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Saturday, November 27, 2010

Not exactly Trans Siberian Orchestra worthy

The thing that makes me happiest during the holiday season aside from spending time with my family is Christmas lights. Al always indulged me and made sure our house was strung with bright, cheery Christmas lights. It’s funny because while it was a pain for him to actually put the lights up, he was a perfectionist in HOW the lights were strung. When I was growing up my dad put little hooks under the eaves which made it really easy for him to just attach the string of lights to the roofline using the hooks. But Al would have none of that. Doing so would mean the lights might hang a little cockeyed here and there. Nope. Not for Al. He used a staple gun and carefully held the lights in position and then stapled them just so in order to have each light hang straight down at the correct angle. He was in charge of those lights and took great pride in them. Me on the other hand? I was in charge of doing the rest of the outdoor lights…around the porch, on the front pillars surrounding the porch, in the mesquite tree, up and down the ocotillo, etc. I’d start bugging him to get the lights up as soon as Thanksgiving was over. Sometimes the lights would go up by December 1st; sometimes it would be the 2nd weekend in December.

I take such pleasure in Christmas lights that I drive a slightly different route through our neighborhood each and every time I'm out so I can see the different lights at night. The kids and I always used to search out the best holiday display in the area. There was the house up off Shannon and Overton where the owners dressed as Santa and an elf, had crazy displays in the front yard that included teddy bears playing football on a football field and a ton of other things. They lived on a cul-de-sac and traffic in and out of that neighborhood was Ri.Dic.U.Lous. They even handed out candy canes and hot chocolate to every person who came by to enjoy their lights and took donations for the local food bank. They did this each and every night up to Christmas.

Then there was Disney Lane. Another neighborhood in our area where on a particular street, every single house on both sides was decorated in a different Disney theme. They all had huge, similarly painted wood cutouts in their yards of different Disney characters. There was a Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs house, a Mickey & Minnie house, an Aladdin house complete with a “floating” magic carpet with Aladdin & Jasmine and music pouring out of the house and one of our favorites was the 101 Dalmatians house with the roofline decorated with wood cutouts of stockings, each holding a different Dalmatian pup.

One year my Christmas lights stayed up all year long and it annoyed the hell out of me. By the time December rolled around and we plugged the lights in, they were no longer bright and vibrant. The sun had bleached them and they had become pastel colored. But what the heck, we just lived with them that year and then took them down after Christmas and put brand new strings up the following year.

Well this past Christmas was very rough for Al. He didn’t feel well, was weak and not eating properly. Marshall put our lights up for us. (Funny that Al’s obsession with hanging the lights just so was passed down to Marsh) Everyone got busy after the holidays and then Al went in the hospital. He was there for three weeks before passing away. The lights never came down. Now that the holidays are upon us, I was a little annoyed that I’d probably be looking at either having pastel lights again or having to buy new strands and have Marshall put them up. My kids all understand how happy Christmas lights make me. As we wrapped up Thanksgiving evening and they were each leaving, Les & Trevor plugged the lights in and called me outside. They were beautiful! I don’t have pastels this year! Granted, the blue bulbs need to be replaced but that’s an easy job and Marshall has already volunteered to help with that task. The lights on my house may not be like the famous display set to the music of the Trans Siberian Orchcestra that is such a hit on youtube.com but that's just fine with me.

I know the holidays will be tough this year but I’m going to do my best to make this season as happy as I can. Life goes on and I'll keep our traditions going. There will still be homemade eggnog (Yes Trevor!!), tamales & beans, snowballs and fudge, a massive live Christmas tree and the lights hung just so.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Painful, emotional documentation of Al's hospitalization

I had dinner last night with two former coworkers who I am happy to say are now friends. It’s interesting because as we sat there catching up and telling each other of the strange twists and turns our lives have taken over the past year, I realized that no matter how happy each of us appear, what often brings us closer to each other is the fact that we’re all in pain to some degree. Some of us have deep-rooted pain from a long ago tragedy. Some of us feel the pain of thinking we’re all alone with no one to understand what it is we’re trying to cope with. Some of us may be embarrassed to reveal our pain for fear others may brush it off or make light of it. But honestly, no one’s pain is any less than the next persons. We can’t judge what someone else is feeling, we can only acknowledge it and try to understand. And while my friends and I each revealed bits and pieces of our pain please don’t think that was the focus of our evening. It surely wasn’t. Along with the few tears that were shed, there was much laughter. And noise. And fun. And Mi Nidito’s Mexican food. And a Michelada here and a Sangria there.

