Tales & Trails of a Traveling Wiseguy

I wrote earlier today about the death of my Aunt Carol. As I searched for things to say I found it hard to escape my frustration over some negative aspects of her personality. That journal entry is friends-locked. As I reconsidered it with greater detachment I realized I could share positive things, too. I'll do that here.

My aunt, Carol K., passed away on Sunday. She was just a few days shy of her 88th birthday. She was born and raised in New York City. She was the first of three children. My aunt Diane and my mother are her younger sisters.

Carol graduated with a bachelors degree from Wellesley College and earned a Masters from Columbia University. Her academic achievement put her in a select group of women at the time. After earning her post-graduate degree she worked for the publisher of Time magazine. Women were not well embraced in advanced jobs in industry at that time. Sure, plenty of women were typists, secretaries, and phone operators. But Carol had the academic preparation to be a researcher and a writer. She left the magazine after a few years without ever getting a byline.

Carol married Ed K., a university professor, and began raising a family. Their sons, William and James, are my cousins and are close in age to me. Sadly I only saw them once every few years growing up. They lived in Indiana, then Texas, as my uncle pursued his teaching career. Today I'd think nothing of traveling to their old homes to visit relatives; but when I was a child, money was tight in the family and travel was a rarity. I wish it could have been different as I always treasured our time together on their visits and longed for the next.

Carol lived in Texas for 25 years where, in addition to being a wife and mother, she also worked as a high school teacher. She moved from Texas to Nebraska in 2011 after her husband died. She was suffering from Alzheimer's and not able to live on her own. She moved into a care facility in the town where my cousin James had recently taken a job as a college professor— sort of following in his father's footsteps.

Carol lived in Nebraska the past 13 years. While her Alzheimer's condition progressed she was in a good place, with some family nearby. James visited her regularly along with her granddaughter.

Carol is survived by her two sisters, her two sons, three grandchildren, and several nieces and nephews and their children.

In episode 5 of Breaking Bad Walt's wife, Skyler, stages an intervention to pressure Walt to accept cancer treatment. Present in the family's living room when Walt comes home are Sklyer, their son, Walt Jr., and Skyler's sister, Marie, and brother-in-law, Hank.

As Skyler begins speaking it seems her motives are not in good faith. Though she says she wants to understand Walt's reasons, she's staged the meeting in a way that looking like she's trying to railroad Walt. The discussion initially goes her way— aligning to her predetermined conclusion— but then goes awry.

I'm going to outline the arguments in the discussion here because they align very much with the thoughts I shared in my previous blog, The High Cost of Dying, and pertain to anyone who's facing a terminal diagnosis themselves or as a close relative or friend:

• Skyler speaks first. She explains that she doesn't understand Walt's reasons. This is the part I feel is her behaving in bad faith, as Walt has told her his reasons. She's just ignored them— to the point of not even paying attention— because she disagrees.She elaborates that Walt's decision here impacts not just him, but her, their son, and their daughter, whom she's pregnant with. On this note I totally agree with Skyler. A person who's making end-of-life decisions for themselves and has dependents must consider them, too.


• Hank, Walt's brother-in-law, speaks next. His remarks are similar to Skyler's concern about the impact on Walt's family but framed more in the classic "be a man" narrative: a man provides for his family.


• Walt Jr. calls his dad a coward for not wanting to fight his illness. Walt Jr., a teenager, has struggled his entire life with cerebral palsy. He expresses concern that if his dad is giving up on himself, would he also give up on his ill son?


• Marie, Hank's sister-in-law, offers a surprising counterpoint. This is where the family meeting goes off the rails, at least in Skyler's mind. This is also where Skyler's bad faith is made plain: she wanted her whole family to gang up with her against Walt, and she is outraged when her sister supports Walt's side. Marie explains that, as a radiology technician who works in a hospital with cancer patients every day, she sees so many people whose sickness and misery are actually prolonged by the therapy— therapy which doesn't actually save their lives.


• Hank speaks up against after Marie. "I want to change my answer!" he shouts. He shifts his opinion to another "be a man" framing: die like a man. A man faces death with courage and on his own terms. At this point Skyler's intervention descends into chaos, with multiple people talking over each other.


