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You are here: Home / Open Threads / Another Late Night Rambling Open Thread

Another Late Night Rambling Open Thread

by John Cole|  February 9, 201212:40 am| 107 Comments

This post is in: Open Threads

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Mom and dad went to Pittsburgh tonight to hang out with my sister Devon, and they all went out to eat, and dad apparently had a veggie burger wrapped in lettuce and has taken the heart attack as a serious warning. I know this is hard to believe, but both he and I are very healthy eaters- not in the “Wow, you cleaned your plate, what a healthy eater,” but as in, neither one of us eats crap. I’ve even had my personal physician remark that I have remarkably low blood pressure, triglycerides, cholesterol, and all the other bad shit, despite being a fat bastard. The thing is, I don’t eat junk food, I don’t eat potato chips or garbage like that, nor does he. I eat a ton of vegetables and lots of lean meats and reward myself with red meat every now and then. My problem has always been portion control (not to mention the calories from wine and scotch). I just eat too fucking much.

At any rate, was talking to dad tonight about what we would eat tomorrow, because every successful diet (not that you can really call them a success when I am where I am- in reality, they failed pretty bad) was based around planning ahead. So I called him, laid out my plan for tomorrow, and he told me “I think this might be easier for me than you, because I’ve kind of lost my appetite.” Now, my dad is a gourmet cook. He’s always been, hands down, the best cook I know. When I go to good restaurants, I don’t order things he has made, because I know they will not be as good. So I asked- “Why don’t you have your appetite back?”

And it wasn’t anything physical, as he told me that “When you are lying on a bed with a catheter going through your body, and the doctor says ‘this guy might need major surgery’ and then says ‘wow, I got the wire through, you are a lucky man,’ you just kind of lose your appetite.” Dad said that in a timid and wistful kind of voice, and it just was weird.

Dad was and is the strongest person I’ve ever known. He could do anything. He knew how to cook anything, build anything, make anything, fix anything, and he was always standing up to people doing the wrong thing. I remember him moving refrigerators by himself when I was a kid. Even when I was a bastard as a teenager (and believe you me, I was- the stories I could tell. Hell, the stories our neighbors could tell) I was in awe of him. He was mayor of our town for 20+ years, and he was always the one to tell his co-workers at the university that something was wrong, and always the first one to stand up for co-workers when they were slighted. He was the first one to make sure that people who had no money in town were given food, he was the one who made sure all the decorations were done for the church for Christmas and Easter, and at 6’3″, he was always an imposing man. Every single one of my friends who ever met him, male and female, were afraid of him.

But the past few days, he’s been a bit subdued. It was weird for me listening to the strongest, most decent man I have ever known sound scared when I talked to him while he was in the hospital. It was weird saying “I love you” the other night as he was lying on a gurney, as we are a good German family and we don’t do that public display bullshit. We all understand it. There is no reason to say it. We all know it and understand it. And it was weird thinking about a world without mom and dad.

I guess maybe it is because I don’t have kids, and don’t have the rebirth aspect of the spectrum- all I have is the image of me in the mirror, older, greyer, softer, and most definitely wider, and my parents, a little older and a little slower and a littler crankier (but still as stubborn and argumentative)- there are no toddlers or kids playing soccer. So I guess maybe I just have the aging wing of the lifespan spectrum, but it just all seems so weird. None of this was ever in my thoughts a decade ago.

But it sure is now. Time for some Lily therapy with a Rosie finish. And I warned you this would be rambling.

BTW- Here is your reward for making it to the bottom of this post:

I just LURV that dog. Even as the arthritis sets in to my right shoulder, and I’m pretty much in pain all day every day, I look at that face and think “I’d rather have her than the whole damned arm.” And I love Rosie and Tunch, too, but there is just something about Lily. She is the one.

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107Comments

  1. 1.

    srv

    February 9, 2012 at 12:44 am

    God, don’t tell us we’re going to get a year of pics of veggie bbq parties and tofu recipes.

  2. 2.

    Bill H.

    February 9, 2012 at 12:44 am

    Rambling but kind of nice, John. I get it. My Dad died about thirty years ago, at age 72, of cancer. We were close, I’m told I am pretty much a clone of him, and there was a lot between us that was never said. But it was very much there. Ramble away like that any time you want. I enjoy reading it.

  3. 3.

    metalgirl

    February 9, 2012 at 12:48 am

    Thanks for your ramblings. I’m close to having these experiences with my parents (in KY and I’m in NC) so I appreciate your concerns, in advance, and hope to learn from them. Keep them coming :)

  4. 4.

    Villago Delenda Est

    February 9, 2012 at 12:48 am

    Cole, you ramble coherently. Which I can’t say of a lot of other ramblers.

  5. 5.

    feebog

    February 9, 2012 at 12:51 am

    Called my Mom and Dad, aged 88 and 91 repectively, tonight. They live in Washington State, while I’m down here in SoCal. My sister, who bears the brunt in terms of care for them is on vacation in the Carribean, so I have tried to call them every other day or so.

    Your dad will get over this eventually, he has faced the truth that we are all going to die someday. Most of us know it, but don’t believe it. Until something like a heart attach makes it all too real. The best thing you can do for your Dad right now is take care of yourself, so you can be there for him over the long haul.

  6. 6.

    cay

    February 9, 2012 at 12:55 am

    seemed like you needed this:

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pfwY2TNehw

  7. 7.

    dead existentialist

    February 9, 2012 at 12:57 am

    What you’re feeling is what the Bard called the “rub.”

