My dad died about 10 days ago. He died of Parkinson’s and very aggressive Lewy Body dementia. He took his last breaths in the home where I grew up and where my mom still lives. He came home from the hospital to rest peacefully, and though he wasn’t able to be responsive at the end, my immediate family was able to say our goodbyes. Some extended family saw him through open doors from the back yard, masks on, and my brother facilitated more distant relatives and family friends saying farewells via FaceTime.
Before he died, my dad was a runner, a yogi, a mover, a musician, and most importantly for this conversation, a writer. He wrote music, poetry, and letters, sometimes serious, often times nonsensical, almost always romantic. He expressed himself more successfully in writing than he did verbally. He wrote to think. It was one of the more influential things he passed along to me. I too write to condense and crystallize my thoughts. My hope is that by sharing my thoughts here, and processing them publicly, it might help others through their own 2020 losses.
About a year ago, I took a walk with my dad around the block in the neighborhood I’d explored endlessly in my most formative years. Sometimes it was on a bike or a skateboard, sometimes on foot. My brother or friends would join at times, but mostly I was alone. So many of my childhood memories crept into my head as my dad and I walked hand in hand. I’ll never forget the day I read the words “beware of the Delano street gang” spray painted in silver on the asphalt just off of that block. I have no idea why that memory stands out, but it’s a powerful one embedded in my mind.
As a child, I was athletic and fast, but I remember my father as faster and more powerful. Many of us remember our fathers in a dramatized way. We remember them as stronger, more dynamic, more intelligent, more interesting than they actually were. I’m no different. I remember my dad’s hands as being particularly powerful, like they could always hold and handle the reins. He was a kick ass swimmer, and I was game to take on the biggest waves and the coldest lakes and rivers with him leading the way. He’d put my hands on his shoulders, tell me to hold my breath and dive beneath the surface of the water, dragging me along for the ride. At beaches and on camping trips, if my dad said we could venture down a path, we could do it. We could hop a fence, or pick a piece of fruit or just own a bit of space together. He’d make it safe. As an adult, I’ve rarely felt out of my depths because of the confidence he showed me moving through both nature and the city streets of Los Angeles as a child. He could be graceful and gentle while tough and in control at the same time.
So here I was, 35 or so years later, holding my dad’s hand, literally holding him up as we walked. His left hand held mine, and his still rugged, long, lean fingers fit perfectly interlaced with mine. We walked at a snail’s pace. We talked, but some concentration was required, and I felt some anxiety about making sure he didn’t fall. He’d had several near disastrous spills leading up to that walk, and he would have several more before the end came. He was weak, off balance, had difficulty seeing and hearing and wasn’t nearly as sharp and clear. And although I didn’t fully recognize it at the time of that walk, was dying. Perhaps I began processing and dealing with that reality that day in the valley, but it wasn’t yet a conscious thought.
It’s wrecking me now to know how hard it must have been for him to not have that control and strength he exhibited when I was a boy and throughout most of my adulthood. My dad was not my dad anymore. He needed help to do even the most basic of daily life tasks. That sucked for me, more for my mother and most for him. But somehow, he smiled. Somehow he seemed happy. Somehow, he was at peace.
So a little over a month ago, when I returned to my parents’ home in Southern California, I had quite a bit of work to do to properly say goodbye. And like many of you, that entailed getting covid tested and being masked up around my dad, my mom and my brother. There’s no roadmap for a dying loved one, and there’s even less of one in this crazy environment. There wasn’t any hugging or physical spontaneity. Everything was measured. My mother is an affection junkie. She couldn’t get more than holding a pre- and post-sanitized hand from me. And she was losing her husband.
We’re not grieving like we did a year ago in this country and in the world. There are few funerals, few celebrations of life. My mother vows to host that sort of gathering when it’s safe. Until then, my dad will be cremated, and that will be that. I’m, along with my family, figuring out how to grieve in my own way. Countless others around the world had to say goodbye this year and have had to find alternative ways to do so. I don’t really know what those ways are for you, but I’d encourage us to not cling to a coping or grieving ideal that doesn’t exist at the end of 2020. I’m exploring writing about my father and my family in lieu of a service and finding some solace in the community of people doing the same. Be easy on yourself if you can, and trust your creativity as you walk this path. I have my father to thank for showing me how to do that.
Kap … that was a great remembrance and testimony to your dad. Our sincere condolences to you and your family. We wish you well and know that your dad’s spirit will always live within you. It was our pleasure to watch you interact with folks while you were with the Phillies … it’s evident now that came from a strong family upbringing. Take care.
Kap,
Thanks for sharing your dad with us. My father battled Parkinson’s and the like. I know the end is dark and empty, but you have shared who your dad WAS. Cherish the memories and what he stood for. You are a great testimony to his legacy. Peace love and compassion to you and your family.
