RIP, JPM

This week, my mother was in Panama, my brother was in Guatemala, my sister was in Oregon recovering from a grand mal seizure of several weeks ago, my sister-in-law was in Costa Rica with her kids, I was here in Massachusetts, and my step-father was in the hospital in Washington, DC, for the umpteenth time in several months.

My mother was staying in touch with doctors. She was hearing that while my step-father was asking for her, he was also stabilizing after a very scary bout with pneumonia. She kept hearing that he was weak, but basically as fine as he's been, so she continued with her trip. After staying in Panama, she continued on to Costa Rica to see her daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

Apparently when she arrived in San Jose yesterday morning, my sister-in-law met her at the airport, said that my step-father's condition was worsening, and that she should get back to Washington immediately. So without even leaving the airport, she hopped a flight back home, arrived around 11pm last night, went to the hospital and stayed most of the night, then went home. After a long nap, she received a phone call saying that my step-father died late this morning.

She wasn't sure whether he knew she was there, but from all I've read and experienced, I'm sure he did know, and that he was waiting for her, and perhaps also waiting for her to go home, too. Apparently, the last word he spoke was "Lucy," her name.


My step-father was a kind, engaged, passionate man, at least in the abstract. He was a political junkie and a lobbyist, focused on attracting more federal funds for higher education. He had a hand in formulating the GI bill during the Vietnam era, and earlier, had helped establish the community college system in Massachusetts.

He loved sweet little girls and feisty, intelligent women. He just hated the transition in between. Unfortunately, as my sister and I became more able to express opinions, he became more desperate to squash our spirits, using both psychological (more on me) and physical (more on my sister) techniques to accomplish his goal. That approach to parenting, combined with a nasty alcohol addiction created a less-than-ideal environment in which to grow up.

I left home when I was 16. With the support of my mother, I lived with a bunch of responsible and peaceful adults a few blocks away from home during my senior year in high school. My sister went to boarding school, starting in ninth grade, leaving home a year after I did.

In 1983, my step-father had a neurological attack. After the doctors had ruled out every other possibility, they decided that he had central pontine mylenosis, which basically meant that the signals from his brain to the rest of his body didn't work well. (They also said they couldn't confirm their hypothesis until he had an autopsy.)

He spent several months in the hospital and then in rehab, and came home in a wheel chair. He did fairly well up until a few years ago, reading two papers a day, keeping up with his old profession, typing his thoughts, reading books, and so on.

But his mind deteriorated until he had little to no short-term memory and little speech. He couldn't read any more. He had diabetes, a heart attack, a stroke, and perhaps some other medical issues.

All this time, he lived at home in a special apartment my mother set up for him. For much of this time, she had "ladies" come in during the day to take care of him, but a few years ago, she arranged for 24-hour care. The ladies are mostly from El Salvador and have been devoted to him and to his care for years now.

Lately, my mother realized that a corner had been turned, and she and the ladies were essentially at the edge of their abilities to provide excellent care. She had been applying to nursing homes, where she was planning to visit often, but had been told that a few more patients needed to "move to Florida" first. Apparently, those patients were hanging onto their mortal thread a bit longer than expected, and the anticipated opening never happened.

I talked to my mother just moments after the hospital had called; I'll try to reach her again before we go out for the evening. For the time being, then, I wish John Powers Mallan well on the next part of his journey. He is at peace, and no longer suffering.