One year later

The Fourth of July is less than a week away, and while this is a special holiday for Americans, for me, it is laced with a bittersweet feeling of loss and remembrance of a different kind.  This year’s Fourth will mark one year since I lost my physical grandfather to Alzheimer’s, although he really died at some undefined time before that.  I usually write my posts about things in a whimsical sort of tone, but real life is not always so sunny, and this particular event is something I am thinking a lot about lately.  Most of you that read this may have even known my grandpa, and others may have only heard about him, but I want to tell you who he was to me.

Mahlon “Bill” Adams grew up on a farm in Ada, Kansas, one of four boys.  In an ironic twist, he himself had no sons and four daughters (although he was always considered his girls’ spouses his own sons).  Then from those four girls came all grandsons and one granddaughter – me.  Because of these gender lines in our family and the age spread of my cousins, I always had a very special relationship with my grandfather.  He was forever my Papa, and I, his Little Cottontail.  If there was ever a man that could be summed in one word, that was Papa, and that word was jokester.  When he laughed, he laughed with his whole body, shoulders hunched over and shaking up and down.  Further to that, Papa was the funniest person he knew, which made him all the easier to love. 





Papa and me circa 2000

 
As a child, I had a beloved blankie that he was always trying to steal from me just to get a rise out of me.  The game became that if I was touching Bear (my grandma), I was on “safe base” and he had to let go of my blankie.  At one point around age 8 or so, I got so fed up with his shenanigans that I took out a pair of scissors and cut a very small square out of my blankie and said, “HERE!!  Now you have your own and can leave me alone!”  He immediately chuckled and pulled out his wallet and slid the square into it.  He carried that swatch around in his wallet for more than 15 years, tucked right next to a picture of me.  I’ve been told that he often pulled it out and repeated this story to his buddies at his coffee group.  Unfortunately, that piece of blankie got lost at the end of his life, when he was repeatedly pulling things in and out of his wallet as a way to make sure things were all in order.  That’s not the end of that story, but I will get to that...


Papa was a cabinet builder and from an early age on the farm he was building his own toys.  As a little girl, Papa built me my very own dollhouse with customized wooden furniture, a pink painted broomstick horse that he teasingly named Plug, a small wooden step-stool, and a baby doll bed.  Bear always jokes that when he built the doll bed, she warned him, “You know she is just going to climb right in that.”  He replied, “Oh no she won’t!  She knows she’s too big for this.”  Guess who won that bet?  Hey, I was only 2 ½ - in my eyes it looked like it was my size!


Papa taught me how to give a Wet Willie, how to peel an apple, how to fry bacon on a campfire, and how to snore quite properly.  He also unfortunately taught me the cruelty that life sometimes hands.  When I was in middle school, Papa was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  I remember the heavy weight of fear and sadness that set into my chest when my mom first told me he had cancer.  In my mind, that immediately meant death, and I felt physically incapacitated thinking of it, until my mom assured me that it should be treatable.  Luckily it was very treatable and he never had any other cancer scares after the initial treatment.  It was a handful of years later when he was diagnosed with dementia and finally Alzheimer’s.  If I’m being honest, I don’t remember those days.  I was in high school and college when the symptoms starting showing up, and I was probably just too consumed in my own problems to really allow myself to grasp the reality of the situation.  When I graduated college in 2006 though, that was when I started to tune in to what was going on with him.


I still saw Papa at most holidays, but in between that, I didn’t have regular communication with him, so I think I tended to brush off the things my mom was saying about his decline – him not being able to button his shirts anymore, his more frequent naps, his coming in and out of conversations, his stumbles when he was walking.  When I closed my eyes, all I wanted to see was that goofy man with the pot belly, plaid shirt, and trucker hat.  If I started acknowledging these things as a sign of anything, it made it all real, and that was not a reality I was prepared to face.  It became even easier for my denial to grow when I moved to New York in 2007.  I then saw him even less than before and was less conscience of his digression.  For a long time I believe he tried to hide what was going on with himself.  He was ashamed.  To me, I think this must have been the worst time for him, being somewhere in between awake and asleep, knowing that everyday he was going to lose a little more of himself.


In the last year of his life, my mom and my Aunt Shellie were visiting him nearly every weekend, in order to give some relief to my grandmother.  Whenever my mom would tell me how the weekend went, I would cry because the man she was describing was not the same man I had held close to my heart for 25 years.  At one point my mom insisted that I plan a trip to come home to see him.  I knew that it was a goodbye visit, but I would not allow myself to admit it.  That was April of 2009 and that was the last time I saw him.  At some point shortly after that trip, I had to ask my mom to stop updating me on his illness.  It was too hard for me to think about, especially when I couldn’t just get in the car and drive three hours and be sitting next to him, holding his hand, and every picture I saw of him, he seemed to age 5 more years.  His face had started to droop, he was losing weight, and that toothy grin was barely there anymore.