• Walt calls an end to the free-for-all and demands his opportunity to speak. He reemphasizes Marie's point about treatment having an extremely low success rate combined with very seriously bad side effects. He challenges Skyler's position about "being there" for his wife and children. Is he really "there" for them if he's too weak to stand, too sick to eat, vomits regularly, and is in constant pain? (I'll note at this point the concern of bankrupting the family with eye-wateringly expensive yet ultimately ineffective treatment has been taken off the table by a generous offer from a friend— otherwise that would be a huge concern to include here.) Walt also contends all his adult life he's been denied agency. This is an important personal decision he wants to latitude to make himself.

These are all valid points. Well, except for Skyler wanting to stage a one-sided conversations. But her points about the repercussions of Walt's decision were valid. As were both of Hank's views, before and after his flip-flop.

The truth is navigating these kind of end-of-life decisions is hard. I don't know to what extent the show meant to shine a light on how this applies to society at large. It seems like the lesson gets lost in a story that's primarily about a mild-mannered high school teacher becoming a bad-ass drug kingpin. But the material's all there.

Hurricane Helene struck the United States last week, causing widespread damage across multiple states in the Southeast. Recent reports have the death toll at 162 with hundreds of people still unaccounted for. Helene is now the second deadliest hurricane to hit the US in the past 50 years.

When we think of deaths and property damage caused by hurricanes we traditionally picture images of gale-force winds pounding homes on the coast in Florida, where hurricanes most frequently make landfall, or approach nearest to it, in the continental US. Once a hurricane crosses over land its winds lose strength. Typically this is thought of as the end of the worst; that the danger has passed. But what Helene has showed us, along with the path of devastation wrought by other hurricanes in the past few years, is that some of the worst damage is now caused by huge amounts of rain, and the impact of this can extend 100s of miles in from the coast.

Consider the breakdown by state of the figure of 162 storm-related deaths given by this CBS News article updated a few hours ago (1 Oct 2024, 8:42pm EDT): 77 in North Carolina, 36 in South Carolina, 25 in Georgia, 14 in Florida, 8 in Tennessee, and 2 in Virginia. The deadliest place was North Carolina. And BTW those deaths are not in coastal North Carolina, where hurricanes sometimes do make landfall, but in far western NC, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in towns like Asheville and Boone. These towns are not only hundreds of miles from the coast but also at elevations from 2,000' to 3,500'.

Part of this is the changing profile of hurricanes driven by climate change. As average temperatures warm, especially as average sea water temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Sea warm, hurricanes forming in the region absorb more water into the air. This means when they lash rains out across the land, there's heavier rainfall. Western North Carolina, for example, got more than 12 inches of rain in one day. Rain at that level far from the coast is disastrous, and the infrastructure and the land itself cannot handle it. Rivers flood, overtopping their banks flooding entire towns. Bridges and roads are destroyed. Lakes flood and destroy nearby homes. Reservoirs become dangerously overfull and dam breaks become a real risk.

It's not just parts of the country hundreds of miles from the coast facing new risks from torrential hurricane-fueled rains. Houston in the last several years has experienced multiple hurricanes that caused widespread flooding. From 2017 record-breaking Hurricane Harvey to Hurricane Beryl just a week ago, the biggest source of damage has not been gale force winds; in fact, these hurricanes have been relatively mild in the wind department. What's caused so much devastation has been how much rain they've dropped. Harvey dropped 50 inches of rain on Houston over the course of several days.

This is the new face of hurricane damage nowadays. It's no longer the classic image of a ramshackle cottage next to the coast being blown down by strong winds but a city, possibly hundreds of miles inland, seeing its streets and neighborhoods flood from rain waters, highways and bridges collapsed from underneath, and public services such as electricity and phone lines cut off. All due to simply to overwhelming amounts of rain.

All this week I've been thinking, "Wow, it's only been a few days since we found a dead guy in the condo next door." Well, we didn't find him; I was standing 10 feet back from the door assisting the police with their welfare check. They were pretty serious about it. They weren't just going to be, "Well, we knocked on the door and nobody answered, we've done all we can." They were prepared to break a door or window to gain forcible entry to the house and search for the guy. Something or someone told them this was serious. Plus, it wasn't just one officer asking, "Hey, have you seen this guy?" There were four officers at the scene.

