Dad's fight is over

Dad's long fight with cancer has come to an end. He passed away last night in peace. The room was filled with the kind of wonderful quiet he always loved. Dad was surrounded by loved ones who whispered beautiful things to him when all he had could do was listen. I held him and told him what a brave man, beautiful person and wonderful father he has been.

Dad asked me to carry out his final wishes. One of them is that there will be a grand wake. We will all mourn his passing. But Dad wanted us to celebrate all the beauty there is in life.

I will share the arrangements and details with you on this web log as soon as I can. Feel free to leave a comment for all, but you can also email me at jameskun@mac.com.

Dedication

A few thoughts for all of us as Greg M. and I get ready to go over to the Coleman Keep for a morning of breakfast and visiting with James and Gregory.

One dear friend said recently that what really fascinated her about Greg when her son started taking lessons from him years ago, was that he had dedicated his life to music. He didn't just play part time (like most of us), but filled every hour with art (I'm sure his mountain climbing was artful) and helped us all to feel the passion he felt at a piece of music suffused with genius, or at the beauty of a simple E chord on the guitar. She said she had never met a person so dedicated to art.

And now we learn firsthand about the people who dedicate themselves to caring for the ill. Not the chemical geniuses or the docs with the rocket ship lasers, but the experienced people who know just how to help a sick person into a wheelchair, or into a bed. Those whose job it is to stay up all night and watch when loved ones can no longer do it all. They could have other jobs, easier jobs with easier hours, but they choose caretaking and nursing. Understated love and calm strength to help us all.

An update for everyone

Dad's home. I've received many email and phone messages in the past several hours asking what the outcome was today. The docs at USC are now in the planning phase prior to starting the cyber-knife treatment. The planning may take up to two weeks, so for now, we're home. Dad sends everyone his love. The tribe sends everyone our thanks for ongoing support. More details later.

Blogging from USC

Dad made it safely to USC Norris today - I'm blogging from the hallways on the second floor where dad is getting implanted with coordinates for the cyber-knife treatment of a tumor scheduled to begin sometime next week.

I think I should share with everyone that dad loves receiving your comments- even just a hello. I share with dad how often this site gets visited- by hundreds of friends, students, family and others. This site connects many of us, and the thoughts and feelings warm dad's heart.

Dad will visit this blog again tonight, as he has every night for the last few months. Please feel free to leave a note, even just to say "hi".

A Moveable Feast

Dad (Greg) and his tribe are at Coleman Keep in Trabuco Canyon, and despite dad not being able to make it to Britta's - our Sunday tradition - Britta's came to us, almost literally. Britta not only prepared the food, but also sent a care package composed of table items to recall our regular Sunday experience - the checkered tablecloth, rosemary sprigs and a handwritten note.

I called in the orders, Motomi picked up this morning's 'moveable feast'. Margie coordinated and we ate! All our loved ones are with us in spirit this morning. Hat's off to Greg Mirken with a nod to Ernest Hemingway for this entry's title.

Colmunication

Several weeks ago I wrote about the "Coleman-ism" of pouring maple syrup into coffee. We were breakfasting, and I thought Greg had picked up the wrong little pitcher, expecting it to be cream. But no, he explained, he wasn't being chemo-brainey, he actually likes maple syrup in his coffee.

Tonight as we all sat eating and drinking (those of us who keep opiates in our cheek pouches had virgin scorpions, the rest of us had real, stinging scorpions) Greg coined a new Coleman-ism: Col-municating. We do it by putting our heads very close together, as in a hug, and speak softly of the most important subjects, like life and death, wisdom and love.
And the greatest of these, I have heard it said, is love.

Music of the Spheres

Tonight I played for the Maestro again. And I played for each one of you who has wanted to play for him, in sickness or in health. It was the music of the spheres; it just came to me through your thoughts and players, and I played in on my harp. It helped him to sleep.

We know that you're thinking of Gregory, because technology allows us to see how many people visit this site. Rest assured that although his fight is getting harder, he's snug in his own little home with his tribe attending to him.

