Nov 2021
After seven years of being power of attorney for my mom, and most of the time loving the job, I have been fired. I've been expecting this of course. It was gentle, but I'm not liking it. Most of the time I am fine, but grief will hit me out of the blue like a lightning bolt.
Judy loved the Colorado aspens.
Just talking with her pension company on the phone, telling them to stop the checks, trying to speak normally, I found myself completely unable to speak as my throat tightened up. Fortunately, receptionists must have training for this, as account members likely die all the time, and the one I was speaking to kindly, smoothly said she was sorry for my loss, and guided me through details on shutting her account down.
Sitting with my mom in hospice for 6 days, holding her hand, I reflected with my husband Tim and our friend Vince Frates, "It sounds kind of crass, but part of me--a selfish part of me--feels like I am being fired from a full-time job that I've had for years, a job that I love."
I was relieved when they seemed to understand at once. Vince quipped, "You're being fired by GOD."
We laughed.
Tim added, "And your mom is being promoted."
We laughed even harder at that.
Probably the worst thing for me is no longer being able to drive five minutes to see this big, happy, baby-like person who often sang and smiled and bounced her legs up and down in her wheelchair. I loved just sitting with her.
I was seeing her every other day for months now. It was taking up a lot of my time, sure, but I loved it.
Trying to get her outside her nursing home (though of course we could not go off the grounds) just to see blue sky above, colorful trees. I wanted to fill her up as much as possible with beauty before the snow fell and she would be locked inside for 6 months. In a world with a TV blaring and call buttons going BEEP BEEP BEEP... all the time.
I might have felt a bit of panic about winter shutting her in because of the dropping temps. They don't allow residents out when it gets cold. I guess I don't have to worry about her being locked up in there over the winter now.
I'll never forget the last thing she said to me before the pandemic prevented me from entering the nursing home for over a yea. Just as I was leaving her room in March 2020, she twisted in her chair and asked me this question. It wasn't like her to speak a full sentence like this.
"Are you happy?" she asked me, just as I was leaving.
I remember reeling, looking down at someone who was wheelchair-bound, could barely talk, someone who needed help to feed herself and who needed a human forklift device to be lifted on and off a toilet. She's asking ME if I am happy.
I knelt to her eye level and said, trying not to cry, "Oh mom. If YOU are happy, I'm the happiest person in the world." And I meant it.
She seemed satisfied with that, and I left her room. Not to enter it again for over a year.
Of course I spent a year going to her window with the pandemic. I bought battery heated clothing so I could stand in the snow and talk on the phone with the help of a staff member, singing and being goofy. She seemed to really love my weird appearances as her window. She would light up. During the year I was unable to enter the nursing home, her speech seemed to really dry up. Everyone kept warning me, when you lose the power to talk, you eventually lose the power to swallow.
I became a volunteer, playing harp for residents, and now that I am fully vaxed and boosted I can go in with a mask and lots of precautions. I might have been trying to make up for lost time with her, going every other day. But I loved it.
"Don't ever let me go into a nursing home," She told me, many years ago. Oh dear. Well, we had no choice.
It comforts me that she once told me of my father in law, who was a PhD particle physicist and Buddhist who also died from dementia, that Buddhists feel people go through different Roles in life, and maybe he is done being a PhD scientist and maybe his soul wants to be a cared-for baby now.
I took those words she intended for John Erskine and thought, well, I could apply them to her as well. Because even though she had not wanted to go into a memory care unit, she became very happy there, and she was adored by the devoted staff. Her life as a demented person was, thank goodness, a happy one.
It also comforts me in a weird way that when she learned that she had irreversible dementia, she had investigated assisted suicide. She was frightened. This was about 7 years ago. I am so glad she did not go through with it.
But when I put her on hospice, because she could no longer swallow (it was either that or a feeding tube and IV) I told myself, hey, she was ready to go seven years ago. So maybe it is okay for her to go now.
They say dementia creates two people that you grieve and this is true for me.
I have spent many years grieving my old, cogent, clever mom. I would still see glimpses of her now and then. It almost felt like gambling, going to see her and wondering what she might say or do. Every now and then I would have a jackpot moment. A couple months ago she looked at me and said, very clearly, Holly. I had not heard her use my name for years. I caught it on video, and you can hear me gasp.
