So many times I have been invited to a function after someone dies, and the words begin with, “join us to celebrate the life of so-and-so,” … and the whole event turns out to be a morbid mess of tears.

I was darned determined not to do that yesterday.  Instead, we had a “thank-you party for ‘all those people’.”  Who?

In my aunt’s last seven months of life, she had someone with her 24 hours each day, seven days a week.  Services were split among seven people, who we call caregivers.  In my aunt’s stage of Alzheimer’s Disease, she could not remember their names, so she referred to them as “all those people.”

Instead of having a wake (or visitation) and a funeral, then everyone “coming over to the house” and standing around with long faces streaked with tears … we reserved a room at the community center where my aunt lived, arranged for catering for some light fare, and then orchestrated a huge “thank you” party to recognize each of my aunts caregivers.

All of her caregivers came, as well as the company President and some office staff.  A number of my large fam-damily came as well.  It was great to see my siblings and my cousins.  My aunt’s sons also were there (of course.)  One of them got up first to say a few words, then I took over.

I was fearing that I would “lose it” and become an emotional wreck, but I guess all those years of media training paid off.  I spoke about my aunt and each caregiver and her contributions to my aunt’s care on an individual basis, and my voice didn’t crack once.  I could tell it meant a lot to them, and it was my pleasure to recognize their work.

I told stories about how each caregiver did something special for my aunt, from the one who gave her the best bath to the one who fixed her the best home-made meals to the one who ordered Chinese (and didn’t think I knew), to the one who would scratch her back for hours on end.  I knew what they did… and they may not have known that I knew so much, but I don’t miss much.

We gave them a meaningful gift, but also a funny “gag” gift — a back scratcher. (smile — you had to be there, but the back scratcher gift made everyone laugh).

It was a great time.  I was told later that I spoke for 45 minutes, and at the end, everyone was smiling, cheering, and clapping.  We had a grand celebration … just the way Aunt Lee would have wanted it.

This blog will resume its usual content tomorrow.  Thank you for respecting this pause in my blogging content as I reflected on a person who was so much a part of my life for so long, I couldn’t let her passing go without comment.

By the way… I am wearing leather jeans over Dehner Patrol Boots with a dress shirt.  That’s how everyone is accustomed to seeing me — in leather.  No big deal… just who I am.  My aunt would have expected that attire, too.

Life is short:  show those you love that you respect their wishes — throw a party and be happy!

Many of my family and friends know that I cared for my Aunt Lee diligently during the last years of her life. While we had been close for some 20 years since she and her husband moved into the retirement community that is close to my home, I can say that since 2005, my relationship with my aunt has been much closer. I promised her husband, my Uncle Charlie, as he was dying in Sept., 2005, that I would look after her needs, but it’s also just who I am — I do those kind of things.

Each visit with her was an adventure. Back when she was more prescient, she would tell stories about travel adventures that she loved. We would go to the grocery store and do some vicious price-comparison shopping. We would enjoy meals together, and have ongoing discussions about current events.

Then matters slowly began to change. What appeared to be some forgetfulness was diagnosed as Alzheimer’s Disease. My aunt was forgetting to take medications from time to time, or sometimes would forget some other things, but nothing major. … until … one day she left the stove on. I caught it — no fire — but that was a motivator for me to get some help.

Through the services of a social worker, we identified a company that provided companion care. That way, someone could be with my aunt during the daytime to help out. Anything from just having someone to talk to, to ensuring she bathed, took her meds, ate meals, and did laundry.

As time and her condition progressed, we expanded the companion care hours and I extended my involvement in more things than just visits. From ordering and organizing her meds to interacting with her physicians to handling her finances (paying bills, filing tax returns, etc.) … in the last two years, I was pretty much managing her entire life.

Some people have asked, “why didn’t you move her to live with you?” Short answer: changing surroundings to a place that was unfamiliar would frighten her. Plus, my home has lots of steps, and my aunt was becoming too weak to navigate steps. I also have to consider my partner and the tremendous imposition of such a change on his life. What we wanted most was to make sure that my aunt could stay in her own home, as she wished, and as I had promised her husband that I would make happen.

Besides exercising my fiscal and caregiving responsibilities, I tried hard to have times just to visit. To laugh. To tell stories. To have a friend come over and cut and style her hair. To speak with her in other languages. I learned that while Alzheimer’s Disease causes someone to forget what she just talked about, it does not affect intelligence. My aunt was a very smart woman. She was among very few women who earned a Bachelor’s Degree in 1935. She could carry a conversation in English, Spanish, French, and Italian even up to her last days.