I had helped them with ladders so they could climb up and look through windows before forcing their way into the house. They appreciated that. So it was as I stood back after helping them set up a second ladder to climb to the kitchen balcony that I heard an officer call down, "10-55". It turns out that's police code for "Coroner's case." As in, they'd spotted a dead body. And the circumstances evident from a brief visual told them the person was already dead, not lying injured or unconscious and in need of help. I'm sure if they thought there was any chance of the guy being alive but in need of help they would have busted the door down in 2 seconds flat.

Our neighbor was found lifeless on his stairs. The officer who made first visual contact said something about rigor mortis. It wasn't clear whether he said he saw rigor mortis or a body that was post rigor mortis.

...Post rigor mortis? you might ask. Is there such a thing?

Actually, yes. We searched that. And this:


Wow. Talk about things you don't expect to type into a search bar in all seriousness.

We were curious how long our neighbor had been dead in the house. Actually, it's more than just curiosity. We felt creeped out wondering, "How long has our neighbor been dead 15' away from us?"

It turns out rigor mortis takes several hours to set in across the body and then disappears about 24 hours after death. If he was in that condition when found, then he would have died anytime from Monday afternoon back to Sunday evening before. If the body was post rigor mortis then... well, that's where we were wondering, "How long could he have been dead before we'd smell it?"

The smell answer, BTW, depends on a number of environmental factors. Generally a dead body starts to smell noticeably within 24-48 hours, and really reeks within 4-10 days. Being in a climate controlled house pushes things toward the longer end of those ranges. As does the fact that the house was closed up. With door and windows closed, and no shared ventilation, it probably would've been a few weeks before we'd have noticed a smell from our place.

This past week three actors from film and TV passed away.

On Tuesday Richard Roundtree succumbed to pancreatic cancer at age 81. He died in bed surrounded by family. Roundtree is most famous for playing the title character of 1971's Shaft. It was not just a classic movie but the kick-start of an entire genre. While that genre is customarily called Blaxploitation, a term that connotes poor treatment of Black people, it was actually a boon for Black people in film. It brought many more Black actors and actresses in front of cameras... and many talented Black photographers, producers, artists, and technicians into roles behind the camera.

On Sunday Matthew Perry, co-star in the ensemble cast of Friends, died. He was 54. Circumstances of his death are being investigated further as he was found in a hot tub in his own home, dead of drowning. Friends aired for 10 seasons from 1994-2004 and is one of the most successful TV series of all time. Oddly, though, I never watched it. It began at a time when I was watching very little TV so it never caught on with me. And by the time it was big news and everyone was watching it... well, I didn't find it entertaining. I felt the characters were all unrealistic for the fancy, urbanite lifestyles they led while working menial jobs. I mean, I was in the age demographic they portrayed, and it all rang false with me. I was like, "Yeah, no. No way does being in your 20s work like this." None of that is on Matthew Perry, though. I found his work as an actor in other shows and movies to be consistently funny.

On Thursday Richard Moll died at his home in Big Bear Lake, California. He was 80. Moll was best known for portraying the character Bull Shannon, a gruff but humorous bailiff on the TV comedy show Night Court, which ran for 9 seasons from 1984-1992. While Friends was a show I never watched, Night Court was one I watched regularly for half of its run. That's because back then I was a teen living in my parents' house, and Night Court was family-friendly TV. Moll was not the star of the series, but as an imposing 6'8" man wearing a bald cap his character Bull Shannon was memorable. Plus, Moll was gifted at playing the comedic straight man while stars Richard Anderson and John Larroquette chewed the scenery. Moll had a number of minor roles after Night Court as he struggled (but never really succeeded) to avoid being typecast for comedy.

For thousands of years humans have wondered about life after death. Most have pondered the wrong question— "What happens to me after I die?" That's kind of selfish, anyway. The real question, the one that matters, is "What happens to my loved ones after I die?" It's the survivors who bear the burden of death.

