Ashes

In the end, my father's remains only stayed the weekend with us. I didn't like having them at my house one little bit. I texted my sister over the weekend, trying to come up with a game plan for the disposal of the cremated remains. I refuse to have them scattered at my house. I do not want any kind of daily reminder of him. I looked into prices of having the remains placed at a cemetery, and what goes into getting a permit to scatter them in a public place. He liked Deception Pass, but that's a long drive and looked to be a little complicated to be able to legally spread them there. My sister suggested she could spread them at her house when she planted trees in the spring. I think she expected me to also spread them at my house so it would be a 50/50 split, but again.... No daily reminders please. So in the end I took the box to the post office and shipped them to my sister. 

Proof that I am a hard-hearted person, leaving the box in the shed. 

I succumbed to curiosity before going to the post office. The required box for mailing human cremated remains is about 3 times larger than it needed to be. There was a length of brown paper scrunched in to prevent the remains container from rolling around too much. It was not as much packing paper as I would have expected the funeral home to use for safely mailing remains, but oh well. They were the budget option, so I shouldn't complain. 

Ultimately, there's not much left after the cremation. It could have been a bag of flour just looking at it.

 I taped the box back together again, with my sister's address covering mine. I belatedly realized it would have been cheaper to have originally have the remains mailed to my sister, but decisions needed to be made in the wake of the unexpected death and confusion of it all. 

The drive to the post office was my last moments with my dad. About 6-7 minutes of me yelling at the box sitting in the passenger seat. I guess some things needed to be said. Saying how he had made me feel. Calling him names. I don't swear as a rule. It's not something that appeals to me. But there was something immensely satisfying about calling him the south end of a donkey. Words matter, and there was something cathartic about those particular words. He had to just take my anger and not angrily justify himself, something he was unable to do in life.

Once I made it to the post office counter, the guy lead with "I'm sorry for your loss." Then told me that this particular box would have to be sent certified mail, implying the extra cost. I said I knew that, and I paid the $107 to mail the box to Iowa. I was done with it, and I was glad to be. 

Head Above Water

Weeks of waiting culminated yesterday with the delivery of my father's remains. I was a little worried that the mail person wouldn't even bother to try to deliver them. When the death certificates made it to town, the notice was left in our mailbox. If the mail delivery person had actually driven down our driveway A) we were home, and B) they would have left the notice on the front door or the table by the front door (because we've had a notice left on our glass door). I had to go to the post office last Monday to sign for the death certificates. Our mail delivery is a bit lazy. We've had packages left on top of our mailbox, halfway down our long driveway, in the middle of the driveway (I actually watched the delivery open the door of the van, drop the package on the ground, and make a U-turn around the package), on the retaining wall along the driveway, and in the flowers in front of the house- just kinda chucked into the middle of the flowers. Half of the time, our packages end up actually by our front door. You just never know what you will get. I guess I either got a responsible driver or I got a pity delivery. 

 I should have been more on the ball and asked how many of these packages she's delivered. This can't be a normal thing, right? Or is it? I kind of want to know. 

The box did not come in the house. Annie took it out to the shed. 

Now that I have the death certificates, it was time to start closing out accounts and attempt to pay on my dad's enormous bills. There was no school today, so I went down to Ryan's building for lunch and made some phone calls with him. Ryan is good moral support. We tried several times calling Chase bank. I've never had the opportunity to do banking on someone else's behalf and I don't know who or what to ask for, and we were not smart enough to get past the automated system for a long time. I have an account number but no PIN. The words "Death," "dead," "help," and "operator" did not give any results. Ryan finally had the magic touch and we got a real person. They transferred us over to another department. After going through my information, his information, I was told that someone had already told the bank he was dead. Fabulous, and my call was pointless. To get the time of death balance, I needed to go in person to the bank one town over and present myself, my ID, and the death certificate. 

In person banking is an over-long, drawn out process. We waited about a half hour to get a person to help us, and another half hour of questions, typing, and photocopies to be told that my father had someone else on the account so I am unable to access ANY of his money. I was not allowed to guess who that other person was for privacy reasons. And the lady helping us was quite sure that my father could not have had a safety deposit box through their bank because they had phased those out a year or two ago. 

I am so tired of the road blocks.

There was a credit card bill with the Chase bank account. I couldn't even authorize the payment of it. My ire and frustration had risen, and with it my voice. I said good luck getting that bill paid off because they were on their own. 

I hope people are gracious enough to brush off my over-wrought emotions. Death and grief, I am hoping, will earn me a little bit of a pass. I am usually better at hiding the worst of my emotional state, and not biting off the heads of people just doing their jobs.

Waiting

I have come to the conclusion that the USPS employs knuckle-dragging, mouth breathers. I've been attempting to watch the progress of the package containing my father's remains as it makes it way to my house. The package was received by USPS in Texas last Thursday, the 16th. And then.... nothing. Friday there was a package in Kent, WA and was due to make its appearance at my house the 21st. I was thinking it could even arrive earlier as some packages which arrive in Kent make their way here by the next day. Wouldn't that be nice to have the anticipation over and done with? I didn't realize there were two packages out there heading for my house and thought this one was my father's remains. The nervous anticipation hasn't only been affecting me. Ryan even had a dream over the weekend that the postal worker delivered my dad's remains in a wannabe cheap, plastic Tupperware container that was spilling ash as it was handed to him. It doesn't make sense that the anticipation of this delivery is bothering me so much, but it is. I feel weirdly anxious about it. 

In any case, since Friday morning the package has gone from Kent to Seattle (18th), to Spokane (also the 18th), to Yakima (again the 18th), then to Ellensburg (the 21-22nd) where it stayed all day instead of coming here. I don't know if they were playing pin-ball around the state of Washington or what, but that shipping route made no sense. If a package was in Yakima then its next stop should have been Sunnyside, not the opposite direction to Ellensburg. And what was with the trip to Spokane? I put in for a substitute at the temple Tuesday because I am supposed to sign for the delivery of my father's ashes whenever it arrives. I waited around all day for nothing. Sometimes the postal service website doesn't update very quickly, and the package time stamps will all of a sudden catch up with it after it's been delivered so I didn't know if it really would be delivered or not. I ran on the treadmill instead of in the freezing sunshine because I was afraid to miss the delivery. I waited with twitchy, nervous anticipation for two whole days, only to find out the package that came Wednesday night was just more of my dad's mail. I felt like such a fool. I was all worked up over a Priority Mail envelope of Medicare coupons, a Christmas card from someone I don't know, and health care stuff. 

After combing through my email to find the one with the tracking number for the package that does say I need to sign for it, I discovered the reason I wasn't getting updates on that one is because it was just "en route to the next facility." That package was lost in the system for a week. I sent a message to USPS through Facebook messenger just before bedtime last night asking about my father's cremated remains and what to do about a lost package. I woke up to a response saying, "Thanks for contacting us. I see that your item has updated on this morning... you may continue to see updates periodically until final delivery." (The extra word "on" and the .... are exactly as my message was written.) I'm still feeling peeved about the whole mail situation, and replied that I stayed home all day Tuesday and since Monday was a holiday there was no way of knowing the package was delayed. And after losing my father's remains for a week, they didn't think an apology was in order? Yes, I realize I sound snippy. That's how I feel. An apology from the customer service rep doesn't seem like a huge ask though. Especially since that package was only supposed to take 1 to 2 days to reach its destination.

