KANSAN.COM / THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN / WEDNESDAY, MAY 11, 2011 / NEWS / 7A
room. Since her dad would be cremated, he didn't need a casket.
It didn't seem like him. Sure, it was him,
but it wasn't him.
Anderson's half-sister, Kristy, niece and nephew stood at her father's feet. She could see the grief in their eyes. She was impressed with how brave her niece and nephew were.
She could see how the services provided closure for the rest of her family. But for her, closure hadn't come since she received the phone call several days earlier from her aunt.
- It's times like that when his death feels too fresh — even overwhelming.
Even now, when she thinks of her dad, he 'sees his body lying on that table.
She thinks about how she slowly drifted apart from her dad after her parents divorced. Growing up, the selfish part of her resented her dad for always being sick. The other part, when she was younger at least, secretly hoped that her parents would work things out and get back together.
Even when she was in college, she'd find herself trying to hang up the phone before she had to say "I love you." The day before her dad died, she talked to him on the phone. That time, the last time, she said "I love you," and that was rare. Now, she cherishes the moment.
Despite the volatile relationship she had with her dad, they shared a special relationship. When events, both good and bad, happen in Anderson's life, she often still finds herself thinking she needs to tell him.
When she starts thinking about him, she hates talking about it. She's heard countless friends and family recite the cliché: "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."
But Anderson, now a junior, doesn't want to talk to anyone. She doesn't want to make them uncomfortable. She feels she has to be alone with those thoughts and memories.
She likes to sort through her memory box, filled with pictures, cards, and an old, but fragrant cigar from his collection. Certain things trigger memories of him — like cigar smoke, of course, and Bob Seger songs. The last time "Against the Wind" came on the radio in her car, she started tearing up. Those are the good memories. That's why she sifts through the memory box — to remember the good times.
Whenever Anderson goes to visit her half-sister, Kristy, she's constantly reminded of her dad. Family is bound to make you remember lost loved ones, especially now that Kristy lives in their dad's house in Olathe, where he spent his last minutes. When she visits, she wonders what those minutes were like. Did he die peacefully? Did he yell for help? Was he lying there waiting for someone to come save him? Did he suffer?
The death of her father makes her appreciate others in her life. She tries to spend more time with her family — her dad's four step-daughters from a previous marriage: Renee, Mindy, Kim and Jennifer and her half-sister, Kristy, along with her sisters' children.
Whenever she leaves after seeing them, she always says "I love you"
The times she sees her family the most are holidays. For someone who lost a parent, holidays are difficult. Holidays used to be her dad's favorite time of the year because the whole family would be together. It was what he lived for.
Her first Thanksgiving without her dad was six weeks after his death; Christmas just a few weeks later. The holidays brought memories, but also sadness. And each June, Anderson doesn't know what to do for Father's Day. There's nothing left to celebrate.
As Anderson approaches her senior year, she laments that her dad won't see her graduate from the university he was so proud she attended. When other parents gather to watch their children walk down the hill, the man in her life who was ready to snap a photo at any important moment wouldn't be there to shoot her in her cap and gown.
If she gets married, she doesn't know who will walk her down the aisle.
When these thoughts flood her brain, she grabs her journal she started days after his
death. She uses it to write down her feelings and memories of her dad. She wants to make sure she doesn't forget them.
That's the point of the journal. It's a way to keep him alive, in a sense.
That's all she has left.
ED'S STORY
Ed Schroer, a junior from Topeka, was walking with some friends to a house party on a cold night last December when his cell phone rang. It was his mother calling from a Topeka hospital. She was with his dad, whose heart had started fibrillating — a quivering that preceded heart failure. She said the doctors were doing CPR and chest compressions and he needed to immediately drive to Topeka.
Schroer tried not to worry. His dad had been in and out of the hospital for a year. He always got better.
Schroer's hopped into his brother's green Ford, got on the turnpike and sped 80 miles per hour back to Topeka.
This time was different.
It was 2 a.m. when he walked into St. Francis Health Center. The waiting room, dimly lit and reeking of cleaning supplies, was vacant except for Schroer, his mom and his brother, Mack. His other two brothers, John and Paul, weren't answering their phones.
The hospital scene wasn't new — but being there at that time of night was.
In 2006, Schroer's dad had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, a degenerative neurological disease that causes tremors and difficulty with walking, coordination and movement.
His dad was 78 at the time.
Schroer was 15 — the youngest of four, too young to understand what the disease really meant. The effects of Parkinson's weren't obvious at that point. His dad was still able to practice law and manage his cow-calf operation every day.
Schroer's dad had been a prominent trial lawyer in Topeka for more than 50 years. His dad had to leave his practice and start working from home in 2008. Instead of going to court, he gave advice to clients and other attorneys. When Schroer transferred from Highland Community College to the University in 2009, he decided to live at home on the family farm outside of Topeka and commute to class.
One reason for living at home was to help his dad, who had stopped practicing law altogether and sold his cattle herd because of his failing health. Schroer would commute to Lawrence — 28 miles each way — several days a week.
In addition to Parkinson's, his dad had his bladder removed because of cancer.
A missing kidney caused multiple kidney infections. During one of his stays in the hospital, his dad contracted a highly resistant bacterial infection that was difficult to treat.
He would help his dad get in and out of bed and into his wheelchair. Some days, Schroer would feed his dad. Other days, he would change the sheets on his bed, bathe and clothe him. The family as a whole acted as an in-home nurse.
Schroer never questioned his decision to care for his dad, who was as old as most of his friends' grandparents.