  8. 8.

    freelancer

    February 9, 2012 at 1:02 am

    The way you describe your dad, he reminds me of my Dad. My dad isn’t a big guy or a “man’s man” or any of that macho bullshit (Aside from being able to fix or engineer anything ever invented in the history of man). He’s simply a quiet Titan of a moral human being. I have huge Catholic families on both sides and with the distant relations I’m close with, they all remark, to a person, that they all have a unique and deep admiration for my Dad as a man and see him as a model for what makes a great father or husband or uncle or anything really.

    Our immediate family, we’d always kind of gone the unspoken route that yeah, we love each other and it’s a default state so it goes unmentioned, but since we started losing elders, my brother getting married, and me moving across the country, we’ve been much more open about how we feel with each other. It was weird at first but now it’s commonplace and reassuring.

    John, I hope you have many more years with your Mom and Dad and that your relationship with your parents is at least half as rewarding as mine is with my family. As much as you feel like you’re still this child in the presence of this God-like, amazing figure, I can tell you comfortably that your Dad looks upon you with Pride, Love, and a sense that “Wow, my son did it his own way and it’s a path I never could have seen myself taking. I couldn’t be more proud,” and there’s a unique admiration and respect that fathers have for their sons that cannot be reciprocated. Children educate their parents in ways that usually go unmentioned but the impact is there and irrefutable.

  9. 9.

    Cat Lady

    February 9, 2012 at 1:02 am

    I worry about my single friends as they age. I have several of them, and also know a couple of couples that don’t have kids who are getting older. That old joke about being nice to your kids because they choose your nursing home is true. The part of your life that happens before you need to go to a nursing home is the worrisome part, when you need all kinds of stuff done for yourself – bodily (ugh) and otherwise. I’ve done those things for my mother and expect my daughters to do the same for me. May I suggest that having loving daughters is a good life strategy.

  10. 10.

    Sarah Proud and Tall

    February 9, 2012 at 1:04 am

    You’re a good man, Charlie BrownCole.

  11. 11.

    John Cole

    February 9, 2012 at 1:05 am

    @cay: That was amazing.

  12. 12.

    MagicPanda

    February 9, 2012 at 1:06 am

    John, that was moving. Best of luck to your dad. May he live another 20 or 30 years.

  13. 13.

    Mike in NC

    February 9, 2012 at 1:06 am

    Good friend and neighbor (70 something) suffered a heart attack on Super Bowl Sunday. Went in for a quadruple bypass that night. We’re all hoping for the best.

  14. 14.

    NobodySpecial

    February 9, 2012 at 1:06 am

    @Cat Lady: Yeah, well, it takes two to tango, and despite the inundation of bullshit from dating websites, some of us evidently deserve to live alone.

  15. 15.

    SIA

    February 9, 2012 at 1:07 am

    What you wrote touched me. You have the twin gifts of awareness and honesty. Wish my dad was still here. Good stuff John.

  16. 16.

    gwangung

    February 9, 2012 at 1:12 am

    Hmph. This all strikes too close to home.

  17. 17.

    freelancer

    February 9, 2012 at 1:13 am

    @cay:

    I’ve posted that several times back when I had my own site and I’ve said repeatedly that if I had the cash, that would be my Superbowl ad.

    Pale Blue Dot remains the best piece of writing I’ve ever read in my entire life.

  18. 18.

    MaximusNYC

    February 9, 2012 at 1:13 am

    I remember when I first became aware of my dad’s vulnerability. I was about 11; my baby brother was in the hospital for a few weeks due to a severe burn, and my parents were taking shifts staying with him round the clock. They were both very sleep-deprived. At some point my dad, in a fog, slipped and fell and hit his head on the kitchen counter. I didn’t see it happen, but I saw him with a giant bandage on his head afterward. Not the same as a heart attack, but to 11-year-old me, it was strange and scary.

    4 and a half years ago, he emailed to tell me he had multiple myeloma, a very aggressive blood cancer. I felt an even deeper chill that day. He lived less than 2 years after that.

  19. 19.

    Cat Lady

    February 9, 2012 at 1:15 am

    @NobodySpecial:

    There are so many divorces and single people I know just barely getting by, etc. I just worry about how all of these people I know are going to manage getting infirm. The days of large families all living in close proximity have largely passed, and it’s something I think about a lot. It sucks getting old. Health and insurance are huge issues for a lot of aging boomers.

  20. 20.

    freelancer

    February 9, 2012 at 1:18 am

    Consider again that Pale Blue Dot we’ve been talking about.

  21. 21.

    JR

    February 9, 2012 at 1:19 am

    Hey JC, speaking of the furballs, my wife and I are thinking of adopting a second dog to go with our pit mix and domestic shorthair cat. Since you went through the same thing, any thoughts? Did Lily get anxiety about the new critter? How did Tunch take it? Our dog and cat were adopted together, so neither one has had to incorporate another animal, and I’m interested how the process went, and how you feel about it in hindsight.

  22. 22.

    divF

    February 9, 2012 at 1:21 am

    Ramble away – it’s your privilege as our host.

    And if it helps you to appreciate your Dad by reflecting on his character and virtues, all the better. He sounds like a great guy.

  23. 23.

    Bago

    February 9, 2012 at 1:26 am

    Losing. It’s the present participle of ‘to lose’. Loosing is what Internet terrorists do to the English language.

  24. 24.

    Bethanyanne

    February 9, 2012 at 1:27 am

    Hey John, any of the new tag lines make it onto the site?

  25. 25.

    SectarianSofa

    February 9, 2012 at 1:27 am

    Thanks for the rambling. Best to you and your loved ones.

  26. 26.

    whetstone

    February 9, 2012 at 1:29 am

    “we are a good German family and we don’t do that public display bullshit”

    same here. every family has its own range of expression–a little gesture is as much as operatic drama, depending on who you are.

  27. 27.

