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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

stepdaughter, Jeannette, and my best friend Marla. It
was a crowd for such a small room.

Thursday morning, April 11, 1996, I was
wheeled into surgery. I must have peed my britches at
all this. I don’t know. Who cares?

Surgery lasted till about noon, and I was taken
to intensive care for recovery and recuperation.
Thursday afternoon became a blur. At one time I
remember them getting me up out of the bed…. the
day of surgery...and putting me in a chair. My brother
had come up from Orange County to be with me
because it scared him to death. I remember sitting in
the chair, literally drooling and being so “out of it” I
couldn’t function. Allen, Mom and Georgia were there
seeing me through this.

Saturday morning, I was transferred back to my
room and to continue to heal. Sunday, I remember
Rose Salter and Sharon coming to visit me and we all
walked down the hallway to the visitors’ room. The

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staff and doctors were impressed by my recovery that
they decided it was OK to go home the next day.

I came home Monday, April 15 after this whole
ordeal. It was a struggle to walk up the 3 steps to the
house and start regaining my strength.

That week, one evening during the night, I had
to get up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back
to bed, I apparently looked into our closet door mirror
(floor to ceiling mirrored doors) and saw my
reflection, and forgetting they were mirrors, thought
someone was in the room with me. I almost had heart
attack #2.

As the weeks went by and I was in recovery, I
was reminded by the doctor that I need to keep active
and continue to walk. I knew how important this was
so one beautiful spring day, late morning, I started on
my trek around the neighborhood. I walked to the
corner...then walked to more corners down Wentworth
Street. When I got to the end of the street, instead of
going back home, I continued. I walked another few

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blocks to Tonopah Street...I continued the many
blocks until finally, at a point of no return, I sat on
someone’s lawn, crying. I didn’t know what to do. Do
I go back home? Do I continue? What lay in front of
me was the pedestrian underpass to the freeway and I
knew that if I took that route, I’d end up on Laurel
Canyon Blvd, by now far away from home. It was
closer to push on than to turn around and go back.

I walked up Laurel Canyon Blvd. to about a
block before my next turn that would have taken me
home. I thought this might be the time to go to
Georgia’s office that was within eyeshot and have her
take me home which was literally around the corner.

Another time while recuperating, shortly after
that, I decided to visit Universal Studios on a weekday
when it wasn’t really crowded. I had been cleared to
drive after 3 weeks of post-op, so I drove to Universal,
probably 5 miles away from home. I had a season pass
that was about to expire and I thought, well, why not?

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It was around 11:00 that morning when I arrived
at Universal Studios Hollywood, and I knew I had to
take it easy, but I just wanted the fresh air and exercise.

After entering the park, I wondered if this was
such a good idea.

I was wearing shorts and a tank top, and the
prominence of my new scar was very visible. I guess I
had no pride. I was comfortable and that’s all that
mattered.

Once inside the park, realizing maybe I
shouldn’t have done this, I sat down at an outdoor
restaurant because I just couldn’t go any further. It was
not intentional to ride any of the rides, but I did go on
their tram for a tour of the studios. I was sitting down,
I was comfortable, and when they dropped me off at
the end of the tour, I thought it might be time to go
back home.

This happened all in 1996, and here we are
today, May 28, 2020, and I haven’t had any issues
since.

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And I hope I don’t.
I really hope I don’t.

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ALL HAPPENS BELOW THE WAIST
And no, that is not me…

Alright, get your minds out of the gutter.
Speaking of happening below the waist, in 2015
my nephrologist (kidney doctor) ordered an ultrasound
of my bladder because I was complaining to him about
excessive urination and not feeling I was emptying my
bladder. The ultrasound revealed that in fact I was
retaining urine - not a good sign because that can cause
uremic poisoning that could lead me to end up like the
proverbial doornail...dead.
He sent me to a urologist who, after performing
a cystoscopy, said that the previously presumed

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enlarged prostate was not that at all. It was something
called a neurogenic bladder. We attributed it to
neuropathy that is caused by the diabetes, and the
neuropathy has attacked my bladder and wouldn’t let
it function properly, which was why I was retaining
the urine. The nerves in the bladder would not function
properly therefore the urine just sat there.