But it wasn't important for me to have her remember. All I wanted was for her to be happy.
Now I grieve this second person she became, who I loved to visit.
And after many years of what I presume to be frontotemporal dementia, my mom has been abruptly promoted.
Mom loved books and got me reading at an early age. I remember the first book, which came with flash cards, that she read to me. Everyone Knows that Nose is Not Toes.
Here my mom is reading The Very Little Girl to me.
Even as a tot, I seem to recall (though I am not sure I trust my recollections) the words had synesthetic color on the page that match my current color associations.
She loved sharing books with me. I have caught up with a lot of her old recommendations, I see many have mother and daughter themes, like The Secret Life of Bees, and lots of Amy Tan books. Grieving her now, I have to hold off on those books for a bit. Maybe a cozy mystery or humor book for now.
My mom had such a wry sense of humor. "Well of course you don't believe in astrology because you have Virgo rising," she'd explain to me.
And, "You should be especially kind to your brother. He had a hard past life as a member of the Spanish Inquisition."
I truly don't think she took a lot of her New Agey ideas that seriously. Just enough to give her a sense of childlike wonder about the world. I adored that about her. "It's like those science fiction books you like to read," she would try to explain.
Today happens to be my 56th birthday and my first without my mom. Here is a scene from what appears to be my first.
I didn't mention it in the obituary below, but we think the last word she uttered was a Laaaa! She tried to sing. She got in the habit of switching from speech to song, I think, because it was easier than talking. She had what I think was the primary progressive aphasia verions of FTD, which means she had trouble with word-finding at first. But I like that her last word was a Laaaa!
Obituary
Judith “Judy” Ann Wadyko, 84, of Sister Bay, WI, passed away peacefully early Thursday morning, November 18, 2021 at Good Samaritan Society Scandia Village in Sister Bay from expected complications of long-term illness. Her daughter Holly was at her side.
She was born November 15, 1937 in Fontana, KS, the daughter of Norvel Thomas Daniel and Neva Ruth (Monroe) Daniel. Judy’s parents were civil rights pioneers and educators. Her father worked as superintendent for several schools, including the Mather School for Colored Girls in the 1930’s where Judy’s mother taught and Judy attended along with the Gullah Island students. Judy recalled with pride how her parents aspired to provide equal, high-quality education to young African American girls. She recalled how, because of her family’s work, they were expected to use the colored facilities and thus she became sensitized at a young age to social injustices. Her father’s written studies documenting the Gullah students’ games and songs are now in the hands of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History.
Judy’s mother, a self-described “nerd” and “happy learner” deeply influenced Judy’s life. Neva was one statistics class short of a self-designed PhD applying Korzybski’s General Semantics to Shakespeare. Enraptured by Progoff’s Intensive Journaling and many other therapeutic techniques as a pioneer college educator and workshop leader, Neva’s students described her as a “female Joseph Campbell” and “Yoda”. Judy exuberantly followed in her mother’s footsteps in exploring spirituality and self-development. “It’s my favorite subject,” Judy would chuckle.
My mom was always sketching and journaling thoughts like this.
A valedictorian student, Judy initially attended Orme Ranch School in Arizona where her parents taught, and then as an exchange student attended Newton High in Newton, MA where she met her first husband, Richard Alvan Phaneuf. Judy graduated high school in Denver, CO, at East High, class of 1955.
She and Richard were married on July 4, 1957 at the Baptist church in Weston, MA. They were blessed with three children: Joseph, Robin, and Holly. They lived in Pittsburgh, PA until 1968 when the family moved to La Habra, CA. Judy loved children and occasionally worked and volunteered in the CA schools where her three children tested into California’s Mentally Gifted Minors program.
Judy earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology at Cal State Fullerton with the hope of becoming a children’s counselor. She and Richard moved back to Pittsburgh, PA in 1980 for Richard’s engineering work for U.S. Steel. Judy worked as a secretary for Rotary Nozzle of Mitsubishi for over 10 years. Judy and Richard shared over 25 years of marriage.