    Linda Featheringill

    February 9, 2012 at 1:29 am

    It’s not unusual for heart attack victims to become depressed. They “lose heart” so to speak. If your dad has lost his appetite, he might be going into a depression. Maybe your mom could talk to his doctor. They have some very nice medicines nowadays and older folks tend to respond very well to the chemical therapy.

  28. 28.

    Lynn Sutherland

    February 9, 2012 at 1:32 am

    You do such an incredible job of giving voice to your (and our) humanity. Makes our life on this blue dot less lonely. Thank you.

  29. 29.

    John Cole

    February 9, 2012 at 1:33 am

    @Bethanyanne: I forgot. Do you remember the thread.

    @JR: I think it is all bullshit, to be honest. You want to add another pet to the mix, go for it. You’re adding a domesticated animal (a dog) to two domesticated animals already there. Just set the tone and they will follow. I was initially worried about Rosie near Tunch, but all I had to do was make sure Rosie knew she was loved and taken care of, and she was fine around Tunch. Hell, most of the time these days, it is Tunch on one side and Rosie on the other, because Lily prefers the dog bed or under the blankets on the human bed.

    In other words, do it. Set the boundaries and the animals will follow, so long as you are not adding a wolf or coyote to the mix.

  30. 30.

    cbear

    February 9, 2012 at 1:40 am

    @John Cole:

    Set the boundaries and the animals will follow, so long as you are not adding a wolf or coyote to the mix.

    Hmm, interesting.
    What if you already have a wolf and a coyote–and are considering adding a honey badger to your home?
    Bad idea?

  31. 31.

    Hal

    February 9, 2012 at 1:42 am

    I’ve even had my personal physician remark that I have remarkably low blood pressure, triglycerides, cholesterol, and all the other bad shit, despite being a fat bastard.

    As another fat bastard, I always joke to my friends and family that my PCP always seems disappointed when my diabetes blood tests come back negative.

    “Don’t worry, it’ll happen one day!” Great Doc, can’t wait to make you happy.

  32. 32.

    Jebediah

    February 9, 2012 at 1:46 am

    Beautiful post. I miss my dad.

  33. 33.

    Jebediah

    February 9, 2012 at 1:52 am

    @JR:

    We added Otto to a house that already had one dog and one cat. One piece of advice we were given was to introduce the two dogs far away from the house, so Daisy’s first reaction wouldn’t be that her territory was being invaded. We did that, and everything was fine.
    When we added Juno, (Daisy having passed about five years before) we didn’t do that, partially because we couldn’t believe that Otto, a 90 pound American Staffordshire, was going to feel the slightest threat from a 7.5 pound dog. They, too, have been fine ever since, but I still think the introduce them away from the house method is better, especially if your dog is particularly territorial.

  34. 34.

    handsmile

    February 9, 2012 at 1:53 am

    Not so very rambling, John Cole, but a deeply moving expression of your love for your father.

    Confronted starkly by the mortality of one’s parents, one begins to reflect solemnly on personal history, values, and prospects. It should humble and, if fortunate, inspire one.

    From your late night posts over the past several weeks, it seems that you are grappling with profound matters. It’s awkward to write this to a person whom I will know only through a (computer) glass darkly, but best wishes to you for clarity of vision and calmness of body and spirit.

  35. 35.

    Chet

    February 9, 2012 at 2:01 am

    Charles Murray and Bobo say you and your dad need to get over this effete elitist preoccupation with personal health and get acquainted with the Applebee(‘)s and non-Obamacare-covered defibrillators of Real America.

  36. 36.

    piratedan

    February 9, 2012 at 2:01 am

    @cbear: no, everyone knows that honeybadgers are unreliable as thirds… you might consider a skunk tho, they have no issues setting their own boundaries…. :-)

  37. 37.

    Rawk Chawk

    February 9, 2012 at 2:03 am

    Best to you, John.

    My dad has been gone for 25 years. Died the day after my son was born. It was a weird time…birth and death/cycle of life stuff.

    One of the human conditions is that we can KNOW we are mortal, yet not really BELIEVE or accept that knowledge; it seems ridiculous somehow.

    What your dad is going thru seems like a completely normal part of the recovery process; and a mourning for the loss of the illusion of immortality. Maybe some good news is that once the process is complete, this experience can bestow more clarity and a sense of purpose and appreciation on the rest of his life. Sometimes a brush with mortality renders one more free…

    I think in the end, everything will be fine. For all of us.

  38. 38.

    pseudonymous in nc

    February 9, 2012 at 2:11 am

    What handsmile said: your parents’ mortality creeps up on you and whacks you.

    @freelancer:

    My dad isn’t a big guy or a “man’s man” or any of that macho bullshit (Aside from being able to fix or engineer anything ever invented in the history of man).</blockquote

    Likewise mine. I think a lot of the "man's man" stuff is mostly fiction, anyway: what I associate with my dad is fairness, responsibility and pride in a job well done. So you try and carry those values with you, as best you can. (I don't care much for Denis Leary, but the bit at the end of No Cure For Cancer where he talks about his dad, which may be a bit too close for comfort right now, is authentic and well done.)

    Small comfort, perhaps, but the stuff your dad heard from the doctors? 20 years ago, they’d have been pulling out the power tools. The options are better, the outcomes are better, the support networks are better.

  39. 39.

    Odie Hugh Manatee

    February 9, 2012 at 2:13 am

    This hits me in that while my father is still alive I will never feel about him the way that you do, even when he finally passes. That’s his fault though, he walked out on his family when I was seven and he never looked back. Depressing as that is your post didn’t make me feel bad. I have two kids that look up to me and I hope one day that they relate to others how they feel about me as well as you have done here.

    You’re a good man John Cole, your Dad is too. Good health to you and your family.

  40. 40.

