly proud: How was it fair that all these people could be out living their lives when my son was no longer able to be among us? Surely, some of these people must be more deserving than Geoff was to die at such a young age; how is that they are still out walking around and he isn't? Geoff had so much to give to everyone and gave he did, do any of these nameless individuals that I am observing have as much? Why was I sitting in a public bar at an open window, 8000 miles from home, alone, mourning the death of my only son, watching the entirety of this sample of humanity pass by on a Thursday night in October? How would I ever be the same? Would my life ever be the same?
Sensing that I needed to retreat to the more familiar confines of the townhouse on Taylor Street I took the last gulp of the overly rough red wine, dismounted the stool and trudged the short way back to the apartment. In the total silence I readied myself for bed, popped my mandatory single Advil PM, navigated the now familiar stairway and dove under the duvet. I lay on the bed with the vision of Geoff standing in the doorway of the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in Darling Harbour until I fell asleep.
The conversation during that short ride back from the airport revolved around my desire to contact Geoff's employer and arrange a visit to his office. I thought it was important that we pick up his personal belongings and spend some time with Zlata (it's like "Cher", she uses no last name of which I am aware) and some of the other folks that worked with Geoff in the design firm and I said so. Melissa indicated she would like to come along and she volunteered that she felt JoJo would want to be included as well. As I was sitting in the back seat the only communication I had on the subject with Robin was some eye contact via the rear vision mirror. I knew the look; she was going to have to spend some time thinking about making that trip to North Sydney before she would commit. I would call the office of Zlata Creative Design first thing in the morning to find out what was possible and would advise Robin and Melissa once I knew.
The sky was clear but a little breezy when the two of them dropped me in front of the unit and waited until I unlocked the doors before driving off. Did I need anything? Would I be all right? Was I sure I didn't want to come to Bexley North for a while? Were all questions to which I had assuredly made the appropriate responses before they were comfortable leaving me. As I entered the townhouse in the dark I switched on the light in the living room and contemplated turning on the television. Knowing that, at best, the entertainment might be an Aussie situation comedy or re-runs of American shows, the idea held very little appeal. I remembered that at the end of the block there was a pub with seats in the windows that fronted to Oxford Street where I had observed others sitting and watching the world pass by. For lack of any better idea I decided to grab my jacket and make my way to the pub.
The brisk walk took only a couple of minutes and I entered the establishment and walked up to the service bar and ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon which I took to one of the stools that were positioned at the windows with a ledge at bar height that served as a table of sorts. Directly below the windows on the outside of the building was a row of bistro tables and chairs that allowed for al fresco dining and, of course, smoking. No sooner than when I had positioned myself in a way I thought would give me a good vantage point to observe the steady stream of humanity that would pass by an even more recently arrived patron than myself commandeered the table directly below me and lit up a cigarette. Having to satisfy no one except myself with my choice of seats and with a certain amount of annoyance I reassigned myself a new bar stool that was strategically upwind from any new tobacco burners that might frequent the facility.
I slowly nursed my glass of wine, it had all the the subtle characteristics of a construction grade of sandpaper, and spent the next 45 minutes, or so, watching the world pass by that window. I observed several small groups that built up as the participants arrived separately by foot that I surmised were business associates meeting for drinks or old friends celebrating a special event that for whatever reason had chosen this location to do just that. Couples would arrive and order drinks at the bar and then place themselves at one of the inside or outside tables and engage in isolated one on one conversation. More than one patron availed themselves of the ATM that was directly adjacent to where I was sitting. I watched person after person pass by that window seat on Oxford Street and all had strides that were purposeful. Somewhere to go, someone to see, some event to celebrate; I tried to guess what the objectives were of each individual that entered my field of vision. I found my mind wandering towards questions that have no answers and thoughts of which I was not particularly proud: How was it fair that all these people could be out living their lives when my son was no longer able to be among us? Surely, some of these people must be more deserving than Geoff was to die at such a young age; how is that they are still out walking around and he isn't? Geoff had so much to give to everyone and gave he did, do any of these nameless individuals that I am observing have as much? Why was I sitting in a public bar at an open window, 8000 miles from home, alone, mourning the death of my only son, watching the entirety of this sample of humanity pass by on a Thursday night in October? How would I ever be the same? Would my life ever be the same?
Sensing that I needed to retreat to the more familiar confines of the townhouse on Taylor Street I took the last gulp of the overly rough red wine, dismounted the stool and trudged the short way back to the apartment. In the total silence I readied myself for bed, popped my mandatory single Advil PM, navigated the now familiar stairway and dove under the duvet. I lay on the bed with the vision of Geoff standing in the doorway of the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in Darling Harbour until I fell asleep.
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