Judy met her second husband, Michael “Mike” Anthony Wadyko in Pittsburgh. They were married on January 13, 1990 at St Mary’s Episcopal Church in Beaver Falls, PA. Judy and Mike then moved to Glenwood Springs, CO to care for Judy’s mother and sister. Mike acquired his PhD in history and, like Judy’s mother, taught in person at Colorado Mountain College as well as online at dozens of other colleges around the country. For many years Judy worked as Mike’s secretary transcribing his history course notes after he suffered a wrist injury.
Mike, a believing Catholic, remained devoted to Judy’s care after her illness, presumed frontotemporal dementia, became apparent. They made the painful decision to divorce in order to allow Medicaid to take over the overwhelming burden of her care. Judy moved to assisted living, then nursing care, and Mike devotedly visited her several times every week. It was clear to all that Mike was, as he said, still married to Judy in spirit and lovingly devoted to her care. On Christmas Eve 2018, just following a visit to see Judy, Mike fell down a flight of steps and died instantly. Judy and Mike had shared over 30 years of marriage.
Following Mike’s passing, Judy was moved to her daughter Holly’s home of Sister Bay, WI, to Good Samaritan Society-Scandia Village (nursing home) in March 2019. Judy became a beloved resident known for her joyous expressions, smiles, and singing. Even when she could no longer walk, talk, or hold objects, Judy radiated happiness, often bursting into joyous song. Judy’s daughter Holly often brought over her harp to play for Judy and other residents. Holly and Judy frequently delighted to share Scandia’s devotional services and activities for almost three years. Mike had longed for Judy to be moved to such a high-quality nursing home, and it is poignant that his sudden passing enabled this to happen.
Some of Judy’s favorite activities were writing letters, reading, going to thrift shops, consignment stores, and bookstores. She loved reading the New York Times Book Reviews. She was a talented artist. She loved nature and thrilled in simple pleasures like the sight of a simple flower. She loved to go for walks and could be seen taking three walks a day after she was moved to assisted living. She had a wry, playful sense of humor. Judy had a keen interest in spirituality and was definitely a spiritual explorer. She sang in the church choir at Glenwood Springs Good Shepherd Lutheran Church and was also a member of the Spiritual Center in Carbondale, CO.
Those who knew Judy or even those who just had the pleasure of meeting her, knew what a positive person she was and how she just radiated joy. Her mother often explained, “Judy bounces.” Judy was usually one to just burst out in song.
Her love will live on in the hearts of her children, Dr. Joseph (Jurene) Phaneuf, M.D. of Cheney, WA, Robin (fiancé, Ed Servatius) Servatius of Elmira, NY, and Dr. Holly (Timothy) Erskine, PhD of Sister Bay; former husband, Richard Phaneuf P.E. (Mary) of Pittsburgh, PA; grandchildren, Ellen (Dallas) Lightner, Christen Phaneuf, Mike (Jennifer) Spencer, Jr., Amelia (Jeff) Paul, Dan Spencer, and Jeremy Bellucci; great-grandchildren, Eliana, Julia, and Lydia Paul, and Aiden, Bailey, and Eden Spencer; brother, David (Audrey) Daniel of Penrose, CO; nephews and niece, Aaron (Tarla) Daniel, Yvonne (Gary) Foster, both of Penrose, CO, and Sam Butcher of Madison, WI; and other relatives.
Judy was preceded in death by her parents; her life partner, Michael Wadyko; and sister, Sharon Daniel.
Her life may be honored with a memorial service at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Glenwood Springs, CO in the late spring-early summer of 2022-to be announced. Judy’s cremated remains may then be interred in a plaque on Michael Wadyko’s grave in Rosebud Cemetery in Glenwood Springs, CO.
Our family would like to express our heartfelt thanks to Dr. J. Joshua Rebhan, M.D. of Door County Medical Center Clinic in Fish Creek, to Judy’s caregivers Emmy Lerma, Judy Davis, and Jeanne Kuhns, to the Unity hospice team, and to the staff of Scandia Village in Sister Bay for the wonderful care given to our mother over the years.
Memorials may be given in her name for UNICEF (United Nation Children's Fund), and the Employees Fund of Good Samaritan Society-Scandia Village in Sister Bay, WI.