    Stan

    February 9, 2012 at 2:13 am

    Shit, John, you sure got me misting up. I was an assholescent too, but I never got the chance to really repair things the way you and your dad seem to have. I sat with him thru two cancers (his), and the love was there, but there was a ‘great gulf fixed’ between us until the end. You are a lucky man, and so is he. Be joyful.

  41. 41.

    dead existentialist

    February 9, 2012 at 2:14 am

    Charlie Pierce wishes Ronald Reagan a happy 101st birthday

    ETA: Trying to add a little levity here.

  42. 42.

    Ruckus

    February 9, 2012 at 2:15 am

    Worked alongside my dad for 30 years. Went from being the boss’s boy to being his boss. I had to make him stop working for his own and others safety. Within 5 years his alzheimers was beginning to be noticeable. Within 3 years he was confined to a home where he spent the last 10 years of his life. The first time we hugged was when he was 75 and going into that home. But from when I was 12 till he didn’t know who I was he called me sir. And I him. That respect for others was only one of many things he taught me. I had to unlearn hiding my feelings. That he taught me that I could change to be any person I wanted to be was one of the greatest things. Cherish those people and animals around you for they can be gone in an instant and most of them can never be replaced. It is a universal lesson that some of us learn the hard way because it is too late.

  43. 43.

    Politically Lost

    February 9, 2012 at 2:15 am

    Jealous of you John.

    My personal experience with fathers has been generally negative.

    A non-asshole, non-violent, male influence seems to me…rare.

  44. 44.

    Maude

    February 9, 2012 at 2:22 am

    @Politically Lost:
    I’m so sorry that happened to you. My father was mean, but not violent.

  45. 45.

    Ruckus

    February 9, 2012 at 2:24 am

    @Rawk Chawk:
    Sometimes a brush with mortality renders one more free…

    The couple of times I have come very close were eye opening for me. Quite a few years ago I was hit by a truck. At night(that’s important). As I went under the truck all the lights disappeared, my wind was knocked out, and I had to wonder if this was what dying was like. Oh by the way I was not in a car at the time. And yes it has made me look at life just a little differently. And I think better.

  46. 46.

    Redshift

    February 9, 2012 at 2:26 am

    I’m having a lot of the same things. My parents are pretty healthy, but my dad had a minor stroke a few years ago, and my mom had a hip replacement last month, and has had various eye surgeries. It has put me to thinking that they’re not going to be around forever, and I’m not getting any younger myself.

    I don’t have a particular point. Other than an uncle who died when I was pretty young, and one grandmother, most of my close relatives died before I was born, so I don’t have much experience to draw on. Which is actually mostly a good thing, I guess.

    Anyway, I suppose the closest thing I have to a point is “I hear ya.”

  47. 47.

    Mary G

    February 9, 2012 at 2:28 am

    My dad died in 1967 and the few people still around that remember him are precious to me. In 2001 I had to stop working after 20+ years of severe rheumatoid arthritis and I moved in with my mom at the age of 45. We both dreaded it as our relationship wasn’t always the best, but it worked out great.

    We were able to deal with each other as adults and work through a lot of stuff (without a lot of words, as we also don’t talk much about things). I lost her in October 2010 and I am so grateful for those nine years. Enjoy your mom and dad while you have them. It is hard to watch them slow down.

    I didn’t have kids because I was on so many teratogenic drugs and used to worry about growing old alone, but now that it has happened I am OK. I am lucky to have friends and neighbors that sometimes take more care of me than I really want. They are my real family.

  48. 48.

    Redshift

    February 9, 2012 at 2:30 am

    @Politically Lost: Sorry you didn’t get to have a better experience. The worst thing about my dad is that he can be kind of annoying, which I know is a really mild complaint.

    A few weeks ago, when I was asked how my parents were doing, my response was that my mom was doing surprisingly well after her hip replacement, and my dad was doing well enough to annoy her. ;-)

  49. 49.

    duck-billed placelot

    February 9, 2012 at 2:32 am

    @Hal: At the risk of a pile-on from other commenters, fatness and poor health are not the same thing. They’re just not. A stupid number of people have done long-term damange to their health and metabolisms with dieting, which is usually about being not-fat instead of about making healthier choices, and doctors that behave this way aren’t helping.

  50. 50.

    Ruckus

    February 9, 2012 at 2:33 am

    @Politically Lost:
    Sorry to hear that. Sure wish I understood why people have to be assholes to each other. Especially parents to their kids. What in the hell do they get out of it? Sometimes it seems bad enough to have semi normal parents. OK, at least one semi normal parent. And then I remember the kids that lived up the street. They came home from school to find one parent had shot the other and then committed suicide. My life as a kid didn’t seem nearly as bad from then on.

  51. 51.

    freelancer

    February 9, 2012 at 2:36 am

    @Odie Hugh Manatee:

    This hits me in that while my father is still alive I will never feel about him the way that you do, even when he finally passes. That’s his fault though, he walked out on his family when I was seven and he never looked back. Depressing as that is your post didn’t make me feel bad. I have two kids that look up to me and I hope one day that they relate to others how they feel about me as well as you have done here.

    This is the story of my mother’s father who has been slowly curing in Parker, AZ. I just feel grateful that though I sometimes have his self-destructive tendencies, I was raised by a family that has ensured that I could never repeat his major mistakes through a moral upbringing that abandonment just simply would not be an option. Though it’s not through this pathway for you, I’m glad you came out the other side of your experience okay.

  52. 52.

    moe99

    February 9, 2012 at 2:37 am

    After 2+ years of dealing with lung cancer, I’ve lost my appetite as well. Weird to watch the pounds disappear when all my adult life, post children, has been the opposite. I’m down to a size 8 which I haven’t seen for almost 40 years. See if your dad can get a prescription for Dronabinol, the capsule form of marijuana. it’s legal and it works.

  53. 53.

