Terry O'Donnell is one of Dad's first cousins. "Uncle Terry and Aunt Shirley" are great fun and we have many fond memories with them. Here is what they have to say about Dad:
Molly, I have a couple of favorite recollections of your father that bring a smile to my face during this time of sorrow.
Whenever we had a telephone conversation, I learned that it would never be short, concise or to the point. Over time I learned that to successfully complete a conversation with Dennis I had to be sufficiently rested, have snack bars at hand, a cup of coffee (with possible refills) and a bladder the size of an elephant's. At times I wished I had "music on hold" so I could escape to the restroom with some dignity. All our conversations were memorable and I will miss them.
I also remember that Dennis would eat anything, a true international gastronome, as long as he could smother it in ketchup. And in the early days of long drives across the country, as long as he had a case of Coke in the car, he could go anywhere non-stop.
Life is beautiful in simple ways, a great family, good friends, a strong faith, and a case of Coke and a case of ketchup in the trunk.
Note from Shirley: I will always remember your dad and your mom as the consummate hosts. When we would visit the O'Donnell home we always felt that we were the center of their attention. That's not easy to do when you have a house full of people.
Also, Terry and I now have an appreciation of what Dennis did as a career. We recently (two weeks ago) were in Arizona and we visited the Titan Missile Museum in Tucson, Arizona. They took us down into the silo and the whole time we were listening to the presentation we thought of Dennis and what a major responsibility he had in his job. We are oh so thankful that he never had to activate one of those big boys!!
You are all in our thoughts and prayers as you go through this difficult time. May the Good Lord take away his suffering.
Terry and Shirley O'Donnell
Dad
in his backyard haven
Sunday, 10 June 2012
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Snake Bite Kit
When we lived in Arkansas during the 1980s, there was this river called the Buffalo River.
I've just sorted through some photo albums that reminded me of this place and the adventure we all took one summer canoeing that river with Grandpa Vern and Grandma Betty O'Donnell.
There is Betty [Dad called his parents by their first names]. Sitting in a canoe with wedge sandals looking like a well-aged Betty Draper from Mad Men. Mom is hustling around 5 kids and honestly looks pretty damn good too. Was there any sunscreen in sight? Hell no. Was there a cooler dedicated to the "Snake Bite Kit"? Yes.
The snake bite kit is the liquor cabinet in the woods. I remember vividly as I was maybe 12 or 13 in these photos that Dad and Vern had to take a several hour detour out of Arkansas into some neighboring state to go and purchase some liquor. They called it the snake bite kit. I honestly believed that they were getting medication in the event we got bit by snakes.
This was the trip where we almost lost Katie. She was maybe 3 and bopping around in a yellow life vest. I can't tell who was in charge of her. According to the photos here was the canoe layout:
Liz, Joe and Amy in one canoe
Dad, Betty and me in another.
I guess that leaves Vern, Mom and Katie in a 3rd.
At one point we all noticed Katie was floating down the river on her own, in her life jacket. Oops. Dad rescued her. Good job Dad. Your repayment for that act is that you now have at least one daughter hanging around this week making sure that your back yard is still getting watered and that the recycling is appropriately sorted. Thank you, Katie.
I've just sorted through some photo albums that reminded me of this place and the adventure we all took one summer canoeing that river with Grandpa Vern and Grandma Betty O'Donnell.
There is Betty [Dad called his parents by their first names]. Sitting in a canoe with wedge sandals looking like a well-aged Betty Draper from Mad Men. Mom is hustling around 5 kids and honestly looks pretty damn good too. Was there any sunscreen in sight? Hell no. Was there a cooler dedicated to the "Snake Bite Kit"? Yes.
The snake bite kit is the liquor cabinet in the woods. I remember vividly as I was maybe 12 or 13 in these photos that Dad and Vern had to take a several hour detour out of Arkansas into some neighboring state to go and purchase some liquor. They called it the snake bite kit. I honestly believed that they were getting medication in the event we got bit by snakes.
This was the trip where we almost lost Katie. She was maybe 3 and bopping around in a yellow life vest. I can't tell who was in charge of her. According to the photos here was the canoe layout:
Liz, Joe and Amy in one canoe
Dad, Betty and me in another.
