I had a boring college "career"

I took some classes, looked at the "Courses and Degrees" book, and decided on my major: math. That was my bachelor's degree.

Mom, on the other hand, was ahead of her time. Not only did she change majors, she changed colleges. She loved to tell the story:

I was going to be a teacher, so I went TC, but I flunked botany.

Then I went to the business school, and I discovered business ethics, and I said, Oh, I have to major in philosophy. So I had to change to arts and sciences.

I remember meeting with the Dean. He said: education, business, arts and sciences; are you sure you don't want to try Agriculture?

Mom also mentioned a convocation the first day of college. Someone (Provost? President? some other Dean?) told the students, "Most of you are here because you had no idea what to do after high school."

I wonder if she said that because she felt he was talking to her?

And beyond…

Although my major was officially math, I took classes in the EE and Computer Science departments. My college didn't offer a CS undergraduate degree, but I suppose my degree was fairly close to what one might have been in those days.

I then went looking for a job, and found one at HP as a "development engineer," where I did digital design and then software for the next twenty-six years. It was a nice ride, but as I've told more than one person, the advantage and disadvantage I had right out of school was that the way in front of me was obvious: a highway with lots of company. I didn't have to think much about where I was headed (and therefore didn't), and I've been doing (mostly) software professionally now for over four decades.

Many young people today, by contrast, do not have a single obvious path ahead of them, and companies are not like the HP of the 1970s, where one could reasonably expect to finish out one's career. Instead, they have to consider a wide range of possibilities; many of them must forge their own paths, because (as I've heard many times) the jobs available today didn't exist when their parents were looking for work. And the fast-growing jobs a decade hence may not exist today, either. So it's more challenging, and maybe more exciting.

When I look at my resumé, there are just two companies on it. I suppose very few 2018 graduates will have a resumé like that in 2058. And I think, "More's the pity," because there are fields where long-tenured employees can be very important for an organization.

I also think it's sad that the social contract seems to have changed. Back in the 1970s, there were companies that genuinely seemed to care about employees. I don't mean that some managers cared about some subordinates; I mean that the list of corporate values had an item "Our People," as HP did.

Managers at HP had the responsibility to find classes to send thir people to; to suggest assignments to develop their people; and so on. Back in those days, we were citizens who felt responsibility for our communities, our state, our country. Today, we are "taxpayers," whose chief interest seems to be minimizing our tax bills. At least that's how the Congress seems to think.

Well, I've clearly gone on too long, and this post has strayed from a boring college career to a rant about "Why were the old days better than these?" which, as the Bible tells us, is just folly.

Mom's last days

Mom had been declining for some time, since before Dad’s passing over three years ago. We found out—after Dad passed I think—that her carotid arteries were severely constricted so there wasn’t enough blood (hence not enough oxygen) getting to her brain, which was consistent with her declining mental function.

During my October visit, we went to Waimanalo Beach. She was able to walk from the car to the sand, and we sat looking at the water for a while. She mentioned that most of her colleagues at the employment service were psychology majors, whereas she had studied philosophy, and expressed her view that whereas psychology was focused on taking things apart, philosophy was more about building up one’s life. I don’t believe I’d ever heard this from her before. That evening at dinner, she said all this to my brother-in-law Neil, too.

Shortly after this visit, she fell on the porch—it was as though her legs just went out from under her. She was unable to get up without help; once up, she went to the ER under protest, where they said there was no stroke and nothing broken, but they put a splint on her left arm.

Several days later, my sister Inga noted bleeding and took her to the ER again, where a scan revealed some suspicious spots on her pancreas, later confirmed as cancer. The doctors gave her six months.

Around this time, Mom pretty much stopped eating altogether. This of course drastically reduced her likely time left on earth. My sister Donna came from the mainland and moved in, sleeping in Mom’s bed, where Mom would whack her in the middle of the night(!) when she wanted help getting to the bathroom. At some point, Inga and her daughter Jana took the night shift on weekends so Donna could (try to) catch up on her sleep.

Carol and I planned another visit—in November. I arrived a day before Carol, and accompanied Mom and Donna on what would be Mom’s last visit to her primary care doctor. The doctor suggested an appointment for a month later, “if you think she’ll still be here,” he said. I remember the date: November 18.