It was then the doctor said that I would need to
use a catheter to pee...for life.

I was given the choice of either having a Foley
catheter inside permanently, and changing every
couple months, or an intermittent catheter that I use
myself whenever I had to pee. Peeing by myself was
not an option anymore. Before my eyes I was turning
into an old man.

And here we are 5 years later, still using the
damn catheter so I can pee, because of neuropathy in
my bladder. Thank you very much diabetes, for truly
fucking up my life.

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Now, using a catheter 4-6 times a day really
isn’t as bad as you would think. It’s not painful, and
I’ve gotten used to it, and I’m pretty good at it. And
while it’s not painful, I told the doctor it’s a pain in the
ass to have to do it. He said, “A pain in the ass? Then
you’re not doing it right.”

Every doctor thinks he’s a comedian.
I carry catheters everywhere. My bag, my car,
my luggage, bedside, bathroom. I go nowhere without
them because if I don’t use it, it’s possible for my
bladder to burst because the urine won’t come out.
Whenever I have surgery, I always ask for a Foley to
be inserted so that’s one less thing I have to worry
about as I recuperate in the
hospital. How many other people ask to have a
catheter? Not many, I’m sure.
So, what else is below the waist? Not much.
I’m OK back there.
A little further south, though, around the knees:
In 1963, I broke my knee cap while I was chasing my

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cousin Mark across the street where he lived, and I ran
into my car and hit my knee on the fender. More on
that in another chapter.

Sometime during the 1980s while I was
working at the telephone company, as I was coming
back from a break I entered into the office and because
the office was in a maze type of a design, it was
challenging to walk through the entire office in a
straight forward motion. I proceeded to my desk but
had to make a sharp right turn next to someone's desk
who had left the desk drawer open. It immediately
brought me down and I had to see an orthopedic
surgeon to find out why the knee was not healing. The
doctor told me that the collision had ripped my
meniscus ... The cartilage between the bones in the
knee. It required surgery to repair and I was out of
work for about 8 weeks after the surgery. On a scale
of 1 to 10

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as far as surgeries go this was probably a 3. This was
not a serious or complicated surgery, but it was still
painful.

Through the years and probably because of age
I have had many surgeries on my knees for a torn
cartilage. I know what to expect. It is more
inconvenient than it is painful.

Further down the leg I would be remiss in not
mentioning the neuropathy that developed in 1983. I
felt some tingling in my feet and in my toes. And while
it wasn't painful, it was concerning. I spoke to my
doctor about it not knowing what it was, and he
mentioned it could be the start of what is called
diabetic neuropathy where your nerves start to die off.
Over the years it could turn out to be very painful.

No kidding.
The neuropathy never went away. It has settled
down a bit, but there are times, especially at night, that
the pain is unbearable. There is really nothing that can
be done except to endure that pain. Sometimes I can

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rub some cream on it like Ben-Gay or Aspircream, and
if gets bad enough, I’ll have to take a pain pill to help
ease it. At times, the pain feels like a jolt of electricity
in my feet; even on the toes that have been amputated.
That’s when the phantom pain kicks in. Sometimes in
high gear.

For now, the painful neuropathy is kept at bay,
although I still feel the tingling, every hour of every
day. Some days are better than others, though, so that’s
a big plus.

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PAIN IN THE REAR

Yes, this one is me

On Wednesday, July 9, 2014, I came home from
Carlos’ around 9:00 in the evening. During the day I
had been to Mom’s apartment and cleared a few things
out to bring them home, one being her 4” thick foam
mattress pad that she wasn’t using anymore. I have no
idea what I was going to do with it, but that’s not
germane to the story. What is important though, is to

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know how I folded it up so I could fit it in the backseat
of the car.

After coming home with the folded up mattress
pad, I had to find some way of getting it out of the car
and into the house, specifically into my bedroom
which was the converted garage, 2 steps down from
the main part of the house.

I dragged the pad out of the car, across the
driveway, into the house, a sharp left u-turn in the
hallway, and down those 2 steps to lean the pad against
the wall.

