After The Roses, There Are Thorns

    My father died today.  He was 92 years old.  He lived in this world, born in San Francisco in 1920.

  If Dad was around this is about the only worded obit he would approve of.  Not much for excess, ego or detail there.  Allow me the indulgence to expand some.  Although the last four years since Mom died he has mostly been sad, he has enjoyed many days and moments.

  He didn't miss a beat with his enjoyment of food, up to the last night he spent at home.  Whenever he came across a baby or a little one, he was happy to be in their presence.  Dexter and Oliver were his new buddies, and visits from Traci and Kevin him happy. He always looked forward to seeing his children, Hingee, Mike (his caretaker) and me.  He loved to be a grandfather. Dexter would often visit twice a day before and after school.   Dad watched  (too much) television and enjoyed the old western shows and the goofy financial shows.  He became obsessed with offers from Publishers Clearinghouse and Readers Digest.  He didn't like to go out much (the former athlete did not want his lack of mobility to show) but when he did, he usually was pleased with the experience.  He didn't look forward to many visitors outside of immediate family but after they visited (especially Mom's circle of friends dedicated to her and his well-being), he felt loved.  He was excited when the  SF Giants won their first World Series in 2010, and if not as thrilled in 2012, still happy that the team won their second World Series.

   It was late last year that he let us know that he was willing to going out more, to do things he previously declined. He was curious about the world outside.  Dad even spoke of going to a Giants game for next season.  Going out to eat in different restaurants, or old places long since visited (the Wharf), or nutty places (Museum Mechanique) and recently the Academy of Sciences.  After two visits, there was hope that this would continue as Dad discovered a sense of wonder again, and because of this I began to appreciate this hyped venue, as somewhere special. 

   Dad initiated my interest in tropical fish which is something I'd forgotten about since he hasn't had any fish in his house in 30 years.  Sitting in front of tanks of clear 15 foot acrylic he was in a peaceful place gazing at the path of different fish as they swam by.  I haven't witnessed him as this in a long time- certainly not in front of a television where he rarely moves or reacts.

    He was perfectly willing to try the earthquake simulator (you sit in a set of a room in San Francisco and feel the rocking and shifting).  By using the Academy's time travel machine, we went back to 1989 and 1906, and survived again the crashing of plate tectonics. He enjoyed lunch in the cafeteria especially our second visit when it was not as crowded earlier in the morning.  Sitting by the rays,sharks he laughed when a ray spooked by another, splashed him and Oliver. Most impressive and enjoyable was our journey to the rainforest area of the Academy.  First, the warmer climate is suited to Dad's preference and he was very comfortable in the moist heat. We were sweating bullets but Dad was completely comfortable.

     For whatever reason, my father was a butterfly babe magnet;  they gravitated to him.  Perhaps it is his scent and or texture but several sets of flying wings landed on his arms, shoulders and head. Relaxed, the butterflies sat, calm and rested.  They chose him!  Dad was delighted to a point of absolute bemusement and joy.  These moments were funny and touching for all of us.  Little children would walk by pointing at the old guy with butterflies on his head.  He would react with a smile and a look as "what can I do?"  On our second visit just this recent Sunday (1/27) one of the butterflies landed on Dad's ear, and he said quietly to Oliver, "he's whispering something to me".

    Unable to speak clearly he leaned back into me and held my hand.  Gripping my palm and fingers tightly it felt as if he was holding on as hard as he could.  Soon I laid him on his back and he seemed to fall asleep. At the time it  he relaxed to rest and was breathing fine.  I don't know when but Dad had transitioned to a coma.  A break of an artery led to severe bleeding into his brain.  He gave his last burst of life to me before he left holding my hand as he never gained consciousness. 

     Dad had fallen the night before but said he didn't feel pain.  He was very confused and perhaps we should have recognized the change, by how different he acted .  Persuaded to eat, he seemed to come around. Concerned about the loss of a lower tooth, he wanted us to exhaust all avenues in getting this tooth repaired, fixed by the next day before his luncheon with Mom's friends, Helen, Blossom, Bessie and May Fong.  He admitted to being vain about his pretty teeth.  Also he thanked us for being around and helping him "I don't know what I did to deserve you guys.".  I told Dad that the returns were earned  and  we were happy to do so.  In words this is as much as Dad would ever give, and he meant it for all of us; in the room with him, for Hingee and Mike, Traci and Kevin, and all who thought about him.

     I will miss the absence of my father.  Although terribly saddened I am grateful that there is no unfinished business between us.   It is that absence and the loss of his smile and laugh that hurts. The feeling that Dexter and Oliver will no longer see him.  George Chew, 1920-2013.  A good man.  My dear old Dad.

    He had directed us to keep him from being kept alive in a vegetable state.  Everyone at Kaiser was very helpful and compassionate.  In the evening as i sat with him I realized that this would be the last night I would share with my father.   A PBS World War 2 documentary my sister had selected played on the television set and I sat with Dad until midnight.  I hoped that he could hear me, even if his body implied that he did not.



    



   the title possibly goes back to Shakespeare but i took it from a song by Rosanne Cash