I think my emotions are a little, tiny bit less angry than they have been. I don't have a lot of new memories assaulting me. Just some random stupid ones, like my dad really loved to cheat in games. He thought it was funny to deal extra cards to other people in Uno, or play a couple of cards together to play down his hand faster. Or things like that. I feel a certain amount of self-loathing for letting him stay in my life as an adult at all. What was I thinking? Where were my healthy boundaries? I continued to let him make me feel small and bad about myself. That was so stupid of me. After much pondering and prayer, I think the answer is- some days we were the only thing keeping him from committing suicide. He would ask every so often if he could just be done with life. And as problematic as he was, suicide isn't the answer. If the pain of having him sporadically in my life was the cost of keeping him from such drastic measures, then I guess I need to figure out how to be ok with that. Watching others deal with the guilt and pain of family members committing suicide looks even worse. 

In other news, Maddie is still battling her tummy troubles. She seems to struggle the most in the early mornings, so getting to sleep in every day during our three day weekend meant she didn't throw up. Ryan took her to the doctor Monday. She has new anti-nausea medicine that dissolves under the tongue and we are hoping will help. She took some Tuesday morning, but she threw up again after seminary and again on Thursday. She's making good use out of those blue puke bags I used to have stashed in the minivan. Wednesday the girls did not go to seminary, due to Annie going to an evening FFA event and getting home late Tuesday evening. Maddie is still nauseous, lethargic, and has very little appetite. I've taken to buying 7-Up to get her to drink anything. We never buy pop but I am desperate.

Threats

Once upon a time, I saw this fun idea on Pinterest called "Kindness Elves." Instead of Elf on the Shelf, this elf would leave service ideas for the family. I thought to myself, "What a great idea! What better focus could we have at Christmas time?" I found this cute little elf at Hobby Lobby that cost about $3, and all I needed was a plan.... that never materialized. The Christmas season always gets away from me. So the little elf stayed packed away for a year or two, and then the kids found it. I confessed to my un-materialized plans. I got some disappointed looks, but we all moved on. The girls took to hiding him around the house themselves but without any altruistic ideas. He might be stuck in the Christmas tree, in the wreath on the front door, on a book shelf, or in the fridge. You just never knew where he might show up. 

Last year the elf got himself an accessory- a knife made out of tin foil. I feel a bit threatened this year.  Here he is on the banister up to my bedroom:

And in the cupholder on the treadmill:

And in the knick-knacks on the piano:

These pictures have all been taken since we put the Christmas decorations away. I hope the kids are trying to be humorous to shake me out of my grumpy moods.

Trials

I got an email this morning with a tracking number for a package coming from Texas. I guess that means my dad has been cremated. The funeral home hadn't been firm on when that was going to occur but enough time has elapsed so... it's done. His remains are en route to my house. At some point we'll have to decide what to do with them. I still don't know what to do. Part of me wants the decision to be made already, and another part isn't in a hurry at all. There are no easy answers to all of this. I'm still mad at him and he won't be coming in my house. He can wait in the garage until.... I have an answer. I do have to sign for the package when "he" arrives. His cremated remains aren't really him anymore, but saying he/him is a kind of verbal short-hand for "his cremated remains." I watched a YouTube video about cremation. The only bits that are left after cremation are just very charred bones in a state of ashes. Everything else burns off. It's simultaneously very gross and interesting, and something for which I am very grateful I don't have to deal with. I am glad there are all kinds of people in the world, including those who can take care of the dead without being totally grossed out.

I didn't stay for the full two hours of church on Sunday. I left after sacrament meeting. I was both angry and ready for a good cry. Those seem to be my overriding emotions these days. A new, starry-eyed missionary gave a nice talk but it rubbed me wrong. His subject was faith. He held up the example of the 2,000 stripling warriors as how we all should be- and how things work out when we have faith. They were protected because of their faith in Jesus Christ. It's a sweet, but ultimately naive sentiment. Abinadi must not have been very faithful then. He died while testifying. In Alma chapter 14 there's a horrifying story about women and children being burned for their belief in front of Alma and Almulek. Were they just not faithful or righteous enough? Joseph and Emma Smith lost 4 of their first 5 children. Man, if only they'd just been more faithful, right? Maybe we are not promised any kind of reward in this life for living righteously. Maybe the whole point of the gospel is to point us toward a glorious reward after this life. We are promised strength in keeping our covenants. We are promised to be able to find some joy during our trials. But this life can be a great, big dumpster fire at times. There are glimmers of goodness here and there, and we ought to focus on those things. But expecting a hunky dory outcome in this life because we are being righteous and having faith in the Lord means you didn't understand the assignment. Because all of the children born into terrible home lives- what did they do? When loving family members are taken too soon, who was the person at fault then? Sickness? Loss of a job? There are too many difficult things people go through to mention. But none of these trials means a person wasn't being faithful. James E Faust said in a General Conference talk, "Here then is a great truth. In the pain, the agony, and the heroic endeavors of life, we pass through a refiner's fire, and the insignificant and the unimportant in our lives can melt away like dross and make our faith bright, intact, and strong. In this way the divine image can be mirrored in the soul. It is part of the purging toll exacted of some to become acquainted with God. In the agonies of life, we seem to listen better to the faint, godly whisperings of the Divine Shepherd." (The Refiner's Fire, 1979) So, I am hearing "refiner's fire" and "agony" and "purging." Sounds like the dumpster fire I mentioned earlier. Because sometimes there isn't a reason for the bad things that happen in this life. It isn't always the Lord's Will things turn out a certain way. (That's a Calvinist theology- thanks Standard of Truth podcast for pointing that out. Not everything is "the Lord's Will." We as beings with agency bring many consequences for ourselves and others. And other things just.... happen. Welcome to earth- a place of great beauty, but also fires, tornados, earthquakes, and being subjected to the consequences of other's choices, etc.) Mortal life just equals trials and experiences that hopefully lead to growth. But with the restored gospel, we can know that all of us here on the earth chose to have this mortal experience. Now comes the hard part- to find meaning in the suffering, and a better relationship with Jesus Christ amidst the trials. 

Maddie has been sick with the stomach flu for a week and a half now. She's only missed one full day of school all at once, but her attendance has been kind of spotty during portions of the day. At the one week mark, I took her to the doctor. He said that he wasn't really concerned. Many viruses last 3-5 days, so while 8 days is a bit long it wasn't worrisome yet. He prescribed some anti-nausea medicine as we've made our way through the over the counter kinds and not found a solution. It hasn't worked any better than any of the other kinds we've tried. Maddie is getting good at holding small amounts of puke in her mouth until she finds a receptacle for her stomach contents. It doesn't seem to matter if she has food or drink in her stomach in the morning. She pukes anyway. The issue with the "lower end" has gotten better. But I don't know if that's happening because she is getting better, or the anti-diarrhea medicine we give her in the evenings is helping. She can get small amounts to stay down in the late afternoon and evening time. We can go into the doctor again if she isn't better by next week. So we are counting down the days.

