Last Mom Update

Hi everyone,

It is Tuesday morning, 8 February 8, 2006 and I’m sitting here in my apartment on a calm, cold, clearish morning. Some of you have already heard that my mom passed away this past Friday (3 Feb.), but many haven’t. I’ve wanted to write this letter for several days, but have only now actually been able to be quiet (and awake) enough to do it.

A couple of weeks ago I sent an update to some folks on how things were going with my mom, my family and me. If you did not receive that, I’ve included it at the end of this email. You may want to read that first, before continuing on.

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When I wrote the last “mom update” I was at my folks house, and things were somewhat cheery. Mom had the blood transfusion a couple days after I wrote that. That evening I went out to visit them with my roommate, and great friend, Rob. I brought chocolates from The Fudge Pot - a chocolate store that makes its own chocolate, right across the street from my apartment. Although mom was getting to the point where she could not eat very much, she always was interested in having some of this chocolate! The chocolate covered strawberries were her favorite.

Mom was weary that night. She had to sit for about four uncomfortable hours to complete the blood transfusion earlier that day. But with the presence of Rob, myself and the chocolate, she perked up and we had an enjoyable couple of hours with her and dad. I’m really, really grateful that Rob had gotten to know my folks (when he moved here to Chicago almost three years ago, I connected him with my folks so he could have a place to stay while he and his girlfriend, at the time, could search for an apartment and get acclimated). Rob is exceptional where it comes to observing people. He sees things right away that I never notice, or which take me a long time to grasp. Since I’ve been so far away for so long (22 years in Texas!), most of my friends had never met my parents, or have only met them briefly. So I’ve not had the benefit of seeing my folks through the eyes of others. The things that Rob noticed and would tell me about opened my eyes to some aspects of my folks that I’d overlooked simply because of familiarity.

Well, this night as we hung out with the folks, we were talking about the new house that had been built on the lot that used to our home, back in Hinsdale. (A couple years ago, my folks sold that place that they’d lived in for 38 years - and the only home that I knew - and moved to Plainfield; about 20 miles away.) Dad had some pictures of the outside of the new house that is now there, and commented on how it is a huge, beautiful house, but has a teeny, teeny patio in the back. I mean, really small and out of character for this house. Dad rhapsodized about that for a little while. When he’d finished, there was a beat, then mom chimed in, “Dumb.” That was her style: dry wit, and calling it as she sees it.

Now, to me, that’s just the way that I remember mom being. That kind of comment was so familiar to me that I thought nothing of it. Rob, however, absolutely loved that comment. To him it was a perfect example of how she is - calling a spade a spade; direct. Later, as we were driving back to the city, we were talking about that comment and how it was a perfect example of the way mom saw things. Without the benefit of my friend’s observations, I’d never have paid anything but cursory attention to that aspect of mom.

One other interesting note - one that Texans can certainly appreciate - is that Rob, being from Texas, and hearing my mom’s name, “Frieda P. Economides,” started to refer to her (in my presence) as “Frieda Pie.” I can’t say for sure if “Frito Pie” is something that’s exclusive to Texas, or to the South, but my experience of that dish is that I’ve never had it or seen it anywhere but Texas. Anyhow, Rob referred to her that way often. Very cute. Quite endearing.

Well, that was Tuesday. On Wednesday - or thereabouts - Mom finally consented to hospice care. Accepting hospice care means signing a “Do Not Resuscitate” (DNR) order. And, as I wrote in previous updates, did not want to do that. She was still fighting. Through John & Joyce’s research into hospice, we learned that accepting hospice care is not a death-sentence. You can go in and out of care; you can return to health; and you can be cared for at whatever level is needed. But they do require you to be ready to face death - thus the requirement for the DNR. This was now a bit of a different ball-game.

The hospice people brought some helpful booklets and pamphlets about the dying process. They also brought morphine that we could administer to Mom, as well as Xanax. Both of these could help mom so that she would not panic as breathing became more difficult and as her discomfort increased. The real bummer, though, is that using morphine really changes how one deals with the world. When I next saw mom, it was Saturday evening. And things had changed.