I was home free.
No…I wasn’t. When I leaned the pad against the
wall and let go, the pad flung open and threw me
across the 20’ width of the garage concrete floor. It all
happened in the blink of an eye and I ended up inches
away from hitting my head on the nightstand. Pain like
I have never felt before in my life shot through my
right leg. I didn’t know what part of my leg was
injured; the hip, the knee, the ankle…I couldn’t tell.

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Married only a year and now I’m damaged
goods.

I looked for the phone, which was usually on my
nightstand, but I had remembered I had left it on the
bed, just inches away from where I fell. I crawled to
the bed, lifted myself up with my arms, but there was
no phone on the bed. I looked around, and 4 feet
behind me on the desk sat the phone. It must have been
several minutes of staring at the phone from where I
lay, with me wondering how on earth I would get to
travel that 4 feet from the bedside to the desk to get the
phone to call for help.

It took me about half an hour, literally, to crawl
from the bed to the desk. I was completely paralyzed
so the only way I could do this was to crawl on my
stomach with an over-hand pulling with my arms. (Are
you getting the visual??) When I reached the phone,
practically gasping for a breath, I managed to call
Carlos…and this was about 9:45, 45 minutes after the
fall.

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“Help me!” I said. “I think I’ve broken my hip”
“What happened??” He said.
“I was thrown across the room by the mattress
pad. Hurry please!” (Thrown across the room by the
mattress pad. Insert LOL here.)
Within a half an hour, Carlos was there.
Meanwhile, I had managed to get myself sitting in the
chair (that was a sight, I’m sure, to see me try and
crawl up to the chair to sit). There I was sitting on the
left side of my butt…in more pain than I’ve ever
known, not knowing what to do, but I knew Carlos
would.
He came in and immediately said, “we need to
call 911. Something’s not right”. The time was now
about 10:30 and by time EMT got there it must have
been close to 11:00 and it had been 2 hours since the
fall.
Emergency techs got there fully expecting to see
my mother there, needing help…they were used to the
address from her many falls and trips to ER…”

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Where’s your mom?” they said. “No, this isn’t for her.
It’s for me.”

They did a quick assessment of what had
happened and gave me some morphine to help with the
pain. I gotta say, that’s good stuff.

They managed somehow to lift me onto their
gurney but not without screaming to wake the
neighborhood and take me out of the house and put me
in the ambulance for the short ride to Sherman Oaks
Hospital.

After unloading me into the emergency room
writhing in pain, I was examined and questioned, and
then x-rayed. The x-ray tech was either new or
inexperienced at this type of patient because she
couldn’t position me correctly enough on the table
without pulling sheets and blankets in the direction,
she wanted to take the x-ray. Carlos had to help her
pull the blanket and hold it so she could go back and
push the button.

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Half an hour later, the doctor came in and very
nonchalantly said, “Your right hip is broken at the
femur neck. It’s not a clean break but shattered and
splintered and it looks like you’ll need to have a hip
replacement. He said, “Don’t worry. We do this all the
time.”

“Not to ME!!” I replied.
Shit. This is something I'd expect my mother or
grandmother to do: Break a hip. But certainly not me.
After that dreadful news, I was taken upstairs to
a room where a surgeon would see me the next day.
Meanwhile, I laid in bed in agony with a broken hip
waiting for countless hours before a doctor would see
me Thursday morning. I had been kept as comfortable
as possible, all things considered, throughout the
night. Dilaudid was given to me every 4 hours for the
pain. And while it’s not morphine, it helped a little.
Thursday morning comes and mid-morning, a
physician’s assistant, Cory, came in to talk to me; find
out what happened, when, where, etc. He told me Dr.

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Botts would be by later. He explained the break to me
and why it couldn’t be patched together with screws
but rather, needed to be replaced. The procedure was
a hemi-arthroplasty, which means they replace half
the hip. The ball joint and half the femur had to go.
The socket was left as is.