On a completely unrelated note, here's a story from last week.

Ryan and I cuddle when we first get to bed at night. One night as we are spooning and Ryan's head is resting on my pillow, Ryan announces, "It's time for you to buy a new pillow." 

"Oh?" I said. "Are you wanting my pillow now?"

He said his was flat and lumpy and he was ready for mine. We have this weird tradition where I get a nice, thick, fluffy pillow and use it until it's halfway to retirement. At that point, Ryan wants it. He doesn't like new, fluffy pillows of his own. He likes my used ones. I used to buy new pillows two at a time, but Ryan prefers this method. It's peculiar, but it works for us.

Shakespearean Insults

 I am to the point in my grief journey that name calling feels appropriate. During Covid, we ran across a Shakespeare Insult Generator that has provided much amusement during the last 5 years. So if you feel the need to hurl insults and can't think of anything beyond the usual, general profane ones- might I suggest "dissembling, beetle-headed maggot-pie" or "lumpish, boil-brained apple-john" or "churlish, onion-eyed miscreant" or "rank, tardy-gaited ratsbane." Two of those may have found their way onto the binder holding my dad's paperwork. His paperwork used to reside in a leather (or leather-like) black binder, but the papers were sent binder-free and I found a used school binder to put them in that serves its purpose. I'm still waiting on death certificates to arrive before I can do much more to see if he can pay off any of his debts. He has roughly a quarter of a million dollars owed to one hospital alone. So "pay off" might be stretching it a tad. It might be more along the lines of "here's a death certificate and I'm sorry." 

I had two boxes of his belongings arrive at my house. I knew his bills, phone, and ID would be coming, so the rest has been a surprise. I'm trying to see the humor in what came, but I'm really struggling to find any. I've already mentioned the box with the baggie of nail clippers and pictures of his karate friends. The second box arrived Saturday. In it was the following: a wifi booster, a usb wall plug, a knife with a roughly 6 inch blade (ish? I'm guessing here), a large pocket knife, two pairs of binoculars, old ear phones (nothing nice- just wired ones you can buy for cheap), two western belts (one being the one he gave me as a teen and then asked for it back), a really ugly bolo tie, a shoe horn, his scriptures, and some other odds and ends. Inside the scriptures were more pictures of his karate buddies from years ago. I am logically trying to understand why the karate friend pictures. One was a really good friend of his who died several years ago. I guess he didn't feel abandoned by the karate friends? But why no pictures at all of his children? For someone who "loved his children so much" isn't that odd? Is it because he didn't have any pictures left because he was angry at us? Did his sister just not send those? Am I being punished for not taking care of him in his hour of need? But then why did she send all of those weird odds and ends? A shoe horn? Really? What am I supposed to do with those things? 

I've been thinking it is time to get a new set of scriptures. I'm still using my old seminary set, and there have been updates made since then especially to the D&C which we are studying this year. I tried to tell myself it could be a fortuitous windfall. I told his sister I didn't want his scriptures. I still don't. Looking at them, I feel a sense of revulsion. I can't use those. We had a missionary correlation meeting at our house yesterday and Ryan tried to get 3 sets of missionaries to take them and give them to someone. Surely there is someone out there that could benefit from a full set of scriptures. My dad didn't believe in marking his scriptures, so they look very nice. We had no takers. I just want them gone and out of my house. 

I feel the same sense of "get that away from me" with his key chain. I saw him use that for a lot of years. I am less repulsed by the USB wall plug and could probably find a use for it. I am going to send my sister the items she thought her boys might like. She said her boys (she has two boys and two girls) were the closest to my dad and they are taking his death hard. My kids aren't seeming very affected by his death. They aren't sad. They saw my tumultuous feelings regarding my father so maybe between that and not seeing him very much, they just didn't attach at all? Or, and I'm wondering if this is a big factor, my children are not boys. My dad put in more effort to have a relationship with his grandsons. My dad gave me money to buy gifts for my children most Christmases, but would actually buy gifts for my sister's boys. I remember him being pleased with himself- finding baby boots and little boy toys for my sister's first born son. Sexist pig. Whoops sorry, time for the Shakespearean insult generator: lumpish, clay-brained lout.

The memories just keep assaulting me. A game we used to play growing up was the tickle war. I thought it was maybe because he thought it was fun to get us to laugh. He told me he started it because he could get us to use our stomach muscles and keep them strong, so we wouldn't have childish round bellies. He started that when I was 2, maybe 3 years old? That was the reason behind "I'm going to tickle your spine through your belly button" game. The goatish, crook-pated barnacle.

Ryan used his Spanish branch clerk powers for a somewhat good, somewhat nefarious purpose one last time before he was released yesterday. Ryan looked up my dad's church records. He hadn't been moved from his ward in Spokane, from over a year ago. Rather than leave him on the ward's roll and no one knowing where he was, Ryan transferred my dad's records into the Spanish branch and then marked him as deceased. It makes me a little happy that his membership records were last in a Spanish branch, somewhere he would not have willingly gone. He did ask a number of times if he could move in with us, so.... maybe were giving him his wish for about 3 minutes? Ok, not really. It was more selfish than that. It was much easier to do that than track down his old bishop and call to inform his change of living status.

Pyschology

When I was in college I had planned to study English. I took my first Psychology class during either winter or spring trimester and it opened a new world to me. Suddenly I was very interested in the workings of the mind. I began to piece together a few things about my family. I figured out my dad suffered from depression, and that the parenting style that had been used on me was very "authoritarian." I asked my mom about the depression in my dad and she confirmed it. She didn't bring up the bipolar part. I called my dad on the parenting style they used, and the science behind why "authoritative" works better. My dad looked at me, said I was obedient and that was what mattered. I had a hard time explaining the seething and loathing feelings that lurked under the surface. And the resulting low self-esteem and difficulty having and expressing opinions. 

Since my dad died, I've done quite a lot of pondering on abuse and psychological disorders. My dad was abused. My mom was abused. I was abused. I think I've managed to break the worst of the cycle for my kids, as I am by no means great at parenting. But I also wish there was some kind of post-mortem evaluation that could be done on my dad. Physical autopsies are done after people die. I wish there was a way to crack open someone's brain and figure out what was going on in there. Would it help me understand him better? Could it help me forgive him and move on? I've spent some time researching psychological disorders and came across Borderline personality disorder. Now, I realize I am in no way qualified to make a diagnosis, but if I could hazard a guess- my money would be on this one for my dad.

I wish I could pull out some positive memories associated with my dad. My brain is only remembering the hard ones. And if there were some decent memories, they are tainted with resentment and anger. Like the first year my mom wasn't allowed to drive and he was in charge of getting us presents. We didn't even have a Christmas tree that year because our fake tree was packed away in a storage unit and it evidently wasn't worth finding. I remember the gifts I got that year. A sling shot and a BB gun. They were the kinds of things my dad wanted us to like at the time, but didn't really scream, "Danae would like this." He was giddy with anticipation to try them out. I think it was that same year, but it could have been the year after, I had a birthday and it was the absolute pits. There were no presents that I can remember. I got to choose my dinner and the movie to watch in the evening. My dad couldn't be bothered to drive home for the occasion. He waited until the weekend to come home because it was an hour long drive.