Mom still had difficulty being comfortable, but now her head tended to droop forward, and her eyes stayed shut most of the time. Still, I could tell that she was still “in there.” Over the last few weeks, her spoken responses had gotten shorter (in length, not in attitude) as she weakened. But now she would just say a word or two to let us know what she wanted: to move out of bed to the couch; to go to the bathroom; to move to the wheelchair for a ride around the house, and so on. Still, my reaction to seeing mom this way was to ‘step up to the plate.’ I took her at her word, and my priority was to keep her comfortable.

We’d set up a baby monitor so that we could hear her, during the night, and know if she needed any assistance. Mercifully, that night, she managed to stay fairly comfortable. I had to give her drugs ever two hours; but at least she stayed asleep for a good portion of the night. It seems that the last few times I saw mom, she had “good nights.” Compared to the other nights, where Joyce or John or one of their kids stayed with mom, where there were many more challenges in caring for her. I think that mom having good nights when I was there was due more to timing than anything, but I think she also appreciated the change of having me with her. I am her baby, after all .

The next morning, Sunday, mom ate just a little bit - part of a cookie and some chocolate. She slept most of the rest of the day. That night, John, Joyce and their kids Sarah and Tim came over. They knew that for Sarah - who is a college student downtown at University of Chicago, and who has a busy athletic and academic schedule (she’s a diver) - this might be the last time she got to see her Yia yia (grandmother). And it was.

After the visit and the ‘changing of the guards’ (Joyce would be staying the night), Tim drove Sarah and me back downtown.

At this point, mom just had a few days left. Joyce and one or two other friends stayed with mom and dad during that time. I’d be returning on Friday to help out over the weekend, again. But, during the week, more things changed. Because it was so difficult to get mom comfortable - we had every pillow in the house nearby, and used them to help to hold her in whatever position seemed the most comfortable - we had hospice bring in a hospital bed. You know the kind - they have controls to raise and lower the head and foot and such. No “magic fingers,” though. Mom absolutely hated the idea of having a hospital bed - and, as I mentioned last time, did not want to be in a hospital. When the bed was brought in, we were able to keep her pretty, ornate headboard in place. At least it would look kind of like the bed she was used to - but now it had rails. A new obstacle to overcome!

And I mean it. One of the nights that week, Joyce related, mom had actually gotten herself out of bed, over/around the rails, and into her wheelchair. How she managed to do that without falling down is beyond comprehension. She was so weak and frail. We had to assist her so much when she just wanted to get up from the couch and move to the wheelchair, that the idea of her getting around the rails and out of bed on her own seemed impossible. But she made it!

As much of that must have seemed a triumph to mom, Joyce had to downright scold her for it; reminding her that if we couldn’t keep her safe at home, that we’d have to take her to the hospital. That seemed to get across. Of course, doing that tore Joyce up inside, and probably really sucked for mom. But she stayed put after that.

Thursday night, we had a friend help Joyce out. She stayed up with mom during the night, allowing Joyce and my dad to get some rest. But on Friday morning, with Joyce and dad with her, mom died. Our best guess is that her pulmonary artery - in the lung - where the tumor was - hemorrhaged. She coughed up a lot of blood, but didn’t seem to be distressed. She went very quickly; in her own bed. She had told us time and again that she didn’t want to go into the hospital. We were all glad that we didn’t have to put her there.

Dad called me at work to give me the news. And, as much as I’d kind of gotten used to hearing and seeing him become emotional of late, when he said, “Your mother is gone,” with a choke in his voice, I was really more concerned for him than for anyone else.

[It is now a few days later: Saturday, 11 Feb]

My oldest brother, John, works in the Loop, as do I. He lives out in the burbs and takes the train in to work. I haven’t owned a vehicle since I sold my truck after moving here, so I made a call and rented a car, picked up John, and headed out to the folks’ place. Once there, we met dad, Joyce and the next-door neighbors (who are wonderful friends of my folks, and who’ve been very helpful during these tough months). They waited on calling the hospice folks – who would arrange to have mom’s body picked up by the funeral home – until John and I could get there; to see her one last time before we got caught up in a whirlwind of activity and plans.