Too Much To Ask

A few days ago, and barely a few hours before the medical consultation from Hell described in James' post (where is my daughter who knows everyting about apostrophes when I need her?), Pam and Greg and I were sitting in the hospital scene pictured near this post. I'd been downstairs and brought back a couple of lattes and muffins, and we had settled in with the newspaper, quietly determined to superimpose a normal day on top of what is after all a pretty surreal scene. Greg and Pam were doing a math puzzle and I was interrupting them by reading aloud favorite turns of phrase from Times auto Critic Dan Niel's column.

Somehow the subject turned to Marie Curie and Herr Doktor Roentgen (our minds are much taken up with radiation these days), and how they absolutely had to do science. Next, Spanish poet Garcia Lorca popped up, and from him other artists who were simply compelled to do their art. We who share Greg's guitar-centric world differ only in degree--we simply must play the guitar, whether we are great players or not. It is part of our very humanity. There are also medical scientist/artists whose determination can help us so much. I suppose we really cannot ask that as well as amazing powers of memory and deduction, alchemy and manual delicacy, they also have perfect emotional sense, diplomacy and tact.

Thank you, Britta!

Most if not all of us take the simple, wonderful things in life for granted. I have proof: when was the last time you cherished every minute of breakfast? After dad and I got out of the hospital today, the first thing we did was go to dad's favorite place... Britta's Cafe.

For those of you not in the know, Britta's is one of those few places where service still rules and the food is excellent. My wife Motomi and I took dad there a couple months ago for Sunday Brunch.. dad simply loved it... we had no idea then that we had started a family tradition. One dish in particular really stands out for dad with his medication-restricted tastebuds: Britta's French Toast. It's not just a breakfast.. it's about 30 minutes of pure bliss for dad in a day filled with countless challenges and often much pain.

After being released from the hospital this morning, dad and I arrived at Britta's today at 2PM, three hours past the end of breakfast and the french toast on the menu. It was nearly empty following lunchtime.. Britta and our waitress were in the back near the kitchen. Our waitress seated us. Dad said something to the effect of "I know it's late, but can you possible still..." and the waitress gently interjected, "Britta saw you walk in, and she wanted me to tell you that the kitchen will make you the French Toast." Dad looked up at our waitress with the widest smile, looking almost like he was going to cry.

The rest of the meal was great. Pam, Greg & Margie joined us, and I'm so glad we had this time together to enjoy a moment after a trying week.

Something as simple as a French Toast breakfast could certainly have fallen outside the bounds of 'daily business operations'. But it didn't today. Thank you, Britta, for your part in making this day beautiful.

'Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not a bartender!'

This Tuesday dad was admitted to the hospital right after a routine visit. Dad's primary physician, Dr. Jeff Weber, followed the pain clues and a subsequent MRI scan to reveal a tumor pressing sharply against the spinal cord. This threat is serious- pressure on the spinal cord can cause anything up to and including paralysis, loss of bodily control, and more. And it can happen fast.

Only two options really exist for this situation- radiation or neurosurgery followed by radiation. The latter is a risky and dangerous option that doesn't guarantee any results. According to one doctor here, in a clinical trial involving 100 patients with similar tumors where 50 received surgery and radition and the other 50 only received radiation, there was virtually no difference in survival rate or length of survival after treatment.

The doctors decided to utilize extremely strong, sharply focused radiation to beat the tumor back, shrinking it so as to relieve the pressure against the spine. We just finished the third radiation session a couple hours ago [just to satisfy you comic book junkies- dad hasn't manifested any super powers yet, but he has several more radiation sessions to go].

So right after admission, at least a dozen different doctors, nurses and medical students all come into the room at different times. Most of them asked the same 1-2 dozen questions ("can you feel your feet?" "are you numb anywhere?" "how are your reflexes?") then proceeded to run dad through a series of reflex tests (kindof like the one where they tap your kneecap with a ballpeen hammer, only various and different). The general consensus was a) this guy is a seriously tough dude to be walking around in so much pain, b) he's got complete functionality of his body, c) he's strong as a horse, all things considered and d) man, can this guy play guitar or what. The docs said radiation makes the most sense, no surgery at this time.

So the next day (yesterday), in walks a neurosurgeon that apparently had not consulted with dad's primary doc and begins to describe in all the gory detail what the surgery would be like, cutting into this, through that, from both sides, etc. He even states that once the surgery is completed, anything could still go [horribly] wrong. Then he states more or less that he hopes dad does not need his services. OK, so dad's sitting there, pretty much horrified and agast. What was this guy thinking?