Throughout my adult life, my dad kept trying to get us to buy into his secret knowledge conspiracies. He had some books that would blow the church doctrine wide open. I was being a sheep just blindly following the prophet of the church. He knew better. Yes, the church had priesthood keys but it "wasn't being led right" according to the scriptures. As if he knew better than the man called by God and holding all of the priesthood keys.

My dad wanted his legacy to be money. He was aware that he hadn't been a very present father. He always threw himself wholeheartedly into his job. His life was mostly his job, sleep, and Kenpo karate. He did sleep a lot when he wasn't working. But after the dissolution of his third marriage, he was intent on setting up his Trust so that his assets didn't have to go through government probation and taxes, and would go directly to his kids. He set up a couple of Zoom calls with Ryan and me to walk us through where he had all of his documents and the steps we needed to complete so we could access his money. He also had opinions about how I was to distribute the money. It had to be based on what he felt were appropriate accomplishments and goals, not as a 50-50 split between my sister and me, or equal split between grandkids. Because you love your children no matter what didn't apply to him. I never wanted his money. He wouldn't take the time to try to get to know his grandkids. He just wanted to work to set aside money for us after he died. I thought it would be better to keep that money so he could take care of himself in his old age. So it's ironic that his "legacy" of money was lost in a crypto-currency scheme and huge hospital bills. 

Christmas Break

My last few posts have not been terribly cheerful. There has been some good in my life in the last couple of weeks. I think I need to take a few minutes and focus on the goodness in my life.

The first Sunday evening of Christmas break we had our annual Christmas dinner and Nativity with the Wises, plus playing bells and candy bar exchange. It wouldn't be Christmas without it. The Wises have graciously adopted us and they are our Sunnyside family. Annie and Maddie opted to be angels this year in the Nativity.

It is quite the production. There are 4 boxes of costumes for the kids to choose from, which is fortuitous since the group can be quite large some years. Elizabeth opted not to participate, but sat along the sidelines watching with the other adults. We sang several songs.

Monday night was Christmas Caroling. I think we had 7 families meet up at the church. Each family brought some cookies and we made up cookie plates for each house we caroled to. I think we made 7 stops, so each family had the chance to give a plate of cookies. It's a sweet experience to surprise people with songs and treats.

Tuesday, Christmas Eve was... a day. A sad and numb day. I am glad I had everything wrapped and prepared ahead of time. It's seriously the most on-top I've been. Often I have a few things left to wrap, and this year I didn't. Monday I felt the urge to have everything just done, and I am grateful for that tender mercy. I could be on auto-pilot, and everything worked out.

Christmas!

Annie and Maddie are really into the whole FFA vibe these days. We had some hand-me-down boots from a cousin, and some very cheap cowboy boots that Annie and Maddie had been wearing and they were ready for the real thing. They were pretty excited over the boots.

The aftermath of the presents wasn't as bad as it could have been. We have a system of putting all of the wrapping paper in a garbage bag as soon as it's off the present. Then we had our usual waffles and sausage for breakfast. We played one of our new games, watched a movie, and then had already made plans to go caroling again with the missionaries before I got the news that my dad had died. I stuck it out through most of the stops, but was really struggling by the end. We had planned to visit an older sister in a nursing home after the caroling, and I ended up just letting my family go while I stayed home. Ryan and the girls made dinner.

Friday, December 27th we drove up to the Moses Lake Temple to do baptisms as a family. Fridays my father-in-law works at the temple, so we caught a couple quick glances and a hug. Afterwards, we drove to my father-in-law's house to hang out with cousins. We only stayed a couple of hours maybe because I was just not in the mood for a lot of people. 

Saturday evening we celebrated Ryan's birthday. Ryan has been a trooper through all of this. He made his own birthday dinner (the kids helped, but let's face it-- he was not going to let the kids try their hand at something as important as a lamb roast) and was in charge of getting something he liked for dessert. I have not been my usual self. 

Sunday was Ryan's actual birthday. We attended church, and then immediately left afterwards to drive to Wenatchee for nephew Dash's baptism. Ryan and Dash share a birthday. I had made up tuna for sandwiches before church, and assembled the sandwiches in the car as we drove. No one likes squished tuna sandwiches, but no one was excited about premade peanut butter ones either. So it was sandwiches, apples, and some zebra popcorn we'd been given as a Christmas gift as a chaser for the boring sandwiches.

After the baptism and early dinner, we drove to Leavenworth to enjoy the beautiful Christmas lights since we were so close. It was wetter than we were expecting- so many puddles on the sidewalk. 

There is a photo of me and Ryan in Leavenworth, but it's painful for me to look at. I look gutted and kind of dead on the inside.

Emotional Melt Down

 Yesterday was a rough day. It was a culmination of several things that lead to just an absolute meltdown. 

Over the weekend, I knew that Christmas break was coming to an end and I wanted to end the break on a positive note with my family. I think I stuffed down my emotions, which ultimately comes back to bite with a vengeance. But I wanted to have some good interactions. It didn't help that entering into the new year, Primary always switches things up. We had a new Primary Presidency called about a month ago and they are still figuring things out. My request to know what the plans were the Sunday before was met with no answers. The Friday before Sunday, I asked again. I was probably being moved up to the oldest Primary class. Would we be teaching? Was there a plan? Again, just a plea to be flexible. Well, it was my teaching partner's turn to teach that week so I was more than happy to let her do the heavy lifting on the "flexible" part. We got to Primary and then I found out that I was being moved up to the oldest class, but my teaching partner was staying with our current age group. Also, no class list was given. Who am I to expect in this group? We were missing at least a third of our primary kids. Who all is going to be in the class? Who all is moving into the class? Who is going to be my partner? To quote Nate Bargatze's George Washington, "Nobody knows." My life is a chaotic, emotional disaster, with demands and expectations and so many unknowns, and this is not ok. I am not ok.

But I held it together. I had a decently nice day with Elizabeth on Monday, after Ryan, Annie and Maddie started school again. 

But the calls and messages keep coming. Death is a major disruptor. And a well-meaning friend of my dad's reached out to say how much she admired him and thought he was a good man. I let that slide, even if I disagreed. But then I find out she also reached out to my mom and sister, and suddenly it wasn't ok. So I sent her a link to my blog, and another message. "This is the man you admire. The side of him maybe you didn't see. Please don't bother to tell me or my mom or my sister how much you admired him. If we cut him out of our lives, it was for good reason. No one should be subjected to his controlling, angry, paranoid, egotistical behavior all of the time. Abusers are experts at hiding. And they insist on their victims also hiding their behavior. I am sick of the hiding. He will no longer be in control of what I share. I tried so hard to respect his wishes while he was alive. But he is not here anymore, and I am dealing with the fallout of the years of abuse." It turns out, mom and my sister also sent messages saying what he was like to live with. Poor lady, she had no idea what kind of hornet's nest she was kicking up. She did apologize though. I'll give her that.