In that vein we went today to visit our friend D and help him one of the many chores stemming from the death of his husband, Del. It's now almost 4 weeks ago that Del died, and 3 weeks since his memorial service. D is still in the 30 day period of mourning called shloshim that's part of the Jewish traditions following the death of a close family member.

I was glad to see that D is doing better now. He's not "all hunky-dory" yet but he's pulled together better now than he was in the first week after Del's death... or the last few weeks before it.

D is back to work now. He took 1.5 weeks off after his husband's death. That interval is an indication of how torn up he was. Since then returning to work has been part of his healing process. He's been able to focus 100% when he's at work, and he's producing results that his superiors appreciate. That in turn gives him a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that has helped him move on. For quite some time before Del's death D was between jobs. Now he views having this job as the one positive thing to happen to him in the past several months.

The religious observance of shloshim will be over in a few more days. D isn't a very religious person; I figure his ongoing grieving as natural, not religious. Which means it's not going to be like a switch flips on Wednesday and he's like, "Hey, guys, let's party!" That said, we encouraged him today to think about how we can do something fun together, even if for small values of fun like hanging out at the pool with us for a day, in another few weeks.

This weekend was a weird one when I look back on it. It was split between joy of living and sorrow for the dead. Yet as disjoint as those two activities may seem there's a common thread between them.

The dead is my friend Del, whom I've written about many times here. He passed on Tuesday. His memorial service was Sunday. "We should spend all day Saturday and Sunday with his family," Hawk suggested. "No," I responded flatly. "I will spend at most one day this weekend mourning the dead, and since the service is on Sunday it should be Sunday."

Was I being cold by drawing a firm line around mourning? No. My life is too short to pour out days and weeks in mourning. I will mourn the dead and I will support the grieving, but it's not a blank check. There are limits.

Plus, I'll add, it was unclear that they want us there anyway." Del's husband, D., has three housemates. And a friend who regularly visits several days a week. And his parents are in town. And his sister and her husband are in town. And his cousin and her husband are in town. I was sure the house would be full. More well-wishers would be a nuisance, not a help.

So Saturday we stayed around home. Hawk had a friend, Talia, visiting from Maryland, anyway, to pick up her son, Lake, from a summer program at Stanford. We had lunch with Talia then met both of them for dinner Saturday night after Lake finished his last final exam.

In between lunch and dinner, Hawk and I spent a while at the pool. We invited Talia but she was too tired from her early morning flight. She took a nap to be fresher for dinner. Speaking of dinner, it was awesome. The food was great, the company was great, it was great to see Lake as a late teen now after seeing him occasionally over the years since infancy.

Sunday the issue of how much time to spend at the house of morning cropped up again. I repeated my objection about excessive sacrifice and my concern that we'd be more of a burden than a help. We texted our friends to get their opinion, and they agreed. We'd go to their house just before the memorial service to drive them over to it. Alleviating them from having to drive would be a help. Crowding their house all day would not.

We kind of ate lunch at home on Sunday. I say "kind of" because Hawk ate at home while I grabbed a couple slices of pizza and a soda at Costco when I went shopping there. The food was less than $5. At today's prices $5 is closer to the cost of eating at home than dining out, so I'll count that. 😅

After lunch we went out to the pool again. Twice in one weekend, yay!



While the heat of the day had broken by 3pm on Saturday when we managed to get out to the pool, on Sunday we got there before 2pm and it was still hot. In fact I think it was getting hotter mid-afternoon. The day topped out at 94°, I saw later.

The photo above is similar to many I've posted in recent weeks. It also shows that I don't always go beer in hand to the pool. Sometimes I bring Gatorade... or water!

After the pool we cleaned up, dressed in somber clothes, and headed up north to support our friends in mourning. They were surprised to have us at the house an hour early, but fortunately there was not a crowd that point. D's family had all gone back to their hotels to change for the memorial service, so we were able to hang out in a low-key fashion with D and his housemates.