After this guy leaves, you can imagine the state of mind dad was in. All of the doctors, nurses and staff to follow found a patient who had been shocked into the most severly negative state of mind, and for good reason. It took Dr. Weber and a few other doctors and nurses some time and energy to get dad back into shape again. All because this other doctor didn't say "I'm going to get a little graphic on you, because it's my job to do so. Are you ready?" before beginning.

That doctor's been since described as suffering from a congenital lack of bedside manner (Think of Bones on the original Enterprise, only Vulcan instead of Human). The lesson learned here is that one of the challenges a patient must face when battling a disease can be the personality of a left-brained, well-educated and superbly trained doctor on whom one relies for survival. I am not angry at the doctor. It's his job to be honest and completely up front. I thank him and his colleagues every day for saving my dad's life.

Happy Birthday dad

Yesterday taught me that no matter how much I am learning to value the beauty of days with loved ones, I still have a long way to go to fully grasp the value of each day the way dad (Greg) has. I never realized a birthday could be such a major milestone. Yesterday, June 29, 2005, dad turned 56 years old.

Before I was headed out at 6AM for a brief appointment, I kissed my wife goodbye, then walked upstairs to check on dad expecting him to still be asleep. In fact, he was deep into a book from the library.

I looked at him and said "Happy Birthday dad". He looked at me, smiled and said, quite simply, "I made it".

You are my hero dad.

To Play for the Maestro

Another breakfast at Britta's, another visit or two with Greg at the home of his son James. The days go by, and even though each one is so precious, I still get them mixed up when I look back. Kind of like a kaleidoscope, shattered and changing, but colorful and so compelling to look through.

We have such fun when we go to that lovely cafe in Irvine; we've decided it takes the place of the European trip we didn't take together! But I've heard the tales of Coleman and Mark Westling careening through Spain, buying guitars, cherishing a glass of wine where flamencos whirl about the white-clothed tables, making their own requerdos of the real Alhambra.

Greg has been feeling well enough to play guitar a little bit. But back from Britta's he needed to rest, so I played the banjo for him. I brought my oldest banjo, a Fairbanks and Cole circa 1890's with 12 inch pot, skin head and nylon strings which I keep tuned very low. I played some classic banjo pieces for him by banjo composers Vess Ossman and Herbert J. Ellis, and had him help me with the timing on a piece I'm working on by Joseph Morley. Those tunes are very much a part of the Ragtime Era, and people played them in their parlors around the turn of the century. Then I just played some of the old Southern Mountain tunes in clawhammer style, slow and easy, as if I were sitting on my wide, shady porch in Appalachia. The sound of the banjo has been described as "that half-barbaric twang." I believe it is an elemental sound, as natural in the hills of Irvine as it is in Appalachia, or its original Africa. Greg said, only half in fun, that if he had his life to live over again, he would learn banjo at a younger age.

Another night, my husband Greg and I brought mandolin and guitar, and played some American tunes, both old and new, for Coleman. (Since both are named Greg, our quarter-century convention is to call them Coleman and Mirken when they are together.) He particularly loved the waltzes. He surprised us by saying that only we and Mark Westling play music for him. I can see how a mere mortal would be nervous to play for the master, but Mirken, Mark and I are certainly mere mortals. Coleman truly loves all music; if you are a student of his and think of playing for him, please know he is not listening for your errors! He is listening for the music of the spheres, for the language of the soul which no words can say. And if you think back through your lessons with Maestro Coleman, in between talking about which note to play on which string, how loud how fast, etc., what he was always teaching was to play the music. The heart and soul of the music. I will bring my banjo again.

Venti mocha frap, add shot, no whip.

If you're one of those anti-big-corporation pundits out there who are philisophically opposed to a coffee company that has thousands of locations worldwide thanks to a repeatable model, too bad. I like Starbucks. And one drink in particular plays a big part in making each of dad's days better.

One of the problems that cancer patients fight is the side effects of the drugs that fight the cancer. And so the docs prescribe medicines to counter those side effects. But those have side effects too, and so the docs prescribe meds for that. Guess what? More side effects- and on and on. The massive volumes of medications for pain and nauseau that dad takes have one major side effect- exhaustion and fatigue, unlike anything I've ever seen. And anyone who knows dad- a man who climbed the Matterhorn and scaled El Capitan, just for starters- knows he's a pretty high-energy guy.