Casperson Funeral Home & Cremation Services in Sister Bay is assisting Judy’s family. Expressions of sympathy, memories, and photos of Judy may be shared with her family through her tribute page at www.caspersonfuneralhome.com.
Judy loved the Colorado aspens.
Just talking with her pension company on the phone, telling them to stop the checks, trying to speak normally, I found myself completely unable to speak as my throat tightened up. Fortunately, receptionists must have training for this, as account members likely die all the time, and the one I was speaking to kindly, smoothly said she was sorry for my loss, and guided me through details on shutting her account down.
Sitting with my mom in hospice for 6 days, holding her hand, I reflected with my husband Tim and our friend Vince Frates, "It sounds kind of crass, but part of me--a selfish part of me--feels like I am being fired from a full-time job that I've had for years, a job that I love."
I was relieved when they seemed to understand at once. Vince quipped, "You're being fired by GOD."
We laughed.
Tim added, "And your mom is being promoted."
We laughed even harder at that.
Probably the worst thing for me is no longer being able to drive five minutes to see this big, happy, baby-like person who often sang and smiled and bounced her legs up and down in her wheelchair. I loved just sitting with her.
I was seeing her every other day for months now. It was taking up a lot of my time, sure, but I loved it.
Trying to get her outside her nursing home (though of course we could not go off the grounds) just to see blue sky above, colorful trees. I wanted to fill her up as much as possible with beauty before the snow fell and she would be locked inside for 6 months. In a world with a TV blaring and call buttons going BEEP BEEP BEEP... all the time.
I might have felt a bit of panic about winter shutting her in because of the dropping temps. They don't allow residents out when it gets cold. I guess I don't have to worry about her being locked up in there over the winter now.
I'll never forget the last thing she said to me before the pandemic prevented me from entering the nursing home for over a yea. Just as I was leaving her room in March 2020, she twisted in her chair and asked me this question. It wasn't like her to speak a full sentence like this.
"Are you happy?" she asked me, just as I was leaving.
I remember reeling, looking down at someone who was wheelchair-bound, could barely talk, someone who needed help to feed herself and who needed a human forklift device to be lifted on and off a toilet. She's asking ME if I am happy.
I knelt to her eye level and said, trying not to cry, "Oh mom. If YOU are happy, I'm the happiest person in the world." And I meant it.
She seemed satisfied with that, and I left her room. Not to enter it again for over a year.
Of course I spent a year going to her window with the pandemic. I bought battery heated clothing so I could stand in the snow and talk on the phone with the help of a staff member, singing and being goofy. She seemed to really love my weird appearances as her window. She would light up. During the year I was unable to enter the nursing home, her speech seemed to really dry up. Everyone kept warning me, when you lose the power to talk, you eventually lose the power to swallow.
I became a volunteer, playing harp for residents, and now that I am fully vaxed and boosted I can go in with a mask and lots of precautions. I might have been trying to make up for lost time with her, going every other day. But I loved it.
"Don't ever let me go into a nursing home," She told me, many years ago. Oh dear. Well, we had no choice.
It comforts me that she once told me of my father in law, who was a PhD particle physicist and Buddhist who also died from dementia, that Buddhists feel people go through different Roles in life, and maybe he is done being a PhD scientist and maybe his soul wants to be a cared-for baby now.
I took those words she intended for John Erskine and thought, well, I could apply them to her as well. Because even though she had not wanted to go into a memory care unit, she became very happy there, and she was adored by the devoted staff. Her life as a demented person was, thank goodness, a happy one.
It also comforts me in a weird way that when she learned that she had irreversible dementia, she had investigated assisted suicide. She was frightened. This was about 7 years ago. I am so glad she did not go through with it.
But when I put her on hospice, because she could no longer swallow (it was either that or a feeding tube and IV) I told myself, hey, she was ready to go seven years ago. So maybe it is okay for her to go now.
They say dementia creates two people that you grieve and this is true for me.
I have spent many years grieving my old, cogent, clever mom. I would still see glimpses of her now and then. It almost felt like gambling, going to see her and wondering what she might say or do. Every now and then I would have a jackpot moment. A couple months ago she looked at me and said, very clearly, Holly. I had not heard her use my name for years. I caught it on video, and you can hear me gasp.
But it wasn't important for me to have her remember. All I wanted was for her to be happy.