I guess that leaves Vern, Mom and Katie in a 3rd.
At one point we all noticed Katie was floating down the river on her own, in her life jacket. Oops. Dad rescued her. Good job Dad. Your repayment for that act is that you now have at least one daughter hanging around this week making sure that your back yard is still getting watered and that the recycling is appropriately sorted. Thank you, Katie.
Saturday Afternoon
We've got Pandora radio going on for Dad right now. Old hits from Glen Miller and Dick Gilroy are filling the house, especially since we have a video monitor in the kitchen. We can hear and see him in his train room.
The dining table is extended like a Thanksgiving day and half of it is set up with laptops as if we were in some sort of computer lab. Blogging and emailing and Face-booking the world beyond this original family of seven.
The kitchen island is cleaned every other hour and even then so, every other hour it is filled with the good wishes of people who want to seem to express themselves through food. Carrot cake cupcakes just arrived. They smell great. I long for a stick of celery, some peanut butter and a hot cup of tea.
Dad is stable today. He can still recognize visitors. He sleeps the entire time - waking only if we ask him to open up for some water or Ensure or medications.
I've seen him smile several times today. He's talked about strange things. I like to keep those strange conversations going. Katie says I'm psyching him out. I say, "Why pull him back from where he's going? Help him along the way."
At one point Dad said, "I thought those holes on the ceiling were leaves. They're not." [Actually, they are knots in the wood].
Apparently Dad used to joke that Grandma Dorothy went to heaven through those holes. Wanting to avoid that reminder, I said to him, "No dad, those are caves on the train track, going round the curve through the Colorado mountains. Ride 'em dad. Ride on through."
Maybe that's good of me, maybe not. I guess if I were in his position, I wouldn't want people dragging my coat tails once I'd made up my mind to take a trip.
So, with that I plan to head off for a nap soon. Just one more story from the past for today. Coming up next.
The dining table is extended like a Thanksgiving day and half of it is set up with laptops as if we were in some sort of computer lab. Blogging and emailing and Face-booking the world beyond this original family of seven.
The kitchen island is cleaned every other hour and even then so, every other hour it is filled with the good wishes of people who want to seem to express themselves through food. Carrot cake cupcakes just arrived. They smell great. I long for a stick of celery, some peanut butter and a hot cup of tea.
Dad is stable today. He can still recognize visitors. He sleeps the entire time - waking only if we ask him to open up for some water or Ensure or medications.
I've seen him smile several times today. He's talked about strange things. I like to keep those strange conversations going. Katie says I'm psyching him out. I say, "Why pull him back from where he's going? Help him along the way."
At one point Dad said, "I thought those holes on the ceiling were leaves. They're not." [Actually, they are knots in the wood].
Apparently Dad used to joke that Grandma Dorothy went to heaven through those holes. Wanting to avoid that reminder, I said to him, "No dad, those are caves on the train track, going round the curve through the Colorado mountains. Ride 'em dad. Ride on through."
Maybe that's good of me, maybe not. I guess if I were in his position, I wouldn't want people dragging my coat tails once I'd made up my mind to take a trip.
So, with that I plan to head off for a nap soon. Just one more story from the past for today. Coming up next.
From Joanne Irwin
I hold cherished memories of my friendship with Peg and Den. Unconditional Love personified, Hospitable, Generous, Humorous, Faithful, and Faith-Filled are Peg and Den.
Air Force years cemented our friendship. Dennis and my husband were Titan II Missilemen. We were all stationed in Wichita, KS, and lived at Eastborough Arms Apartments.
In 1970 Peg and Den were already tested and seasoned parents of Liz and Joe. I was pregnant with my first, and a real greenhorn when it came to children. Peg was Mother Superior. I remember crying to her at 6:30 a.m. my first morning home with my baby daughter. After a sleepness night and oodles of diaper changes, I cried in frustration as to why my baby was peeing so much. Peg's response, "For heaven sake, girl, put the plastic panties over the diaper." You see I was going to be the perfect mom; my baby would never have diaper rash. I was kidded for years over that and Den milked that one! We all enjoyed hearty chuckles over my newbie mom experience. I learned so much from both Peg and Den about parenting. Thank you.
