The Book of Life

Flew in from Philadelphia emotionally, physically, and spiritually depleted. Not to mention, nursing my first cold in probably two years--yet one more reason I forgot that I like Florida, colds are harder to come by. When flying from a 26* climate there really is nothing more offensive than landing in 91* weather. That's right, PinF had chosen a record high temperature day to return, making it feel as though I was landing in Panama instead. Starving, aching, and now sweating-- I made my way to the spanish bakery and had a cuban coffee and sandwich then dove into my bed for the first time in weeks. I took a double shot of Nyquil that night and had the type of dreams that are like an all night movie in your mind. When I awoke I was back to almost-normal, congestion gone, sinuses clear, and sniffles dried up. Still my mind was clogged with the many images of the past few weeks. Kindnesses shown, words spoken, prayers recited and always my dad and the despair I witnessed as I and my brothers ministered to him right to the final moment. So much has happened, and yet so little time has been allowed to take it all in. I'm in the process of doing this now as I look back on so much; like a good book read all to fast without drinking in all that it was and savoring the finer nuances of the story.

I collected Sophia who was still on spring break and we made our way to the more familiar environs of our local beach. We proceeded to do what we do best---chill. She had her various books, art supplies, and sand implements and I had an Ipod, a newspaper, and a book. We stayed for 6 hours--as much therapy as it was relaxtion as it gave us each something familiar about each other and our lives before going to Philadelphia. We laughed, we cried (just a little), we played, we made sand sculptures, we hunted for beach glass and we ate hot dogs from the pier. This to me is like taking a giant exhale after all I had seen, done, and felt the previous two weeks. Never mind the fact that there was tons to be done still, I needed to get the head right first. I had the fore thought to just cancel work and get my life in order for the next five days, and part of getting it in order was doing the familiar things-- riding the cycle, hitting the beach, and just relaxing. Mission accomplished.

I'm really back now and in many ways it is a bit harder than I thought. My desk at work reads like a time capsule of a period that now seems so long ago. When I left here I knew I was going for the final chapter of my father's painful reality. I now return to post-its of this doctor, or that social worker, number's of hospitals, addresses, etc all littering the walls around me. It's almost melancholic to remove these reminders however sad they were, because in removing them I remove a little more of the closeness of my father to my day to day routine. Sure I've lost the daily dread of speaking to the doctors, nurses, and my brothers about discouraging news and developments; yet I've gained a gaping hole in my heart knowing that what I just went through was "IT". I'll never see this person in this lifetime. This takes a bit of time to get your thoughts around I'm sure, so I'm in the acceptance phase of this, something I know is normal so I won't dwell. Anyone who's lost a close family member will obviously know of what I speak.

So I'm finishing my coffee, doing my morning routine today when my phone rings just minutes before I'm to head out into the glorious day that awaits me. It's Sophia's mother's phone and it's minutes before Sophia is meant to be in school, so I answer with a certain level of dread for what it is I'm going to hear. What I hear is sobbing, crying, and alot of snot. I ask Sophie to put her mother on the phone. I ask what's going on? Much to my delight it is Sophia crying because she can only order 2 books from her book of the month club as opposed to her library stocking rate of 5. In an instant I realize how blessed I am, and I'm back in the here and now of my life. Here is a child with an insatiable need for books--not toys, not game-boys, but books! I'm instantly flashed back to a moment 4 years ago when we were in KayBee toy store looking for some piece of Chinese manufactured plastic crap and I issued the challenge: " Sophie I'll make you a deal, you can have this one toy, or you and I can go to Barnes & Noble and I'll buy you 5 books".....She sheepishly looked around at the madness in the toy store and then back up at me and she said "let's go Papi, I want five books". Well as my Irish luck would have it, she is able to recite this "deal" four years later everytime the "book issue" is broached.

I asked her mother to give her the money, and I will reimburse her later today. Some would call this giving into blackmail, and in a way it is. Though I would counter that to give into an educational blackmail is a good thing. How many parents would love for their children to read; and read for fun, not just learning. It reminded me of when I visited my mother serving in the Peace Corps in Honduras and how she had begun a library in her small pueblo right out of her house for the children. It is a fact that many children in third world countries barely make it to 6th grade, so my mother wanted the children to know that reading wasn't only for learning, but that you could read for sheer enjoyment. Of course this was something totally new and exciting to these children, coming to this American woman's house and signing out a Cat in the Hat, or Curious George book. I marveled at the joy it brought to these kids, as word spread quickly and my mom's house soon became the local hang out for the 5-10 year-old set.

Sophia is full of love for learning, for this I am blessed and cursed, as she now has well over 150 books in her room. One thing I'm sure of--she's read every one, and in most cases several times as she always picks about five of them before bedtime for me to read with her. Yes things are slowly beginning to appear normal again, the beach, the books, the motorcycle rides. Every so often sad thoughts creep into the mix, or Sophia will comment about how sad it must be for me. It is sad I tell her, but I also remind her that just like her children's Bible we bought at the church book store, her Pop-Pop is in heaven with Jesus now. She understands this because she read it. So on we go, everyday creating another page in our own "book" of life.