Now I grieve this second person she became, who I loved to visit.
And after many years of what I presume to be frontotemporal dementia, my mom has been abruptly promoted.
Mom loved books and got me reading at an early age. I remember the first book, which came with flash cards, that she read to me. Everyone Knows that Nose is Not Toes.
Here my mom is reading The Very Little Girl to me.
Even as a tot, I seem to recall (though I am not sure I trust my recollections) the words had synesthetic color on the page that match my current color associations.
She loved sharing books with me. I have caught up with a lot of her old recommendations, I see many have mother and daughter themes, like The Secret Life of Bees, and lots of Amy Tan books. Grieving her now, I have to hold off on those books for a bit. Maybe a cozy mystery or humor book for now.
My mom had such a wry sense of humor. "Well of course you don't believe in astrology because you have Virgo rising," she'd explain to me.
And, "You should be especially kind to your brother. He had a hard past life as a member of the Spanish Inquisition."
I truly don't think she took a lot of her New Agey ideas that seriously. Just enough to give her a sense of childlike wonder about the world. I adored that about her. "It's like those science fiction books you like to read," she would try to explain.
Today happens to be my 56th birthday and my first without my mom. Here is a scene from what appears to be my first.
I didn't mention it in the obituary below, but we think the last word she uttered was a Laaaa! She tried to sing. She got in the habit of switching from speech to song, I think, because it was easier than talking. She had what I think was the primary progressive aphasia verions of FTD, which means she had trouble with word-finding at first. But I like that her last word was a Laaaa!
Obituary
Judith “Judy” Ann Wadyko, 84, of Sister Bay, WI, passed away peacefully early Thursday morning, November 18, 2021 at Good Samaritan Society Scandia Village in Sister Bay from expected complications of long-term illness. Her daughter Holly was at her side.
She was born November 15, 1937 in Fontana, KS, the daughter of Norvel Thomas Daniel and Neva Ruth (Monroe) Daniel. Judy’s parents were civil rights pioneers and educators. Her father worked as superintendent for several schools, including the Mather School for Colored Girls in the 1930’s where Judy’s mother taught and Judy attended along with the Gullah Island students. Judy recalled with pride how her parents aspired to provide equal, high-quality education to young African American girls. She recalled how, because of her family’s work, they were expected to use the colored facilities and thus she became sensitized at a young age to social injustices. Her father’s written studies documenting the Gullah students’ games and songs are now in the hands of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History.
Judy’s mother, a self-described “nerd” and “happy learner” deeply influenced Judy’s life. Neva was one statistics class short of a self-designed PhD applying Korzybski’s General Semantics to Shakespeare. Enraptured by Progoff’s Intensive Journaling and many other therapeutic techniques as a pioneer college educator and workshop leader, Neva’s students described her as a “female Joseph Campbell” and “Yoda”. Judy exuberantly followed in her mother’s footsteps in exploring spirituality and self-development. “It’s my favorite subject,” Judy would chuckle.
My mom was always sketching and journaling thoughts like this.
A valedictorian student, Judy initially attended Orme Ranch School in Arizona where her parents taught, and then as an exchange student attended Newton High in Newton, MA where she met her first husband, Richard Alvan Phaneuf. Judy graduated high school in Denver, CO, at East High, class of 1955.
She and Richard were married on July 4, 1957 at the Baptist church in Weston, MA. They were blessed with three children: Joseph, Robin, and Holly. They lived in Pittsburgh, PA until 1968 when the family moved to La Habra, CA. Judy loved children and occasionally worked and volunteered in the CA schools where her three children tested into California’s Mentally Gifted Minors program.
Judy earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology at Cal State Fullerton with the hope of becoming a children’s counselor. She and Richard moved back to Pittsburgh, PA in 1980 for Richard’s engineering work for U.S. Steel. Judy worked as a secretary for Rotary Nozzle of Mitsubishi for over 10 years. Judy and Richard shared over 25 years of marriage.