The week of Christmas that year, my mom called and told me it was time to put Papa in a care facility.  Those all-too familiar feelings of fear and sadness took me over again.  I had thought I would get to see him one last time, but it was too late.  He was too far gone at that point.  There was such a strange silence that year at Christmas.  It wasn’t full of its usual joy.


In June of 2010, I knew the end was near for him.  He no longer recognized any of his daughters or my grandmother, and he would not eat or drink.  I am glad that I never saw him in that state.  It makes it easier for me to preserve the positive memories of him in my mind, but there is also a part of me that wonders if he would have mistaken me for my grandmother as young woman, as I look so much like her.  And would that have made his world better for just a few moments?  I don’t know at what point this changed, but Bear always tells me that even once he was moved into the care facility, a smile would come onto his face with mention of my name.

Papa and Bear

On the morning of the 4^th, my phone rang and I saw it was my dad calling.  The ever-presiding head of the family, I have not seen my father cry but two times in my life.  But there he was, on the other end of the line, barely able to speak.  All he could muster out was, “Papa’s gone.”


As much as I had tried to prepare myself for that moment and knew that it was on the horizon, I was in total shock at that moment.  I suddenly found myself unable to support the weight of my own body and fell onto my bed, weeping for what felt like a physical pain in my body.  I could not breathe.  I could not speak.  I wanted it all not to be real.  This pain would surely be over and everything would be back to normal, right?  But that’s the thing about death…there is no going back, no do-overs.  The only thing that gave me the littlest bit of comfort was knowing that the body that had taken my Papa hostage could no longer turn him into someone he was not.

One positive thing about having a fatal disease is that it allowed our family to prepare a funeral that rang through Bill Adams in every aspect.  I won’t go into all the details of that, but the one thing that will always stick out in my mind was how clear the sky was that day.  For some reason, it made me feel at peace.  I felt like I was looking at a landscape that could only be created in movies and paintings, and I knew it was just the way he would have wanted it.



The sky and the view at Papa's funeral.  Amazing photo is courtesy of Sam.



One year later I’m still fighting his loss on a daily basis.  He is in my dreams almost every night and so I never want to leave them.  I’ve started volunteering in the New York City chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association in order to help deal with my grief.  I am not the only one with this story, and it helps to surround myself with young people who can relate.  Every time I do something for the organization, I hope that Papa is looking down on me with pride.

A few weeks ago I was home in Kansas City, and I was sitting out on the back deck of my parents’ house talking with my sister-in-law, Kimi and Bear.  I was telling Kimi how Bear had given me her wedding earrings when I graduated from high school, to wear at my own wedding one day.  She asked me to describe them and I realized that they were upstairs in the storage closet, so I went to look for them.  I found the box where I knew the earrings were and with them was a card that I had not recalled ever having received.  Inside was a note that Papa had written to me and half of the swatch of my blankie I had given him all those years ago.  In the note he told of how he would always carry the other half with him and be reminded of me and that when I looked at my half, I would know how much he loved me.  I had never felt his love more… 

A Tale of Two Cities

Over Memorial Day weekend, Sammy and I ventured off to Chicago for a little getaway.

The trip started off a little rocky when the cab driver dropped us off at the wrong terminal.  We were flying Delta Shuttle, which we mistakenly assumed was the same as Delta.  We didn't realize our mistake until we were attempting to go through security and were informed we were in the wrong terminal.  The correct terminal was not within walking distance either, so we had to hail another cab and reload our luggage.  The driver pulled us up to what looked like a regional airport, which was actually the Marine Terminal of La Guardia Airport.  Luckily the line was super short, so we managed to get through security and at our gate with just 10 minutes to spare.

Once we arrived in Chicago, we realized it was much colder there than it had been back in New York.  I started to panic that I had not packed properly, but Sam assured me the weather forecast slated Friday to be the coolest day.  We got checked into our room at the Westin on N. Michigan Avenue.  If we went back, we would not stay in the area again.  It was a bit like staying in Times Square in New York - too many tourists and did not give a real feel for the true city.  

For lunch we went to the classic Chicago dive called Billy Goat's Tavern.  It has been in Chicago since 1939 and is cash only.  The menu consists of hamburger, double hamburger, cheeseburger, double cheeseburger, or grilled cheese.  They do not serve fries or rings, and do not serve Pepsi products.  Their motto is, "No fries, chips!  No Pepsi, Coke!"  Stepping up in the line to order was a bit intimidating and reminiscent of the Soup Nazi.  The man behind the counter was much nicer than the Soup Nazi, although when I tried to order a grilled cheese, he said, "Grilled cheese?  No.  Double cheese!" (as in double cheeseburger).  When I stood waiting for my food, I was unsure whether or not I would actually get my grilled cheese or not.  I ended up getting my grilled cheese and Sam had the double cheeseburger.  It was cool to be at such an iconic place.