I deliberately shared my blog with all of my in-laws. I really am tired of hiding the shame and pain. They had no idea it was as bad as all that. My father-in-law sent a message that was a balm to my soul. "Danae, I read your blog. Thank you sweetheart for turning out as wonderful as you did. To Kim and me, you are another daughter. I had no idea that it was as bad as that. No one deserves a childhood like that. That is not a childhood. Grief has no set rules. Grief is emotional. Grief is not logical. Anger, sorrow, guilt, relief, confusing, not knowing what to do next, more anger, and anxiety over not knowing what is going to happen next are NORMAL reactions. Our losing Kim was such a different scenario than what you had to go through in your formative years. Your time with you dad can only be described as hell. And yet in your mind he was your dad. You want to have fond memories but when you can't find them it does make you mad, sad, etc. I lost the very best days or time periods in my entire life. I don't know if I could have written a better life if I tried. I could not have been like your dad. I did not raise my sons to be able to be like that. I guess what I am trying to say is that we (both Kim and I) love you so very much. We are proud of who you are and what you have done in your family and your life. Anything I can do, anything I have, if you need it, it is yours. I wish I could give you a hug and say it's ok to feel the way you do and don't let anyone tell you differently. -Rick Now I am your dad"

See- these are sentiments that should come from a father. And he did raise good sons. Both of his sons married women who were damaged by unhealthy fathers and we snatched up a good thing when we saw it! Somehow, despite the odds not being in our favor.

So Tuesday morning arrived and I took Elizabeth with me to the temple. She was meeting her cousin there because that's where I needed to be at 6:15 am. Megan said she would be there at 6:30 am, and she hasn't been good about being on time in the mornings in my experience. I figured I could go to my temple worker prep meeting and then have a little more Elizabeth time before she left. I was wrong. I didn't put my phone on airplane mode when I went into the temple like I always do, so I saw the group message come through that Megan had arrived at 6:20. So as soon as I was dressed I went out to the portico and yelled out the door for Elizabeth to come give me a hug before she left. And she did, and gave me the keys to the van she had used for transferring her bags to her cousins car. I was a minute late getting to my prep meeting. The opening prayer had already be given, so I slinked in. 

Our worker meetings include an instruction video training, and this one was the emotionally charged one. It is essentially how to treat any and everyone coming into the temple with kindness and consideration no matter what their actions (like arriving late) or clothing since we don't know what they are dealing with. It has a young couple who just lost a baby. Well, death and pain didn't just prick me. It poured flaming alcohol in an already angry, red wound. The tears started, and the hiccups and sobs were well on their way. I dashed out of the room into a hallway restroom. This one has no stalls, so you can lock the door and have privacy. I cried for an hour. I thought I had it under control about 40 minutes in. I had been sitting on the floor (it was that or on the toilet...) so I stood up to see the damage crying had done to my face and how I might be able to fix it. I looked at my face and it set me off again. "Why Lord? Of all the days to have that training video, why did it have to be today? Why is my family like it is? Why is it so hard to send Elizabeth off? Why did I lose the parent toss? Why does anguish feel so bad? I didn't even like my dad. I love him, but he was so hard to deal with. Why am I grieving so hard? Why must I have to relive all these awful experiences right now?" And on and on and on. Finally I sent a prayer that I could make it to the temple worker women's dressing room without running into anyone. Could anyone hear my sobbing in the bathroom? I saw one brother, but my eyes were down and I dashed by. I grabbed my phone and sat in that bathroom. Again, no stalls- just a locking door. My new favorite thing. I texted Ryan. I checked in with Elizabeth. I looked at my schedule. My first "real" assignment (something that actually requires my attendance, not sitting in the portico or Celestial Room) was about 8:20. I had 15 minutes. Maybe I could read scriptures, keep my eyes down, and hold it together until then. My face gave me away. Very kind, well meaning people asked if I was ok. My shift coordinator was heading my way (I had given her a heads up on the situation before yesterday) and I headed her off. "Please don't ask me how I am doing." I made it through that first assignment, not very pleasantly and kindly like temple workers should, and broke down. The assistant coordinator was there and she had no clue what I was going through. Too bad there isn't a way to write down: "My dad died. He was abusive, controlling, kept us isolated and in fear, paranoid, manipulative, and now I am in charge of discharging his debts and closing everything down, and figuring how and where to bury him, and dealing with other relatives who are equally angry at him" so I don't have to verbally explain through the crying. It's tough. After about 5 minutes, the member of the temple presidency who was there that day came up to me as we were talking and said, "I don't know what you are going though, but I wanted you to know I said a prayer for you." Thanks. I love it when I make a spectacle of myself. I'm in this weird spot where I want sympathy but also sometimes hate it at the same time.  

My sweet assistant coordinator suggested I could go to the Celestial Room. I was feeling too angry to feel worthy of being there. Besides, temple workers are supposed to add to the overall feeling of welcome and kindness and reverence, and my sobbing is kind of the opposite of that. So I apologized for not fulfilling my obligations, and left. 

I cried so much yesterday. I had a headache. My body ached. I made a promise to myself that I would at least go for a walk everyday so I did manage that. I am so tired. I feel so wimpy. Last month I managed a mile in just under 9 minutes, and I was trying to build on that momentum. The last time I had a good run was Christmas Eve, just before that eventful voicemail. I've tried to run since then, but can only manage one slow mile before needing a walking break. This has just completely wiped me out. I'm frustrated that I am losing fitness. I'm angry that this is one more thing my dad has stolen from me. 

I got a package Monday from my aunt with my dad's things: his phone, his tablet, his bills, some memory sticks, his wallet and passport, some photos (his dad, his karate friends, and some landscape photos?!?!), and my very favorite- a baggie with 4 pairs of toe nail clippers. Really? That's something I needed? 

Last night I took control of the tv remote. I was way too wiped for anything that required my participation, like reading. I found a documentary that had zero emotional pull, just some mild interest. It's a Netflix series called "Ancient Apocalypse" where the host is trying to find evidence of an advanced human civilization well before scientists have said it was possible. And how there is evidence that leaks through into many far-reaching cultures that tie them together from this one lost civilization. I'm enjoying it.

Coping

 My dad was convinced he was not long for the world when Ryan met my dad back in 2001. Life was not easy for him and he struggled with it. From snippets dropped here and there, he and his older brother were the result of an affair. His parents did eventually marry, and then divorced. His mom remarried a couple times after that. His father was an alcoholic. They were poor and lived in some very rough conditions. My dad grew up using his step-dad's last name and eventually went back to his biological father's name, while his brother kept the step-dad's last name. And thus is the beginning and ending of my knowledge of his family life.