In 1980 we had a business move to Tulsa, OK. We were thrilled to be close again to Peg and Den. Wichita was just 3 hours away! Yeah. More reunions, laughs and good times. At that time Den was being transferred from Wichita to Little Rock, and he used our home in Tulsa as a half way point. We'd feed him, let him nap or sleep over to rest, and then he'd be off again. We were pleased to be his watering hole.
Five years later our family vacationed in CA, with stops along the way; one to the Grand Canyon. Peg and Den were traveling to CA at that time, too, and we decided to meet at the Canyon for an overnight. What a time! The restaurant didn't know what hit them when we all piled in. But the memory that got top billing was when Den pulled up in his van with the Grand Canyon Suite blaring. He wanted his children to take in the scenery with all their senses. We chuckled, but I marveled at his serendipitous ways. Den always kept the child within alive and kicking!
Den also delighted in sharing his home movies and we were thrilled to watch them. Peg continually asked, "Are you sure you're interested in this?" And I was. Den beamed as he told us all about his skiing adventures.
Once we spent a weekend with O'D's in Wichita. Den was preparing to leave for Little Rock. He was on a time schedule. Well, he couldn't find his car keys. We all searched high and low for over an hour. Where were his darn keys? Panic was beginning to set in. Finally, finally, there sat the keys, on top of the outdoor garage light. Who would have looked there? Glad someone did! We milked that one to death!
Six years ago Peg and Den visited us on Cape Cod. How wonderful to catch up, be in their presence, reminisce and show them the beauty of the Cape. I was glad they were doing some traveling and connecting. Four years ago we met in Naples for an overnight before their family Disney cruise. Again, a blessing to be with them. What I remember so vividly is the pride that Dennis held when he spoke of all his children and grandchildren - what they were doing and where they lived.
I recall, too, of times I'd call, and this is when Den was helping with the care of Peg's mom. He spoke of her so lovingly. Den is an example of how a man should live his life.
Den used to constantly tease me and say, "Jo, you're so easy. I could sell you a frig if you were an Eskimo!" We'd all laugh and chuckle. Years ago I'd look at life through rose-colored glasses, and Den would remind me of that.
Some of my most cherished memories were the hours we spent in debating the political scene. Viet Nam provided fertile ground. We may have been on opposite ends, but we'd always walk away smiling and chuckling.
Right now, as I write, the tears are flowing. I remember a day back in the late 90's when I was driving home from work and this overwhelming urge came over me to call Peg. When I arrived home I told my daughter that I just had to call Peg. I felt something was wrong. This is the first time that I experienced such an overwhelming presence. And so I called. Peg said, "Jo, how did you know? I wanted to talk with you. Den was just diagnosed." That began their journey with lymphoma. Den won and was blessed with years beyond his initial diagnosis. And he soaked in all his time with faith, hope, love and laughter. Den never lost that twinkle in his eye. That's something that stands out in my mind - that twinkle. That inner child, so alive, curious, and filled with love of life.
Oh, his trains. How I enjoyed hearing his stories of riding the trains in Colorado.
Den, know that you will always be in my heart. I'll always stay in touch with Peg. Be sure of that. I love you both, and am so grateful for the gifts you gave me along the way. You were always there during both the joyful and painful times. If someone asked me what is one of the greatest treasures I've stored in my life, it would be our friendship. God love you, hold you, and give you peace. I love you both!
Friday, 8 June 2012
Trains Planes and Automobiles
Yesterday Dad came home from the hospital. He is set up in his "Man Cave". A room filled with trains, planes, automobiles, Air Force memorabilia, train whistle clocks, statues of Jesus and Mary and books of prints by Vargas. You'll have to look that one up yourself.
He's cozy in a bed made of steel gray sheets to match his locomotives and a spare set of green sheets to match his green thumb. He lit up like a boy at Christmas when he was wheeled in and saw his newest train - purchased about 3 months ago - the El Capitan, all set up on its tracks and mounted on his wall. THANK YOU Mitch McKee. Last week you and Michelle resuscitated him and this week you mounted his favorite memories on the wall. This past week has allowed Dad to see not just his newest train, but all of us kids, grandkids, and over 50 visitors. What a blessing.