After lunch, we headed to Millennium Park.  Luckily the sun was out that day, so we were able to enjoy some beautiful views, even if it was chilly.  Sam took photos of the outdoor art and the expansive garden there.  We made our way to the south end of the park and toured the Chicago Art Institute and got to see several famous paintings.  That night we had a wonderful dinner at Frontera Grill, a Rick Bayless Mexican-style restaurant.  It was no KC Mexican food (I'm extremely biased on that one...), but it was pretty tasty, and we had a really entertaining waiter with an interesting curly tipped mustache.

Inside of the Art Institute.

The "Bean" in Millennium Park.

Water art in Millennium Park.

Shot of downtown buildings.

The next morning, we awoke to a clouded sky and the same cool temperatures from the day before, but we tried not to let it deter our excitement for the Cubbies vs. Pirates game at Wrigley Field.  We got there early enough to walk through Wrigleyville and I got my very first Cubs t-shirt.  Sam was really excited to see his favorite team play and I was excited to be at Wrigley for the first time.  The game started off scoreless through the first three or four innings, and we enjoyed some beer, hot dogs, and ballpark nachos.  Then the Pirates started scoring.  And scoring.  And scoring!  When we left the game was 10-0.  Sam started rattling off statements that could only be heard elsewhere from one Rick Martin, such as, "God, I don't even know why I watch this team anymore!  They are absolutely worthless!  They constantly play like garbage and always let me down!!  I wish I had never become a fan of these freaking Cubs!!  They are an embarrassment to baseball!"  Etc, etc, etc. (I will spare you the obscenities).

Sammy and me in front of Wrigley.

After we left I wanted to stop in Nordstrom Rack that was near our hotel so I could use a gift card I had.  Just as we got to the store, it started raining.  By the time we left it was downpouring, so we had to purchase two umbrellas from there too.  We made the five minute walk back to our hotel and successfully got drenched in the process.  We had planned to go to the 96th floor of the Hancock Building that night, so we were bummed that the views would be distorted with clouds.  We ended up going anyway and were able to see some of the fog lift before sunset.

Dinner that night was beyond amazing.  We ate at a place several people had recommended called The Publican.  It was in an area of Chicago that had a sort of Brooklyn feel to it.  The seating was family style, so you ended up sitting with strangers next to you.  I actually really liked it because it sparked conversation.  It was an Americana style tapas theme, and there wasn't a single thing we got that we didn't love.  The best thing we had was a barbecued pork belly.  It literally melted in your mouth.  We also had this raw asparagus dish that I'm bound to recreate at home.  It was chopped raw asparagus, shaved parmessan, lentils, and  oranges tossed in balsamic & olive oil.  The flavors all complemented each other so well.  Overall, just a phenomenal meal.  Oh yeah, and it's a great beer spot - not that that matters for this vino girl though!!

Sunday morning was originally supposed to be the best weather of the weekend, so we had pre-booked an architectural boat tour for 11am that day.  Again, we woke up to clouds and temperatures in the 50s.  Just as we were approaching the docking station, the rain came again, and this time even harder than the day before.  There was a heavy cloud of fog too, that didn't allow you to see the tops of any buildings.  Exactly the worst conditions for an architectural tour.  The tickets were non-refundable, so we decided we would just have to suck it up.  There was a covered lower level on the boat, but by the time we got there, there weren't any seats left below, and there was no visibility to the buildings.  We each bought a $2 poncho and went to the upper deck as the tour began and the rain continued to beat down on us.  We got to hear a lot about the history of the city and how it became the architectural capital of America, and I did find it extremely interesting.  If the weather had been on our side, I would have had no complaints.

By the time the 90-minute tour concluded, I was soaked to the bone, despite the best efforts of my poncho and umbrella to keep me dry.  We decided we would get lunch on our way back to the hotel.  We stumbled upon an Italian wine & cheese bar called Quartino and stopped in to eat.  We warmed up with delicious soups served in individual clay dutch ovens.  The food was wonderful and helped to lift our spirits over the weather.

 The fog we had on the tour.

 More fog.

That night we met some friends that Sam knew in town for some classic deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati's.  It was SO GOOD.  I had never had deep dish before and it was so much better than I was expecting.  Not only that, the meal was very economical.  After dinner we went out for some Chicago night life at a speak easy.  I ended up turning in early, but Sam stayed out for some fun.