“We can’t get to this until tomorrow,” said the
doctor. I asked him, “you mean I have to stay like this
another day??” I really don’t know why they had to
wait a day; they either told me and I’ve forgotten, or
they didn’t tell me

That Thursday was spent in agony but with
Carlos by my side he made it seem a little better. My
body was reacting to the pain, shooting out a bunch of
adrenaline that I hope helped the pain.

From the song “He’s Alive”, I spent the night in
sleeplessness and rose at every sound. It was a
miserable night filled with pain and medication to
help. It seemed like tomorrow would never come.

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Come the morning, I couldn’t eat anything for
breakfast because I was “NPO” before surgery.

They came to get me around noon. Carlos had
been there since mid-morning, and as they took me off
to surgery and we kissed goodbye, he spent the time in
the waiting area. This was to be a simple procedure,
one that the doctor has done many times so I was
assured everything would be all right.

When I woke from anesthetic, I remember it
was Friday afternoon and I don't remember being in
any kind of pain because the anesthetic had not worn
off yet. I remember them bringing me dinner, but I
don't remember what I had. Physical therapy came in
and tried to get me up but I was only able to take a step
that was maybe 2 or 3" and it was discouraging but I
have to remember that I had just gotten out of surgery.

The night was spent comfortably and the next
day, Saturday, physical therapy came in again to try
and get me to walk. I remember I was able to get up
on the right side of the bed and walk…well not walk,

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but I stood on my feet and I was able to take a step that
was about 6". The rest of the night was spent
uneventfully. I was able to rest and relax a little bit still
in pain but able to take some pain medication to help.
The following day Sunday physical therapy came in
and I was able to take about 2 steps to the next bed
before I had to lay back down again. The next day,
Monday, physical therapy helped me to walk about 6'.
That was very discouraging because I felt like it was
never going to get better. Monday afternoon someone
came in to prepare me to go over to the rehab center in
Van Nuys. It was called Windsor Terrace and we had
been over there before as we were looking for a place
to place mom, so we were familiar with it and we
thought it was a really nice place. But it's a lot different
to be on the inside looking out than it is to be on the
outside looking in.

This was a period of my life, being placed in a
nursing home that I hope I never have to repeat. People
there were old. People there were incapacitated.

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People there probably had no place to go and they were
wards of the state. It was a place that we had
considered putting my mother in at one time because
of her situation. It's nice on the outside…even sort of
nice on the inside with individual television sets at
each bet, what appeared to be nice amenities…but
once you're there as a patient…things don't look so
rosy.

I was taken over to Windsor Terrace at about 3
o'clock in the afternoon and placed in a room with 2
other men. I was placed in the middle bed. On my right
was a man who constantly whistled. On my left was
somebody who I never heard. I don't remember much
more of that day but the following day on Tuesday I
started my main physical therapy.

Each day involved 2 one-hour sessions of
exercises and walking with the walker. When they felt
I was strong enough, they discharged me. There were
times though, that I wondered if this was the end of the
line for me. I was in a nursing home, I was old, I was

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a lifelong diabetic, I couldn’t walk. There were private
times at night that I would lie awake in my bed,
watching the television that was 10 inches away, using
a headphone so I would not disturb the other patients.
I was taking pain medication every 4 hours; many
times for pain, but sometimes for my mental pain this
was putting me through. I had a choice to make: Do
what I could to get better or give up.

This new regime lasted about 2 weeks and all
the days were the same with physical therapy and my
3 meals and nothing more. Carlos was there every day
for me, and I had a couple of other visitors during that
time. Katie came to visit with me, Alex from the
chorus came to visit me one day which was really a
surprise, and I received a beautiful bouquet of flowers
from Michael Graham.

These kind gestures really brightened my days,
and I was very anxious to leave because this was one
place I did not belong. The goal was to be able to walk

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300 feet and physical therapy showed me where 300
feet was and within a week and a half, I exceeded that.

Then in two weeks a doctor came in and told me
that because of my progress I would be able to leave
the following Wednesday which was only two days
away. That was very exciting because I really felt I did
not belong in that facility. I couldn't even begin to
imagine my mother being in that facility and as it
turned out we did not place her there.