    Rita R.

    February 9, 2012 at 2:38 am

    I think what you’re both feeling is pretty normal, and I was going to suggest what Linda did about depression not being uncommon after a heart attack.

    @Linda Featheringill:

    I’m thinking the rambling is actually pretty therapeutic in itself, just putting your thoughts down and thinking them through. Also, too, doggies!

  54. 54.

    Valdivia

    February 9, 2012 at 2:43 am

    Totally understand you John. Going through more or less the same thing on this end with my Dad. Glad to know yours is ok. Stay strong.

  55. 55.

    Ruckus

    February 9, 2012 at 2:45 am

    @Redshift:
    My life sounds like the opposite. People started dying when I was 10 and it’s been pretty constent ever since. The thing is some of those deaths hit harder than others. Some times I have been caught totally off guard by what their death has meant to me. And others it has been, cycle of life. And I have noticed that many others have the same response, just about different people than me. When my dad passed it was almost a relief as he had suffered a lot for years and I don’t think he really had any idea what was going on around him.

  56. 56.

    Jebediah

    February 9, 2012 at 2:54 am

    BTW love the pic of Lily looking all coy and cute.

  57. 57.

    Elizabelle

    February 9, 2012 at 3:09 am

    Insomniac film alert: rarely aired B&W movie from 1964, “One Potato, Two Potato” about an interracial marriage/child custody case on Turner Classic Movies now.

    Filmed in Paynesville, Ohio.

    Independent film; star Barbara Barrie won Best Actress at Cannes that year.

  58. 58.

    Yutsano

    February 9, 2012 at 3:12 am

    My dad and I have a strange complex yet oddly functional relationship. I think it’s because I’m the only one of his kids who ever told him off. After that day he treated me differently. And somehow I got a lot of the things I wanted afterwards. He just knew I was gonna grow up okay. And he’s still amazingly healthy after all these years.

  59. 59.

    Arundel

    February 9, 2012 at 3:17 am

    Cole, your rambling is wonderful, and it’s not just rambling. You’re speaking honestly and openly about your feelings, your dealing with what a lot of us have to around this time of life. And with good grace and humor.

  60. 60.

    taylormattd

    February 9, 2012 at 3:18 am

    Cole, I can’t tell you how much I love these posts. Seriously. You capture the shit that all of us think, period. I’m gay, and I don’t want this post to sound uber queer, but jesus, it’s wonderful to read this stuff. Anyway. Listen to your dad. And I will do my damndest not to get the pulled pork sandwich at lunch tomorrow.

  61. 61.

    LongHairedWeirdo

    February 9, 2012 at 3:48 am

    One thing about your dad: heart issues have a major effect on mood. I don’t just mean “holy *shit* this is *MY HEART*!”

    I mean, if I work out too hard, so my heart is tired, my mood goes to hell. I can easily feel whipped, despairing, etc.. In fact, some patients report as a heart attack symptom “a feeling of impending doom”.

    Now, with me, if I work out too hard, my heart *is* fundamentally sound. I’ll be fine in a day (or, if I was *really* stupid, two days). But recovering from a heart attack? I assume that takes longer. If you, and he, realize that the heart’s state can have a strong effect on mood, it might help. Knowing that one’s body is making one depressed helps a bit.

    (As for losing weight – I again strongly recommend considering cutting back on carbohydrates. Not, you know, Atkins level (though Atkins calls for more vegetables than most people realize), but my experience – for me, and my body – is that if I’m not eating sweets or starches, I just don’t feel like eating more than my body needs. I might reach for a handful of nuts, and realize that, okay, I want *two* – I want to taste them – but I’m just not hungry. Of course, you and I are totally different people, so what works for me might not for you. But I’m always surprised when I go back on a controlled-carb diet and find my eating habits just changing naturally.)

  62. 62.

    Yutsano

    February 9, 2012 at 3:49 am

    @taylormattd:

    And I will do my damndest not to get the pulled pork sandwich at lunch tomorrow.

    A) You only live once. Well like this anyway. No telling about the after.

    B) Most pulled pork is made from shoulder meat, which is usually pretty lean. So it’s not tremendously bad for you. I make no testaments about the sauce though. :)

  63. 63.

    Elizabelle

    February 9, 2012 at 4:50 am

    Great picture of Miss Lily.

  64. 64.

    GG

    February 9, 2012 at 4:51 am

    My Dad died on Valentine’s Day. It’s a fucking good thing I never gave a shit about that stupid card holiday anyway. Because by that point in our relationship, I really was pretty close to him, and I was so sorry when he died.

    John Cole: just best to you and yours. All of yours.

  65. 65.

    Bobby Thomson

    February 9, 2012 at 5:36 am

    @freelancer:

    there’s a unique admiration and respect that fathers have for their sons that cannot be reciprocated.

    Yep. I didn’t understand that until I had a son. And now I understand what it has meant to my dad to be able to provide me support when I badly needed it.

  66. 66.

    debbie

    February 9, 2012 at 5:41 am

    My dentist (and longtime family friend) had a major heart attack and was similarly timid afterwards. But as time passed and he realized it wasn’t about to happen again, he began to relax and regain his former spirit. I think most traumas are like this.

  67. 67.

    Raven

    February 9, 2012 at 6:03 am

    My dad was a WWII destroyer sailor with 36 landings in the Pacific, a coach, teacher, school administrator, fitness fanatic and one of the most playful people to walk the face of the earth. He died from heart disease at 82 even though he kept working and working out 6 months before he died. Treasure each day and get off your ass and get in shape.

  68. 68.

    amk

    February 9, 2012 at 6:21 am

    Glad your dad is out of the hospital and is with his family now. Here to his good recovery.

  69. 69.