His dad had another family from a first marriage that ended in divorce. Schroer had four half-siblings. When his dad married his mom, the couple adopted three sons before Schroer was born. The family joked that they were far from normal. Helping take care of his dad just played into that.
Even when his dad first became sick and bedridden, he was still mentally alert in the beginning. Eventually, he developed slight dementia and was confused about where he was at times.
Back at the hospital that December night, the doctor escorted Schroer's family to a smaller, private room.
As Schroer, his mom and brother sat in the smaller room, the doctor crouched down and told his mom the compressions
"Oh, I don't like the looks of this." Schroer remembers his mom saving.
weren't working — that it didn't look like his dad would make it. Together the family returned to the hospital room where nurses surrounded his dad like bees in a hive. Two nurses were switching back and forth performing compressions. Another nurse hovered above his head pumping air into his lungs. The doctor stood there viewing the monitors. His dad's chest was badly bruised, the product of nearly two hours of compressions.
Schroer started crying.
His mom asked Edward and his brother, Mack, what they thought should be done at that point. They held hands and said a family prayer. They then agreed to tell the nurses to stop compressions. But first they told his father goodbye and his mother closed his father's eyes.
A few days later, more than 300 people filled the First Methodist Church in Topeka at the funeral. His father's casket rested at the front of the church covered with red roses and sunflowers, his dad's favorite flowers. Friends, family members and pastors took turns speaking about his dad. Schroer, a film studies major, played a 10-minute long memorial video about his father that he made.
Afterward, family and friends traveled to Pleasant Hill Cemetery for the burial. An American flag lay draped over the casket commemorating his service in the Army during the Korean War.
Nearly five months later, Schroer has come to terms with his dad's death and can talk about his dad and his death without getting emotional. He says it's because of his faith in God and he has had time to mentally prepare himself.
After all, his dad was 83. He knew that his dad lived a good, long life, but he still misses him. But, Schroer had the opportunity to spend 21 years with him and inherited his dad's love of baseball.
His dad played AAA baseball and on the New York Yankees farm team when he was younger. The talent scout who recruited Joe DiMaggio also recruited his dad. His dad was the reason Schroer started playing baseball and eventually went to Highland Community College on a baseball scholarship as a left-handed pitcher as was his father.
Schroer still lives at the family home where he is constantly reminded of his dad. The leather chair where his dad would sit and watch CNN in is usually empty.
He says the family has become closer since his dad's death.
This March, when federal student loan applications were due, the family was initially stymied by his father's missing expertise. He was good at forms and also did most of the family taxes. Since the family's taxes weren't filed before March 1, Schroer was granted a deadline extension while his oldest brother filed the family's taxes.
Medical and health-care bills and the expense of the funeral put extra stress on Schroer's mom. Schroer felt obligated to help his family out by getting a job. Last semester he worked at the Ambler Memorial Student Recreation Center as a game monitor for intramural basketball games. Recently, Schroer took a different job working in a computer lab at the Art and Design School. He says the extra money lessens his mom's financial burden.
Schroer is looking forward to having a "more normal" college experience next year. He plans to move out of the family home and live in a house near Allen Fieldhouse with his college friends. He's only been to one KU basketball game — last year's game against Missouri — so he looks forward to attending more. He wants to tailgate and go to football games.
Academic Achievement and Access Center
Edited by Joel Petterson
He's glad he was a good son and helped his dad, but the experience thrust him into adulthood for a year and a half. He looks forward to being a normal college kid during his senior year. The only thing not normal: when he walks down the hill at graduation, his father won't be there.
For students who experience the death of a parent or another tragedy, there are services on campus to help them. The Academic Achievement and Access Center on campus is available for students to contact when dealing with life-changing events.
Mary Ann Rasnak, director of the Academic Achievement and Access Center, said contacting their office is helpful in several ways. If the student cannot contact their office directly, friends, relatives, residence assistants, housing directors or other people who are close with the student can contact their office.
In the event of a family death, the Academic Achievement and Access Center can Inform faculty of the situation and alert faculty that the student will not be in class Work with students to get back on track after returning to classes Inform students of counseling services available on campus and in Lawrence
Rasnak said tragic events happen to students more often that one might think. The University is essentially a town of about 30,000 people, she said. If any other town of that size, a day wouldn't go by when someone wouldn't suffer from a serious illness, be involved in a car accident or lose a loved one.
Academic Achievement and Access Center www.achievement.ku.edu (785) 864-4064
Counseling and Psychological Services
Students who are grieving can contact Counseling and Psychological Services. John Wade, licensed psychologist and outreach coordinator with CAPS, said that grief is the natural response to the loss of a loved one. In respect to losing a parent, Wade said that college students may think about how their parent died too soon.
"There is the added component of "This wasn't supposed to happen," he said. "I think it is more difficult if it is out of sequence."
The grieving process varies for different individuals, but some symptoms of grief include
- Feelings of loss and sadness
- Feeling of being unsettled
- Feeling of loss of control
- Anger
- Depression
- Lack of motivation
- Having "What if" questions
Wade said that friends and family of individuals experiencing grief should remember to be available to listen. He said that talking about loss is one of the most important aspects of accepting loss.Talking about an experience helps the individual make sense of the situation. Additionally, people should remember to continue to invite grieving individuals to participate in activities they would normally attend, he said.
Counseling and Psychological Services www.caps.ku.edu 785-864-CAPS (2277)
Ed Schroer and his dad sit in their kitchen after having guests over for dinner. Schroer, a junior from Topeka, was 4 years old in this photo.
CONTRIBUTED PHOTO