Wednesday August 29, 2012

Wednesday August 29, 2012

One year, 365 days, 52 weeks. It all comes up the same, me missing him.  It almost feels worse now than a year ago.  Does that mean the shock is over? Reality setting in?  Acceptance and closure.  It is all so permanent.  I used to call him on my way home from work every night.  That way we would get at least three good conversations (uninterrupted) every week.  I wish I could have been there for him more.  He was always there for everyone else. Every where I turn he is there.  I look at the weeds in my garden.  Every trip here, no matter how awful he felt, he would go out and pull weeds.  Not because he enjoyed it, but because he wanted to do something for me that I had little time for.  Working, kids, family all too busy to find time for weeding, and he new it.

In his healthier visits he would ask me to make a list of things I wanted to accomplish around the house.  Painting, reorganizing, gardening etc.  these are the things he wanted to do while he was here, things to make my life easier.  He never needed to be entertained.  He always had a newspaper.  Sports page always first, then the crossword puzzle.  I loved doing the puzzle with him.  It was fun solving one clue and then passing it back to him for one.

I still have his ashes on the entertainment center, with his bird, bracelet and my favorite photo of him.  I know it is selfish, but I like having him here.  I know I have to make the arrangements in Troy for the permanent placement of his ashes, but I'm not quite ready.  I know it is what he wanted and I will abide, but I just don't like him being so far away.  My heart feels like a vacant lot. 

I know he wouldn't like it, to know that I am grieving so much, so please don't tell him. 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night  

Take these broken wings and learn to fly 

All your life 

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

 
Blackbird singing in the dead of night 

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see 

 All your life 

You were only waiting for this moment to be free

 
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly 

 Into the light of the dark black night

 
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

  Into the light of the dark black night

 
Blackbird singing in the dead of night 

Take these broken wings and learn to fly 

 All your life 

You were only waiting for this moment to arise 

 You were only waiting for this moment to arise 

 You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Friday September 23, 2011

I am hurting so, I can't believe how much. I cry all the time. I miss him so much, and cannot fathom the fact that I will not see him or hear his voice again. I taped his outgoing message from his cell phone before it was cut off. It was 3 months of him just whispering. I missed his voice the way it was. Today I was organizing photos in my cell phone and found video of him from last fall when he was here visiting for his bi-annual visit. He was cutting the cats nails. Something I could never do, and looked forward to him taking care of yet another chore he always so willing to do to help us out. Gardening, that too was his thing. I always felt guilty when he would come to visit and then want to do things around the house. In the beginning it made me feel like we weren't doing a good job keeping up with things. But I realized later on that it was his way of helping us. He knew how hard it was, he had done it himself, with no help from any parent. He knew the pressures and how important it is to spend time with your children. He did it himself. I have so many memories of him taking us to Half Moon Bay, Fairyland, the zoo or just to Montclair park to feed the ducks and play in Western Town.

I don't remember feeling this devistated when Peter died. Probably because I had to everything for my parents. They were a mess. I cannot imagine the immense pain of loosing a child. It must be the most gut wrenching sense of pain imaginable. Maybe I'm having PTSS from Peter too. My Dad always told me he felt I never grieved over Peter. Maybe he was right.

Stephen Lawrence Nichols

Stephen Lawrence Nichols
July 15th 1934 – August 29th 2011

Stephen Lawrence Nichols peacefully passed away at his home Monday August 29th after losing his six year battle with cancer. Stephen had just
celebrated his 77th birthday; he was a resident of Twain Harte, California
for the past 11 years.

He was born in Cleveland, Ohio to Helen Fergus Nichols and Lawrence Lewis
Nichols, both deceased. Stephen lived his early years in Troy, Ohio. His
family moved to Pasadena, California, then to Winnetka, Illinois before
graduating from New Trier Township High School in 1952. He continued his
education at Colgate University where he was a member of the tennis team
and Phi Gamma Delta. Upon graduation in 1956 Stephen entered the United
States Navy as an officer. After serving his country Stephen started his career in retail, working first with Montgomery Ward and Company and then Mervyn’s Department Stores. He was in retail for over 20 years before changing careers to property management and commercial real estate. Stephen worked primarily in the Silicon Valley with Blackhawk Real Estate and Coldwell Banker- CB Richard Ellis. While working full time in Real Estate, Stephen continued his education at Santa Clara University, graduating in 1996 with a Masters in Counseling
Psychology.

In 2000 Stephen and his wife Mikell made the move from the San Francisco
Bay Area to Twain Harte, California to retire and build a new home.
Stephen was active in the community serving on the board of the Twain Harte Homeowners Association. Also, he was involved in the community projects of the Skate Board Park, the planning of a Bocce Ball court, and the brick memorial at the tennis courts.

Stephen’s favorite community project was organizing Twain Harte’s “Litter
Patrol”. He was known as “Captain Litter”. One could see him frequently
around town and along Twain Harte Drive picking up litter. This project is
now being carried on by his friends and is an integral part of the
Homeowners Association.

Stephen had a lifelong love of sports, starting with Tennis in College and changing to running in the mid 1970’s when he could no longer play tennis due to tennis elbow. His greatest accomplishments were his marathons. In 1976 he went to Boston to complete the Boston Marathon. In 1977 he completed the Avenue of the Giants Marathon with his son Peter. Stephen considered himself an athlete, even at the end. He would work very hard to keep himself in shape by water aerobics, gym workouts and walking as often as he could.

Stephen was very active as a patron and fundraiser for Sierra Repertory
Theater as a season ticket holder. He was always very excited to raise
funds and donate to the theater.