    Odie Hugh Manatee

    February 9, 2012 at 6:37 am

    @freelancer:

    I remember the absence of him, how I felt about not having a “Dad”, even if he was a violent, drunken asshole, and vowed that my kids would never feel that way about me. I used to hate him but with age I have learned that was a waste of emotion, now I just don’t care. I’m here for my wife and kids and I will be for as long as I can.

    No, I didn’t become my father and it wasn’t hard at all. All I had to do was remember.

  70. 70.

    ErinSiobhan

    February 9, 2012 at 7:04 am

    Nothing in my life has ever been as hard as watching my father succumb to cancer. Because of my dad, I grew up thinking that men could fix anything. And that they could fix it quietly, competently, with no fuss. Unfortunately, this does not apply to cancer.

    Seven months passed between his diagnosis and his death. And I swear, my heart broke at least a dozen times. When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I found that it could.

    So feel free to ramble on any time. A lot of us understand.

  71. 71.

    HeartlandLiberal

    February 9, 2012 at 7:13 am

    You bring back intense memories of my dad, who died what we now think of as young, only 62 years old. He was diagnosed at 59 with lymphoma. It was acute, and he fought hard, but there was no stopping it.

    I was traveling in Germany at the time of his death. I had said goodbye to him before flying off, both of us knowing we might never see each other again in this life. I learned of his death while sitting in a phone booth in a little village south of Tuebingen on the Neckar River in Germany. Well, then it was “West” Germany. This was thirty years ago.

    My brothers and I remember our dad as a tense, impatient man, but one who devoted every moment of his life to making a good life for us, making sure we had shelter, medical care, encouraging us to go to school and make something of ourselves.

    He was the kind of Southern Man (Alabama), who was driven to do right and good for his fellow man, and help when and wherever he could.

    I had my brothers have this inscribed on his tombstone, a reference to the Good Samaritan parable in the bible:

    “He stopped to help when others passed by.”

    I can think of few greater things to say of a father.

  72. 72.

    Lojasmo

    February 9, 2012 at 7:13 am

    My mom died 1-1-10 of esophageal cancer. We had been estranged for thirteen years because she was an abusive drunk. I miss her, but don’t question my decision not to see her. You are a lucky dude, John.

    Sounds like papa cole may have a touch of situational depression. It should pass.

    Who the hell would have an appetite for a veggie burger, anyway? Yuck.

  73. 73.

    Keith G

    February 9, 2012 at 7:23 am

    Your dad is just going through what most of us who have spent a night in an ICU, while calls were quickly made to family, have gone through. One is likely to evaluate, reassess, and contemplate a whole lot of things. For some, it may take a while to reach an understanding of what has passed and what needs to happen. For even the strongest of spirits, this is a quite a task.

    Cole, reread info on the grieving process, as that is what all of your family is likely to go through in one form or another. Though there are always challenges in times like this, your family has a strong and resilient bond.

    Dad will be okay. So will you.

  74. 74.

    Southern Beale

    February 9, 2012 at 7:24 am

    This phony-assed Catholic Church-contraceptive controversy is completely ginned up.

    There, I said it.

  75. 75.

    Lavocat

    February 9, 2012 at 7:30 am

    Looks like someone has been hitting the scotch and reading too much Proust.

    Switch to bourbon and start reading Thompson. That’ll cure what ails ya.

  76. 76.

    gogol's wife

    February 9, 2012 at 7:56 am

    @LongHairedWeirdo:

    I don’t have time to read the whole thread, but this is what I was going to say — depression after a heart event is not unusual. I’m pretty sure it will pass. (One’s consciousness of mortality doesn’t pass, but that acute feeling of hopelessness does go away in a week or so.)

  77. 77.

    Raven

    February 9, 2012 at 8:07 am

    @gogol’s wife: Yep, when my dad had his first heart surgery something went wrong and the sutures on his breast bone failed and they had to go in and do the whole damn thing again. He rallied for an incredible comeback in rehab but when another surgery became necessary I know he just gave up. He’d had enough. That’s when I learned that turning off the machines and being with him when he died was a good thing.

  78. 78.

    The Ancient Randonneur

    February 9, 2012 at 8:11 am

    John I feel ya. My dad died this past June at the age of 82. He smoked like a chimney and gave life the finger at every opportunity. He was playing golf with his buddies a few weeks before he died. He started feeling pain and finally called my brother on the phone and said it was unbearable. At the hospital the diagnosis was cancer. It had ravaged his entire body. He was always sure it was just his sciatica nerve. He was admitted to the hospital and six days later he was gone. I was out of the country so I couldn’t make it back in time. I called him every day while he was hospitalized. At the end of our last conversation I said that I loved him. After I hung up I was puzzled as to why I blurted it out because we NEVER say things like that to one another. He died later that day. I guess on some level I knew it was our final conversation.

    But as I noted above he smoked and refused to quit so it wasn’t a surprise to find out he had cancer. Hey, he made it to 82 which ain’t bad. I was sad to lose him but he went quick and didn’t suffer too long and was able to play almost to the end.

    Never miss a chance to tell the people you care about how you feel about them. You never know.

  79. 79.

    Cassidy

    February 9, 2012 at 8:15 am

    @Raven: We need a BJ fitness group. There are too many people here looking for inspiration and support and enough people here to pass along advice and encouragement.

  80. 80.

    Hillary Rettig

    February 9, 2012 at 8:25 am

    John, Ever since you showed yourself, this blog has opened up in amazing directions. You are gifted at sharing in meaningful ways. I know that some of this was unwilling due to your dad’s condition, but still…gifted.

  81. 81.

    kdaug

    February 9, 2012 at 8:26 am

    Does your dad read this blog?

  82. 82.

    Raven

    February 9, 2012 at 8:26 am

    @Cassidy: My advice comes from Bob Weir

    “I can tell your future
    just look what’s in your hand”.