The memorial service was nice. It was hosted at a small restaurant owned by a family friend. It's the same place where Del and D and got married just over 3 years ago. The service was conducted in a low-key Jewish style, as D and his family are Jewish though Del was not. Low-key in this case means there was no rabbi though there were traditional prayers in Hebrew. And brisket was served afterward. 😂

Prior to the service I had an interesting chat with a friend of D's from graduate school. We had an upbeat conversation about how getting older has made us more concerned about spending our time well as we have less and less of it left. I noted that Del's death underscored my thinking on the matter as he was just 6 months older than me. And that brings me back to what I wrote at the top of this blog entry. Sorrow needs a limit. Grieve as you must, but let's plan to pick up the pieces and move on. Life goes on. Let's spend what little time we have finding joy and not squander it crying over the past.

My friend "Del" waits at death's door no more. He passed away this morning at about 6:30am. I got the news about an hour later, as I was preparing for a day of QBRs. After my day-long meeting in Tiburon, north of San Francisco, I drove back south through the city to Pacifica, where Del lived with his husband, D, and two friends.

I arrived at D's home just before 5pm. D was there along with his housemates and his parents, who'd flown in from the East Coast a week ago when Del's condition was deteriorating. (Del subsequently rallied for a few days, as he'd done numerous times before in the course of the end of his earthly journey, before turning downhill for the last time.)

The mood in the house was subdued but not too sorrowful. D was taking it okay, at least at that moment. Del's departure has been a slow motion process. That has given D time to prepare— but also drawn out the pain.

Hawk arrived an hour later, bringing food. She'd baked a few treats and bought a bunch of finger-foods at the grocery store. There was plenty there for the 7 of us in the house to eat. Then more food arrived via Instacart, a gift from some friends who couldn't make it.

We were a small group this evening because in addition to those already there it was just Hawk and I who could (or wanted to) come over quickly after work. A few more of D's relatives and friends will arrive in the coming days. A memorial service for Del will be held this weekend.

In my weekend update earlier today I mentioned visiting a friend, "Del", who is dying. I kept it detail-light in the weekend blog so as not to drag down the tone to much. Let's face it, talking about someone who's dying is about a low a tone as you can strike.

I wrote about Del's condition 6 weeks ago. At that point he had recently moved from sleeping in a normal bed in his house to a hospital-like bed set up in the living room. That's a normal step in hospice care, when the patient is no longer able to handle getting up from bed and getting back down. BTW, in case you're not familiar with the term, hospice means palliative care only. I.e., everyone involved knows he's dying— in this case of inoperable pancreatic cancer. Attempts at curative treatment have been stopped in favor of making him as comfortable as possible before he shuffles off his mortal coil.

We also saw Del 4 weeks ago. At that point he was still at home though his condition was deteriorating. He struggled to speak and was losing attention span. He could hold a short conversation but within 20-30 seconds he'd lose context. Shortly after that he transferred to the VA hospital's community living center because his physical needs were more than his family and housemates could provide at home.

Seeing Del on Saturday showed another large and saddening step down. Del appears to be conscious. His eyes are open, though his face is quite gaunt with sunken cheeks, and he's breathing normally. But he barely signals awareness of his surroundings. He doesn't understand questions unless they're asked loudly, clearly, and very briefly. Like, you've got to ask in 5 words or less and basically prompt a yes/no answer. And even then, there's less than a 50/50 chance of an answer. Anything longer, and if he even tries to answer he gets confused, stumbles trying to form his words, and forgets the question after a few seconds.

Del's husband, D., says this is a step down from even just Thursday, when Del could still perk up for a short conversation when friends came to visit. Now near stupor seems to be the new normal.

It seems Del is in the end stage now. No, that's not a medical prognosis. All the medics stopped giving prognoses months ago after Del kicked the shit out of their initial timelines for death. But a few professionals in Del's orbit are telling D off the record that it's now a matter of days. Based on my own experience sitting by my father's bedside for his last two weeks of life, I agree. The near-catatonia is a big sign. Plus he's no longer taking nutrition or even water. If nothing else, no water means he's down to his last few days.

We likely will be attending a memorial service this coming weekend.

Update: Over the next few days Del rallied and then deteriorated again. He passed away August 15.

