The end of the adventure: Update from Steph, March 16th, 2013

Dear family and friends,

My mom died yesterday.  I am in a state of relief and diorientation, my whole life having been fixated for the past 8 months on helping her, searching constantly and sometimes frantically for a way to save her, and now suddenly she is not here to help.  And I am so very very relieved that she was finally able to transcend her poor, beautiful, broken body--and I miss her so much already.  It is a confusing turbulence of emotion.

We are so grateful for the outpouring of love and support that we felt from so many.  My mom's spirit is  with us, will be here always.

with love,
Stephanie

In Memoriam:  Gabriele Lusser Rico, July 11th, 1937-March 15th, 2013

Update from Richard, March 13th, 2013

Dear friends and family,

Gabriele is slowly slipping away.  She is fairly lucid in the mornings, pretty confused and often unable to finish a sentence in the afternoons.  She doesn't leave our bedroom and has someone by her side at all times.  No one knows how long she will continue to fight...days?  Weeks?  We take one day at a time, treasuring the moments.

Love, Richard

Our bedroom in upper right; Gabriele has a view of the valley

Update from Stephanie, Feb. 21st, 2013

To all of my mom's family and friends,

My mom made a wonderful decision, returning to Cupertino.  The view from her house startles me even now, each day, with its beauty, and has sent my mom reminiscing about how she found the house and fell instantly in love with this view.  She can look out over the valley from her bed, watching the fog move in, listening to the rain on the roof, gazing out over the vast sea of lights at night.  

She is mostly happy, except for the pain, which soars at times and sends us--all of our collective anxiety--reeling.  Hospice here has been excellent and very, very responsive; Mom received her second blood transfusion last night, and we are waiting for the results of an endoscopy that will let us know if we can slow the internal bleeding that has become all too evident in the past week.  We all focus on enjoying the time with her, drinking it in, watching her smile, listening to her stories in that lovely, lilting voice, holding her hand, kissing her face.  

We have no idea how much time is left to her.  The cancer seems to be advancing, and it's not clear if we have days or weeks or--unlikely--months left.  She is clearly weaker, needing oxygen to breathe easily, but when she smiles the room still lights up.  

Suzi's blog is poignant, and expresses what we are all feeling:

http://walkingpapers.wordpress.com/category/gabriele-rico/

We are so grateful for the legions of people who have sent their caring, love, and compassion our way. I will update again in a few days.

With love,

Stephanie

Update from Gabriele, January 31st, 2013

The other day I was playing soccer with my seven-year-old grandson Griffen, who as teaching me how to do a header.  This is where you hit the soccer ball into the air with your head, but instead I took a header myself, spilling into the grass face-first.  I got up laughing, my only injuries a scrape across my nose and a big circular grass stain marring my white, cropped hair.  Despite the beating it has taken over the last eight months, this body is still hanging in there.

Knowing that my time on this earth is probably winding down, it is a pleasure to enjoy things like playing with my grandkids.  I've decided to stop all conventional Western treatments, like chemotherapy and radiation, because the cancer is spreading in my liver and the Cedars doctors no longer think it will make much of a difference.  Whether that be two weeks, two months, or two years, no one can say--and so I take it one day at a time, finding joy in the struggle to understand dying, planning my own memorial celebration, and exploring my feelings about where we go when this life is over.  These have not been sad conversations, but interesting, ephemeral topics that I am curious about and able to face head-on.

And so, it is time to decide whether to head back to my house in Cupertino, the place I have spent the last 50 years of my life, or stay here in Los Angeles, where I have made a safe, cozy nest for the last six months.  Up North, with my beloved Silicon Valley laid out before me and my garden, chickens and unfinished manuscripts crying out for attention, I am not sure if I will feel at home or overwhelmed.  I guess I will just have to see.

For now, I will wipe the grass stain from my hair and head back out to the lawn with my grandkids, unsure of how many more chances I will get to play.

The Death of the Self

                 --Linda Pastan

like discarded pages

from the book

of autumn, the leaves

come trembling down

in red and umber, 

each a poem

or story,

an unread letter.

Think of the fires

in ancient Alexandria,

the voluminous smoke

of parchment burning.

Open your arms

to the dying colors,

to the fragile 

beauties

of November.

Deep in the heart

of buried acorns,

nothing is lost.

Look at Nature.  We see again and again there is no life without death, telling us that life and death are not opposites, but two ends of one continuum.  So truly, nothing in the universe is ever lost, especially our essence.  Daisaku Ikeda writes that the Latin phrase memento mori suggests that "we grasp the true meaning of life only when we honestly face the reality of death."  This, then, is the task at hand.

With love,

Gabriele

(Note from Stephanie:  we are indeed now back in Cupertino!)

Update from Rich, February 1st, 2013

Dear Friends and Family,

Here is the latest.  Gabriele was hospitalized for two days last week and had a few tests.  The results were not good.  The CT scan showed that the chemotherapy was not very effective and  there was more cancer in her liver.  Now, the procedure to inject radioactive particles into her liver tumor is not indicated, and she chooses (at least for the time being) not to have any additional treatment.  No more chemotherapy, no more needle sticks, no more hospitals, no more doctor visits, no more nothing!

Depending on how Gabriele feels, we may go up to Cupertino and see how she likes being in her own home again; if she is not comfortable, we will come back to Los Angeles.  We will also be consulting with hospice to discuss her options.

Gabriele and our entire family appreciate your positive energy and prayers.

Love,

Richard

From Gabriele and Rich, New Year 2013

Dear Family and Friends,

As many of you know, Gabriele and I have been in Los Angeles while she receives treatment for her metastatic duodenal cancer.  She is now 2 1/2 months post-Whipple procedure, which surgically removed the primary tumor, and is now getting ready to have radioactive beads injected through her hepatic artery to hit the liver tumor hard.  Gabriele has been walking two to three miles a day, doing yoga and generalized muscle strengthening, and we not only have the gift of her three daughters to orchestrate the care and transportation of what seems to be hundreds of doctor appointments, but we also have our sons-in-law who walk with her and prepare fabulous meals for three families.

Gabriele decided she didn't watn to hide her illness or be ashamed of it but face it squarely--as an adventure, though an unchosen one.  Each day brings us epiphanies about life, and gratitude, and the riches inherent in love.  Suzanne has been writing about our adventure.  If you haven't had access to her posts, here is her URL:  http://walkingpapers.wordpress.com/category/gabriele-rico/

With love,

Gabriele and Richard

When Death Comes

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

--Mary Oliver--