  83. 83.

    Lee

    February 9, 2012 at 8:27 am

    If you are still paying attention to this thread, I’ve got a story for you.

    My wife is a veterinarian. Her first job out of school sucked (as every vet will tell you it is supposed to suck). The vet at her second job built the business from the ground up (literally). Bought the land, constructed the building, started with nothing. When he hired her he still worked 40+ hours a week at his two different clinics.

    About 8 years into working for him he had a series of heart attacks. He ignored the first two (literally) and after the third the doctor told him if he had a third he probably would not survive. He sold the business and permanently moved to the ranch he owned out in the country. We went down shortly thereafter (while he was still recooperating) and he sounded just as you described your dad.

    We have gone by periodically to visit over the years. He is more active and vibrant NOW than he has been in years. He works the cattle, raises horses, gets into all kinds of trouble. He just tore his spleen working the cattle and had to spend 2 weeks in the hospital.

    I think the initial shock of the heart attacks is like getting the wind knocked out of your life. But with today’s modern medicine and technology it is no longer the ‘end of your life as you know it’ as it used to be. Have him listen to his doctors (and wife) and eventually he’ll be back to kicking your ass.

  84. 84.

    flukebucket

    February 9, 2012 at 8:29 am

    John I sure am glad that I am spending the autumn of my life with you and the other guys here at Balloon-Juice. I am glad I read this post while in a room alone. I have a lot of German blood in me too and we don’t do that misty-eyed shit in public either.

  85. 85.

    Angela

    February 9, 2012 at 9:08 am

    I love the picture of Lily. I love your writing, I love reading about a family that actually is good to and for each other. Gives me hope as my sons grow up.

  86. 86.

    RobZ

    February 9, 2012 at 9:19 am

    Anyone with a coronary atherosclerotic plaque
    problem might want to spend some time reviewing what’s at http://www.trackyourplaque.com/blog/.

  87. 87.

    pika

    February 9, 2012 at 9:26 am

    @Hillary Rettig: THIS.

    And John, as sharp-elbows as this blog can be, it at the same time positively radiates love in all directions. I think times like these are what some mystic yogi types call “radical opening.”

  88. 88.

    vernon

    February 9, 2012 at 10:02 am

    Cole! You read Taibbi’s response to your NYMag Wall Street piece? http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/blogs/taibblog/why-wall-street-should-stop-whining-20120208

  89. 89.

    Paul in KY

    February 9, 2012 at 10:11 am

    Great post John. My father is 88 & has dementia. He is still a generally happy man, though. My mother is 86 & is battling a case of shingles right now. Shingles is some bad shit.

  90. 90.

    Bill H.

    February 9, 2012 at 10:36 am

    I have two fond memories of my father, John. The first was in a field in the New Mexico Rockies where we were vacationing. I was about six or seven and had been thrown by a horse, which was circling the field and charging me. Dad came running out of the cabin, picked up a rock about the size of a grapefruit and stood in front of me holding that rock as the horse charged. I can still see him in my mind’s eye, standing there, feet slightly apart, looking like a giant as he faced that oncoming horse. He hit that crittur between the eyes with that rock, and never let go of the rock; it was still in his hand when the horse went down. You did not mess with my father’s family.

    The other is one I saw many times. He would reach for a crying infant, take the baby in his arms and whisper gently in the baby’s ear and within a few seconds the baby would not only quit crying but would smile. I never saw that fail.

    Seeing him in the frailty of old age was uncomforatble, but he was comfortable with it. He loved being an “old guy” and was at peace with life right up to the end. Dads are a unique influence on a person’s life.

  91. 91.

    Ross F

    February 9, 2012 at 10:38 am

    Hi Cole. I recently went through a very similar series of events with my father (heart surgery, and so forth). The depression that follows can be very difficult. With you nearby, however, it will make all the difference in the world for your father. It might take up to a year to recover, but your father will eventually feel much better and happier. Thanks for sharing this with us. And best wishes to you and your family.

  92. 92.

    Violet

    February 9, 2012 at 11:01 am

    John, I love your posts. Your dad sounds like a wonderful guy and you are both lucky to have each other and be so close to each other. It’s only been a few days, so it’s pretty normal he’s still reeling from what happened to him. He’ll most likely get back to something close to his old self, but it could take time.

    Others are right about the depression. It’s extremely common in older folks and very, very under-diagnosed. I learned this with one of my parents, who never in a million years I would have thought would or could have been depressed. The antidepressants worked wonders. Keep an eye on your dad and don’t be afraid to suggest the depression thing both to your mom, your dad and even your dad’s doctor if you don’t seem improvement in your dad.

    Best of luck to all of you.

  93. 93.

    CynDee

    February 9, 2012 at 11:07 am

    This was a beautiful post, John. It’s an honor to know more about your wonderful Dad and family. We they LURV you just as much as you do Lily, and who but a child of such parents could persist in the nurture of the difficult but innocent Rosie.

  94. 94.

    wonkie

    February 9, 2012 at 11:18 am

    John I’m about ten years older than you. It’s kind of painful to read about you going thorugh what I have gone through already.

    I have turned to my sibs and, like you, to my dogs. Our parents’ mortality is both a loss to us and a real slap in the face about our own mortality. I don’t have any particlular wisdom about this except that loving my dogs and my sibs sure helps.

  95. 95.

    joeyess

    February 9, 2012 at 11:54 am

    We all understand it. There is no reason to say it. We all know it and understand it.

    Umm…. Cole?

    I lost my Pop 17 months ago.

    Say it, brother. Say it as often as you can. Say it until he tells you to stop (he won’t). Say it.

  96. 96.

