An Ode to those I love

I have decided something. (When I say this or "I have an idea" to my sister or husband it's usually greeted with something like "uh oh". In this case, as in most cases, that is not a fair response. They do it just to drive me crazy.)

I have decided that the people I love should be told so NOW. Not tomorrow. Not when it's too late, but now. Not that they don't already know how much I love them. For the most part, I think they do. But what they don't know...What they haven't heard...Is my Ode To Them. I realized through spending time here that I use the word love frequently. The thing is....I mean it when I say it. I'm usually referring to a specific person. I failed when it came to my fathers death. I let my fear get the best of me and I didn't take the chance to let him know how much I loved him. I'm not sure he knew. I let the chance pass me again with my sweet brother in law. Although, I'm fairly sure he knew. So here it is. Here I will begin my Odes to those I love.


I am choosing to start this process with the events of May 2004 and the loss of two souls that I truly cherished. Everything changed that year. In my home...We are still recovering. Or rather, trying to learn to live with the changes.




Flash....
Flash was born in May 1961. 11 months & 20 days behind one brother and 12 months 29 days before another. Both of them blue eyed blonds and both with a wild streak. Here was Flash with his thick dark hair and hazel eyes and a gentle spirit. (One more brother would come a year later-the gifted son that no one could compete with.)
He was born sick. He couldn't breath. He spent most of his early childhood in and out of hospitals. Always with a wrong diagnosis and never with a cure. At one point he even lived in a home for people with tuberculosis. No one could figure out what was wrong with this little boy. They knew he had asthma, but also that there was something much much more serious happening. Sometime in his late teens they decided it was a bronchial disease, but still didn't have it quite right.

Even though Flash spent most of his years fighting to breathe he never let it slow him down. He had older sisters doting on him and his brothers to keep up with. If they could ride their skateboards up and down the Hollywood Hills, so could he. If they could hike to the Hollywood sign and be mischievous, so could he. If they could sneak into the backyards of the rich and famous for some wall rides in an empty pool, so could he. He might have been a bit slower, maybe he couldn't spin as fast as they could, but he could do anything his brothers did. They were his best friends. Especially Chas. Because Flash had spent so much time away from school he was a year behind, that meant he was in the same grade as Chas. He was his shadow. They went everywhere together and did everything together.

He carried this spirit of can-do into his adult life. He joined the Army. Hiding just how bad his lungs were. He was discharged a few weeks into boot camp after they found out how bad he was. But he gave it the effort and that's all that mattered. He met a girl and had a huge wedding. They lived in a cute little house then a cute little apartment. She gave up on him when she realized that she couldn't spend her life taking care of him-they separated. I think it broke his heart. He moved to Colorado to start a new life, only to find out that the air was too thin for his frail lungs to take. He came home. He moved in with Chas, me, and his new baby nephew, Lovey. He saw his wife again only two or three times. All the while, waiting for her to file for divorce. He just couldn't bring himself to be the one. Being the coward she was, she waited until the last possible moment to finally divorce him. Just in time to remove herself from any legal responsibility.

As John grew older, his lungs continued to get worse. He would wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe with blood in his lungs. Finally, FINALLY, the right doctor was found and Flash was correctly diagnosed. But the prognosis wasn't good. His lungs were failing fast, quickly turning to scar tissue, unable to expand, unable to breathe for him. He was quickly put on the transplant list. A few years went by before he got the call..Then it was a false alarm. But somehow, a few weeks later, the call did come. They had a set of lungs for him, all he had to do was get to USC Hospital fast. Chas rushed him to the hospital and that night Flash had a double lung transplant. Yes...Both of his dying lungs were removed and replaced with fresh and healthy lungs.

Recovery was a long and difficult process. The body doesn't want to accept what doesn't belong there. He was given endless bottles of medication. Because of all of the drugs, he became a diabetic. A side effect of transplants. More medication to take. He was finally able to come home and lived with one of his sisters for a few months. He then found a tiny little studio apartment in the village he loved. A short walking distance to Chas' house and below the hiking trail where he enjoyed walking his sisters dog. These hikes helped strengthen his spirit and his lungs. Little did we know that he was lifting the spirits of other people on the same hiking path.

Another few years went by and Flash seemed to be doing well. He had moments of physical weakness, and a few scares. But all in all, he seemed to be doing fine. He even took part in the Transplant Olympics in Florida. He dated, took care of himself. Golfed and hiked. Spent time with his nieces and nephews, and parents. Then, in the summer of 2003 he came down with a cold. He was checked into the hospital. From that point on...He was in and out of the hospital. Never really making it back to where he was before. At first it was the aspergilous (sp). Then chronic rejection, then full rejection. The new year began with Flash spending more and more time in the hospital. Each time was that much harder to see him go in. More than once he called us in the wee hours of the morning, or late at night to drive him to LA. All of us knew what was happening, but we were terrified to say it out loud. After Easter, in 2004, Flash entered the hospital for the last time. He wasn't breathing. He almost lost his fight for life in the emergency room. He was put on a ventilator and heavily sedated to keep him from fighting the very machine that was keeping him alive.

A few days later the doctor asked to meet with the whole family. Six of us were there that day-all of us that were closest to Flash..Those of us that took care of him. We were told that he would never be able to come off of the ventilator. That he would never be able to breath on his own, or be taken off of the sedation. They told us that he would have to spend his life in a home. We were asked to make a decision. It shocked me then, and does now, how casually this was discussed. It's not that the doctor wasn't caring, he was. It was just so matter of fact. As if the decision we were being asked to make was not one to end a life, but to switch off a light. The air was heavy. As if the weight of our un-wept tears hung from the walls. I will never forget the way my father in law looked that day. In that one hour..That one moment, all the light from him was gone. Somehow, as terrible as it seems, the decision was simple to make. There was no disagreement, there was very little discussion.

Flash, who loved to be outdoors. To golf, and hike. To play with his nieces and nephews. To play cards with his dad. This beautiful man that was so willing to share everything he had -which wasn't much-with anyone who needed it, would never be able to stand in the sunshine again. He would never be able to play a slow game of dominos. He would never again laugh with Lovey. He would never again be the one to give me a hug or just come over to talk to me when I was feeling overwhelmed. Living on a ventilator in a hospital was not an option. It was not the life he was meant to live.

We choose to wait a week before we made the final decision. It was out blind hope that a miracle would happen. That he would breathe again on his own. I knew, we all knew, that it was time to let go. My heart, my brain, my everything told me that it was time to say goodbye. He was already gone.

The day before his birthday, May 4th 2004. Chas & I, two of my sisters in law, and Flash's best friend came to be with him. The clinical part was done quickly. Truly a simple flip of a switch. We held his hand. We shared stories. We laughed and we cried. We watched him go. We let him go.

Shortly after his death, we learned of the lives he touched. One woman he met on the hiking path told us of his encouragement. She was overweight and hiking for exercise. Everytime he saw her, he would smile and tell her how great she looked. She never knew he was sick. She said that his smile, and his generous, unselfish, anonymous support of stranger helped her to carry on. The outpouring of love for Flash and the unending tales of his kindess carried us though. He was the kindest man I have ever known.

Flash was so much a part of our daily life. I spent time with, or spoke to him everyday. I cooked for him almost every night. His absence is felt everyday. I cry thinking of him. Not for him...It's selfishness. I cry for my loss. For his families. I weep for all of the time the Lovey will not be able to share with him. For all of the domino games he won't beat me out of. I know that he is in a better place. He is with the mother and brother he lost. He is happy. He can breathe.

to be continued....