Dad is in a ton of pain. If you touch his legs or feet with less than the pressure of holding a newborn he will scream in pain. At two AM my mother and I were called "Heathens" while we worked to shift his position in his bed. It's okay. I'll take "Heathen" over "F**ker" which is what he's been calling some of the nurses who have tried to help. This is why we all pray that his pain is eased soon.
If I never get the chance to thank him in person, I do want to take time to thank Dad's oncologist for the past 14 years, Dr. Hilliard.
As a professional, I can only imagine that his giving Dad the message that there will be no more chemo for him was as hard for him to give as it appeared hard for Dad to receive.
Regardless of the outcome, Dr. Hilliard and Dad's willpower and Mom's loving selfless support and Jesus's grace and healing have provided the following for Dad:
He's cozy in a bed made of steel gray sheets to match his locomotives and a spare set of green sheets to match his green thumb. He lit up like a boy at Christmas when he was wheeled in and saw his newest train - purchased about 3 months ago - the El Capitan, all set up on its tracks and mounted on his wall. THANK YOU Mitch McKee. Last week you and Michelle resuscitated him and this week you mounted his favorite memories on the wall. This past week has allowed Dad to see not just his newest train, but all of us kids, grandkids, and over 50 visitors. What a blessing.
Dad is in a ton of pain. If you touch his legs or feet with less than the pressure of holding a newborn he will scream in pain. At two AM my mother and I were called "Heathens" while we worked to shift his position in his bed. It's okay. I'll take "Heathen" over "F**ker" which is what he's been calling some of the nurses who have tried to help. This is why we all pray that his pain is eased soon.
If I never get the chance to thank him in person, I do want to take time to thank Dad's oncologist for the past 14 years, Dr. Hilliard.
As a professional, I can only imagine that his giving Dad the message that there will be no more chemo for him was as hard for him to give as it appeared hard for Dad to receive.
Regardless of the outcome, Dr. Hilliard and Dad's willpower and Mom's loving selfless support and Jesus's grace and healing have provided the following for Dad:
- The opportunity to meet Madison, Nathan, Zoe and Meagan
- The opportunity to give both his parents Vern and Betty a graceful and dignified death
- The opportunity to be the caregiver for his mother-in-law, Dorothy Foxwell, in the very same place he lays today.
- The opportunity to walk two more daughters down the aisle and welcome two more sons into the family
- The opportunity to minister to hundreds, maybe thousands more souls who have sought out the love of God through Christ Jesus and welcome them into the Church.
- The opportunity to take Disney Cruises and go parasailing in sandals with socks
- The opportunity to take a cruise to Alaska
- The opportunity to take a train ride on the Denver and Rio Grande one more time with his granddaughters
- The opportunity visit old haunts like missile wing reunions and class reunions and places like Little Rock and Houston and Cape Cod
- The opportunity to take the Starlight train to Seattle and across the Glacier National Park
- The opportunity to see 4 more children graduate from college, volunteer for the Peace Corps, and continue their educations.
So, in addition to all of the planes, trains and automobiles that surround him right now - so do reminders of all of these things in life. Other than when he has to be moved, he really does seem like a happy little boy taking a nap in his play room right now. It is so bittersweet.
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
Sorting through information overload
Today was one of the toughest days of my life. Over the course of the past 6 days - in the spare moments of alertness that have existed - Dad has been asking for a lot of information. He makes his decisions like this in life. He gathers as much data and sorts through issues one by one.
His questions: "What is my glucose? Blood pressure? Creatin? Platelets? How are my kidneys? Where is the oncologist? What did the kidney doctor say? When will I get rotated again? Where are your girls? Did they already leave? When can I go home? Can I get some pain medicine? Can I get some more?..." These are the conversations that we have had over and over again.
In reply I've found myself having to be simple. Direct. Crystal Clear. Loving. Supportive. Strong.
"Nothing is getting better dad. Your body isn't liking this. We know you want to go home. We are trying to help you dad. We are trying to help you get all of the information you need to make your own choices. To know how you can get home. Mom will be okay, Dad. We will take care of Mom. You will be okay, Dad. Everything is in God's hands."
Today, with as much information as possible, Dad made the decision that he wants to come home. He knows more chemo isn't in the cards for him. He knows that we all want the best for him. He asked each one of us, "Is this the right thing to do?"