I was discharged in a walker on Wednesday, July
23, 2 weeks to the day after breaking my hip, and
trying my best to learn to walk again. It seemed like it
took forever.

Little did I know that when I fell, not only did I
break my hip, the fall was so violent that it damaged
my back, and in August, 2015, I endured a complicated
extensive procedure that left me with a 12" scar down
the middle of my back. As this is being written, I am
still in the walker, after all this time, and undergoing
pain management so I can re-learn how to walk like a

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human rather than dragging my knuckles like a
monkey.

With no letup in sight, I struggle every day in a
walker or electric scooter. My life has done a 180º
turn-around. Now I am facing more surgery to replace
discs and fuse together some that I have. I don’t like
the idea of surgery (who does?) but I also don’t like
the idea of not being able to walk.

The fall that fractured my hip also did a mean
number on my back. As it turns out, when I fell, my
vertebrae were crushed. I found this out a year later
and the surgeon blamed it on the fall. It was necessary
to go through another surgery to correct the back and
“make a new roof” for the spinal column, as the doctor
put it.

That surgery was in August 2015 and was listed
as a “Multi-level laminoplasty” and it involved
separating my vertebrae T3-T10 and bracketing them
back into place. I must set off all kinds of alarms at an

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airport, what with the titanium hip and brackets in my
back.

Here we are in 2020 and I’m still using a walker
that I started that horrible day in July of 2014. I am
resigning myself to the fact that I must accept my ill-
fated luck and that this is the way it’s going to be. In
September 2019, I went through yet another back
surgery from L-3 - S1 with a fusion and laminectomy.
My poor back is just not the same, and coupled with
being 73 years old, I’m beginning to show my age.

Beginning. That’s a good one

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FEET and TOES

In 1997, (that seems so long ago, doesn’t it?), I
had noticed on my left foot, big toe, what appeared to
be an infection. I’d always been careful with my feet
because I learned over the course of years that
diabetics can always have foot problems that was one
of the last things I ever wanted to happen.

I recognized when I saw my toe that it needed
to be taken care of however, I did not realize how
serious it had become. I saw my endocrinologist, Dr.
Richard Griffiths, who referred me to a Dr. Weisman

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in surgery to have the toenail looked at. Dr. Weisman
removed the toenail, and I was sent home.

The toll remained infected, and I noticed a small
lesion on the underside and medial of the toe. I tried to
treat it at home with Neosporin and bandages, but the
situation became worse after approximately three
days.

I was referred to urgent care, and I saw Dr.
Kiley. He said due to the severity of the wound, he was
not able to help me, but he referred me to an outside
podiatrist, Dr. Eric Feit and Dr. Gina Liped in North
Hollywood. The referral was to see the podiatrist
within 3 to 5 Days. Why time an appointment was
made with Podiatry, two weeks had passed. The toad
continued to Fester even though the antibiotic
administered

I was examined by Dr. Liped, and she debrided
the toe, and gave me a prescription of silver
sulfadiazine to be applied to the affected area, twice a

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day. I was given a post-op boot to relieve the pressure
injury caused.

Those boots, by the way, are very
uncomfortable and very ugly. You have all seen them
I am sure and laughed at the poor soul who had to wear
one.

At my next appointment, I was seen by Dr. Feit,
who was also a podiatrist, who changed the
prescription to Keflex, and performed an additional
debridement.

An ulcer was now noticed on my heel, and Dr.
Feit suggested a walking cast to keep the wound
covered and relieve the pressure that walking caused.
I was not casted.

To change my prescription now to Augmentin,
wrap my foot in an Ace bandage after seeing an x-ray,
and change the post to another time. At this time, there
was no osteomyelitis. I was referred back to Dr. Liped
for a follow-up appointment. she felt it was necessary

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to consult with my primary care physician, Karl
Kaplan, to be admitted to the hospital.

And now I am getting scared. And I'm sure you
are too wondering when this boring part is going to
end but trust me, we are leading up to the good stuff.
Kinda. Sorta.

I was admitted to Tarzana Medical Center
around 9:00 pm. An IV of cephalin started around 11
:00. A bone scan and a Doppler study were conducted
the next day. I was visited by a house doctor. She said
no test results were available, but I was fitted for a
diabetic orthopedic shoe.