Last night's little adventure and relaying to my friends the recent twists and turns my life has taken (albeit Readers Digest version) has made me feel the need to tell the story of what happened to Al here in this forum.

I warn you, this is EXTREMELY long, EXTREMELY personal, and perhaps a little tedious to read. But I need to write this. I need to document it somewhere so I never lose these memories and the sequence of events. I'm sure I may have lost a few details or mixed a few things up here and there but I'm trying hard to be as accurate as I can. Again, I NEED to do this. So here goes.

Over the past 10 years, Al’s health was starting to decline somewhat. It started years and years ago with various sports injuries and many laparoscopic knee surgeries. (OMG, random memory from the Al joke file. Before he ever had his knees replaced he used to tell everyone he’d had five knee surgeries. Two on his left knee, two on his right knee and one on his weenie….(vasectomy).) He had little to no meniscus in either knee, resulting in terrible arthritis and eventually two full knee replacements, a torn rotator cuff which resulted in surgery, a broken hand with a metal pin installed, a disc problem in his back, diabetes and things I’m sure I’m forgetting. The man had a very high tolerance for pain but was living in so much constant pain for the past 8-10 years. The pain made working very difficult too. Al began self medicating to ease the pain by drinking a little more and taking Tylenol to excess. When I say excess, I’m talking 10-12 500mg capsules every day throughout the day and night. I know we were somewhat stupid because neither of us really realized the harm in doing that. In addition, Al always drank. Since I met him over 32years ago, he was always the guy with the beer in his hand. I never realized it but now I see that he would be considered a functioning alcoholic.

Well for many months Al had been having a lot of pain and discomfort in his abdomen. He didn’t enjoy eating anymore and always felt full. He’d already been diagnosed with Barrett’s esophagus a year or so prior and had some problems with vomiting blood. He pretty much stopped eating and I began forcing him to drink Ensure and a daily fruit smoothie with protein powder just to get some nutrients in him. Finally we got what we thought was a diagnosis that would solve the problem. He was told he needed to have his gallbladder removed. So tests were ordered and we met with the surgeon who would remove his gallbladder. During that appointment the surgeon turned to us and said, “I can’t do surgery to remove your gallbladder. You have cirrhosis of the liver.” We were stunned. The date was January 29, 2010. He explained that if you looked at cirrhosis severity as a level A, B or C with C being the worst, Al was at a B level. The surgeon scheduled a procedure called paracentesis for Al to have fluid removed that was building up in his abdomen. They basically use a long needle guided by some form of x-ray or scan and insert the needle in the belly and let the fluid drain. On Feb. 12, he had 3.2 liters of fluid “tapped” from his abdomen as an outpatient procedure. This gave him some relief for a short time. Over the next week, his belly started to swell again and Al was becoming very lethargic and was in a lot of discomfort. I was so alarmed by his overall well-being that I convinced him to go to the Emergency Room on Sunday, Feb. 21. He was immediately admitted to the hospital and the craziness began. After a consult with a gastroenterologist and the original surgeon who was to do the gallbladder surgery, Al’s cirrhosis level was determined to actually be between a B and a C. Suddenly the gallbladder was no longer a concern. Surgery to remove it was too risky. The gastro doc wasn’t really giving us any answers and seemed to be downplaying the cirrhosis. We desperately needed some answers on what the future held and this doctor was not giving us anything. My daughter Alison and I finally tracked the doctor down where he was finishing a procedure and we ambushed him in the waiting room. We asked some hard questions and he finally told us Al had between 3-5 years left to live. OK, we can deal with this…at least we know.

On Feb 24 they removed another 5.5 liters of fluid from his belly. We were told he would be going home within a few days but we (Al’s family) knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. His vitals were all out of whack, his blood work was a mess and he was not well. On Feb 25 we had a different gastro doc come in and talk to us. By this time Al’s father and sister were here. This doctor told us very simply that of the patients in Al’s current condition, 50% of them die within the first year. While that was devastating news, at least it was honest. Again, they were preparing to have him go home within the next day or two if they could get him stabilized.

The next day when I came to see Al he told me that the gastro doctor had been in again and asked Al if he knew or realized what the prognosis was. Al told him yes, he understood that he had between 6 months and a year. He said the doctor kind of nodded and told Al they we would take it one day at a time. His blood pressure was way down, which made him very dizzy and the sodium levels in his blood needed to increase (different from sodium in the diet) and he was having difficulty urinating. Al and I started having conversations about what he wanted out of the next few months. He wanted to take me on a few day trips to show me some of his favorite hunting spots, beautiful areas in the mountains and desert. He wanted to take one last trip to the beach in Mexico, he wanted to move his annual golf trip with his high school buddies to Tucson instead of the planned Portland trip.

