His Love-Filled Life

     Robert James “Bob” Bournique, 81, died Tuesday, June 27 due to Alzheimer's disease, after living a very full life. He was born on November 16, 1935 in Butler, Pennsylvania, the 6th child of Louis and Frances Bournique.  As a young man, he served as a Navy pilot flying off the carrier USS Independence. He survived ejecting from his plane over the Mediterranean Sea in December 1960 when his engine quit and his parachute failed to open.  After six years in the Navy, he completed a degree in Industrial Engineering at the University of Cincinnati. Then, after some years as a commercial pilot selling Piper airplanes,  Bob became an FBI agent serving in Boston, Detroit (where he was part of the team working on the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa), and Marquette, Michigan.
   
     It was in Marquette that he met and married his wife Caryl.  In their 31 years of marriage, they opened their own home as a homeless shelter for five years, and adopted two children from Colombia, South America.  Bob was a lector, eucharistic minister and 7th grade religion teacher at St. Michael's Church.  In 1986 he completed the diocesan lay ministry training and became a pastoral associate at St. Mary's Church in Big Bay, MI where he was a monthly homilist.  He volunteered at the Marquette Branch Prison and at the St. Vincent de Paul food pantry.  His activism with the Marquette peace community eventually led to his resigning from the FBI for reasons of conscience.  His final career path was as a licensed practical nurse for ten years, the occupation that he enjoyed most.

     Bob was a lover of the outdoors.  He hiked, biked, skied, snowshoed, camped, canoed and fished.  He shared all these passions with his wife and family. Bob was also an excellent cook, famous among family and friends for his home-made pasta and pizza.  His greatest passion, though, was loving and serving others.  Numerous people were blessed by his generosity.  His quiet personality was rooted in a deeply reflective and spiritual outlook that made him quick to respond to others' needs.  His spiritual path included daily meditation both at home and at the Lake Superior Zendo.  He often remarked that his prayer was "to become a better lover."  Those who knew him described Bob as gentle, reflective, dedicated, sweet, and kind.  At his last residence, Taos Retirement Village Medical Center, he was known for his bright smile.

     Bob's greatest joy was his marriage to Caryl and their life together, especially becoming parents and then grandparents.  He delighted in time spent with family and always made that his priority.  It was in order to be part of the lives of their grandchildren that he and Caryl moved from Marquette, MI to Taos, NM in April 2011, shortly after receiving the diagnosis of Alzheimer's disease.

     Bob was preceded in death by his parents, two older sisters (Mary Lou Campbell and Virginia Thompson), a younger sister (Frances Gay), and both his brothers (Louis and Jacque).  He is survived by his wife Caryl of El Prado, NM;  son Fabio of Marquette, MI; daughter Esperanza of El Prado and three grandchildren—Frankie, Hope and David--each of whom brought joy to his heart and smiles to his face.  He is also survived by three sisters: Ann Bykowski of Red Hill, Pennsylvania; Barbara Richards of Lake Wales, Florida; and Bette Bournique of Costa Mesa, California, as well as by 14 in-laws who consider him a brother; numerous nieces, nephews,great nieces, great nephews; and countless friends.

     Celebrations of Bob's life will be arranged in the coming weeks.

A Collage for Bob's 70th

I made this to celebrate Bob's 70th birthday. Left to right, top to bottom:  Teaching our kids to ride bikes; a hike with niece Mia; dancing with Esperanza at his brother Lou's wedding anniversary; high school photo; with his brothers, Lou and Jacque; "just married"; family reunion with sibs; little guy on a pony; with Esperanza in Marquette; his motto: "It keeps getting better"; at Lake Superior beach with Esperanza, nephew Charlie (buried) and niece Mia; about 12 years old; in Miami airport returning from Colombia with our children; holding baby Tim, our nephew; snow cake for his 70th birthday; cross country skiing at Pymatuning State Park in Pennsylvania; handsome groom; with his first bicycle; about 9 years old; with niece Mary Lee.