I mentioned in my weekend update that we visited a group of friends, one of whom is dying of cancer. I moved this discussion out to a separate blog post because it's going to get heavy in way that some people may find uncomfortable. I'm not going to be graphic about dying though I will be candid.

It occurs to me as I write this that I've mentioned this situation a number of times in my blog, but only in passing while describing something else. I'll provide a fuller context here. And I'll refer to my friend by the pseudonym "Del" to respect his wishes for not being identified by name in social media. Mutual friends will figure out quickly whom I'm describing by the details.

Del was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few years ago. Doctors operated and got some, but not all, of the cancerous tissue. The cancer seemed to be in remission for a while, and Del enrolled in a graduate program to earn a new degree and start a new career. But then the cancer spread again. It had metastasized. Doctors said it was inoperable.

It's worth stating here that pancreatic cancer is a tough type of cancer. Steve Jobs died of pancreatic cancer at age 56 in 2011. If a billionaire business titan cannot marshal the resources to beat pancreatic cancer there's not a lot of hope a working-class Navy vet will.

Del went through months of chemotherapy. Chemo, for those who don't know, is suspiciously like saying, "Let's fill this person's body with deadly poison, but try to focus the poison in a way that it kills the bad parts faster than the good parts."

Chemo wasn't improving things in Del's case. Del chose to discontinue it several months ago and receive only palliative care instead. At first his apparent health improved. Chemo puts an enormous strain on the body because, again, poison. With that stopped he had more energy and his appetite returned. But internally the cancer continued to do what it does. Choosing palliative care is a matter of choosing to die soon, but with dignity.

The script for what happens when a cancer patient ceases chemo and goes into palliative care is vague at best. Outward improvement like Del experienced is normal. And death from the cancer in the not-too-distant future is the standard outcome. But how distant or not-too-distant is it? That's where the script is vague.

Initially, doctors said "2 to 3 months". Del outlasted that warranty months ago. Now the doctors won't give a timeframe. They haven't since he beat what their script said.

While doctors comically refuse to give a timeframe anymore, it's becoming increasingly clear to the lay eye that the end is near. Visiting Del this weekend showed us that. He's noticeably weaker than when we saw him just 3 weeks ago. He rarely rises from bed now, he's gaunt, he has trouble speaking, and he fades in and out every 15 seconds or so.

It's tough seeing someone dying in slow motion. It's tough for Hawk and me, and we only see him every few weeks. We know it's way tougher on Del's spouse, D. We met D for lunch outside the house. D needs opportunities to get out. Anybody in that situation needs opportunities to get out. And to have an hour or two to take care of himself and not just his spouse.

After lunch we accompanied D to do some shopping then returned with him to the house to see Del and their housemates. That's where we saw Del's diminished condition. D forewarned us that it would be a noticeable change from 3 weeks ago. He was right. Del's in a hospice bed now in the living room, with dark curtains over the window and a tray table holding various remote controls and nutrient rich drinks over the bed. It looked every inch the "hospital room comes to you... minus the tubes and machines" setup that hospice care is.

On the plus side, visiting the house showed us that Del's household is pulling together tighter to help him now. For the past several months D has had to shoulder almost all the load, both physically and emotionally. Now the rest of the household, their family of choice, are pitching in to help. Or at least be sympathetic while staying out of the way. They even drafted us to help. Not that we minded. Hawk cycled some laundry while I prepped a few days of meals in the kitchen.

Del wasn't really able to talk, so instead we talked for him. Some of Del's family were concerned that we were expecting too much of him (to be able to talk). I explained how when my father was in a similar condition near the end of his life's journey, he also couldn't speak up in conversation but still very much enjoyed hearing loved ones talk about normal stuff next to him. I narrated the story of our visit to Bassi Falls the weekend before and played a few videos on my phone. Hawk and I told a few other stories, too. I could tell that this had the intended effect because afterwards my story about my dad got repeated back to me as if someone else were teaching me. 😂

We left after a few hours. It's not that there wasn't more we could've done. It's that our hosts were spent. Again, as sad as it is watching someone die in slow motion when you see them every 2 or 3 weeks, it's way harder being there 24/7.