Going "Home"

So I here I sit; sniffling and sneezing from my two week sojourn north. A trip that saw lot's of tears, lot's of laughs, and an equal amount of self discovery. I watched a giant of a man slowly dwindled down until there wasn't much left. I watched as brothers huddled, rallied, and grieved. In the end I return from where I came with all my dread, sorrow, and worry. I'm physically and emotionally drained, and as I sit here at US Airways gate C-23 I try to make sense of all I've seen, done, and lost. It'll take a little while as I suspect the return to my "normal" life will also provide much needed introspection and solitude.

PinF moves forward still--back to Florida. I need to for more reasons than the weather and my job though; mainly because it's my "home". Although I left an entire family and hundreds of friends, Pa. is not my home anymore it's where my family lives. I live in Florida, and to Florida I now return. PinF will be back soon though, after some R&R.

William Lawrence Paynter 8/10/33--3/13/06

Thanks to my countless friends for all your prayers and well wishes. My father left last night on his next journey. Godspeed.

Privileged, Peaceful, and Loved

That my heart is aching there can be no doubt. Yet still I am able to see the the many hidden messages in what seems like a long life in a child's eye, and an all too short one in a son's. I am now embroiled in the final chapter of my father's last days. It is as surreal as it is real. No one ever really prepares any of us for this moment. Still, as I sit here in his hospice room I'm grateful for several things:

1. Having had a father for all of my youth and well into adulthood. Something many of my friends, cousins, and countless others never had.

2. I'm grateful I at least have the chance to actually say goodbye, hold his hand, caress his brow. Again, something many people never get to do when death either comes as a shock or too early in their loved one's life.

3. I'm grateful for having had the ability, the opportunity, and words to say what I always wanted to say while I could, either in writing or as in the recent months before my father's current bout of illness-- to his face.

4. I'm grateful too for having had this time in hospice, as painful as it might be so that I can really feel, appreciate, and drink in all that it was that my father meant to me as a man, a parent, and as a friend.

In considering to write or not to write one asks whether or not what you're feeling is either too personal, or worse still, too maudlin. This experience as I sit here in this room, and indeed this whole floor- where death is all around me and slowly creeping up on so many souls is an extremely rich and valuable one. If nothing else it gives me a greater appreciation of the greater good than evil in the world despite what you read daily to the contrary. I am surrounded by people who have chosen to be among the dying; as I get to know them, almost all of them use the word "privilege" when describing their work.

Yes it is hard to be here. Yes it is extremely sad to lose my dad. However, given a choice there's no other place I would choose to be at this time. This is in many ways the perfect convergence of being in the right place, at the right time, for the right reason. I can only benefit either in wisdom or compassion from this experience--most likely both. Still my overall opinion of this experience is one of gratitude and blessings. I cannot complain that I feel as though my dad was taken too early, yet rather I celebrate that I at least had this long, fully aware of the many people who never got what I had. As I've observed this process I've noticed how each of my four brothers has adjusted to this phase as well; each has done what they can in their own way. We've all brought different skills, personalities and sorrows to this, the final days of my father's life. Each one reconciling and processing the experience in their own way, and as painful and sad as it all is I'm also aware that we are still each other's greatest strength though I often lost sight of this fact throughout this ordeal.

PinF has certainly been throught the ringer this year, most if not all has been covered in one form or fashion through this blog, which got me to thinking as I sit in this room; how many blogs did I write regarding my father's situation since July? I don't know myself. Next step? You guessed it, I've culled all of the archives of PinF for any relevant posts that chronicle this most incredible journey, one that has finally brought me to South Philly were I now sit camped out in a room here at St. Agnes. Many readers of PinF may not know what the hell I'm on about, so I thought it a fitting tribute that I chronologically re-post as a sort of tribute to the man I call "dad" and more importantly one who I also call my friend-- Bill Paynter.