Shocked and Disbelieving

     Today, at about 2:50 pm, surrounded by family and friends, Bob died in my arms.  Tonight I walk about the house knowing it's true but disbelieving.  Memories rush over me.  I almost hear the slap of his slipper on the tile floor.  I see him bent over, tugging on his shoes.  His smiling eyes gaze at me across the table.  How I wish it were still true.

Little Ones bringing Love

Love, Light our Way

     Late last week, Bob developed two infections.  Over the weekend, he struggled mightily and has responded somewhat to a course of antibiotics.  But the respiratory infection (and/or possibly lung cancer) is still causing him a great deal of discomfort, especially from hard, tortuous coughing.  He has eaten very little the past several days, and can barely take the smallest sips of water. He rallied a little bit today, and was mostly awake during the several hours of our grandson Frankie's visit.  He even managed to get up in the wheelchair for a couple of hours, to cruise around the facility for about 20 minutes, and to eat half a bowl of chocolate ice cream.  But then he wound down and slept fitfully the rest of the afternoon. Pain medication finally helped relax him around 6:00 p.m. The time is upon us to make him as comfortable as possible and to celebrate in his hearing all the love and joy he has brought into our lives as well as the love with which we surround him.

Questions with No Answers

     How did this happen?  How could it be that Bob walked into the nursing center with me last Monday, and now needs the assistance of 2-3 people to get in and out of bed or the wheelchair, or to use the bathroom?  His hospice nurse said to me a few days ago that she was so sorry, that had she realized this would happen she never would have recommended I take advantage of the 5-day respite. I could only tell her what I keep telling myself:  We can't second-guess ourselves.  All of this could have been on the verge of happening and may have occurred when he and I were home alone.  And I believe that.  Still, I can't help wondering did this hasten his losses (which are inevitable in this disease) or did his placement on Monday save us from having some sort of "catastrophe" happen at home?  We can't know the answer, and in a way, it doesn't really seem to matter now.  What does matter now is that he needs me more today than at any time in our almost-31-years of marriage, and that the loving bond we have is strong enough to hold us both through whatever lies ahead.

A Glimmer of Light

     This morning I was given a glimmer of light in the bleakness of this past week.  It's something to hope and pray for, and will be close to a miracle if it occurs.  I was speaking with Jenny, the administrator of the Retirement Village where Bob is.  I had called her to see what I need to do to make the transition from his being in respite (which ended at 11 am this morning) under the auspices of hospice and Medicare, into an ongoing and indefinite stay under "private pay."  My thought was that perhaps a few more weeks, or a month, would give me time to sort out my options more carefully without feeling like I was under so much pressure.

     Jenny told me that last night, until 12:30 p.m., she and Kip (director of nursing) and Sarah (business manager) had met together about how they might approach the VA for either a one-time contract to take care of Bob, or becoming a VA contracted facility for northern New Mexico (currently there are none in northern NM).  I was pleasantly and humbly amazed and flabbergasted that these three people whom we hardly know have cared so much about us that they would give up an entire evening, literally working late into the night to try to help us be able to stay here in Taos.

     Of course, they still have a lot of "leg work" to do, beginning Monday (although a staff member was already dispatched to the local VA clinic this past week with the mission of obtaining the proper contact information for this group to initiate their plan.)  And, of course, the VA may not end up collaborating in this attempt.  But the fact that these three are even working on this means more to me than I can say. There are good people.  There is compassion.  There are angels.  May their kind and dedicated hearts be rewarded with success, on our behalf, and on behalf of all the vets in this area. 

