It's been a long while since I posted here, and what seems like a lifetime in experiences.
In short, my dad - my most favorite, wonderful supporter and father - died relatively suddenly on October 19, 2009 after a short bout with pneumonia.
We posted his obituary in a few newspapers:
Daniel Stewart Berkey Daniel Stewart Berkey of Oakland, CA, died of leukemia on October 19, 2009 at UCSF Medical Center in San Francisco. Dan was born on June 25, 1941 in New Brunswick, NJ. He earned his Bachelor's degree from Lehigh University in 1963. From 1963 to 1968, he was a captain in the United States Army. Dan served as a company commander in Vietnam with the 25th Infantry Division and was awarded the Bronze Star and the Army Commendation Medal. He received an MBA from The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania in 1970. He and his wife moved to San Francisco in 1977, where he launched a financial services consulting company, Berkey Associates, Inc. An Eagle Scout, Dan was an active parent and Assistant Scoutmaster of Troop 6 in Berkeley; he also served on the vestry of St. John's Episcopal Church in Oakland. He shared his love of camping, hiking, skiing and the outdoors with his family. Dan is survived by his wife, Ann Richardson Berkey, his daughter, Elizabeth Wellington Berkey and his son, William Cabot Berkey. Other relatives include his brother, Richard Scott Berkey, Jr of Virginia and his brother-in-law, Thomas Latham Richardson of Florida. The funeral will be held October 24 at 2pm at St. John's Episcopal Church, 1707 Gouldin Road, Oakland. Memorial gifts may be designated in Dan's name to The Aloha Foundation, Fairlee, VT (
www.alohafoundation.org) or to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (
www.leukemia-lymphoma.org).
My family has posted often to a blog on a website called Caring Bridge that serves to connect a person or family to others while someone is sick. The best part is the ease with which people can post comments, best wishes or thoughts. The website is: https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/dsberkey.
I think that after his death - starting now, really - that we will start to post there less and less. I want to start to connect the two blogs for the future, as I'm not finished writing - about this or many things. I do not have much time at the moment to re-create things, so I'll copy and paste my latest entry in the Caring Bridge blog here:
As I sit in my parents’ house in the early morning of Veteran’s Day, I thought it was appropriate perhaps to finally write another update in this Caring Bridge journal. I know many of you have read this, shared it with those around you, or written in the guest book both during my father’s life and after his death. Please know that we too have looked at it from time to time since he died, and have gained tremendous comfort in the connections that we have felt with so many of you this way. Thank you all for your time and your comments, and thank you in advance for reading this one.
We have talked many times about doing an update since the funeral. In fact, I have started it twice now, and not been able to finish.
Why? It’s raw. It’s hard to write about. I’m not sure you all want to hear some of the things we have thought, talked about, cried about, or done in the past few weeks. Last night made it exactly three weeks since my dad died; in some ways it seems like yesterday and in others, like much longer ago. Speaking as one person, my dad’s death is causing me to question many of the fundamental structures that I have been surrounded by for my entire life. And it’s not just me, by any means; all three of us (let alone other close family and friends) are wondering how to go about life without my dad around. There is much that we would like to convey though: good news as well as challenging experiences.
And I will be the first one to admit that it’s cathartic to write about this situation, and has been all along. Taking the time to think through how to convey information – emotions, actions and situations – to others allows me to reflect on them and process them as I go.
As a general rule, the time throughout my dad’s death, the funeral planning, the visitation, the funeral, and even the following week was very sad and very difficult. It was new and so different from any other week in my life, partially because we were so focused, and so clear. Holding a tribute to Daniel Berkey that was worthy of him and his different life roles, that allowed us and others to say goodbye, that encouraged others to celebrate him and to support us, was extremely important. And it was incredible. Thank you to all of you who attended one or the entire set of events two weekends ago. From our perspective, it was a terrific way to say goodbye, surrounded by family and friends from all over the country. We were blown away by the support, the food, the love, the friends, the hugs, and no joke – the FLOWERS! – that we received both for and after the funeral. I think there were 56 different plants or flower arrangements in the house at one time. It smelled amazing, and still looks beautiful. Thank you!
We’ve spent the last few weeks executing a two-pronged strategy (yes, that just popped out, and is ridiculous business school speak…but is just too funny to erase…! :p). The first is to take time, purposefully, to process things. To spend time together as a family and talk about my dad, think about him, cheer each other up, talk about us, jobs, and next steps. We’ve been to the beach in Point Reyes. We were up in Tahoe last weekend and took time to watch sunsets, walk on the beach, cook dinner, and go for hikes. Some of those moments have been amazing; one of them occurred just the other day, when I gave my brother a small squeeze and it quickly turned into a laughing, silly, strong three-person group hug. Others have been very difficult, as we try to evolve from a four-person family unit into a smaller, different dynamic while all of us process grief differently. We try to take the pressure to cope off of each other by taking turns; when one of us is sad, the others try to cheer that person up by telling jokes, or just by reminding us of what my dad would have done or said in that same situation. Most of the time, it works, and we smile as a result.