On March 2, his nurse told Al his numbers were looking good and there was a possibility he might go home. I reminded Al that the nephrologist (kidney specialist) told us the night before that he would be giving him some large doses of albumin over at least a six hour period today so I couldn’t imagine him going home today. Albumin acts like a magnet and pulls the fluid out of his system and into his bloodstream, which the kidney then pulls out and processes as urine. The hope was that this would get his kidneys functioning better. The nephrologist came in and confirmed that Al would not be going home. We were now looking at the 9th day of hospitalization.

We were told Al was not a current candidate for a liver transplant. Patients must meet a list of criteria – one of which is no alcohol use for at least 6 months. Al only stopped using alcohol when he was diagnosed on Jan 29 and then had 4 beers on Super Bowl Sunday so actually, he had only been alcohol free since Feb 7. Alison & I inquired about a living donor and were told the criteria was even more stringent for living donor transplantation. Al’s case manager told us he was “walking the line” between where doctors can try different drugs to help his condition and not being able to do anything further.

The doctors began discussing the possibility of doing a TIPS procedure (Transjugular Intrahepatic Portosystemic Shunt) which is a liver shunt. The shunt drains the fluids from the liver in to the blood stream which is then processed through the kidneys to eliminate the waste. Al’s kidneys were once again producing urine (a positive thing) however the TIPS is a surgical procedure and ANY surgical procedure was risky since Al was extremely prone to infection and bleeding. TIPS doesn’t “cure” anything but is designed to alleviate the discomfort of fluid buildup without having to do the paracentesis time after time.

I received a panicky phone call from Al on March 4 at 3AM. He told me he was scared that he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. I left the house and was at the hospital by 3:30AM. He was on oxygen, his breathing was very shallow, he was extremely weak and had a fever of 101.5. The staff began aggressively treating him, pumping fluids in him and quickly moved him to ICU. Al had an infection raging through his body and over the next day or two while he was in ICU, anyone entering his room had to gown up and wear gloves and masks.

On March 5, the nephrologist said Al’s creatinine levels had become slightly elevated again. Before the episode that put him in the ICU, his level had dropped down to a 1.8 (1.3 is a on the high end of the “normal” scale). We had been working on getting his level down to 1.2 to hopefully get him home. On March 5, his level was at 2.3. Another paracentesis was performed. In addition, because his liver wasn’t functioning, fluids were building up again and his bowels and kidneys stopped working which makes infection all the more likely.

I was told that it’s important to reevaluate Al’s condition every single day and to not focus on the little pieces of information that I’m given. It’s the overall picture that is important. How is Al feeling today? Is he sleeping most of the time? Is he becoming so uncomfortable with the procedures, medications and prodding that it’s unbearable?

Al was moved out of the ICU on March 7. We were told that Al would likely go home on that day. They talked about removing the catheters and the central line (IV in the chest/shoulder). The doctor wanted to see about removing additional fluid so another paracentesis was ordered. He had one done the day before where 4 liters of fluid was removed. But the radiologist didn't want to do another so soon. He felt it was too risky to do it so soon. The physical therapy team came in to evaluate. They needed Al to be able to roll to his side and sit up in bed and then get up with his walker and take a few steps. He needed to show them he could do this so they could feel confident he would be able to do the same at home. It was a real struggle. He really had a hard time doing what he needed to do without a LOT of assistance. He became very weak and his oxygen level dropped significantly. His blood pressure dropped and he became dizzy. After they left the case manager came in and said she had bad news.....he couldn't go home. In the state he was in, it would take 2-3 people to help him at home. So their next plan was to release him to a skilled nursing facility to gain some strength and still be taken care of medically. Then we got word that they in fact did want to do the paracentesis and they were once again considering the TIPS procedure (liver shunt) but it would all depend on his white blood cell count.