During the last 10 years or so, my dad had 3 or 4 heart attacks. He didn't say anything about them at the time they happened, and when he did decide to share- it was to Ryan with the directive to not tell me. He had COVID pretty bad at one point, to the point where he was struggling to breathe. He kept saying by this point that he didn't want to live and didn't want any life-saving measures taken to preserve his life. But I think when faced with his mortality he would always make the choice to have medical interventions. I would too, but it was just another one of those odd quirks of his to say one thing and do another. In early 2023 he had something growing on his bladder, making him unable to relieve himself. He would never definitively say if it was cancerous or not. Sometimes yes and sometimes it was something else. He had to have a catheter put in, and he had to wear it all the time. It was both comical and disgusting to see his pee bag hanging from his belt. Then he said he was going to need it for the rest of his life, and then he no longer needed it.

As his financial life imploded in November 2023, his health took the brunt of his stress. He realized he was losing his sight and so drove himself to an urgent care center (where his car stayed for weeks). They weren't sure what was causing it. He lost all vision in one eye, and his hearing was going. He was transferred to Deaconess Hospital in Spokane, and then later to a rehabilitation center. I, of course, knew nothing about any of it until late November when he was in the St. Luke's rehab. The medical staff ruled out a stroke, but a diagnosis was not found yet. When Ryan and I went to visit him, my dad confessed to "seeing dead people." I laughed it off at first because I couldn't always tell when he was trying to be funny. But no. In his blind eye, he was seeing people and objects that weren't really there. He was pretty confused about what was real and what wasn't. But kept looking at us with the "side eye" due to only using the one eye to see. He looked continually skeptical.  I don't know if he really thought he was seeing dead people or not. The doctor said his brain was likely trying to make up for the sudden lack of stimulation on the one side by filling it in with... stuff. Animals. People. Who knows. My dad also was really weak, and his legs weren't working well and were painful. The rehab staff were committed to getting him back on his feet and functioning again, but my dad was resistant. He just wanted to sleep and stop with the pestering. 

A week or so later St. Luke's called me with my dad's discharge plan and told me all of the help he was going to need. I panicked. My dad could not live with me. I know family is supposed to step in when older family members are going through health challenges. I know this. I didn't need the lecture. I promise I am not some selfish pig refusing a reasonable ask. How could I make them understand that I just couldn't? I prayed hard that I would not have to be subjected to living with him again. He needed help getting up and moving around. Using the bathroom. All of the basic functions.

His health worsened and he was sent back to another hospital- Sacred Heart this time. I got a call from the hospital that he had been admitted to the ER and wasn't looking good. His sight was almost all gone, his hearing worse, and his kidneys were a mess and they weren't sure what was going on. Instead of improving at rehab, he had gone steadily downhill.

He spent a day and a half in the ER. We drove up and spent time with him. He looked really frail. Dad was adamant that he only wanted comfort measures. Give him pain meds and let him die. The doctors were pretty sure he was treatable. They ran all kinds of tests on him, and finally, eventually got him a room that was not in the loud ER.

He eventually got a diagnosis. He had what was formerly known as Wegener's Disease, and now called Granulomatosis with polyangiitis.  It's an autoimmune disease that attacks the blood vessels and causes inflammation. All of those delicate blood vessels that go to organs will swell and cut off blood flow and can cause organ failure if not treated quickly. It checked off most of his list of symptoms. Hearing and sight loss, fever, fatigue, kidney problems, bloody nose, chest pain and shortness of breath. It didn't necessarily explain the pain in his lower legs and feet.

This was treatable. Some of the hearing and sight loss could be reversible. He could go on to live a decent life with some accommodations. Between the doctors, Ryan and I, we thought treatment was worth pursing. The doctors said my dad could hang on for a couple of years with no intervention and just be miserable. Or they could treat him. My dad gave his permission for treatment.

We visited my dad a couple more times in December. I got updates from his doctor of the week fairly often. I was on the phone quite a bit handling his other affairs. We had some interesting visits. I don't know if it was the disease or just my dad's paranoia coming out, but my dad was pretty sure there were Chinese people coming in and watching him at night. And the Russians. He said he could hear them talking in his room. He also saw cats wandering in the hospital. Since his vision only allowed him to see lights and shadows at that point... well, who knows what was going on. We made sure we told his doctor since he wasn't likely to volunteer that information. My favorite was the time he had a nose bleed that wouldn't stop so he had a tampon hanging out of his nose. They wouldn't remove it until it had been 24 hours. 

The hospital released my dad around December 30th. My dad had an iPhone by then and was learning how to get Siri to read and send text messages and make calls using his voice. My dad got a friend to take him back to his basement apartment. The hospital released him without telling me. Since I'd had a conversation with him just a couple days prior about how he kept thinking about going up to the top of the hospital and throwing himself off, I got a little upset and told them they were pretty irresponsible. They countered with they had set him up with a whole lot of medications, info for meals on wheels, his instructions printed on paper, and a follow up doctor's appointment. Having talked with my dad's friend who said he had to pretty much drag my dad up the steps up from the garage and then down to the basement, I wasn't sure this was going to work out. As he also couldn't read anymore... Those discharge papers were just not helpful.

I started getting texts from the owners of the house where my dad lived. The owners traveled a lot, so the set up where my dad fed their dog and lived in their basement worked just fine for the first couple of months. My dad didn't leave the house. He didn't take the right medication (because he couldn't read the labels....). Ryan drove up to Spokane to check on him and get his various bottles of medicine (much of it pain meds) set up in order and try to get him to remember how much and when. We didn't want my dad to stay with us and he said he was fine, so... it was going to be what it would be I guess. Eventually his mind wandered enough that it was bothering his housemates. He kept waking them up saying some mother had a left a baby in his bed and he was looking for the mom. He would fall down the stairs. He thought he could drive himself as long as he drove during the daylight hours (that would have been so bad). He wasn't really eating. He said he was seeing rats in his room. The homeowners were ADAMANT that my dad needed to get out of their house. When we resisted and said he had rights and couldn't be thrown out because they didn't like him anymore because he was still paying rent, they had their bishop call us and say that we were his family and we needed to step up and do the right thing. No one would be bothered to take him to the hospital even though he very clearly needed medical help. Well you are just going to have to wait for the weekend.

Ryan took one for the team again, drove up to Spokane again, and took my dad to the ER to be admitted. We prayed they would admit him. When Ryan arrived, my dad fully thought Ryan and I had been there for a couple of days helping him get ready to move. My dad thought there were rats, nasty insects, and drug paraphernalia all over the basement. There were not. My dad had packed some of his belongings into boxes very clearly around the rats that he saw. There were empty spaces in the boxes. Ryan waited in the ER waiting room with my dad for 6 hours. My dad told off a lady there also waiting. He said her daughter kept taking his cane. She didn't have a daughter and dad had put his own cane on the floor. My dad held whole conversations with people who were not there. Ryan would just explain to the people around them in a normal voice that this was why they were there, and he was sorry. Then in a louder voice to my dad that there was no girl hiding under the table. My dad had resisted believing Ryan, and it was tricky getting him to the hospital and to stay there waiting. My dad had a little vision and enough imagination to keep things lively. He had shouted "watch out!" while Ryan was driving on the freeway over nothing that was visible to Ryan. But still Ryan slammed on his brakes before realizing what was going on. Finally my dad was admitted and Ryan could drive the 3 hours home again.