Dilemmas and Decisions

     Tonight I feel a strange peacefulness.  It's strange because my mind and heart are filled with "dilemmas and decisions-to-be-made."  Perhaps the peacefulness is because of the day Bob had today.  He was given no sedatives at all since last night, and he had a pretty good day overall.  He ate all 3 of his meals in the dining room instead of in his room--breakfast with the help of a CNA, lunch with the help of our friend Janice, and dinner with my help.  He enjoyed several wheelchair excursions around the facility, including several trips to the patio areas.  We listened to music and "chair danced" (which made us both smile) and after dinner, I took my sheet music books to the sun room  and played the piano and sang to him--eliciting his applause each time.  Once he was in bed, he seemed to grow restless so I'm not sure how his night will go.  I hope it will be restful since the staff tells me he was up A LOT last night!

     Yesterday's trip to Albuquerque was....hard, I guess.  It was made easier because Donna was my chauffeur, companion, and loving friend, but overall it was hard.  It was hard physically because it was a long day--getting up at 6:00, leaving at 8:00, touring the one and only facility contracted by the VA which actually had both a memory care unit and a bed available (this was out of at least 10 facilities in Albuquerque).  I came home thinking I had no choice but to put Bob there--because of his needs, and because of our financial situation.  This would lead to a whole complicated series of dilemmas and decisions--having to pay rent and utilities here in Taos while I move--temporarily-- to Albuquerque (about 3 hours south), finding a furnished place in Albuquerque for me, figuring out what I need to take with me to Albuquerque for both of us, accepting the fact that I'll be living in a place where I know no one and have no support system at all, having to forward mail (and as yet, having no address to send it to), and on and on.

     Then today happened.  Bob was, as I wrote above, more like himself--mellow, smiling, mostly easy-going, and all without the aid of any medication.  I asked the day-shift nurse if he continued this way, would they be able to manage him at this Taos facility.  She didn't hesitate to say yes.  As Bob and I shared dinner in our usual comfortable silence, I began to think it might be worth it to me and to him to try to stay here in Taos, even though it would cost me dearly financially.  Here is "home" now--where we have friends and support.  I would have to pay out-of-pocket at this facility because the VA has not contracted with them, but perhaps it would be worth it for both of us.  He would not have to go through another transition period in a new facility.  We would not have to weather all of what lies ahead totally alone in a big and unfamiliar city, 3 hours from our closest friends and support system.

     I don't know what to do.  Logically, it seems ridiculous not to accept the placement in Albuquerque since Medicare would cover the hospice portion and the VA would cover the rest.  But my heart is tugging in a different direction, even if it means out-of-pocket payments of $6,000 a month--which we could manage, but only for a very short time, and not without jeopardizing my financial security for the future.  Our friend Steve mentioned the other day that clarity sometimes comes in sleep, and I have experienced that, too.  So I think I will sleep on this, maybe for the next couple of nights, until I can ask some more questions come Monday.  And I will welcome insight from family or friends who read this that may help bring my dilemmas closer to clear choices and decisions. In the meantime, I am grateful for the "strange peace" I feel tonight, and for the gentle, happy day Bob and I spent.  May he and I have a restful night, strengthening us for the day ahead. 

Heartbreaking days

     So the respite week that was supposed to be has turned into my worst nightmare for Bob.  He has not handled this time well at all.  Rather, this disease has overcome him during this time.  I can't even begin to put words on all the heartbreaking things he/we have endured.  He is not coping well, and I have spent this time trying to resolve:  What will I do for him now?  I don't feel I can bring him home and care for him safely (for both of us) at this time.  So tomorrow our next door neighbor friend, Donna, and I are going to Albuquerque to explore some possible memory care placements that would be funded by Medicare and the VA (whatever Medicare doesn't cover.)  If we find something for him, I will be looking for at least a temporary (maybe month-to-month) apartment there for myself so that I can be with him every day.  My heart is breaking; the only reason my spirit isn't crushed is because I know how much he needs me to do this for him.  I am grateful for the wonderful support of our NM friends--Steve who ran an emergency run to get meds to Bob and brought me kleenex tonight while I wept and hugged me tight before I left; Donna who came to keep me company as I made myself eat lunch today, who will go with me tomorrow to Albuquerque even as she copes with her own misery from allergy season, and who has listened to me countless hours as I sort through feelings and fears and whatever else this brutal disease demands; and Janice who also listens with her heart and who will go to have lunch with Bob tomorrow in my place.  I am weary of the worry, and overwhelmed with the changes in Bob and the decisions this has suddenly thrust upon me.  I don't know what to wish for or pray for except peace, especially for my beloved Bob who is so tortured right now.  My heart grieves and rages and longs for release for him.  