The second strategy is to dive back into ‘life’ as we know it. I for one missed about two solid weeks of classes and have been doing my best since then to catch up. I only have a bit more than a month left of classes in graduate school at all, and my dad the MBA would be the first one to raise his eyebrows and strongly encourage me to ‘make sure you finish this semester!’ It requires sitting through class, talking to people, writing papers and learning – all of which are challenging at the moment, but many people have been very understanding. My mom has been back to work a bit and is traveling this week, both pulled and pushed back to a position that often fluctuates with Washington’s healthcare news – which I’m sure we all realize was extremely notable this week! William also has big news; he actually starts a brand-new job this morning, as a supervisor at McKesson’s H1N1 vaccine distribution center in Sacramento. He’s continuing to test for different firefighting jobs but this opportunity came up and we all, including my dad, think it’s a great one. Wish him luck!!!
As for thoughts on the transition back to ‘normal life,’ there are a few significant areas. The first is that it’s not normal anymore. Not at all. Things look different. I don’t forget that my dad was sick, and has now died – not when I’m in class, when I’m talking with friends, while walking the dog, when I’m eating dinner, lunch, breakfast – not ever. Some people have mentioned waking up in the morning and feeling ok for the first moment until it hits them and they remember. For me, it’s my first thought in the morning, and last thought at night. I don’t forget. And it comes and goes; I saw Obama’s eulogy tonight to the men and women killed at Fort Hood and it reminded me immediately of my dad's funeral; tears started running down my face.
Another area is the life structures that change. I catch myself saying ‘my parents’ and I wonder if I can still say that. “My parents’ house.” “I have to call my parents before going to dinner.” I guess not. Maybe for the house, it’s ok, as it’s still true, but perhaps not for the more active sentences. I guess it should just be, “My mom.” Or “my mom and brother.” Or perhaps simply, “my family.” That works. And it’s odd when other people say it too: “Are you going to ride with your parents to the beach?” No, I feel like saying, one of my parents is missing.
In addition, personal routines change. All that time that we had set aside to take my dad to the clinic and/or hospital at UCSF daily is now 'free time.' I miss it: both the opportunity to connect and spend time with my dad and the people and friends we made at UCSF. The people there are terrific and wonderful people and it was also a routine that gave all of us purpose. William, my mom and I went back and visited UCSF last week; we brought heartfelt thank-you cards and my dad's favorite Ghirardelli chocolates to the nurses and staff and went to both the clinic and the hospital floor, where he spent so much time and also died. They were all shocked to see us back so soon, but it was important to all of us to be able to say thank you and see it all one last time. I cannot imagine how hard their jobs must be, and also am not sure I can fully do justice to their amazing spirits and tireless attitudes. The staff in both the clinic and hospital are truly exceptional, and it was good to see them again.
Thank you as well to those of you who have already contributed to one of the two memorial gift funds! Both organizations have been absolutely terrific in working with us to earmark the gifts for something memorable for my dad, and it’s one of the reasons we wanted to update this blog - with more information about both organizations.
The Aloha Foundation is an organization that runs a wonderful set of summer camps and an outdoor center in eastern Vermont. All of my family has a significant tie to this organization; my mom, brother, and I spent I think 19 summers collectively either as a camper or counselor at the camps, and both William and I worked for the Hulbert Outdoor Center right out of college for a short time. My parents took dozens of trips back there to visit us, and created a strong bond with the organization; they later spent several summers at the one-week Family Camp in August and had a fabulous time. It provided the perfect venue for both my parents to enjoy the outdoors (and sharpen my dad’s Eagle Scout skills!) while at the same time being able to relax for a week among great friends. We have spoken at length with the Aloha Foundation and they have been wonderful in working with us; in fact, a link to the announcement is on their front page: http://www.alohafoundation.org/. Depending on amount, we are looking to use the fund to buy and set aside a tract of land in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, to be used as a camping and wilderness spot for the organization.
Similarly, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society has been terrific to work with, and flexible to ensure that any money donated in my dad’s name goes to areas that are critical and would have meant a lot to him. We are planning to earmark any gifts to one of two of their programs in particular: (1) one that focuses on making curative chemotherapies safer, so that they do not induce neurotoxicity to the same degree as they do now. As some of you know, my dad suffered an extremely neurotoxic reaction to one chemo drug in particular this summer, and really did not ever fully recover from it. It was damaging to his quality of life as a whole; for example, it significantly affected his ability to recall words. (2) The second one would specifically support research on MDS (myelodysplastic syndrome) and AML (acute myelogenous leukemia), BOTH of which he had. In addition, it is certainly worth noting that the McKesson Foundation has also generously given $10,000 to the fund in memory of my dad, which both we as a family and the L&L Society are very excited about.
I think about my dad all the time. When I’m sitting in class, when I walk around, when I talk to people, when I’m quiet – I often ponder how to get through the rest of my life without one of my biggest supporters. I owe a significant part of who I am to him, and he lives on in that regard, as it is for many others I am sure.
Happy Veteran’s Day, Daddy. We miss you terribly, but are so proud of you – not only for your fight while in uniform, but for your life, and for your fight that ended sadly and taught all of us so much. You are a quietly determined hero.
All the best,
Elizabeth
