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.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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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