She said there was no osteomyelitis in the hill,
but it appears that the toe infection is touching the
bone. A fluid-filled blister was noticed on the lateral
side of the foot. Another orthopedic surgeon
suggested a total contact cast that would need to be
removed and examined each week and would be on for
approximately 3 months.

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Later while still in the hospital I was introduced
to Dr. Leopoldo Delawa who was a cardiovascular
surgeon, and he suggested an angiogram to check the
circulation of my leg and my foot. He said at this point
there was no need to worry about an amputation.

Later during that time at approximately 10
morning I was introduced to Dr George Andros who
was the cardiovascular surgeon. He was a very tall and
thin elderly gentleman. He would soon be the one to
save my life.

Dr. Andros Became irate at the gangrenous
ulcers and how they had been treated up to that point.
He said if I had let this go one more week, I would
have surely lost the foot. He felt I had received
“substandard treatment" initially, and then received
“...beneath American Standards of Care…” he said
that the doctors should not have referred a diabetic
with gangrene to Podiatry. Podiatry should have
refused to treat me due to the nature of the problem.
When Dr. Andros left the room, he shook his head and

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said, “I am appalled at this treatment.” When I came
back into my room, he said “I don't normally get this
angry and you better pray that you have a good enough
artery to save that leg.”

Dr. Andros was clearly upset about this entire
incident. So much so that all he could write on my
chart was “angiogram in the morning.” A nurse came
into my room after Dr. Andros had left, noticing that I
was visibly upset. I told her what happened, and she
said that the doctor told her the same thing and she felt
the doctor was too angry to write anything more on the
charts and he appeared to be “livid”.

Later that evening another doctor scheduled an
angiogram for around 10 the next morning. I asked
him if there was a chance that I would lose the foot.
He said, “absolutely. Anytime a diabetic has gangrene
there's always a chance.”

As I recuperated at home after dealing with the
anxiety and stress of this chronic medical situation, I
received a message from Dr Kaplan to return his call

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as soon as possible as he had “good news and bad”.
The good news was that Dr. Andros feels he can
perform an operation to increase the circulation. The
bad news was that it would be performed at St Joseph
where Dr. Kaplan did not practice. I could deal with
that

On April 11th, 1997, I was admitted to St Joseph
Medical Center in Burbank and started on IV
medications on Ceftin. I endured a triple femoral-
popliteal bypass graft performed at approximately
3:30 in the afternoon and lasted for about 5 hours.

I was in extreme pain at first after the surgery.
Then I needed assistance with crutches and a walker
for 3 weeks. When I was discharged from the hospital,
the doctor felt that the surgery was successful in
regaining circulation to my foot And therefore
avoiding amputation of any limbs.

I continued routine follow-up visits with Doctor
Andros after surgery. My right hip began to hurt after
surgery with excruciating pain and I was on constant

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pain medications every 4 hours and unable to sleep at
all. I attributed this to overworking my right leg as my
left leg was convalescing.

After 4 weeks post-op, I noticed no
improvement in my foot. I was referred to three more
doctors. One was urgent care, another one was an
infectious disease doctor, another one with yet another
infectious disease doctor. I was making a name for
myself at St Joseph Medical Center.

I was admitted to St. Joseph Medical Center
again with the possibility of surgery to remove my toe.
Was started on IV treatment of Unasyn. An MRI of my
left foot showed a complete osteomyelitis of my great
toe. A PICC line was installed, I was discharged with
instructions to administer the IV at home, twice a day
for 6 weeks.

It was not healing, I found myself in the
operating room for amputation of my big toe on my
left foot.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

I was released from the hospital in May 1997
with one less toe than when I went in.

Routine follow-up deserts indicated that my leg
was still a high risk for below-the-knee amputation of
my left leg. The doctor said I am still at high risk as
long as there are open wounds which are perfect
breeding grounds for new bacteria.

