In Honor of My Father-in-Law, Morris Cordova

I have a need to write, but it’s not a blog I can post. Why not? Well, because it’s about my 93-1/2-year-old father-in-law who has entered hospice. And his 92-year-old sister does not know the extent of his condition because her health is not so great either and we don’t want to worry her.

 

Morris – my father-in-law – got pretty sick right before Christmas with the ‘flu and RSV. He went to the Emergency Room, but they released him. He went a couple times, actually, and finally ended up with pneumonia. This was too much for his body to fight and he eventually became unresponsive.

 

He had made a living will in which he stated he did not want to be kept alive by artificial means, including feeding tubes – so we made the difficult decision to put him in hospice.

 

I’ve been through hospice with both my parents and it’s not an easy thing. Dad was in hospice for only a week after his head injury, but mom was in hospice for over a year as she declined from Alzheimer’s.

 

I hated that they both had to be in hospice, but I will say that the hospice organization is amazing. They are the most caring, wonderful people who deal with so much grief. They care about us, our dying family members – and they even care for us again after our loved ones have passed.

 

I can’t say enough good things about them.

 

On Saturday, I went to Newark to see Morris in his hospice room. I had prepared a playlist of music I knew he liked.

 

Back in 2019 after his wife Marilyn died, Vince and I went to Newark frequently to help Morris organize his paperwork and visit him to keep up his spirits. Morris was eager to tell me about his morning routine, which was to get up, turn on his computer and access his music. He’d tell me how much he liked the station that played songs by artists such as Andrea Bocelli and Michael Bublé.

 

Many of those songs are some of my favorites, too, so it was fairly easy to create a playlist for him.

 

So when I got to his room, I turned off the TV. I decided Miss Kitty on Bonanza and Andrea Bocelli’s song featuring Celine Dion were not exactly compatible sounds.

 

We spent the better part of the hour listening to my playlist and then when it was over, I talked to him. Told him stories about some of the songs – how several were played at our wedding, how Vince told me how much he loved me after listening to one of them on our long flight back from Maui. And how much we enjoyed going to the Michael Bublé concert in 2019 and how we wished we could’ve had the opportunity to take Morris to the Andrea Bocelli concert the next time he came to Columbus.

 

Morris, of course, did not acknowledge any of this, although I want to believe that the furrow in his brow smoothed out some.

 

And while I was talking to him, I cried. A lot. I brushed Morris’ hair back off his forehead. I prayed aloud as I held his hand. I couldn’t help but feel Vince in the room with us. Waiting to welcome his dad home.

 

I was missing Vince terribly and wishing he were physically with us – but even though I was so sad, I also felt a sense of peace come over me.

 

It’s hard to explain, but there it is.

 

After a couple of hours, I told Morris that I was leaving. He actually opened his eye a bit as I bent down to kiss his forehead, told him I loved him and thanked him for bringing Vince into this world and welcoming me to the Cordova family.

 

When I passed the nurse’s station, I did remember to ask if they’d turn the TV back on since I’d forgotten. Television noise has been one of the constants in Morris’ life in recent years and I didn’t want him to lie there in silence before his son Keith came in for a few hours to sit with his dad.

 

When I got home, I was exhausted. My eyes were burning from having spent hours crying earlier. I was thinking that it would’ve been so much easier if someone had been with me in the room with Morris.

 

But you know something? It was then that I realized that I was happy that I had that time alone with him. That if someone had been in the room with me, I probably wouldn’t have spent the time talking to him or had the opportunity to tell him the things I was able to tell him.

 

We don’t always get that chance – so it’s important to take it when we can.

 

I wasn’t able to tell Vince I loved him just one more time because he left this world so suddenly. I wasn’t able to tell him that I wished we had many more years of happiness together and that I loved him and would miss him forever.

 

Even though I believe he knew – whether I voiced the words out loud or not.

 

The older we get, the more loss we experience. And it sometimes seems overwhelming to be in the midst of facing yet another loss, such as this.

 

But to experience loss, we must first experience love. So I wouldn’t forego this awful feeling of loss for anything. Because I know I have loved. And I have been loved.

 

I can’t alleviate the pain that all those who love Morris are going through and will experience in the days, months and even years ahead. But we can be there for each other and acknowledge a life well lived.

 

And we can honor our cherished memories of him.

 

Morris – I have been truly blessed to know and love you. Thank you for having me in your world.