Seeing mom in bed, still, was not as weird as I’d expected it to be. They’d cleaned her up and changed her clothes. She looked like she was asleep. As we stayed with her there for a while, Joyce played a favorite section of Brahm’s Requiem on the CD player. It was so appropriate, and was the perfect touch.

Joe, the funeral director, and one helper came soon thereafter to haul mom off. I can’t rave enough about Joe. He is a man in his 50s, I think. Tall, calm, patient, and speaks very calmly, slowly, and with no contractions [to the trek fans out there – Yes, I wondered if he was an android]. We spent a good amount of time with him over the next week; and during that time, his professional demeanor was almost stereotypically funny!

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening doing all sorts of things around the house that, to be honest, I really cannot remember. Aside from Dad continuing to make phone calls to let folks know what had happened, and doing some straightening up around the house, the whole time is just a blur to me. We finally realized that we needed some dinner. Me being the big fan of simple, meat & veggie kinds of meals, suggested that we could all use some steak. John, Joyce and Dad all quickly agreed to this, and we headed out to a nearby place that none of us had tried before, but which had “steak” in its name.

As we sat down, we all realized – and then said so at about the same time – that this restaurant didn’t serve alcohol. That was clearly an oversight on our part but we managed to order and eat our dinners despite that.

On Saturday, we made our way to the funeral home to meet with Joe. We had a bunch of details to tend to. It didn’t take long before he got to know us well enough to be a little more at ease with us as he walked us through all the plans and choices we had to make. At one point as we finally made our choice of casket for mom (during which, a particular scene from the movie, “Clerks” kept coming to mind), we were heading back to his office and Joyce – again, knowing herself – asked him if we were the most difficult family he had had to deal with. “Oh, no. No. Not at all. [pause] Maybe second or third…” His timing and delivery – perfect.

One of the tasks in which Joe exhibited his professional expertise was in helping us to craft mom’s obituary. He asked us a bunch of questions about names of family and relationships to mom; jobs that mom held and so on. He read back what he had, and then asked if we had any changes we’d like to make. What was amazing to watch was his taking of our inarticulate suggestions and making perfect additions to the obit based on them. Here’s the final version that appeared in newspapers and so on:

Frieda Economides, nee Platon, age 75, late of Plainfield, and formerly of Hinsdale and Chicago, passed away Friday, February 3, 2006 at home with her family by her side following a courageous battle with lung cancer. She worked 11 years as a reservationist for Eastern Airlines and also worked with her husband in his commercial photography business in Chicago. Frieda also enjoyed volunteering at Treasure House, Glen Ellyn, for Metropolitan Family Services of Dupage. An outstanding pastry cook, she loved music and playing piano, tending her plants and traveling. Surviving are her husband, A.J. Economides of Plainfield; four sons, John (Joyce) of Downers Grove, Steven (Annette) of Scottsdale, AZ, Jason (Patricia) of Mt. Pleasant, MI and Gregory Theo of Chicago; nine grandchildren, Timothy, Sarah, John, Rebekah, Roy, Joseph, Abigail, Zoe and Eleni. Preceded by her parents, Steven and Zaharoula, nee Tsitsibourouni, Platon; two brothers, Nicholas and Eugene. Funeral services will be Thursday, February 9, 2006 at 8:45 a.m. from Fred C. Dames Funeral Home, 3200 Black at Essington Rds., Joliet, to All Saints Greek Orthodox Church, 102 N. Broadway, Joliet, for services at 9:30 a.m. Interment Woodlawn Memorial Park. In lieu of flowers, memorials to Metropolitan Family Services of Dupage, 222 E. Willow Ave., Wheaton, IL 60187, would be appreciated, and please don't smoke. Visitation Wednesday, 3 to 8 p.m. with Trisagion Services at 7:30 p.m. at the funeral home. For information 815-741-5500.
Published in the Chicago Tribune from 2/5/2006 - 2/7/2006