On March 10 my family and I met with a trusted physician (my former boss) who is an executive at the hospital I work for and is basically the “boss” of all the physicians when they are practicing medicine in the hospital. She was following Al’s case and was able to talk to us honestly and openly….something the doctors involved in Al’s case weren’t really doing. I also met with the main doctor in charge of Al’s care. Both agreed and said it made no sense to transfer Al to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) because it would begin a vicious cycle of being at the SNF and being taken daily to the hospital for paracentesis. We talked a bit about the TIPS procedure and she said that while his white cell count was down significantly, it was still high which means he still had an infection running through his body. She said there was a very high risk of further infection if the TIPS was done. I asked her if the shunt became infected, would they have to go back in and take it out. She explained that taking the shunt out wouldn’t be the issue, but that a resulting infection would very likely kill him. She also said that removing fluid every day was very risky and was keeping him in the hospital. And truth be told, it is VERY common to contract an infection in the hospital. This presented even more risk to Al. She left to go consult with the radiologist about the paracentesis. Not too long after, they took Al to radiology for the paracentesis where they removed 6.6 liters. 6.6, I couldn’t get over that number. In just THREE days, they removed almost 15 liters of fluid.

After the paracentesis, I became very concerned after learning how much fluid had accumulated overnight. The kids and I arranged to meet with my former boss (the physician) and the director of our hospice. My former boss explained what no one else had said. Each time a paracentesis was performed, the bad stuff was leaving the body but so was the good stuff; the proteins, the electrolytes, etc. By draining the fluids we weren’t allowing the natural process of having those electrolytes and proteins be cycled back in to his bloodstream where they could be absorbed and nourish his body. He was becoming extremely dehydrated. No amount of fluids entering his body either thru IV or mouth were doing their job to rehydrate because they were being pulled out through paracentesis therefore defeating the purpose of IV fluids completely. She talked about the SNF and reminded us that we need to continually look at the goal. Was Al going to get better? No. So what is the goal of a skilled nursing facility? Their goal is to improve the health of patients, to convalesce them to where they are able to recover from illness or an accident. The SNF’s goal didn’t match the goal for Al. Al would not improve or recover; he needed to be made comfortable. That left two options: 1) continued hospital stay with constant paracentesis which would likely result in an eventual bad situation; infection, bleeding, leakage to the point where the doctors would refuse to do the procedure any longer. Paracentesis was not pleasant and Al was in some pain afterward. And 2) hospice where they could make him comfortable and stop the invasive procedures and allow for some beautiful, peaceful time with all his family up to the end.

Later, Al and I talked privately about this and then had a hospice nurse and case manager come in and talk to us. This was so hard because up until that moment, I think Al believed that although he was very sick and had only a short time left with us, he expected to be able to go home at some point. He told them that he wanted to go home, that he wanted to die at home. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible. Al was receiving more oxygen than could be managed at home. He needed to be in inpatient hospice. The staff left and Al asked me to leave him for a bit so he could take it all in. As hard as it was, I gave him his privacy. What I didn’t know at the time was that he wanted me to leave so he could call his family and tell them he was dying and was going to hospice. He didn’t want me to have to do that. I also found out later that during those conversations, his concern wasn’t for himself but it was for me. He was worried about me and how I would get through this and how my life would change. Can you imagine? Facing the end of his life and his first thought was for me. I can’t even express how much I love him. I came back to his room about an hour later and he told me he was ready, to go ahead and bring back the hospice staff so he could sign the paperwork and get transferred. It was heartbreaking yet a relief. I knew my husband had suffered in silence for many, many years and the past three weeks were agonizing for him not only physically but mentally and emotionally. What I haven’t mentioned in this long post is the confusion that came along with his hospitalization and sickness. With cirrhosis, the toxins build up in the body and become poisonous and confusion sets in. When those toxins are released from the body, the confusion clears. During the first week of his hospitalization came a somewhat humorous bout of confusion. There was a package of bed pads next to his bed and he turned to me and said, “I told you to put those in the refrigerator. They’re going to spoil.” We went back and forth because I didn’t know what he was talking about. Finally he said to me, “The green corn tamales right here next to me, they’re going to spoil. Put them in the fridge.” We both laughed about it later when the confusion cleared. The periods of confusion came a few more times and were more evident the morning of his transfer to hospice. A few hours after signing for the transfer, he was loaded in to an ambulance and taken the quarter mile or so to hospice which is on the hospital campus. We got Al settled in his room in hospice and I hung out with him for a few hours. He was very, very tired and was receiving high doses of morphine to keep him comfortable. He told me to go home and get some rest, he’d be fine and I could come back in the morning. I hesitated but felt somewhat comfortable since we all thought Al would be there for a week, maybe two. There was time to spend with him, time to talk to him, time to reminisce with him, time to look at pictures with him. Just time to be with him. I went home and spent time with my daughter going through family pictures. We wanted to decorate his room with tons of photos and fill a photo album with pictures of our life so he could reflect on his life and enjoy the pictures. The next morning (Friday, March 12) my daughter, son-in-law and baby granddaughter went to see Al and spend a few hours with him. Upon their arrival, she called me and told me that her dad was different. He was in and out of consciousness and she was scared. I left right away and came to hospice. He was different. It was clear that he was in the process of dying. I spoke with the hospice director whom I know quite well and she told me that she didn’t think he’d make it through the weekend. We were shocked. How did this happen? Just the day before he was himself, he was still talking to us and telling us he loved us. I can only say that he was ready and he could no longer fight what was happening. He had turned his body over from science to nature. Family was called and they were already on their way from California to be with us and help Al leave this world.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