Contrary to what some people think, Alzheimer’s Disease does not cause everyone to be bitter or angry. I was pleased that my aunt remained happy, calm, and positive throughout her aging and Alzheimer’s-imposed memory decline.

One year ago this week, I fell and broke my ankle. My daily visits with my aunt stopped suddenly because I literally couldn’t move. While my aunt’s companion caregiver still came every day, there was an observable change in my aunt’s behavior. She really missed me, and withdrew. Gosh, it hurt to observe that happening.

The very moment I could hobble back onto my feet, I went over to her home. I observed that my aunt had become significantly more feeble and frail.

Then, in May, she began complaining of significant pain in her back. Turns out that she had two compression fractures. The pain became the singular focus of my aunt’s attention — she forgot to eat, to drink, and to bathe. Within a few weeks, she was a medical mess, and I had to have her hospitalized in June for treatment of mild malnutrition, dehydration, and a minor infection.

Returning from the hospital was a feat, orchestrated with the help of senior pals and family. But we were able to get her back home, into a familiar environment. I worked with her caregiving company and got personal attendants (caregivers) on-board 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

You’d think, then, that my job was over. Other people were taking care of her. On the contrary, my job was becoming more intense. But I did what I had to do. And loved it. Sure, it was hard sometimes to observe my aunt’s physical decline, on top of ongoing memory decline, but if my aunt taught me anything, it was how to age with dignity and grace.

Her caregiving team and I developed a great working relationship. We learned new ways of sharing information with each other about my aunt’s ongoing condition and changes, as well as physical, mental, and medical needs. From a four-page grocery check-off list to a tremendous detailed log that everyone could follow to know what and when my aunt ate, pooped, bathed, and so forth. That log was incredibly helpful as I used it to interact with her physicians and to let me know about her ongoing nutritional and caregiving requirements.

I never really counted the hours with which I devoted attention to her care — both in personal visits as well as while I was at home contacting family, doctors, and her caregiving company’s management on a regular basis.

What it all came down to is asking myself, “how would you like to live until death?” — simple answer: “at home, comfortably.” That’s what I did. Yes, that was a promise that I made to her husband, but it was also a promise that I made to her, and to myself. “Make it happen.” So I did.

I have two recent precious memories: her 96th birthday party, celebrated on January 2, 2011, with cake, ice cream, and sharing joy with her caregiving team and two of our Delegates in the Maryland General Assembly. My aunt was presented a House Resolution recognizing her birthday. She was thrilled.

On Monday, January 24, I have another fond memory. Her caregiver suggested that since two of us were there, that my aunt should exercise by walking. I got her up, we walked into the Living Room, then rested a bit, then walked back. Aunt Lee turned to me and said, “how far did I go?” I casually replied, “well, not quite a marathon.” Then Lee said in her dry wit, “well, a marathon is 26 kilometers. I have only walked two, so that’s 1/13th of a marathon.” That just astounded me as both a demonstration of how Alzheimer’s doesn’t affect intelligence, but also how she could come up with such funny things to say.

Unfortunately, Aunt Lee’s condition was very frail, and any little thing could have — and did — set off a chain of consequences that resulted in death. On the evening of Monday, January 24, she had rapid-onset aspiration pneumonia which caused less oxygen to reach her heart, and she suffered a heart attack. Her caregiver on duty saved her life by responding immediately to call 9-1-1 and then me. Admission through the E.R. to Intensive Care at the hospital followed. While those events did not directly kill her, she was not able to recover. On Wednesday, January 26, she died peacefully with two of her caregivers and me by her side, and was not in pain. She actually had a slight smile on her face when she passed.

I am not bereft or lost or crying hysterically. I learned so much in caring for my aunt, including preparing for and accepting that death is part of the circle of life. I am at peace with myself in knowing that I did all that I could, and my aunt was happy, safe, and loved. It is fitting that our last words with each other were, “I love you.”

Many times you’ve heard me say, “life is short: show those you love that you love them.” I practice doing that all the time. Most regularly with my aunt, but also with some other precious senior pals who I look after, but who also look after me.

Life is indeed short: make it worth living by extending your heart to care for others.

