June 21st, 1997
GOODBYE DAD
By Jackie Giuliano
Life and death,
a twisted vine sharing a single root.
A water bright green
stretching to top a twisted yellow
only to wither itself
as another green unfolds overhead.
One leaf atop another
yet under the next,
a vibrant tapestry of arcs and falls
all in the act of becoming.
Death is the passing of life.
And life
is the stringing together of so many little passings.
-- Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro
Such contrasts and conflicts exist in our world today, such challenges to our senses and
our sensibilities. How do you live a life that is consistent with your values and how do
you create values that are consistent with how you live your life? How do you live each
day knowing of the environmental and social destruction happening every moment? As I stood
in a clothing store in Port Angeles, Washington last week, looking for clothes to wear to
my Dad's funeral in two hours, these thoughts were racing through my mind.
I rushed to Port Angeles last Sunday when I learned that my Dad had entered the hospital,
terminally ill with colon cancer. No one knew how long he would live, but it didn't look
good. My mother and he had been together for 44 years and I knew she would be having a
hard time. My sister and her husband live in Port Angeles and Cheryl was admitted to the
hospital to give birth to a beautiful baby boy the same day my father was admitted to the
same hospital! How's that for contrasts. As one life was ending, another, from the same
family, was beginning. My sister Carol was flying in from her home in Las Vegas. It seemed
like I needed to be there.
As always, flying into Washington State was a beautiful and painful experience. Each day,
more green disappears from Seattle. In fact, this beautiful city by the ocean continues to
be out of compliance with Federal air pollution standards.
Crossing Puget Sound by air, the patchwork-quilted landscape of clear-cutting scars cries
out. At the edge of each scar where all the trees (and all life) have been removed, you
can clearly see the death that creeps in toward the rest of the forest. The trees that are
now exposed to light and moisture and destroyed soil will slowly suffer and the scar will
creep inward.
But we need the wood, don't we? The forests that are cleared are restored, aren't they?
No, and no. Ninety percent of our forest ecosystems are gone. This loss represents about
10,000 years of evolution. But we need the trees for paper and for homes, don't we. No.
Sixty percent of the forests harvested are exported to other countries. Japan is a large
buyer. They store the trees intact, in huge, underwater vaults. When we cut down our last
tree in the U.S., they will happily sell them back. Serious recycling could save over half
of the trees and reducing the width of the lumber mill saw blade by a tiny amount could
increase the amount of timber cut from trees by 27%. Switching to tree-free papers (like
Kenaf) could eliminate the need for trees in paper.
Oh, and by the way, we have NEVER successfully restored a forest ecosystem after
clearcutting. Never. Oh, we can plant a lovely tree farm, a field with one or two types of
trees growing, but we cannot duplicate the complexity and vitality of the forest that was
destroyed. We don't know how. I don't think we can learn. That is a gift reserved for the
Earth herself.
But what about the economics of the issue? Here are some numbers for you from G. Tyler
Miller's Living in the Environment textbook: during a typical tree's 50-year lifetime, it
provides nearly $200,000 worth of ecological benefits of oxygen, air pollution reduction,
soil fertility, erosion control, water recycling, humidity control, wildlife habitat, and
protein. Sold as timber, this tree is worth about $590.
These thoughts were going through my mind as I got my rental car and raced toward the
hospital where my Dad lay, near death. I knew so little about this man, my Father. He was
not around much during my early years, yet he always provided for us. But I have distanced
myself so much from him over the last 43 years of my life. I think of how distant we are
from the natural world. I didn't even know that my Dad had a middle name. At the funeral,
I learned that it was Alexander. That means that our initials are the same.
I wonder what the names of the trees are that I am passing on the highway and if their
fruits are edible. How little we know of the places in which we live. How can we? We
rarely stop to notice that we do live in a place.
As I parked at the hospital, I was once again greeted with sharp contrasts. To the right
of this lovely hospital, sitting on the edge of the water, is a huge lumber mill. Until
recently, this mill was spewing toxic fumes into the air and water. Last year, it closed
due to declining timber resources.
When I saw my Dad, it was shocking. He was unconscious and was having such a hard time
breathing. Each breath was rattling with mucus in his throat. We so take breathing for
granted. It was so crisp and clear outside, gentle breezes from the ocean were caressing
the Olympic Peninsula. Did you know that 50% to 80% of the moisture in the air comes from
trees through transpiration and evaporation?
The vigil lasted three days - three agonizing days during which all my knowledge was of
very little value. I know so much of alternative medicine, yet I sensed that the best
thing I could do was to make sure that the Western medicine he was surrounded with could
ease his pain and allow him to peacefully let go. But the well-meaning nurses that tended
to him were trained by a culture that creates distance from the individual and the world.
Their reliance on technology rather than on common sense was so representative of our
world.
Sadly, I was presented with a glaring example of this disconnection. On Monday afternoon,
he was in intense pain. The nurses started him on intravenous morphine, but it wasn't
working. After an hour, I questioned the nurses and the doctor. They each were perplexed,
but had excuses about why the morphine wasn't working (one even suggested it wasn't
working because he was so strong and ornery). But during each hour of this agony, I knew
something was wrong. I decided to closely examine his IV and I discovered that it
was leaking! The drug was not even getting into his system. The nurses were
hesitant to believe me at first, but they finally agreed, started a new IV, and he went to
sleep. A dying man went through six hours of agony because the reliance on technology in
our culture has created such a separation from our natural beliefs and our observational
powers that the machines are virtually never questioned.
