March
9, 2001
Dear Roger,
Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of my
father's death and as the smoke from the Jewish memory candle
(Yarzheit)
burned out, I am reminded of my
remiss in writing you sooner. Please accept my apology for the delay in thanking
you for your tremendous help to us during my father's last few weeks.
It must have been fate that I tried to cover your
work years before and that you were there for my family when we needed you.
My father, Murray Miller, 69, had in his prime, been
a very intelligent, funny, if somewhat irascible soul. Much of what he did and
chose during his own life was a mystery to me, as was his decline with a most
bizarre illness called
Lewy's Body
Disease, mimicking aspects of both Parkinson's and Alzheimer's Disease. Such
was the mystery that we really could not diagnosis this to our own
satisfaction until weeks before he died. (The medical doctors were useless.)
The fall from the shower and the ensuing coma were
traumatic for all the obvious reasons but compounded by the fact that in his
repose he looked like my old dad. We groomed him without fussing too much and it
seemed that if he could just wake up he would be the man he was 10 years ago,
prior to this insidious onset.
We struggled with choices over feeding tubes and bed
positions and care and ultimately came to uneasy terms with moving him to a
hospice center. Though he had a living will stating he wished no heroic
measures, it was very hard to determine if this was indeed the situation
anticipated. Had his living will kicked in?
We were left to make all the decisions for him. Is
this what he wanted? Could we live with the decisions that had to be made, decisions that effectively would end his life? (I now know that it is impossible
ever feel right inside again.)
In this turmoil, I remembered you. Though I felt
uncomfortable calling you because I had foolishly opted not to do the story, you
were extremely gracious and available to me. Please thank
your wife also for greeting my
late night calls with warmth and understanding.
You fundamentally redirected our communication ,
with my father. As a result of speaking with you, we set up a schedule and
assigned family members shifts to be with him. We allowed for quiet time and I
kept a journal of my communication with
him. I asked questions. I listened for a response. I told
him everything I needed to say and even, as frightening
as
it was for me, said it was okay for him to let go. There still were times when
my sister, Lois, and mother and I sang all his favorite songs to him, but
there was a lot more quiet space and simple presence.
I want to thank you by giving you this
handmade Ethiopian basket that comes from my personal collection. 'Ten years ago
I spent a year in Ethiopia furtively working with an American Jewish
organization to help reunite the remaining Ethiopian Jewish community with their
families in Israel. The year's work culminated in a 24 hour airlift of 15
thousand men, women and children, known as Operation Solomon. I was one of a
handful of Americans fortunate to
participate in this miracle.
During, my year there, I set up a basket-making
program as a means of employing thousands of women and girls who otherwise lived
on meager handouts. The
baskets
later were sold in the US to pay for our relief efforts. This basket was made
during that time and, as a piece of that remarkable journey, is the most
meaningful gift I can share with you to
express my gratitude,
I am
sending this to return-receipt, just so I know that that the package arrived.
There is no need to thank me.
Thank you again for sharing your gift with us.
PS. We live only 23 minutes by bus
outside NYC Should you ever need a place to stay while out here, please
don't hesitate to call.
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