Could it all have started this long ago in July? Not long after arriving I made this observation. On the road home I was able to put my dread and fear in proper order based on a conversation with a stranger. Not but a few months later I was again called back home after the unfortunate auto accident that placed my father in his current predicament. Upon my arrival I was left with little to do other than be by his bedside and ponder the next step, essentially reduced to holding his hand. Before leaving I was able to see some music, something always good for the soul so I posted this observation. Seasons passed as did holidays, when Thanksgiving came around I made this observation. As time passed during his illness more events occurred that had me wishing he was healthy. Specifically the Johnny Cash movie had come out, we had spoken months before how much we were looking forward to this, sadly he was not to see it. I commented on such after my brother recommended seeing my dad's favorite performer being portrayed in the movie Walk the Line. The seasons continued to march forward, Christmas came further highlighting what a dire situation my father's condition had become, still we continued to pray for a turn around. For the first time in my life "my" family wasn't whole, I commented on the season and what it meant to both Sophia and me, ever cognizant of the void left by my father's illness. Not too long after the holidays along came a real reminder of my father as the movie portraying his idol won the Golden Globe bittersweet to be sure, because this would have made him immensely happy. With a continued eye on affairs to the north I felt the increasing pressure to begin to explore futher options, albeit begrudgingly. Not quite a month ago while still very preoccupied with my father's condition I was reading the Inquirier online and came accross one of those "gut check" stories that puts your own pain and trouble into perspective, and as usual it had to involve music---go figure. Certainly I have received all sorts of support either in person, by phone, or email. Much of this support has come from friends who have traveled this road before me, as such they are capable of knowing the many emotions such a challenge presents. Their support and wisdom inspired this post. Of course I'm in the "here and now" now, as such just before leaving I had to once again tell Sophia I was leaving, the difference this time? I had to broach for the first time in her young life, the subject of dying. It wasn't easy as she could sense my pain and I too could feel her's; still dying is something as natural as being born and an important lesson to learn no matter how painful.

As I Go, So Shall You

"She will take her lead from you; as you go--so shall she." These were words of advice I received from a close person in my life last week when I described how upset Sophia was regarding the news that her pop-pop was going to die. Truer words could not have been spoken. PinF has deliberately backed away for awhile, not fielding any calls other than necessary ones. I've not not really felt the need to blog either as I've tried to work through my own feelings and emotions regarding my mine and my brother's decision to allow my father to pass peacefully with the help of hospice. Though in many respects I've felt a sort of responsibility to share with the many regular readers of PinF that which they've either followed, supported, or advised me on for over the past 6 months. This after noticing either concerned phone messages or emails, thus I have been prompted to inform though not dwell- the many readers and concerned friends of PinF, as it's really too painful still.


Sophia has taken her lead from me in ways I had never really thought about until I witnessed such raw emotions after I told her I must leave for Philadelphia and that her pop-pop was going to be leaving for heaven. I have been living in Florida coming up on nine years this St. Patrick's day. Leaving was hard, as it always is when it is done on behalf of another. If I had my wish I would have never left, as I knew the day I left a little part of my dad died. Still like I've writen in earlier posts I still maintained a close, in touch relationship by phone, mail and visits. Speaking almost every night to my father allowed me to stay in touch with how he was doing and still monitor his health and happiness.

This frequent contact created a long distance bond between Sophia and him as well, something I really never gave much thought to as it was never something to mull. Now it is. And now I can see why she is so moved by the news, as she too feels the daily loss of his familiar voice. Sophia has always been encouraged to write thank you notes, send birthday cards, and generally be as involved as a little girl can be so far from her extended family. This again was her "taking her lead from me", as I try (though not always) to remember birthday's, Mother's and Father's days for all my family since I am so far away. Of course these little home made cards were often highlights of my father's day as he would call up to say he received this drawing or this home-made card. My father responded in kind, sending Sophia one of her most prized possesions-- her pink Eagles hat along with her pink sleeved Eagles Superbowl shirt. Every Sunday, she dons both and prepares to settle in with me to watch as much as her seven year-old psyche can really take. I know she does it for me, so I often implore her to go out and play, and that I'll call her when we score. Suffice to say she played alot during gamedays this year.

She still has her first pair of ice skates her pop pop bought her from Bill Battey's, something I've learned are not to be messed with when I recently suggested we give them away to some little girl who might be able to use them. Of course her reaction was that of a child on a mission to the Figure Skating Hall of Fame, preferring to save them for posterity. I know of course it's the sentimental value that she cherishes, again "taking her lead from me", as I too keep the sentimental items of value from my past. My father and Sophia enjoyed quite a different relationship than any of her other relatives in Philadelphia because she "followed my lead" and spoke to him very often in her seven years. He got to see her skate last Christmas of 2004, something she was quite keen on him seeing. She got to tell him she's a "Philly girl", knowing full well how proud this makes him when he hears it. They complimented each other's style well, so it was always an easy and stress free reunion for them, as they never seemed to need to "catch up" since they stayed informed about each other's lives. So as I navigate my way through these most powerful and sentimental emotions of loss and grief, I am constantly reminded of those words of advice and I check my emotions for Sophia's sake.

Sophia will survive. I will survive. Loss is part of life, though in times like these you do feel a sort of tendancy to try and re-savor the moments long since past. I'm comfortable with mine, and I believe Sophia is too, and as she comes through the pain she'll really only remember the happy memories and the positive impact of her pop pop's life on her's. I will soon be in Philadelphia to complete the journey that in many ways we're all on until the death of a parent. I'm ok with it, as long as Sophia keeps her emotions in check, because as Sophia goes-- so go I.