My father, Casimir Mizera, died last Monday, March 24, 2008. We euthanized our cat, Smudge, the next day, last Tuesday, March 25, 2008. It will go down in history as The Week That Was The Suxxor.
My dad was 87 yo. He had been ill for some time since suffering a stroke and heart attack in one night several years ago. Even before then, he experienced some mild physical effects of aging, e.g., sciatica, arthritis, etc., but nothing serious. He also was getting forgetful. Fortunately, he had voluntarily given up driving some years before, but when his mental facilities began to decline he would try to drive anyway. My mom and brothers took to hiding the car keys so he couldn't drive. His mental facilities continued to decline after his stroke and heart attack.
He spent most of his time these last few years at home in the care of my mother, brothers, home health aides, visiting nurses and other healthcare types, e.g., physical therapists. I don't know what his preferences were on the subject, but I'll assume that he wanted to be at home for as much and as long as possible; that's just what I'd expect of him.
He did spend time in the hospital, rehabs and nursing homes over the last few years. He was in the hospital a couple of months ago and was not expected to survive then. I don't recall if they did any kind of resuscitation, but, IIUC, my mom signed a DNR after that episode.
Unfortunately, as in exceedingly unfortunately, he did not make his wishes around care known before he became ill. I really, really, really wish he had done so. I think it put a terrible burden on my mom who still isn't 100% sure she did the right thing in signing the DNR. I believe my bros and I are agreed that it was the right thing to do, in fact, that perhaps it should have been signed earlier. He was bedridden, his legs curled up, his arms with limited motion, his speech non-existent and his mind, as far as we could tell, was functioning poorly. During one of my last visits, I'm fairly certain that he didn't recognize me and, I'm sad to say, he seemed alarmed. Perhaps a visit from a 'stranger' was disconcerting.
So anyway, hard to know what my dad would have wanted. I do believe that he enjoyed his physicality, e.g., he enjoyed puttering around in his workshop. He especially enjoyed gardening and yardwork. Had he remained in Poland and, like, WWII never happened, he probably would have become a farmer; if not professionally, at least extensively enough to provide for himself and family and maybe some to sell. If I had had to decide, I would have thought that he would not have wanted to continue as long as he did in the reduced mental and physical state that he did.
He rarely spoke about his life in Poland, the war, his time in a German POW camp, his move to England...and certainly not about how and why he and my mother hooked up. When I was in high school I participated in a donkey basketball game between school athletes (I know, I know, it must be difficult to imagine an athletic me, but I swear it's true! In fact, I'll have you know that I scored 2 of our pitiful 6 points. We lost. Bigtime.) and the town police. During a spell on the bench, I visited with my parents and my dad told me how to get the donkey to do what I wanted. That was the first I knew that he knew from donkeys.
Actually, he was not a conversational sort about anything. He was talkative enough within his circle of friends from the old countries, but outside of that, and especially with new people, he was not conversational. I think he was very self-conscious of his status (we didn't live in poverty, but I'd say we were poor to a meaningful extent; enough to get food stamps when his union went on strike which was entirely too often for our comfort and well-being though it may have benefitted union members) and his poor command of the English language. It's too bad he could not see himself as just one of the millions of people who have come to the US to make their future. I don't know why this was the case, but he seemed overly aware of class and status and placed himself rather low down on the various socioeconomic totem poles. It always seemed to me that that attitude colored much of his behavior and attitudes and probably kept him from doing a great many things he might have otherwise enjoyed doing.
Obvs, my brothers and I (and my mother, but I'll leave that for now) were not strangers to him, but he was not talkative with us either. I think that he (and my mom, but that's another story) were all set to raise their kids the way they might have done back on the old sod, but met with some, shall we say, resistance when trying to raise kids in the US. My 5 brothers are all older. I think most of them were quietly resistant to my dad's approach to parenting. My youngest older brother, Caz (named after my father and thank goodness for that bc I was next and last!), exhibited the liveliest resistance to my dad. Turns out they were very much alike, most noticeably in the stubbornness department, but woe to any who suggested the likeness to either party. Caz was nothing like my father and my father was nothing like Caz!
My dear friend and neighbor from across the street since 4th grade, Michelle, once said that she thought that, even after my father had to deal with five boys, I was the kid who broke the camel's back. I don't know exactly what she meant by breaking the camel's back, but I thought she meant something along the lines that my dad thought he knew what to do with my brothers, but was nonplussed when I started to have my own thoughts, wants, opinions, etc. Perhaps my brothers and dad went at it in typical guy-style, but I wanted to talk about stuff, like feelings, and that was not a big hit chez Mizera. So, in the end, I have to say that I - and probably my bros, although I won't speak for them in this regard - didn't know my father as I would have liked. At least, I think I would have liked to know him; perhaps we would have been disappointed in each other. I was, after all, supposed to become a mathematician!
I'll write more another time and also will write about Smudge another time.
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