All Souls Procession

A huge celebration was held this past Sunday in Tucson. An amazing, spectacular event that honors not only our rich Mexican heritage but all those loved ones who have passed. This was the 20th anniversary of the All Souls Procession. It begins as a 2-mile procession with participants dressed in Dia de Los Muertos costume and make up, homemade floats, puppets, you name it. The procession ends in a large downtown lot where an amazing finale is held with music, dancing, fire, and the burning of a large urn that is suspended in the air. That urn holds the prayers, wishes and memories of and for our loved ones.

I’ve had a long fascination with Dia de Los Muertos and the beautiful art that surrounds it. I convinced a few family members to attend the All Souls Procession a couple of years ago but we only went to the finale and did not participate in the actual “parade”. While it was amazing and hugely touching, I left with a yearning to really experience and feel the joy of the procession. With Al’s passing, it meant more than ever for us to attend as a family this year and to actually be in the procession. Surprisingly, all three of my kids agreed to participate.

I spent Sunday morning preparing….I made a couple of “altars” which were to be hung around the neck, picked up a couple of clearance skull and ghost Halloween piƱatas and stuck some dowels in them so we could carry them in the procession and then the part I was most excited about, getting in to character for the procession. (Yes, that's me in the photo - captured by a professional photographer as we went through the 4th Ave underpass)


We all met up at along the procession route (me, Lesley & Isla, Alison, and Marshall & Ali) and joined the revelers in the parade. We joined the procession with a group of folklorico dancers with their faces painted as skeletons in front of us and a group of dancers & drummers behind us. Within moments we were going under the 4th Ave bridge where all you saw was a sea of people. It was crazy! We walked along in the procession, kind of dancing our way along to the finale site.

We didn’t stay for the finale which was fine since the actual procession was more important to me this year. After all we had not only a baby in a stroller with us but we had a full-term pregnant woman with us too!

What makes me really happy is that my kids enjoyed it so much that they want to do the procession with me again next year. And not just walk it. They all want to go in costume and make up! All of them…even Marshall!!!

Not only did we honor Al’s life and memory by participating in this fabulous celebration but we’ve created a new family tradition.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Sleep eludes me

After lying in bed tossing and turning for hours, I’ve finally climbed out of bed if for nothing else, a change of environment. This reminds me of the night I started this blog. Just like then, sleep doesn’t come. What does come are tears. They flow surprisingly free tonight and what is different this time is that I let them. Thoughts and images of Al keep flooding my mind.

I can see him holding Isla and the look of pride and joy on his face as he greets his granddaughter on the day of her birth. I see him packing up the Bronco at 3am for a deer hunting trip and how he would laugh when Dodger always jumped in the back seat and wouldn’t get out for hours in fear he would get left behind. I see him lying under that same Bronco doing some vehicle maintenance or repair, wearing those old jeans and blue work shirt covered in grease and oil. I see his beaming face as he is by my side as each of our three children enter the world and draw their first breaths. I see him standing over the stove making the Thanksgiving gravy with a glass of wine by his side. I see him stapling a sheet over the hallway opening in to the living room so the kids wouldn’t see what Santa had left on Christmas morning until we could get in to position to see their little faces light up. I see him with Cholla in his lap as that silly little Boxer snuggled in his arms. I see him practicing his putting and chipping in the living room. I see him by Brian’s pool enjoying a summer Sunday afternoon with his best friend and family laughing and teasing. I see him in his recliner content to spend the entire day watching golf. I see him on the sidelines, his face glowing with pride, as Marshall tears it up on the football field with Alison and Lesley cheering on the sidelines in their orange cheerleading uniforms. I see the serious look on his face and stern warning of silence as we get on the “shortcut” between Gila Bend and Buckeye. I see the happiness on his face as Marshall arrives in the early morning and Al grabs his golf clubs and heads out the door for father/son time. I see the tears fall during Alison’s wedding rehearsal in the park as he walks her down the “aisle”. I see the pride in his face when Lesley walks across the stage to receive her high school diploma. I see the sadness in his eyes when we leave his father in California after a visit but also hear the love in his voice when he calls his dad for their frequent phone calls.