Without the details of each amputation after
that, and there were three more, including the big toe
on my right foot turn the number two toes on each foot
as well, #5 toe on the left had to be opened and
debrided because the amputation caused me to walk on
the side of my foot, which turned gangrenous as well.
While he was able to save the #5 toe, I had to have the
bones removed. The hole it left in my foot was gaping,
and about an inch deep. He wanted to leave the wound
open so he could dress it with antibiotics, but what that
meant was a 36-day hospitalization while it healed.

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All 4 amputations and related surgeries had me
down for several years, with a total of 17 different
antibiotics.

After all these years, I am still monitored by a
cardiovascular surgeon, for occlusions in my legs and
so far, everything seems to be holding OK. The fem-
pop that was done on my left leg in 1997 and they say
they only last about 15 years but is still holding, and
the right leg, though slightly occluded, seems to be ok.

Not perfect - but OK.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

I CAN’T DO THIS ALONE
Sometimes we go through life thinking all is
right and well in the world. That’d be a perfect world,
wouldn’t it?
But we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in
a real world with real problems, many of which have
solutions. Some of which just do not. Do you tackle
these problems alone? Many think they can, most need
help.
I sure do. And I’m truly fortunate to have
support so I don’t have to do this alone.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Dad
September 20, 1918 - October 14, 1989

Dad was a very quiet and private man. He didn’t
really participate much in the way my brother and I
were disciplined. Maybe he thought he wasn’t very
good at it. He always left that up to Mom.

One thing he did though, was offer a lot of
praise and understanding. Quiet talks with me when
something was wrong...I don’t ever recall him raising
his voice in anger. From the times I cut school, to the
paintings I did, to the music I made, to my ailing

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schoolwork...Dad was there to help and encourage and
support.

He used to ask me, “How do you remember the
words to all those songs??” whenever he heard me
singing.

He used to call my brother and me “bear” from
the time we were little. He never said “I love you” to
any of
us. I’m sure he did, but being as quiet and private as
he was, he never vocalized it.

A week before he died, I sat kneeling at his
bedside, just talking to him and letting him know how
much I loved him. I told him how proud I was to carry
on his name, and what a remarkable job he has done
helping me to become the man and the father I was. I
told him, “I love you Dad.”

His last words ever spoken to me, as close to “I
love you” as I’d ever get:

“I appreciate that, bear.”

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Mom
June 21, 1921 - September 13, 2016

Mom gave me strength that I never knew I had.
Throughout my life, from the time I first remember,
Mom was there encouraging me to be the best I could
be. When I was lazy in school or with homework, a
very unhappy mom would step in and make things
right. She never withheld dinner, she never raised a
hand to us...but she was the kind of woman that when
she spoke, you listened, and you did what she said.
There were no questions.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

I remember one night coming home from a date,
quite late, and coming into my room to find every
stitch of clothing taken out of my dresser drawers and
my closet and literally piled in a heap in my bedroom
with a note on top: “Clean this room before you go to
bed!”

I went into her room where she and Dad were
asleep, and I told her I’d clean it in the morning.

“You’ll do it now. And I mean now.”

The room was cleaned before I went to bed.

I came out to Mom on January 22, 1998, my
51st birthday. It’s something I planned to do but just
didn’t have the courage. Finally, I decided this must be

done.

As we sat at the kitchen table, I said to her,
“Mom, you keep asking me if I think Georgia and I

will ever get back together. Have you ever given
thought as to why I keep saying no?” “No, I never
did.”

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“Did it ever occur to you that I might be gay?”
“No, it didn’t. Are you?”
“Yes Mom, I am.

With that, she stood up and came over to me
with her tender hug and warmth and love and said,
“All I ever want for you is your happiness.”

She was the one who taught me right from
wrong, good from bad and what it means to love. I
miss the touch of her hand holding mine, I miss
stroking her hair. I miss caressing her face.

Her last words to me: “Thank you so much for
everything” are words that I’ll remember for the
remainder of my days.

A letter to Mom, one year later. . .

September 13, 2017
Dear Mom

It was one year ago at 9:32 a.m. you left us.

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I struggled but got through that day and the
weeks that followed.

I struggled as I dealt with the preparation for
your final rest. But I did OK.