    Raven

    February 9, 2012 at 12:08 pm

    Crossing Wildcat Ridge

    Braided to this curious naturalist is the heart patient, scared and angry, who details the visits to the doctor, the surgery, and the recovery, a process in which he is flayed emotionally and cracked open physically, and vice versa. Depression settles in and moves on only after a prolonged pharmaceutical tithing. Gradually, out of the pain and shadow emerge his family and homestead, and they never looked so good. Williamss story has a keen immediacy to it, an unmulled flavor. It is all very real and unenviable and touched with the small gestureshis father’s protective shoulder to cry upon, a daughter’s delight in his returnthat encourage survival.

  97. 97.

    Frivolous

    February 9, 2012 at 12:09 pm

    That was nice to read, John. Hope your dad lives long and prosperous.

  98. 98.

    Duane

    February 9, 2012 at 12:12 pm

    later arriver….but can i say….way too scary the amount i resemble what John has written here… nearly same age, similar situations… well except for the used to be a republican…though when i was 12 i did fill the Ronald Reagan role in our class mock election….
    Kinda explains why this has become my favorite blog….. keep up the great work and more rambling posts please!!!

  99. 99.

    JG

    February 9, 2012 at 12:36 pm

    Thanks for sharing your thoughts – and your doggy pics – John. I had a similar phase of analysis a couple of years ago realizing my mom was mortal. We had about a year of tests and “maybe it’s this kind of cancer,” “maybe it’s that kind of cancer,” BS before they finally decided it wasn’t cancer but had to take out all her lady parts anyway. I remember weeks of sleepless nights just thinking about what she’d meant to me and would continue to mean. Had I said what I needed to say, etc. I was 3000 miles away during the actual surgery, and it killed me that I couldn’t afford to get there.

    I lost all of my grandparents between the ages of about 10 and 17, and I learned a lot watching my parents go through it. None of them were parents of the year – emotionally abusive, physically abusive, too unhappy with herself to mother properly, and generally unavailable describes them. But my parents were each the kid that went over and brought them groceries or took them to the doctor. And seeing them repair relationships (to a point) helped them deal with the eventual mortality so much better.

    Ok, now we’re all even “rambling” in the comments. It is therapeutic to just put it out there.

    Best of luck to your parents John, and just enjoy and take comfort from your menagerie. This blog actually inspired me to start volunteering with dogs at the Oakland Animal Shelter…I have a feeling I’m going to have to move soon so I can get a dog because of it (my apt limits me to my 2 shelter cats).

  100. 100.

    DrBobby

    February 9, 2012 at 12:41 pm

    Dad died at 47. I’m 64, and I still miss him. Thanks for the memories.

  101. 101.

    Miki

    February 9, 2012 at 12:49 pm

    @Paul in KY: Shingles and the post-shingles pain syndrome can be deadly for the elderly if not treated. By “treated” I mean good, effective pain relief. Herbs/homeopathy/acupuncture and all other forms of woo won’t do shit for it (or anything else for that matter). My poor old dad didn’t get legitimate pain relief and it killed him (bed sore/sepsis/organ failure).

    John? You move me – really, you do. Not saying you or your dad will be okay – who the heck knows – but reading about your ride surely makes my own a lot richer.

  102. 102.

    Liz

    February 9, 2012 at 1:16 pm

    John-my dad was a cardiac invalid for about 5 years before he died, and I will always remember how DIFFERENT he was. I can really relate to your thoughts about your dad’s stength and ability…I felt exactly the same way. Thank the gods your dad had treatment early on-this makes such a big difference. Keep the focus on taking care of yourselves.

    As someone above said, take comfort in your little animal family. One of my dogs went missing overnight this week (picked up by the animal control lady, as it turns out, about a block from our house), and I was honestly beside myself. I couldn’t imagine starting my day without him, or coming home from work and not seeing his little face. It was crushing, so I can also relate to your unconditional love for your guys, especially sweet Lilly.

    Best of luck.

  103. 103.

    Jude

    February 9, 2012 at 1:22 pm

    John, I hope you see this comment. Please consider reading or at least taking a look at this book:
    http://www.amazon.com/Wheat-Belly-Lose-Weight-Health/dp/1609611543/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1328811481&sr=8-1

    It blew my mind and continues to do so. We’ve been fed a line of B.S. about food in this country that leaves me speechless. More and more it’s becoming clear that the genetic modifications of certain foods like wheat-whether ‘healthy whole grain’ or fluffy puffy white is like poison to us. The first diet you and your dad should consider is a wheat-free one.
    The crazy thing is, it ends up becoming a political conversation about the impact a few mega corps like Monsanto have had on our health and access to data that disproves the high carb, low fat diets we’ve been indoctrinated with.

  104. 104.

    Jason

    February 9, 2012 at 2:28 pm

    I want to know where they went to dinner and if it was any good. Not that I’ll have to go down there, it seems like every place in the burgh is opening up places around Cranberry anyway.

  105. 105.

    Paul in KY

    February 9, 2012 at 3:07 pm

    @joeyess: Excellent point. No problem in saying it. There will be a day when you wish you could say it to them again.

  106. 106.

    Paul in KY

    February 9, 2012 at 3:10 pm

    @Miki: She was prescribed Lyrica, but hated the side effects & it didn’t seem to really get rid of pain. She is resisting (at this point) a move on up to something heavier.

    Fucking Readers Digest has scared her to death about pain pills & ‘getting hooked’.

  107. 107.

    Vickie Feminist

    February 9, 2012 at 7:16 pm

    Thank you for sharing about your Dad’s heart attack and his life.

    You and your life touch mine because I counsel soldiers all day long. Knowing how wonderfully you have turned out makes it easier for me to believe I can find the best in them.

    John, you are a gift that just keeps giving. Tell your Dad he’s our hero too.

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