Ten hours later, he took his last breath, quietly, from a deep, morphine-induced sleep. My
Mom said goodbye to her loving husband and my sister and I said our goodbyes to our Dad.
My other sister was home with her new baby. We ended our vigil and left this man that was
our Father and the hospital room with the lovely view of the lumber mill and the ocean.
Sadly, the pain was not over. My sister, fiance, and I went to the funeral home to quickly
arrange a service. There we were greeted with a sad and most tragic representation of the
greed that is behind all our world's problems. Why is the burial of the dead allowed to be
just another business? Why don't we pay our respects and perform life affirming and Earth
affirming rituals for our departed loved ones without the burdens of greed? Here is the
itemized list:
one burial plot: $725.00
"endowment care" 72.50
(this pays for upkeep of the cemetery)
opening and closing the grave 495.00
concrete liner for grave 595.00
foundation for grave marker 133.00
setting fee for grave marker 175.00
sales tax and excise tax 78.00
basic, particle board casket 695.00
funeral home package "I" 945.00
(Basic services plus transport and refrigeration of the body)
The grave marker was provided free since my Dad was a veteran. Being a
war veteran also entitled my Dad to receive a $450 "credit" toward his burial
from the U.S. Veteran's Administration and a free flag for his casket (the display case
for the flag was an extra $85). Total cost to bury our Dad, according to his wishes, in a
simple manner was $3,806.73. All this coming from my Mom's meager savings that will have
to last the rest of her life. This is nothing less than obscene.
I didn't expect to be burying my Dad on this trip, so I didn't bring any appropriate
clothes. Bonnie and I went to a clothing store in town the morning of the funeral and
hastily bought outfits. The store had no fabric belts, so I had to buy a leather one. The
shoe store had no non-leather shoes, so even though what I bought was on sale, they were
made of suede. More contrasts and more compromises. After a quick, silent prayer for the
animals that provided my belt and shoes, and a mental acknowledgement that I just
contributed to the problems generated by consumerism, we left the store and headed to the
funeral.
My family now turns its attention to the new life in the family, baby Jacob, named for my
Dad. He came into the world as my Dad left. There is something very balanced and fitting
to that. He is as beautiful and pink and fresh as my Dad was yellow and sallow and old as
he left this world. Contrasts. The Earth is a very fitting and balanced place - unless
greed and indifference interferes.
I guess all we can do is be mindful of our actions, love our mates and family while we are
together on this Earth, and notice what we know and don't know. Be conscious and
deliberate. Engage in life. Decide what kind of values you want and live them, to the best
of your ability. Help those in need. Declare the Earth, the air, the water, and the soil
as sacred. Allow no less than complete acceptance and compassion for all creatures on the
Earth. And please, listen for and hear the sound of the Earth - and your neighbors -
crying - and do something.
To be of the Earth is to know
the restlessness of being a seed
the darkness of being planted
the struggle toward the light
the pain of growth into the light
the joy of bursting and bearing fruit
the love of being food for someone
the scattering of your seeds
the decay of the seasons
the mystery of death
and the miracle of birth.
-- John Soos
Goodbye Dad
Hesitant, careful
yet loving and kind.
Distant and fearful
yet warm and tender.
Frustrated and unfulfilled
yet content and satisfied.
Old and feeble,
yet youthful and strong.
All of these things and more
were my Dad.
I didn't really know him.
I was afraid to love him.
just like the Earth
we are so afraid to know
and afraid to love.
Because if we know
and if we love
Then we must act
and we must take responsibility.
So I will know you now, Dad,
And I will love you now, Dad.
and I will continue to teach others to
notice and
acknowledge and
love and
act.
Jackie Alan Giuliano, son of Jacob Alexander Grossman
(July 14, 1910 - June 17, 1997)
RESOURCES
1. To learn of the environmental issues in the Northwest, check out http://www.speakeasy.org/new/index.html
2. For links to resources about death and dying, check out http://www.soros.org/death/dietxt.html
3. If you have lost a loved one or know someone who has, look at the Bereavement Resource
Center at http://bereavement.org/
4. The American Medical Student Association is concerned that medical doctors in the U.S.
get very little training about how to deal with terminally ill patients. Check out their
web site at http://www.amsa.org/tf/dd/
5. The International Work Group on Death, Dying, and Bereavement has interesting
information at http://www.wwdc.com/death/iwg/iwg.html
6. To learn about clear-cutting and see some photos, try http://www.huroned.edu.on.ca/GDCI/mains/enviro/course/clrcutng.htm#top
7. Western Washington looks like a nuclear bomb devastation site from all the
clear-cutting. Read an interesting account at http://tawny.bu.edu/JandJ/AsISeeIt/Commentaries/950901.html
{Jackie Giuliano is in Venice, California. He is a Professor of Environmental Studies
for Antioch University, Los Angeles, the University of Phoenix, and the Union Institute
College of Undergraduate Studies. } |