The following weekend, Ryan and I were back in Spokane and packed up all of my dad's stuff from the basement apartment and put it in his storage unit. It's tricky to go through a fully furnished bedroom, bathroom, and a closet half filled with the owners' belongings and try to pick out the ones that belong to a person. Some things were obvious, and others less so. It was a pain. But we got him out, and that's when we brought his car to our house. We had previously -ahem- borrowed his keys and kept beeping his key fob at the urgent care center where we thought he had left the car, until we finally found it and drove it to the house he'd been living at.  If it had been a smaller urgent care center and not snowy, it would have been easy enough to pick out the compact grey Toyota Yaris with the blankets covering the seats. But it wasn't, and we were tired.

So my dad was homeless and his only residence was Sacred Heart Hospital. I worked with his case worker to find a place for him to go and that would be able to take care of his many needs. Living alone hadn't worked well. I wouldn't take him, and my sister wouldn't either. He did ask many times. But places like that are expensive and he didn't have any money. The ironic bit of this whole thing was my dad never, ever, ever wanted to use government assistance for anything. Those were socialist programs and he would not use them. But that looked to be his best option. Getting him on Medicaid/Medicare meant declaring him poor, those hospital bills kept stacking up, and those crypto-currency investments weren't becoming any more real. 

But the shaky tethers keeping our relationship functioning came apart spectacularly (see a previous post). Dad was not willing to admit to any wrong doing ever, and I washed my hands of the whole thing. Dad dug himself into this pit and he could deal with the fallout.

To convince his sister to let him live with them, he told them he needed a warmer climate to help him deal with his pain. I don't know if that was true or not. I heard through the grape vine that he had been in the hospital again after his discharge from Spokane sometime in March. He had been on a lot of pain medication. We had seen his list of medications. He had been in rehab once a few years ago for being addicted to pain medication. I think this was his coping strategy, where his dad had used alcohol. Maybe the disease had flared up again. Maybe his body had just had enough. Maybe the comfort measures in Texas had been morphine. It seems as though sometimes morphine can take a very sick and tired body and help the soul into the next world. I don't know. It was a sad end for a tough life. 

In putting all of these experiences into words, I feel like I failed somehow. I don't know what I could or should have done differently. I did try to help him. But when my help did not align with his wishes, I was of no further use to him. He had some dumb, enabling friends. His naturopathic friend who he was living with said he could fix him up better than the specialists could. Ha!

I was hoping I would feel better as I type all of this out and sort through all of the experiences. I was hoping for some clarity. Mostly I just want the anguish to go away. The feeling that I was somehow not good enough. 

It's a work in progress.

Processing Emotions

Processing big emotions is exhausting, and I am exhausted. My brain has decided that I need to relive all of the horrible memories and awful feelings in an effort to come to terms with the death of my father. It doesn't help that every time I have to deal with the physical aspects of him dying leave me less than happy either. My dad said the arrangements had been all taken care of for when he passed. LIES. He was piggy-backing off someone else's funeral plot purchases, and put a whole $100 in trust for.... I'm not sure what that would cover. Not cremation. Not a nice urn (those start at $150). Not picking up his body and refrigerating it if he had been within 50 miles. Not opening and closing the gravesite.  Not a headstone. He always said he didn't need much when he went. Hopefully he's ok with the basic $12 urn I ok'd him to be mailed in. He's going to be lucky if I don't just stick it in the yard and use it for target practice with Ryan's pellet gun. I may just settle for leaving him in the garage until arrangements are made. 

I feel so lonely. Ryan looks at me and doesn't know how to help. I don't know how to help me. The people who probably best understand are the people I don't want to talk to. They are all mixed up in that painful history, and talking to them now doesn't leave me feeling any better. Usually worse. My kids don't know what happened to their mom. I don't recognize myself. I've decided its probably better to be a mute today than the raging, crazy lady. I know we don't get everything right as parents, but I'm pretty sure my kids got a better shake than I did. They won't understand the confusing cocktail of grief/anger/sadness/bitterness/guilt/pain/self-pity/self-loathing that is swirling inside me. They barely knew my dad, and it was better that way. Ryan says he doesn't feel much except relief at my dad's passing. He said he felt more sad when the music teacher at his school building passed away from cancer than he does for my dad. That feels telling.

I turned my emotional cocktail into decluttering today. I think we got rid of probably 9 trash bags of stuff, plus a couple of boxes. Some into the garbage and some to the Goodwill. My kids aren't sure they like this version of me. I have a lot more I'd like to do, but as stated in the beginning of this post- I am beyond tired and decision making is way harder than it should be.

I'm trying to decide how I feel about my dad. Yes, I am hurt and angry and so stinking mad at him. It's probably best I don't get any say in how much pain the afterlife might bring. I want to find forgiveness. What if that was his best effort? Our theology teaches you are only accountable to what you know and what you can be held accountable for. Hence, young children don't need to be baptized because they don't understand yet. What if how he lived was the best he could do with his upbringing and brain chemistry? I am trying to make room in my heart for love and mercy and forgiveness. There is a part of me that is hoping for some fiery retribution right now, and for that I obviously need a loving Savior to help me make it past that. I am no where near good enough to return to my Heavenly Father so I need a merciful Savior. And if I need one, that same courtesy needs to be extended to everyone trying to muddle through this life.

The Scam

This morning I was lying in bed awake feeling like I have more to share. It's like I have a case of a verbal stomach flu and I won't feel better until I have gotten it all out. So much has been hidden for so long. I feel a little like this is flipping my dad off when he's no longer around to be angry at me. He hated people knowing his business and here I am sharing in a very public forum. But all of these memories and emotions are clawing at me and needing to be let out. I read back over what I've written and I go back and forth in my brain: "That wasn't so bad. There are kids out there that have it way worse than I did. Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?" To, "Gosh, what was I thinking letting him have any part of my life as an adult? I should have just cut him out and not let him continue to hurt me." Where does forgiveness, mercy, and love meet the line of keeping myself and my family safe? I clearly don't know.

I don't even know what I want to share here. I figure there is an explanation of the last year or so of his life with his health, and another with the romance scam. The two were interconnected but telling all of it all at once is makes for a convoluted story. Maybe I will start with his relationships.

My dad, for all of his unhealthy and solitary ways, didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone to take care of him, and in his way, someone to take care of. He was married once before mom. He was married to my mom for 26 years. They were sealed to each other when I was 3 months old. They tried to cram me into my white blessing dress for the sealing but it couldn't be zipped up over my baby chub. He married another lady after my mom who was a whopping 12 years older than me, and she had a couple of kids at home. They were sealed in the temple and that lasted a few years. I think I met her once. They moved to Wyoming after a couple of months living in my dad's one room basement apartment in Renton. According to my mom, this one reached out to my mom when they broke up and asked how my mom had put up with him for so long. Then the last wife lasted maybe two years? This one I think I saw twice. He said she scratched the glass stovetop in his kitchen leaving an awful long mark. He was also engaged once in between my mom and wife #3. Ryan and I took his honeymoon trip to Portland after it fell through. The bed and breakfast was non-refundable.

After all of that, you would think my dad might have felt it best not to pursue another romantic relationship. But hope springs eternal.