Yeah, that’s right. My maternal grandmother’s maiden name was Zaharoula Tsitsibourouni. Would ya like to know what that last name means? Well, [and you turks can correct me if I’m not getting this right] it comes from Turkish and means, “little nose…”

One other thing we discussed was what Mom would wear – both clothing and jewelry – for the wake and funeral. We had already picked out the clothes, but we brought several pieces of jewelry with us to choose from. As we chose the jewelry that Mom would have wanted, and which looked good with the dress, Joe assured us that, if we so desired, we would get the jewelry back after the funeral. I had scenes from the movie, “Garden State” run through my head… If you don’t follow my meaning, be sure to watch the movie. It’s a good one.

We met with a woman at the cemetary in Joliet to choose a plot for mom (and dad, eventually). Dad chose a cemetary where some other family friends have been buried. And we looked around for a spot that was near some other Greek families. We found a good spot that has some Greeks around, as well as some hispanics. We figured that we ought to pitch in to help to further “Greekify” the neighborhood.

After all that plan-making and running around, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. When the waitress asked us, “Smoking, or non?” the irony was thick… We’d just spent the day making burial plans for a smoker who smoked herself to death. We chose “non.”

All through the day, a little snippet of barbershop music kept coming to mind. My quartet often used this short ditty to tune and warm up. The words: “My mommmmm. There is no one like my mommmmmmm.” As that phrase kept coming to mind, I realized that all of the “mother” songs that are so prevalent in barbershop lyrics will forever have greater impact on my psyche from this point, forward.

Well, the days and week progressed. My brothers and their families who live out of state made their way to Illinois. We planned the wake to be Wednesday evening, with the funeral on Thursday morning. I stayed with Dad through Sunday, and stayed at my place on Monday. Tuesday, I went back to work for a day; and then I was caught up in the flurry of activity on Wednesday and Thursday. It was wonderful to see so many old family friends at the wake. Jason and his wife Patty and I made some music; they on violins/viola and me on the organ (Bach/Gounod “Ave Maria,” Mozart violin duet, slow movement from Bach double violin concerto), and Joyce sang a couple of songs. The funeral on Thursday was at the Greek Orthodox church in Joliet, “All Saints.” Nicely, we didn’t have to make any choices there. The service is all performed by the priest (mostly chanted), with all of the aspects of it prescribed.

Thursday, for me, started with me (and my roommate and friend, Robert) getting up and out of the apartment by 7 a.m. We drove out to Joliet to the church and set up my audio recording gear, then went to the funeral home. I got there a little bit late, and so all of the family and friends were already there. Standing in the hallway with family, I began to tie my tie. I always have to do it about two or three times to get the length just right – I don’t put them on very often. My nieces, nephews and the rest of the family were mildly amused by my attempts. Some hints were offered. But the most helpful suggestion came from Joe. Imagine his calm, slow-speaking voice saying, “I can tie that for you, but you’ll have to lie down first.”

[beat]

[peals of laughter]

We finished off Thursday with a meal for all who had come to the funeral at a local restaurant.

So, that brings us to now. It is Saturday, 11 Feb 2006, and life is beginning to return to normal. But I realized somewhere during the last week, that my mom gave me one last gift. A gift that is as sublime and eternal as any can be. Through watching her walk the path of discomfort, declining health, and dying, I lost my last bit of fear of my own mortality. What Mom went through was distressing, uncomfortable, painful, upsetting. For her as well as for the rest of us. But she fought a good fight and, despite all the downsides, showed me how a member of my own immediate family can take this rough course and make it through.

My own comfortableness with my mortality now comes both from seeing my Mom go through it (“If she can do it, then I can do it.”), and the fact that I am so utterly happy and satisfied with my own life as it is right now. My thoughts travel back over the last couple of years, to all the pieces that brought me to Chicago, and to how perfectly it all came together. I knew then, and I know now, that I’ve been exactly where I need to be for every step of the process; riding the crest of the wave of the Creator’s spirit.

Peace to you all,

Theo