I struggled through Thanksgiving, privately
crying as we gave thanks at the table for what we have.
I was thankful for you and your loving ways to me and
the rest of the family for so long.

I struggled through Christmas, but it was a time
of joy for the children you loved so deeply.

I struggled on January 22 when I reached 70
years old. But it was a day of reflection on the years
past especially dealing with my health issues.

I struggled on Valentine’s Day when you and
Art would have celebrated your 12th anniversary. But
I smiled, remembering that day vividly.

I struggled in April when we laid you to rest
with Art where we placed two dozen red roses in your
grave. That was tough.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

I struggled the day after when we lovingly
remembered you at your “Fiesta” in your backyard
that was beautifully decorated the way you used to do.
When they played “taps”, I lost it. But I was OK. We
had your
entire family here to help. Your ENTIRE family.

I struggled, probably more than most other
days, on Mother’s Day and again cried silently
throughout the day, fondly remembering the Mother’s
Days past.

I struggled in June on your birthday when you
would have been 96. But I was OK.

Here we are on your one-year anniversary of
your passing.

I am still struggling, and I have my “Mother
Moments” but not as much and not as often…. the way
you would have wanted.

Your family misses you and loves you and
wishes you were here… but we understand.

We struggle.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

But we’re okay.
I miss you and I love you.

Mom’s Obituary:
It is with great sadness and sorrow that Carlos

and I tell you of the death of my mother, Shirley
Dardenelle Herriford, of natural causes. She was 95.

Mom had a distinct way about her and was
loved by so very many people whose lives she touched
in the course of those many years. A volunteer for the
City of Hope Medical Center for well over 50 years,
she was president of our local chapter for many of
those 50 years, and therefore instrumental in the
raising of over $5M in
donations that were used to save lives. She often said,
"if I have helped save one life, my work was not in
vain".

Shirley will be laid to rest at Riverside National
Cemetery with her husband Arthur. Burial will be
private

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but a memorial service is being planned for the spring
of 2017.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Georgia
I first met Georgia Parker in October 1966,
when we both worked in the credit department of a
major department store. We began dating and enjoying
each other, and 3 years later we were married, August
2, 1969.
She was fully aware of my health condition of
being diabetic for 13 years when we married. Her
mother tried to talk her out of it, but she persisted, and
we were married.

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Throughout our marriage she was one to be
there for me when health issues arose, or when job
issues were
too tough for me to mentally handle. She convinced
me that I have worth and that everything is going to be
fine.

During the course of our marriage, she gave
birth to our two children: Scott in March 1978, and
Kathryn, December 1979. We were a family.

As our kids grew up, she held the family
together, especially with my health, my heart issues,
my diabetic issues. She was there.

We divorced in August 1999, after 30 years. To
this day we remain friends and provide much support
to each other. Because that’s what friends do. Though
we are no longer married, we remain friends. And
unusual as that may be, it’s the way we work.

Thank you, Georgia, for all these years together
that have made such a profound difference in my life.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Scott
My first born; my baby boy. What joy you have
given me during your lifetime. Always there helping
each other as dad and son; coming to Barbershop
Quartet competitions when you really didn’t want to,
to show you cared. Coming to family picnics and
outings when you couldn’t wait to get home...but you
came because you knew it was important to me.

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top of each candy...being in the kitchen just you and
me. Loving so many good times together.

And here you are now, married with kids of
your own giving them the love you and I shared during
your lifetime. And our chats on Facebook and on the
phone or on Alexa...treasured moments for sure...to
reassure me that everything - no matter what - will be
OK. Telling me that above all, you will take care of
me if I ever need it.

With every part of my being, I love you and so
honored to be not only your father, but your dad.

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Kate
My Katie. My baby girl.
We named you Kathryn Lois after your aunt
Kathy and great-grandmother Lois. But you were my
Katie. You still are, even if you prefer “Kate”
So many wonderful times we had growing
together and the times you would tell me, “It’s OK,
Dad. You’re going to be OK.”
Distinctly I remember in August 1996, on a
Saturday morning - you were seated on the floor of the

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