Carol arrived later that day. Her flight was delayed several hours, as a passenger died and they turned the plane around—not a particularly good sign! While on this trip, we installed grab bars in the hallway and the bathroom, to make Mom’s trek to the bathroom a little easier. I emailed our daughters, suggesting that they come and visit soon. The weekend of December 1 would be a better bet than December 8, I said.

Also on this visit, Jana made an appointment with Deborah Glazier, a professional photographer, who came to the house and took some beautiful pictures of Mom with us.

My nephew Keith visited at Thanksgiving and at least twice I think in December. Our daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren visited the weekend of December 1st, and Donna’s sons came too, so my mom got to see all her grandchildren and great-grandchildren in her final month. I also made one last visit, December 2–4. Around this time, Mom started sleeping on a hospital bed, and Inga and Donna both slept in Mom's bed (Inga got family leave).

Monday, December 17, I pinged my sisters after work: is Mom up? She wasn't. I returned home and put the phone on the charger. A few hours later I moved the phone into the bedroom and noted a missed facetime call, but it was late…

I was awakened by the phone’s buzzing about 10:20pm. My nephew Keith was calling on facetime—actually Jana’s face appeared. Mom's breathing was shallow; it had become quite loud and raspy. (I’ve heard the term “death rattle” and wondered if that’s what it was.) “We don’t know if it’s the end, but it's a change,“ Jana said. Inga called the hospice service, and someone there said their mother did this sort of breathing for 4 days. We all told Mom that we loved her, that she was a great mom and grandmother, that we would miss her but we will be OK. Her breathing slowed and quieted. Donna took her blood pressure: 52 over something, supposedly not enough to sustain consciousness, but who knows for sure? We kept telling her those loving things; we thanked her for teaching us about God and being an example of love and service. Her breathing got quieter and slowed.

The nurse arrived from the hospice service. He listened to her heart; apparently it was either inaudible or barely there. After discussing a few more things, he confirmed her heart had stopped. 9:33pm (11:33pm here). There were some tears, but mostly it was peaceful. For her it was a good day to die, but for us a sad day to be bereft. And yet we have the promise of eternal life, and new bodies.

Inga, Donna and I are now orphans. We are sad, but it’s not tragic.

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Jana made a marvelous video honoring Mom: https://vimeo.com/311176736/b4f23d0c03
Hey! That couch Mom is lying on about 00:44 in the video—I remember that couch! I haven’t seen it for over half a century.

Remembering Mom

Mom passed away December 17th. Following are the notes for my remembrances at her memorial service January 12th.

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One of my earliest memories of Mom was a song that nobody else remembers. Maybe she made it up, but it went something like this (my attempt at the score is at right):

With Donna in the family happy happy home
Happy happy home!
Happy happy home!
With Donna in the family happy happy home
Happy happy home!

Each verse would have some other family member. We must have been very young.

Mom would be embarrased to hear me say this, but she was brilliant. She skipped two grades in elementary school. She’s the only one in our family I know of who got a Fulbright fellowship—she studied in England. When she worked part-time as an employment counselor, she successfully placed more job seekers per month than any of her full-time colleagues. But what makes me proudest to be her son was her amazing love and generosity of spirit.

At work, when some of the first trans-gender clients were seeking employment and nobody knew how to help them, our mom said, “Give me training and I’ll take some of them.” They referred all the transgender clients to her. What about the training? This was the 1970s; there was no training! She listened compassionately and intelligently, and learned how to advocate for them. Have I mentioned that Mom placed more clients per month than any of her full-time colleagues, even though she handled the cases everybody else thought would be too hard?

Not only did she love and care her own kids, she cared for some of our cousins, and for some of her grandkids too. When I was in high school, Mom led a group of youth at this church. She took a leave of absence, then early retirement, to take care of her mom, our Halmoni. A few years later, Mom’s sister-in-law moved in and Mom took care of her, too. She prepared and delivered sermons at the Korean care home down the street from here. She visited shut-ins; she told me about one elderly lady who needed help taking a bath but didn’t have anyone. As Mom told me later, “Why shouldn’t I help her take a bath?” as she helped her mom and sister-in-law. And she did.

She took care of these people; was she a good patient too? Not so much.

Mom lived the gospel by loving and giving. I think she did a great job, and that by now she’s heard the commendation from the Lord that we all long for: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”