In August 2023 my family took a trip up to see my dad in Spokane and go to Silverwood. There was a reward good behavior (mine- visiting my dad then we could go have fun). My dad pulled Ryan and me aside to say that he had met someone very special online. She reached out to him on Twitter. She was so good and sweet and conservative, with "old world values" (meaning men give permission blah blah blah). She says she was from Greece I think, so her English wasn't great and she was self conscious about it so they really only texted. She would "ask his permission" and let him know she was going out with friends or some such nonsense. She was also a financial genius and was helping him make investments. Then he showed us a picture of Giorgia. She was everything young, hot, and sexy. Her age was unclear, but she was heavily made up, wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a midriff bearing furry sweatshirt thing. She was blonde and tan and skinny and we all could see it. I rolled my eyes at this. My dad was an average looking man in his mid 60s. There was no way this was real. But my dad insisted she would be coming to visit him the end of September or early October and could he bring her by to meet us? He had a great feeling about this one. She was his true soul mate and it was sad it had taken him this long to find her.

Whatever. It was his life.

In September 2023 my dad abruptly sold his condo in Spokane. He sold it to a realtor because he wanted the money that fast. Ryan and I dropped everything one weekend because he asked and helped him move his stuff into a storage unit. Giorgia was coming soon and they were going to travel the world. Her investment accumen in online crypto-currency had helped all of his money grow to huge amounts and now dad could afford to retire and enjoy life. He was going to live in a hotel until Giorgia came and then they would be off to maybe Florida. Somewhere warm and nice. 

October 2023 Giorgia had put off coming again. He found a bedroom in someone's basement to live in. Dad was also in need of financial help. His investments needed money up front to pay the taxes and then he could have access to his investment money. He called Ryan and asked for $300,000, telling us to take a 2nd mortgage out on our house. He had signed a "Smart Contract" so everything was on the up and up, I guess due to its great sounding name? Our money would be safe, but he needed it to access his money again. He had sunk everything into it. Money from the sale of his condo, savings, other investments, everything he'd had. He could not understand how we could just turn our backs on family in need. That's not what the Savior would do. He taught me better than that.

Sorry, no.

The amount he needed went down. $200,000. $150,000. $60,000. $30,000. Anything. How could we be so unfeeling? So uncaring? So unChristlike?

We were firm in our refusal. But oh, the anguish that came with that guilt trip. I am ever the sucker for it.

November came and Giorgia still hadn't come. Dad's health took a sharp downhill turn, and he ended up in the hospital, losing much of his vision and hearing. But more on that later.

He was frantic and upset about his money, and I think the stress of all of it took its toll on dad's health. We went and visited dad in a rehabilitation hospital. They must have taken that as my affirmation that I would take care of him, because they called and tried to set up his discharge to live with me. 

Cue the panic.

Dad needed more care due to worse health, so back to the regular hospital he went. Through it all, he was firm that Giorgia was only acting in his best interests. But strangely, through all of his health struggles, she never showed up. 

I had a list of people to email and call. Set up emergency health insurance with his work, the kind when you can no longer work but they cover you for a year anyway. Figure out what was next with HR. Follow up with the lawyer about banking issues. Fill out paperwork for Medicaid and Medicare and Disability. Take care of all of these problems that kept popping up. Move him out of his bedroom apartment. Make multiple trips to Spokane over December, January, and February to visit him.

We explained multiple times to different people associated with the hospital and all of his paperwork that he was being scammed. As we explained what was happening, there was not a single person who thought any of his "investments" sounded legit. They all had those pitying looks on their faces.

At the end of February 2024 we came to the climax. No one was lending him money. He wanted his car back. We had driven it to our house because A- he couldn't see well enough to drive anymore and B- he didn't have any place besides the hospital to live. There just wasn't a good place to store the car in Spokane. But he was going to sell his car, and get a couple of people he knew through his Karate group to go through his safe in his storage unit and get out the last of his gold and silver coins. He was going to scrape just as much money as he could together. We told the hospital staff what was going on, and they socially quarantined him. The staff found him trying to sell his coins and stuff in his hospital room. So they moved him and gave a safe word. No one could go see him without it, basically without my permission. My dad had assigned me as his medical and financial power of attorney and I was doing my best to keep him safe. He was not happy with me. He wanted those papers back.

The last straw was the phone call that he asked me to PERSONALLY deliver the last of his gathered money to Giorgia at a bank in Spokane. She was going to Spokane but not seeing him? Was anyone else confused and suspicious? My brain immediately imagined all of the various ways that could go badly. Would I be mugged, beaten and left for dead? Why did she ask for me personally and to go alone? Dad hadn't even met her in person. Surely this sounds off. I refused and told him why. It was a scam and I would not be a part of it. Everyone knew it but him. It's a romance scam and bears all the hallmarks of one. He had lost all of his money and I would not help him lose the last of his money. He has major bills to pay- months of living in a hospital. He launched into his tired tirade saying how much better he understood these things. He was going to leave the hospital, and all of my hours of work would be for nothing. I had people at the hospital helping with getting him a facility to live in that would be able to take care of his needs. So much stupid paperwork had gone into proving his financial losses and medical needs. Once he checked himself out of the hospital, it was over and they could no longer help. He was under a case worker's care as long as he was in the hospital and he clearly wasn't competent to take care of himself. But oh ho, he always knows better than everyone else. I laid into him about all of the ways he hurt me as a child and an adult and he didn't know what he was talking about. That's when the swearing started. He didn't usually swear at me, but I had him pretty worked up I guess. I was shaking pretty hard and decided it was time to be done. I hate conflict. And conflict with him is so hard for me. I told him I loved him but I was done helping him. And I hung up.

We had alerted Adult Protective Services a couple of times about my dad. We filed a police report about the scam. Ryan even called the FBI once we learned that this lady was supposed to be at a Spokane bank on a particular day. It is surprisingly difficult to alert the FBI about scams. I guess there are too many to deal with them all. All of these government agencies, and no real help.

I got my father-in-law to meet me in Spokane. I drove my dad's car to the hospital. I had strict instructions to park his car where it wouldn't get scraped or bumped in the parking garage. I was not in a compliant frame of mind and parked his little Yaris next to a Hummer. I gave my father-in-law the car keys and the estate binder with my power of attorney and he gave it to my dad, and then he drove me home.

What happened to my dad after that is fuzzy. I know from a friend of my dad's that he got ex-wife #4 to take him away from the hospital and I think he lived with another friend until possibly his sister and her husband picked him up in November and took him to Texas. I don't really know. The friend my dad was living with is a condescending jerk (they get along so well) and I really don't need to know badly enough to ask.

Anyway, this was a photo of Giorgia we found on my dad's phone. Yes we snooped right in front of him and took advantage of his blindness. This is exactly the sort of photo a "sweet, conservative" women takes, right? Ryan did the snooping. He said it was best that I did not subject my eyeballs and brain to the texts they were exchanging.

Ryan sent the imagine to his uncle. His uncle and several computer science students at San Jose State University thought they were able to track this image to a creepy looking 30-ish foreign dude with a goatee. That's likely who he was talking to romantically all this time.