Judy met her second husband, Michael “Mike” Anthony Wadyko in Pittsburgh. They were married on January 13, 1990 at St Mary’s Episcopal Church in Beaver Falls, PA. Judy and Mike then moved to Glenwood Springs, CO to care for Judy’s mother and sister. Mike acquired his PhD in history and, like Judy’s mother, taught in person at Colorado Mountain College as well as online at dozens of other colleges around the country. For many years Judy worked as Mike’s secretary transcribing his history course notes after he suffered a wrist injury.
Mike, a believing Catholic, remained devoted to Judy’s care after her illness, presumed frontotemporal dementia, became apparent. They made the painful decision to divorce in order to allow Medicaid to take over the overwhelming burden of her care. Judy moved to assisted living, then nursing care, and Mike devotedly visited her several times every week. It was clear to all that Mike was, as he said, still married to Judy in spirit and lovingly devoted to her care. On Christmas Eve 2018, just following a visit to see Judy, Mike fell down a flight of steps and died instantly. Judy and Mike had shared over 30 years of marriage.
Following Mike’s passing, Judy was moved to her daughter Holly’s home of Sister Bay, WI, to Good Samaritan Society-Scandia Village (nursing home) in March 2019. Judy became a beloved resident known for her joyous expressions, smiles, and singing. Even when she could no longer walk, talk, or hold objects, Judy radiated happiness, often bursting into joyous song. Judy’s daughter Holly often brought over her harp to play for Judy and other residents. Holly and Judy frequently delighted to share Scandia’s devotional services and activities for almost three years. Mike had longed for Judy to be moved to such a high-quality nursing home, and it is poignant that his sudden passing enabled this to happen.
Some of Judy’s favorite activities were writing letters, reading, going to thrift shops, consignment stores, and bookstores. She loved reading the New York Times Book Reviews. She was a talented artist. She loved nature and thrilled in simple pleasures like the sight of a simple flower. She loved to go for walks and could be seen taking three walks a day after she was moved to assisted living. She had a wry, playful sense of humor. Judy had a keen interest in spirituality and was definitely a spiritual explorer. She sang in the church choir at Glenwood Springs Good Shepherd Lutheran Church and was also a member of the Spiritual Center in Carbondale, CO.
Those who knew Judy or even those who just had the pleasure of meeting her, knew what a positive person she was and how she just radiated joy. Her mother often explained, “Judy bounces.” Judy was usually one to just burst out in song.
Her love will live on in the hearts of her children, Dr. Joseph (Jurene) Phaneuf, M.D. of Cheney, WA, Robin (fiancé, Ed Servatius) Servatius of Elmira, NY, and Dr. Holly (Timothy) Erskine, PhD of Sister Bay; former husband, Richard Phaneuf P.E. (Mary) of Pittsburgh, PA; grandchildren, Ellen (Dallas) Lightner, Christen Phaneuf, Mike (Jennifer) Spencer, Jr., Amelia (Jeff) Paul, Dan Spencer, and Jeremy Bellucci; great-grandchildren, Eliana, Julia, and Lydia Paul, and Aiden, Bailey, and Eden Spencer; brother, David (Audrey) Daniel of Penrose, CO; nephews and niece, Aaron (Tarla) Daniel, Yvonne (Gary) Foster, both of Penrose, CO, and Sam Butcher of Madison, WI; and other relatives.
Judy was preceded in death by her parents; her life partner, Michael Wadyko; and sister, Sharon Daniel.
Her life may be honored with a memorial service at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Glenwood Springs, CO in the late spring-early summer of 2022-to be announced. Judy’s cremated remains may then be interred in a plaque on Michael Wadyko’s grave in Rosebud Cemetery in Glenwood Springs, CO.
Our family would like to express our heartfelt thanks to Dr. J. Joshua Rebhan, M.D. of Door County Medical Center Clinic in Fish Creek, to Judy’s caregivers Emmy Lerma, Judy Davis, and Jeanne Kuhns, to the Unity hospice team, and to the staff of Scandia Village in Sister Bay for the wonderful care given to our mother over the years.
Memorials may be given in her name for UNICEF (United Nation Children's Fund), and the Employees Fund of Good Samaritan Society-Scandia Village in Sister Bay, WI.
Casperson Funeral Home & Cremation Services in Sister Bay is assisting Judy’s family. Expressions of sympathy, memories, and photos of Judy may be shared with her family through her tribute page at www.caspersonfuneralhome.com.
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