Decor with a Message

Last evening I came home from the support group I attend each month and found this arrangement on the kitchen windowsill.  My first reaction was a chuckle and the thought that once again Bob had been rearranging things around the house--something he is doing a lot of lately.   Usually, his placement of things puzzles me or even annoys me.  But this time, it first amused me, then it amazed me.  The reason for my amazement was that it eventually dawned on me that in the Buddhist meditation classes Bob and I have attended, there is an expression "monkey mind" which refers to the mind's tendency to run on out of control, especially when one is trying to empty the mind and focus solely on the breath, or on loving-kindness, for example.  This made me wonder whether something deep inside Bob's brain saw that same connection as a reason for placing this mini-gorilla next to the laughing Buddha.   I'll never know for sure, but I've left these two together as a reminder not to let "monkey mind" rule the day.

Still the Love

     The hospice staff  have begun encouraging me to take advantage of a 5-day respite they offer.  It would mean Bob spends  those five days in a small nursing center in Taos, part of the Taos Retirement Village facility.  When this first came up, I couldn't picture myself doing it.  Mainly, I couldn't imagine leaving Bob there, even just for 5 days.  And I worried about how he would feel about going.  But I'm also trying to trust the objective observation of the hospice workers who, like my family and friends, remind me that taking care of myself is essential to taking good care of Bob, too, as well as being necessary for my own long-term health.  These are things I know in my head, but my heart sometimes gets in the way of seeing clearly.
     So, I have been approaching this in stages.  First, I went to see the facility where Bob would stay.  I met some of the staff, talked at length with a nurse, and came away feeling a little better about his being there--especially since it would only be for five days.  The center is right in town, on a main street, with lovely grounds and the chance to get out--both on the grounds, and in one of their two garden/patio areas.  Walks into town are also possible, with a staff member or with me.  Hospice team members who already know Bob would also be checking on him and the CNA who does his showers at home would go there to do them as well.  The facility is small; there were only 12 residents the day I visited.  That would probably make things easier on Bob, too.
     Since my visit, I have been mulling over how to approach doing this.  I wanted to be sure Bob understood it was temporary.  I didn't want him to feel hurt, abandoned, or fearful.  I hoped he wouldn't be resistant.  Tonight I decided I would test the waters.  So I told him that the hospice staff think it would be good for me to have a break.  Before I could say anything else, he was nodding his head and smiling.  I asked if he thought so, too, and again he nodded.  So then I told him about their proposal.  I got out the calendar to help him visualize "five days."  I told him I would still be seeing him every day, just not being the one responsible for his care.  I mentioned how good it would be for me to be able to sleep through the night  at home knowing the "night shift" would be there for him when he needed to get up.  All the time, he was nodding in agreement and looking at me totally peacefully.  I told him this was something he can do for me, and he agreed with that, too. 
      All of our married life Bob has always been willing to do whatever makes me happy, so his generous and selfless response was not really a surprise.  Rather, I felt a deeply touching and welcome realization that he is still capable of paying attention to me and my needs, that he has not lost the capacity to care about how I am. Now it doesn't feel like I'm foisting this on him. Instead, it feels like this is Bob's gift of love to me: his support and encouragement, as well as his willingness to make this short adjustment in his own routine for my well-being. I always knew I had married a wonderful, loving, big-hearted guy; tonight I felt all that anew and my heart is quietly, joyfully celebrating.