I’ll be breaking for a bit, as my family and I gather to celebrate the joy of a rich and wonderful life, my lovely Aunt Lee.  She celebrated her 96th birthday just a few weeks ago, with cake, ice cream, noisemakers, and recognition from our State General Assembly.

She passed away today, and I was by her side, holding her hand.  Our last words were, “I love you.”  I’m at peace.

Through the years, we’ve been close, but I have to say in the last five years since her husband’s passing, we’ve been even closer.

When my Uncle Charlie died in 2005, our last words were a promise, “I’ll take care of your wife.”

That I did… and it was a joy to do.

One of my blog readers brought up a point that I thought that I would address on my blog.  The point was more of a pondering related to what choices someone makes when life deals you a blow.  Man, I’ve had that happen.  Not lately, but when it has happened, one goes through several stages of emotions before arriving at the outcome.

When something bad happens, one can choose to wallow in self-pity and blame everyone and everything else.  Sometimes, someone else is truly at fault.  But the situation is what it is and you have to deal with it.

Unfortunately, I observe all too often that people stop at the stage of blaming others and continue to dwell on the “they did this to me” position, taking things very personally.  Then wishing ill on “them” and crafting ideas to get back at “them” while really doing nothing to change the current state of affairs.

Certainly, when I have been dealt a blow that I feel was undeserved, unwarranted, or just plain wrong, I have expressed emotions about how I feel.  I am human.  I get hurt — sometimes too easily.

But if life has taught me anything, it is that revenge is best served by living well.  Instead of wallowing in blaming others, I make lemonade out of lemons.  That is an American expression by turning matters around to a positive rather than a negative.

I guess that is how I am wired and how I was raised:  not to let bad things get me down for too long.  Plus, I credit my partner and my family for not letting me get that way.  From listening to me rant, then reminding me that I am “better than that,” to asking me to tell them what I will do about it, their encouragement helps me find a positive way of dealing with a negative situation.

Sometimes it is not easy.  Sometimes I feel that I have been truly wronged, and that “they” are total assholes who need a proverbial kick-in-the-butt.  But I also realize that sometimes things happen for reasons that I am not fully aware of, or due to politics, or that I am not the universally well-loved guy that I make myself out to be.  Yeah, there are some people out there who don’t like me, and never will, and who look for ways to make me uncomfortable.  That happens in real life, in real jobs, and in the real world.  Life stinks sometimes.

But the outcome doesn’t have to be crap.  I have learned that if you focus on the negative and look for ways to spread the negativity by making lives miserable of those who have made your life (temporarily) miserable, then you are only dwelling in everything that is bad — for your psyche, soul, and sense of self-worth.  Bad-breeds-bad, negative-breeds-negative.  One can lose his mind and his soul by continuing to let this happen.

Instead, I stop, look, and listen to my expressions of how I am feeling.  I begin with one step.  I ask myself, “what is one thing I can do positive for the day?”  Likely, for me, it is finding a way to help someone else.  Making a phone call to a senior bud asking, “how are you?” or “I have to go to the grocery store, and I would like some company.”  Seldom do they refuse.  I find that by being in a position of helping someone else eases my tension and negative feelings.  I deliberately choose NOT to tell the other person about how I am feeling because it results in a non-ending discourse of “woe is me.”

I begin with what I can do to relieve my tension by focusing on someone else for a change.  It’s not “all about me.”

Depending on how bad the situation was, I may continue to do this “one-step-at-a-time” thing for days or weeks.  Then, with the passage of time and its ability to heal-by-distance, I reassess and evaluate, “where do I go from here?”

My next step is to write down these steps: Network here.  Update my profile there.  Discuss professional activities with X, Y, and Z.  Put in a public speaking proposal for a professional conference.  Sign up to testify before our local bodies politic (there is always something to testify about!)  Build something.  Fix something on our house or one of my rental properties — or better yet, for one of my legion of senior pals.  Exercise more (such as list how many days this week I will walk 5 miles, 8 miles, 10 miles).

I will make a list of positive things I can do for myself.  I do not change my other “duties” such as my regular care for my aunt, my partner, and my senior pals.  I just make sure that I have a list of positive, focused, accomplishable and measurable activities that I can check off and say, “things are better for me because I have done this, that, and the other thing.”

Life can be rough.  You have a choice to live in the muck, or (speaking in analogies): enjoy getting your boots dirty for a while, hose ’em off, and climb out of that hole.

Life is short:  lemonade is much sweeter than lemons.