So about several weeks ago when I was at Starbucks, I thought, hey, coffee drinks have this wonderful tendency to make you perky and keep you awake. I ordered a Starbucks Mocha Frappucino for dad- he liked it. It didn't have the effect I was searching for, so I did the natural thing.. I asked for two "add shots" (espresso) blended in to the next one. ET VOILA. Dad was back to reading books on French history, walking a mile or two, and actually able to enjoy giving the occaisional guitar lesson.

And so we do 1-2 of these a day. And what's better? We can get the same drink, made the same way, at any Starbucks. The caffeine inside this magic elixir gives dad more hours in the day. And if there's one thing I've learned from my dad in the last few years, every hour of every day is precious. So my thanks go out to Mr. Schultz & Starbucks for making this little bit of happiness possible. Don't run out of coffee. I'll be back in later today ;)

P.S. I told the docs at USC Norris about the add-shot mocha fraps. They said, "wow, cool" (yeah, literally) and suggested I keep it as part of the pain management protocol.

A grand day out

A leisurely Sunday brunch at Britta's in Irvine has for dad (Greg) become a very much looked-forward to event. Today's outing was no different, with the exception of beautiful blue skies and warm, gentle breezes that seemed to have pushed the June gloom away.

And yeah, today is Father's day, thanks to an official presidential proclamation by former President Johnson in '66 (yay Google). The calendar reminds most people that it's that one day a year to remind their dad that they appreciate him. But for me, this normal day with a special title and purpose was a great reminder of how lucky I am to spend time with my dad- not just on father's day, but every day.

Happy Father's day dad. I'm looking just as forward to another beautiful day together tomorrow.

Coleman Coins The Next New Food Fad

By what do we measure our days? Small things can give such pleasure, and I'd like to share with you the great time Greg and I had this morning. We started at his favorite breakfast place, Britta's Cafe in Irvine. Considering the sophisticated and unbelievably expensive medications Greg's been taking to fight cancer for the last few years, it's amazing how much benefit he derives from plain ol' caffeine. Well, not exactly plain. For most of the meal he was putting cream in his coffee, but later picked up my pot of maple syrup (Britta's has great French toast!) and poured it into his coffee. I thought it was a chemo-brain error, or even just a Coleman-ism and called him on it. No, he laughed, he LIKES maple syrup in his coffee. Will this be the next big food fad?

Britta's is the kind of cafe you can't confuse with a corporate coffe shop. We sat for two extra cups, talkng companionably at our cozy indoor table, watching others doing the same at garden tables, despite the drizzle. Our exit from Britta's was much snappier than our entrance, and the coffee gave us energy for several errands. Finally, at the library, not only does the professor check out The Three Musketeers for entertainment, but also French history books to read concurrently, for enlightenment and education. Perhaps it was the French charm of our bistro breakfast . . .

Tomorrow we'll visit the Mission San Juan Capistrano, then enjoy more stimulating beverages across the street at the Diedrich's coffee. (I wonder if they've gotten the memo that maple syrup is the new hot trend for coffee sweetening?) Greg's most recent recording, Isla California, was recorded in the Serra Chapel at the Mission, and it is a very important place to him. Part of the Serra Chapel is a smaller chapel-let (you French speakers probably know a perfect word for that) dedicated to St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients. After the candle-heated air of the Peregrine chapel, the mission gardens are truly paradise, especially at this time of year.

Greg has been teaching a few lessons each week, so we always talk about teaching music, a subject that takes us far from daily problems. You students who have been wondering if Greg is still teaching, now is a good time to book a lesson with the Maestro. Send him an email, get on the schedule. (Send him a gift certificate for Britta's or Starbuck's if you want him to be more awake and caffeinated! )

An update from Greg's son James

I've been getting email from friends and students of dad (Greg), and so I decided to post a quick message here to give everyone an update. Dad's taking a combination of two medicines that together act like a kind of chemotherapy. The combination of medicines and dad's continuous fight against the cancer make for some pretty tough days. But it's great to see him gather up enough strength to talk with friends and teach when he can. Feel free to leave comments, questions, ideas, love or any other positive note by clicking on "comments" following this or any other post.