So, tomorrow Dad will come home and we will wait for God's will.
Back at 1016 Doyle Avenue, our neighbors the McKee's were God's angels for the day. Just as they were when they resuscitated him last week and advised mom to call 911. They helped us move furniture to make way for a hospital bed. They made us spaghetti dinner. They brought over wine and poured it and we never had to lift a finger. Then we all laughed and shared stories about Dad. I can't wait to do that again - but with him in the room.
In the past week I have personally seen nearly 30 visitors come to the hospital to visit with Dad. He loves you all and we do too for your love for him. Everyone who knows Dad has a story to share. Please share yours too. We love to hear how he has touched others lives.
His questions: "What is my glucose? Blood pressure? Creatin? Platelets? How are my kidneys? Where is the oncologist? What did the kidney doctor say? When will I get rotated again? Where are your girls? Did they already leave? When can I go home? Can I get some pain medicine? Can I get some more?..." These are the conversations that we have had over and over again.
In reply I've found myself having to be simple. Direct. Crystal Clear. Loving. Supportive. Strong.
"Nothing is getting better dad. Your body isn't liking this. We know you want to go home. We are trying to help you dad. We are trying to help you get all of the information you need to make your own choices. To know how you can get home. Mom will be okay, Dad. We will take care of Mom. You will be okay, Dad. Everything is in God's hands."
Today, with as much information as possible, Dad made the decision that he wants to come home. He knows more chemo isn't in the cards for him. He knows that we all want the best for him. He asked each one of us, "Is this the right thing to do?"
So, tomorrow Dad will come home and we will wait for God's will.
Back at 1016 Doyle Avenue, our neighbors the McKee's were God's angels for the day. Just as they were when they resuscitated him last week and advised mom to call 911. They helped us move furniture to make way for a hospital bed. They made us spaghetti dinner. They brought over wine and poured it and we never had to lift a finger. Then we all laughed and shared stories about Dad. I can't wait to do that again - but with him in the room.
In the past week I have personally seen nearly 30 visitors come to the hospital to visit with Dad. He loves you all and we do too for your love for him. Everyone who knows Dad has a story to share. Please share yours too. We love to hear how he has touched others lives.
Monday, 4 June 2012
The Unknown
It's been a while since we've posted. The reason: the unknown.
Dad's cancer has not been kind to him this time around. Not kind at all. Chemo is effective, but it has been slowly deteriorating the rest of him. He's been in pain, immobile, suffering a lot.
Last Friday morning mom found dad not breathing. Our neighbors resuscitated him and he was taken to the hospital via ambulance. He's been there for 4 days.
By now, all of us children have flown home. We are keeping vigil by his side at the hospital. He's still fighting. Still determined to beat cancer and get better. In the meantime, the following is not on his side: glucose levels, kidneys, his heart, bedsores, pneumonia...it just keeps coming.
Today we had many tough conversations. Tough conversations and strange conversations. We talked about gremlins and skiing in between topics like dialysis and intubation. Every hour is an emotional roller coaster. We can be mad at him for his stubborn nature or we can be proud of his courage and strength and perseverance. He is definitely a strong and determined man. He believes in miracles.
So today we pray in the way God taught us to: Thy Kingdom Come. Thy Will Be Done.
Dad's cancer has not been kind to him this time around. Not kind at all. Chemo is effective, but it has been slowly deteriorating the rest of him. He's been in pain, immobile, suffering a lot.
Last Friday morning mom found dad not breathing. Our neighbors resuscitated him and he was taken to the hospital via ambulance. He's been there for 4 days.
By now, all of us children have flown home. We are keeping vigil by his side at the hospital. He's still fighting. Still determined to beat cancer and get better. In the meantime, the following is not on his side: glucose levels, kidneys, his heart, bedsores, pneumonia...it just keeps coming.
Today we had many tough conversations. Tough conversations and strange conversations. We talked about gremlins and skiing in between topics like dialysis and intubation. Every hour is an emotional roller coaster. We can be mad at him for his stubborn nature or we can be proud of his courage and strength and perseverance. He is definitely a strong and determined man. He believes in miracles.
So today we pray in the way God taught us to: Thy Kingdom Come. Thy Will Be Done.
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