The next morning we packed up and headed back to the Big Apple.  We were quite relieved to get home.  Unfortunately, the weather had really taken a damper on our vacation, especially knowing everyone back home was enjoying sunny beach weather.  I will say though that all the food we had was amazing and was my favorite part of the trip.  

So how does Chicago compare to NYC? Here is my side-by-side comparison:

WHAT: Pizza

WINDY CITY: Deep dish.  To eat: knife and fork may be necessary.

GOTHAM: Thin crust.  To eat: fold and half and eat with your hands.

WINNER: TIE. Not only was the deep dish delicious and filling, it was cheap! Check out http://www.loumalnatis.com/ . But there is also something to be said for good ole slice of NY style thin crust. Favorite in the city is La Pizzaria: http://lapizzerianyc.com/ . 

WHAT: ARCHITECTURE

WINDY CITY: Spacious and not as concerned about budget as they are about honoring the design.

GOTHAM: Buildings built narrow and tall, and not as many high quality buildings.

WINNER: WINDY CITY.  There are so many more interesting buildings in Chicago than there are in New York, and they do not sacrifice the craftsmanship and art as much as NYC contractors.

WHAT: PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

WINDY CITY: Subways (the "L") and buses.  Subways are differentiated by colors and are a bit sporadic in their coverage.

GOTHAM: Multiple train and subway options for all parts of town and the boroughs.  GOTHAM.  As much as I might complain about the MTA in NY, the public transport in Chicago is a joke compared to NY.  It's not as easy to understand, it's slower, and does not cover as much of the city. 

WHAT: ACCESSIBILITY TO OTHER CITIES

WINDY CITY: Major airport hub, so there are lots of flights to choose from.  Located just an hour and a half plane ride from either New York or KC, but most bigger cities require a plane ride to get to.

GOTHAM: A bus ride away from Boston, Philly, and DC for $30 roundtrip, leaving every hour, but it's a long plane ride to Phoenix or Cali.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  Closer to more major cities in my opinion.

WHAT: BAR SCENE

WINDY CITY: Can't speak to this much, but the drinks sure are cheaper!

GOTHAM: Every type of scene imaginable.  People drink a lot in this city because most apartments are too small to just go and "hang out" with friends, so our bars become what other people use couches for.  Drinks can be insanely expensive.  I get reverse sticker shock when I go to other cities.

WINNER: TIE.  Depends whether you want options & scenes vs. economics.

WHAT: PEOPLE

WINDY CITY: Walk at a much slower pace, but incredibly friendly and full of manners.  Everyone has faith in humanity.

GOTHAM: Everyone has an edge, and in order to survive here, you must develop one too.  One time walking down the street outside of Grand Central Terminal, a guy was walking the opposite direction of me and bumped my shoulder so hard that I almost fell.  No apologies.  But I did turn around and yell some choice words. No one has faith in humanity and if you do, you'll get your identity stolen or scammed some other way. 

WINNER: WINDY CITY (as if it weren't obvious...).  Oh, how I miss the people in the Midwest.  People actually look you in the eye and say please and thank you.  They do need to learn to walk faster though.

WHAT: SPORTS

WINDY CITY: They've got the Cubbies, the White Sox, the Bears, etc.  Wrigley is a cool experience, but the fans don't really get into the game very much.

GOTHAM: Nine professional sports teams plus some minor league teams.  Fans here are die hard.  But they are also haters.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  Gotta love the passion.

WHAT: WEATHER

WINDY CITY: When it's nice, it's nice, but when it's bad, it's baaaaaad.  Snowy, windy, and cold most of the year.

GOTHAM: Similar to weather in the midwest, but without the thunderstorms.  It's typically 5-10 degrees warmer here in the winter compared to KC, and 5-10 cooler here in the summer compared to KC.  I'm in a constant debate with myself if it's worse here or in KC, though, because here you are exposed to the elements.  We don't just have cars to jump into and crank up the AC or the heat.  When it snows, we have no choice but to walk through it, and all the cement from the tall buildings radiate the heat like an oven, making the whole city smell like a garbage can.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  I can't deal with the cold.

WHAT: COST

WINDY CITY: Midwestern costs, slightly elevated depending on neighborhood, etc.

GOTHAM: Insanely expensive.  For what we pay in rent, we could have a mortgage on a 3-4 bedroom house in the midwest.  Beers are $7 or $8 & rent is typically half of a person's monthly income.  Most people in their 20's still have some sort of financial support from their parents, unless they work in finance.

WINNER: WINDY CITY.  (No need to explain why!)

OVERALL WINNER: 

What can I say?  I love New York...