Barnett R. Ampolsk, 1922 - 2010

He died this morning at 6:55.

It's a blessing.  I've said that before but I need to say it again, because this time it counts.

As to the circumstances - I mentioned absurdity last night, and things continue absurd.  They always are, but the particulars are always a surprise.  Specifics, briefly: the nursing home called exactly at 7.  The sound that announced his death was the xylophone ringtone on my iPhone.  Of course I've known for years that someday I'd likely get a call announcing his death.  And the ringtone on my iPhone has been set to "xylophone" since I bought it.  But somehow I never managed to put two and two together.  So the sound of death was exceptionally upbeat and cheerful.  I have no problem with that.  Neil Gaiman would understand.  But no, nothing I would have foreseen.

As soon as I got off the phone I pulled on my coat and an enormous fur hat - the temperature in the apartment had fallen into the 20's - and sat down at the dining room table to start making funeral arrangements.  Taking notes was difficult because the ink in my pens had frozen.  Funeral arrangements are a mess because the area is still staggering in the aftermath of the blizzard.  The route to the funeral home is barely passable.  I won't be able to get there 'til Thursday to sign the cremation order, and since there's an enormous backlog of rescheduled funerals, our (very small) ceremony probably can't happen until next week.  Interment, in New York, will be later still.  I suppose it's all a throwback to our old family funerals in Russia - the ground is frozen and we'll have to wait for spring. 

There was one other notable telephone moment.  At one point, the funeral director put me on hold and I got to listen to hold music.  They play classical, not surprisingly, and at that particular moment what they were playing was a Schubert song called Der Lindenbaum - The Linden Tree.  It's the fifth song in a cycle called Winterreise - Winter Journey - which is about a young man who, rejected in love, goes wandering across an increasingly bleak winter landscape that's both real and metaphoric and winds up insane, welcomed by a figure who represents madness or death or both.  In Der Lindenbaum, the narrator speaks to the tree, and the tree speaks to him, just as he's starting out on the journey.  It sounds like a lovely, comforting song - "Come here, my friend," the tree says, "here you will find peace" - until you realize that the tree is actually inviting him to commit suicide by hanging himself from its branches.  I'm sure whoever programmed it for the funeral home thought that it was just lovely and peaceful.  I think it was an interesting choice - both for itself, and for the way it went together with the xylophone ringtone.  It made the morning that much richer.

Having resolved the funeral mechanics, and after a brief conversation with the elderlawyer (dealing with estate issues all of a sudden now, and trying to find out what paperwork has to be handled, when, by whom), I got back into bed to try to keep the cats warm.  Power came on a couple of hours later, then went out, then came on again, and now seems to be holding.  It'll take several more hours to warm up the apartment.  I'm able to write this at my computer, not on the iPhone, but I'm still in my coat and hat.

No, not the way I would have expected a solemn thing to play out.  But memorable - yes, it is that.

P was kind enough to call to check on me, and to give me particulars.  The end was sudden, but comfortable.  She saw him on Friday, and helped cut his fingernails.  He was talkative and cheerful and incoherent.  On Saturday the respiratory distress began.  On Sunday evening they stepped up the morphine, and finally gave him the "breakthrough dose" - a carry-forward of the dose that would normally be given four hours farther out.  It didn't reverse the distress but it calmed him down, and he died quietly in his sleep.  She suspects that, given the problems he'd had eating, he aspirated food, and that led to another pneumonia, and that was what killed him.

I suppose I'm grateful that the last time I saw him - a week ago Friday, before my flu - he was unusually comprehensible, and we had something resembling a conversation.  If I'd seen him last week he would have been worse again, the way he was after the first pneumonia in mid-January.  It doesn't make a huge difference but I'm glad there was some recognition at the end.

I'll have a great deal more to report - death is a labor-intensive process, especially for the living, and I'm sure there'll be fresh incidents and more to reflect on.  For the moment I'm just going to try to assimilate it all, though the temperature is still keeping me from getting at anything really profound.

I really appreciate everybody's comments over the past day or so.  I probably won't be able to respond individually for a couple of days.  But I'm grateful for everybody who decided to go on the journey with me, and especially now.  Of course I'll keep you updated.

Again - be happy for him and for us.  This is a liberation.

More soon.

Comments

[julie]

Alan, I'm trying to be happy for you and for Barnett but it still makes me cry. You have allowed me to know him and I thank you for that.
On to the next adventure, Barnett.
Carry on soldier.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Thank you for that.

You've actually reminded me to clarify something - he actually went by "Bud." He hated to be called Barnett - thought it was pretentious. I can't say I blame him.

But that's for the record only. I'm sure your thoughts got across to him. If there's any confusion, I'll be glad to pass them along.

Again, more soon.

[Jennifer Stone]

I saw the post title, paused and my heart sank. Even though I know it is a blessing it is still heartbreaking. I've followed your journey and I thank you for sharing it; knowing that someone is following a similar path has made my journey a little less lonesome. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

[Sis]

Thinking of you and your family, Alan.
I hope that the services and all go well and that you are comforted that you have not only stood by your dad to the end, but that you helped others in the same boat along the way, with these writings.
God bless you.

[Dick Falk]

Alan -

I feel like a part of me has died as well. As you know, I worked for your father for four years and enjoyed every moment (it marked the beginning of what has become a wonderful 45-year career in the publishing business). Ironically, my grandparents are also from Russia; what a small world we live in.

I learned alot from Bud and I've learned alot from reading your blog the past two years. (Has it really been that long?)

I will never forget Bud, Art, Dick, Lou, Reese and the rest of the gang down on Park Avenue South (actually, when I started, the office was still on 6th Avenue).