You know, there really wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for that man. He didn’t frequently express his deep unfaltering love for me TO me but I can’t even count the times when I’d meet one of Al’s friends, coworkers or acquaintances for the first time and that person would tell me how Al gushes about his love for me and how I am his angel. That he would probably not be in this world if it weren’t for me. In the past year or so before Al left us, he told me that one of his greatest fears is that I would die before him and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on without me.

So I guess it’s a bit of a blessing he passed first although way too soon. I still feel robbed to some degree. Robbed of what were to be the best years of our lives. Our kids are grown and are responsible, upstanding adults who will do well in life and love. We did our jobs and this time was to be ours. It was only for a brief time that this house that once held a noisy, fun family became our quiet, peaceful home. The place we looked forward to having family gatherings and celebrations.

I wish I could hear his laugh, feel his touch and see his face still. I miss him so much that it physically hurts. It’s a pain I suppose anyone who’s truly loved someone feels at some point. I wait for the day this ache becomes bearable and the tears no longer flow.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A healing place for the spirit

Working on the same hospital campus which houses Peppi’s makes it necessary for me to end up there on occasion. I remember the first time I went there after going back to work. I had to deliver ice cream treats to the staff for a recognition program. No problem! I hopped in my hospital issued golf cart and took off to the far edge of our property where Peppi’s is located, went in and made my presentation and then turned to leave. Again ~ No problem! No tears, no nothing…just doing my job. Got in the golf cart to go back to my office, turned the key and it kept turning, and turning, and turning. The damn thing was just spinning in the cylinder and the key wasn’t catching. The stupid golf cart was dead. At Hospice. Surely, you see the humor in that. I sure did. Anyway, that day showed me that I could do it. I can go to Hospice and not be bothered or upset.

I’ve been back a time or two since for work related things and then recently went to see if I could do something for my friend and her family when her dad was there. That particular visit brought me to the other end of the building…the REAL part of hospice….the part where people are patients….where people are dying. My friend’s dad’s door was closed so I left a note taped to the door for her to call me. But even being there in the same halls, at the same nurse’s station, smelling the same smells and hearing the same hushed voices didn’t bother me. I didn’t cry, wasn’t bothered or upset.

Just a couple of weeks ago I attended an amazing dedication celebration at Peppi’s. On the street side of the building lies a large open lot that is covered in gravel or decomposed granite or something. It’s very dull and not very aesthetically pleasing. Well, through generous donations a beautiful labyrinth and centering garden was built in the formally barren space. Part of my unwritten job description is that I attend such dedications to show camaraderie, employee cohesiveness, etc and to make sure there are plenty of people in attendance. So several of my coworkers and I went for the dedication ceremony. While it lasted much longer than any of us anticipated, it was simply beautiful. There were readings, artwork dedications, prayers and all of it was very simple. Prayers were offered from many faiths…Christian, Buddhist, Sikh or Baha’i (I don't remember which), Jewish, and Native American. Being one who’s faith is a little out of the norm, I felt the most connected to the ceremony when the Tohono O’odham blessed the site with feathers and burning sage. The tile art and rock labyrinth bring a much needed sense of peace to Peppi’s House. And yes, I cried. The words touched me a great deal and the entire ceremony took place right outside the private patio attached to the room Al passed in. But it was an emotional, thankful cry. Thankful that there are others who feel what I feel and were there to share in this beautiful experience. I looked towards the sky to try to blink away the tears but was caught up in what was happening above me. The few clouds in that magnificent blue sky seemed to be only over Hospice. Those wispy clouds started a slow swirl towards each other and joined as one. It was like all the souls of the people who had passed in Hospice were joining together for this happy occasion. It really amazed me and I found it to be quite spiritual.

However we are Navarro’s. And even if this beautiful, peaceful labyrinth had been there the night that Peppi’s was filled with my family and friends saying their goodbyes to my beautiful husband, I know the truth. We STILL would have been out there toasting Al, drinking beer, telling stories and partying in the parking lot. What can I say, it’s who we are!