Stephen is survived by his wife, Mikell Kelly, also his sister, Cynthia
Nichols Russell of Traverse City, Michigan. Children, daughter, Susan
Nichols Stebal (John) of Willowick, Ohio, son, Peter (preceded in death in
1988), Stacey Larson (Bill) of Davis California, Eanna Sarah of Tuolomne,
California, Doug Johnson of Pacifica, California. He also leaves beloved
grandchildren, J.P, Anna-Lesia, Julia, Amanda and Mercedes.

There will be a private graveside service for family members in Troy Ohio,
to follow. The family requests in lieu of flowers, donations in his memory
to Hospice of the Sierra, Sierra Repertory Theater (SRT) or The American Cancer Society.

Peter Dodd Nichols March 20th1964 - July 27th 1988

July 24, 1988. That was the day that would change our lives forever. That night I had a dream that I want to document in writing so I don't forget......ever. Going through the last few days with my father has really brought up a lot of past issues with the loss of my brother. I will write the dream as it happened and most references will be hard to understand, but will mean everything to me.

I am in the basement of the Traverse's house with my hands on the door leading to the under of the house, pushing on it, when I suddenly realize that there is someone on the other side holding it shut. I turn and run upstairs. When I get to the top of the stairs the home turns into the house I grew up in on Westover. Once I realize the house is mine, I feel someone chasing me, so I run to the side door, thru the kitchen, go to grab the door knob of the white smoked door and the knob is missing and the hole is open. I pause and behind me is a stream of white fog, coming up behind very quickly. I feel like it is going to consume me, but it flies over my left shoulder and through the hole in the door where the door knob would've been.

I suddenly awake. I have the feeling that there is someone in my bedroom. I look at my Golden Retriever, Brutus, and he is asleep on my bed. I know if someone was in the room he would be awake. I turn on the lights and look around. No one to be found, but still that feeling is there that someone is in my room. A presence felt, very strong. My heart is pounding. I look outside, no one. The dog is still asleep on my bed leading me to believe that all is safe.

The next day I learned that my brother, Peter was killed in the middle of the night in Alaska, trying to protect and stand up for a friend. I suddenly realize that the profound dream I had the night before was my brother's spirit coming to me to say goodbye. What else could it possibly be? We both came from the same place, made up of the same DNA. The universe is an amazing place. Believe, anything can happen.

Peter I love you.

Tuesday August 30, 2011 9:28 PST

The time was 6:33 pm PST on Monday August 29, 2011. My father took his last breath. I kept waiting for the next inhale, and it never came. I really can't believe how fast everything went. It is still a blurr the next morning, but I want to get it down before I loose any details.

Late afternoon yesterday he seemed to be struggling with breathing. I climbed on the bed to hold his hand and realized his nailbeds and fingers were turning blue. I new we only had hours left so I had to make some decisions.

I called his sister, Cynthia, who lives in Michigan and told her I thought we didn't have much time left and would she like to talk to him. I told her he had not been lucid since my arrival, but I could put her on the speaker phone and hold it to his ear and she could say whatever she wished to him. I don't know why I didn't think of this before, I never got to say goodbye to my brother and for years I wish I had.

I then called both my children and asked them to talk to grandpa for the last time. I know he could hear everything even though there was no response. I remember him telling me the hardest part of this for him would be not seeing his grandchildren mature into adults.

I'm not sure of the exact order of things but Eanna read a prayer while I blessed him with oil and water from the Jordan river. Eanna had been singing the Beatles "Blackbird singing in the dead of night" all day to him. It was the most beautiful thing, her voice was perfect and the lyrics dead on.

We had opened a bottle of Champagne to toast Stephen and stood around the bed and raised our glasses to him. The whole family was in the room with him. I was holding him on one side and Eanna was singing the Blackbird song. His breathing was so shallow, it was so hard to tell if the next one was going to come or not. He took his last breath of life at 6:33pm. It was the most beautiful, peaceful, loving transition I ever could have hoped for.

Hopefully Peter is now showing his father the way. They have a lot of catching up to do. They ran a marathon together once when Peter was in Jr. High. I can see them doing that now. Runnig in the heavens, together.

I love you Daddy

I love you Peter

Monday August 29, 2011 4:18 pm PST

This is one of my most favorite photos of my father. Taken in Traverse City Michigan, on vacation and celebrating his 50th birthday. This is such a natural smile. We started our vacation that year in Columbus, OH celebrating Aunt Ruth Fergus' 90th birthday along with a Fergus mini reunion. We continued the adventure by traveling to Troy, OH where my father and his sister spent the majority of their youth. We then drove up north to Traverse City, MI to spend a week with his sister, Cynthia and her family. This photo was taken by Cynthia at Interlochen Lake while boating and water skiing with the Russell family.

Monday August 29, 2011 11:52 am PST

Dawn the hospice nurse was here to check him. His pulse ox is 93 which I find amazing considering he is almost gasping to breathe. She suggested we give him morphine every 4-6 hours to help make his breathing more relaxed. We changed him and pulled him up in bed, and repositioned him on his side. We had no idea we needed to rotate him every 4 hours. We will start doing this now. He is on his side and resting more comfortable. The morphine has really helped.

When we moved him, Doug was standing at the head of the bed and he put his hands under my Dad's arm pits and in one gentle movement pulled him up. This caused my Dad to open his eyes. This was the first time I saw some type of life in him. It was wonderful to see his blue eyes again, even if it was for a few minutes.

Dawn suggested he take off his wedding ring as him hands are starting to swell a little. Mikell had suggested this yesterday, but I didn't want anyone to. It was my own fear of the finalization of everything. Mikell very graciously gave me his ring. It fits perfectly on my right hand. This is the second wedding ring Mikell has gotten him. The first had to be cut off his hand 5 years ago when he first got sick.