Thank you for letting all of us share both your journey and Bud's final years.

When things settle down, I'd love to speak to you directly; feel free to call me here at work (Wieder Publishing Company: 818/595-0549).

My prayers are with you and your family.

Dick

[Shu]

Peace be with you. Nothing, not even knowledge and the slowing of the ticking clock, takes the sharpness off the edge of finality. Glad your last visit was with shared recognition and a good memory to keep. My heart us with you all now and later when various emotions jump out and claim a turn. We are several feet under the snow by the pax river so know how paralyzing this frozen state is. Someone was with Bud as he slipped across the threshhold. I'm sure Evelyn was only one of many who took him by the hand. Sending warmth -- of spirit, heart, and temperature -- to you, your wife, and the kitties. Let me know if there is anything you need.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Many, many thanks to all of you. I can't tell you how much it means to me that this experience did all of you some good. That's the point of the blog and I'm glad it had that effect.

Dick - it's great to hear from you and I'll definitely be in touch. Actually, his death opens up the other, better part of him - the person he was when you knew him and worked with him. As you know, I've meant to contact you about that. I want to get at those stories and fold them into this experience. The past is a living thing, isn't it? Now that I don't have to manage his Alzheimer's reality, I can finally do him justice, and I'll need your help for that. So please stand by.

Shu - warm thoughts received, though we're getting concerned (alarmed) about the next blizzard, and we're trying to figure out what to do. I was being ironic before but the funeral may turn out to be a spring event after all. I appreciate your offer but right now, stay where you are and get ready to dig yourselves out again. As to his welcoming committee on the other side, yes, Evelyn would have been one of them, and there are others. I think he's in good hands.

Again, thanks, everybody. More soon.

[Lucy]

Alan,

I really am happy for you.

I haven't visited your blog or the Alz. message board for months. What an odd coincidence to come here today.

And what a weird, fantastic thing that an old man from New York had any effect at all on the life of a Midwestern WASP who never laid eyes on him. He did.

Surely there's some way to say "thanks for sharing the journey" with more profundity. I don't know what it is. So, just thanks for sharing your journey, and your dad's. It's made a difference.

Peace,

Lucy

[Calliope]

Long time reader (I am Shu's daughter). Just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences on your loss. Thank you for sharing your story and your father with us.

[Amy]

Thank you for everything that you have shared here. I've been quietly reading along and commenting here and there. I wish you and your family peace.

[Maryellen]

Alan,
I, too, have been quietly reading along.
My deepest condolences to you and your family.
-Maryellen

[Rachel]

Happy and sad for you and your family, Alan. For your dad, mainly happy that he is at peace and whole again.

Thank you for sharing this journey with us.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Again, thanks to all of you. Lucy, Amy and Maryellen - it's good to hear from you again. Calliope, good to meet you though I feel as though I know you already. I wish I could say something more heartfelt, or at least coherent, but it's been a long day, so I hope that "thanks" - a really heartfelt thanks - will do for now. There'll be more to report and I'm sure we'll have more to talk about. I appreciate all of you coming along with us.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Thanks, Rachel - we seem to have posted at the same instant so I'm sorry I left you off the list in my next reply - I didn't see yours 'til after mine went up. I'm sorry I dropped out of contact - the nursing home transfer hit when we were last in touch, and then there all the issues to manage for him, and suddenly here we are. But I'll be back in touch soon.

[Karen]

Alan- My deepest sympathy on your fathers' passing. I have read your blog for sometime now and I have found a lot of closure on my own Mother's passing thorough your words. I am glad that you have both found peace at last.

Karen

[Marie A]

Alan, my thoughts are with you and your wife as you go through the coming days. A blessing, yes, nonetheless, painful. Hope you all (including the cats) have warmed up. I'll be thinking of you and wishing you strength in the days ahead.
P.S. Thanks so much for sharing your journey. You'll never know how much you have helped and comforted others.
Marie

[Kim Bledsoe]

Alan, I offer my deepest and heartfelt sorrow and yet I know having traveled your journey that you are at peace that your beloved father is no longer suffering. You and your fathers journey have taught me so much.. I pray for peace for you and offer only my admiration for the son you have been and my gratitude for the person I have come to know on this journey. Some day soon I wish you rest.

God Bless,
kim

[crella]

Alan, I offer my deepest condolences upon the passing of your father. You've been a wonderful son and advocate for him, I hope that when the time comes I can do as well. You are and have been a great inspiration. Thank you for sharing your journey with us.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Thanks, Karen, Marie, Kim and Crella - and I'm sorry I didn't respond yesterday. As I mentioned in my new post, it wasn't due to mourning, it had more to do with my scramble to lay in supplies before today's blizzard. Though there was a certain amount of emotional exhaustion, too. As you can tell, we're getting through this. But to say that all of your comments help would be an understatement. I'm pretty overwhelmed by the response - and again, I'm grateful that all of this meant something to you.

I'll continue to keep all of you updated.

[Michael Tubridy]

Alan,
My heart fell when I saw the headline in this post. I'm not sure which feeling dominates at this point for me: sadness that your father will no longer be around to touch those who come in contact with him, or thankfulness that his pain is over.

Right now, you should rest assured that he is at peace and made whole again, in a way none of us can comprehend, by God. In time, I know that God will ease your grief, too.

Mike T.

[Alan G. Ampolsk]

Mike - go with the thankfulness, that's really my dominant emotion (though there are others, per my latest).

I agree with you that somehow, he's more himself today than he has been in a long time, and will continue to come back to himself. I'll have more to say about that at some point.

I'm grateful for your post and (as always) for your support.