Beautifully written. As lucky as you are to have shared your life with your dad, he was luckier to have you holding his hand too.
Gabe, thanks so much for sharing. Condolences to you and your family. Glad to have you as part of the Bay Area community now. Was a pleasure getting to meet you at a STH event. Adds even greater perspective to some of what you, and all of us, had to endure in 2020.
Peace,
Jeff
Deep condolences to you and your Mom, Gabe. Beautiful memories of a loving relationship— it’s all you can ask for in this life. Be well.
I am so sorry for your loss. May his memory forever be a blessing.
Condolences to you and your family. Beautifully written words.. You may not realize it, but your Dad will always be smiling and holding your hand. Hugs.
Thank you for sharing, Gabe. Beautifully put. My condolences to you and your family.
Kap
As incredibly proud you are of your dad, there is no doubt he was just as immensely proud of you. Great tribute here. Moving. Impressive.
Peace to you and your family.
Pager
My mom just passed away on November 16th. I grieve with you. So much of what you said was similar. My mother resting comfortably in the house I was born and raised in until her death, no funeral until who knows when, family gathered in covid times to say their goodbyes. My sincere condolences on the passing of your dear father. May the wonderful memories of your father give you comfort during this difficult time.
Dear Mr. Kaplan,
So very sorry for your loss. Having written my own father’s eulogy,, I know such words are like trying to take a photograph to remember a moment seen more by the heart than the eyes—hard to keep in focus as your perspective changes from a child looking up to grown looking down. And yet, you have done a beautiful job, allowing us to see the man who gave us not just the coach for our baseball, but more importantly, an example to follow in recognizing the dignity of all lives in wearing a mask and taking a knee. May his pride in you always ride upon your shoulder, and his smile light your way.
Gabe, wonderful to see you posting again and heart wrenching to see what it’s about. I was diagnosed in 2008 with Parkinson’s. I’ve met some in the Lewy Body community. And I’ve just been stunned the courage they show enduring one of the cruelest of fates. Sounds as if your father found some peace with it. So critical, that’s what I try to help people find. That’s what you help others fine. And you contributed to my obtaining peace every day with your writing, connecting, and loving. I remember previous things you’ve written about your father and the great man he was. He may not have been able to help him as much as you would’ve liked, not even close in fact. But instead, you actually helped me live better with Parkinson’s. I absolutely mean that. Now I’m doing everything I can to help many others dealing with this difficult disease. Your father must’ve been immeasurably proud of you. You’ve made a world of difference in this world. None of us know when our time will be up. Just as your father showed you, you show us how to live every day the best you can be. God bless you, brother. Whole fam too.
What a great tribute to a father . Absolutely loved reading that ! I hurt for you Kap … “ Till you meet again “ may peace surround you and your family my friend –
Sending hugs and love.
Beautiful tribute to your Dad.. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers during this difficult time.
Gabe
Thanks for sharing, and being genuine & vulnerable. I could visualize your interactions with your dad, just as if our Gigantes play-by-play announcers were narrating the game.
Also … In a season and year filled with uncertainty, you did an amazing job with management, your staff, and the players… in keeping the Giants competitive and building a team!
God bless,
Albert
Thank you for sharing your story during such an early time of real and raw emotions. Wishing you incredibly happy, funny, silly memories of your father and your family, on this, and every future holiday season.
Counting the days until #SFGiants spring training!
Beautiful tribute. Praying for you and your family.
Gabe,
Such beautiful words to describe your story and the man that was your mentor, your Dad! I got to know him while you played High School baseball. He was a kind and gentle person.. so supportive and always gave you positive feedback while you played.
I am so sorry for your loss. Sending strength and may his memory be a blessing to you and your family!
May those beautiful memories give you strength!
We pray for you and your family daily. We will continue praying for your comfort.
“The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.”
Psalms 34:18
Thank you for this Gabe. My father took the same journey three years ago and I valued every moment with him as he exited life a fraction of the man he was. You’re mom and mine sound exactly the same and now our family surrounds her as you do, with the great love and respect they taught us.
I wish you a peaceful, healthy, and loving year. You honor your father by being the man you are. Godspeed Mr Kepler.
This is a beautiful tribute to your Dad and your family. My father was just diagnosed with Parkinson’s with mild Dementia this year and I am his main care giver because my Mom passed away 9 years ago. It is not easy being a caregiver to my father, the roles definitely are reversed than when he took care of me growing up. I know that even in the hard times, I have my memories with my Dad from the past and the present that I will hold in my heart forever. When my Mom died ,people said many things that weren’t true to try to make me feel better, but a neighbor from my neighborhood growing up was the only one who said the real truth “it sucks!” It was the truth and that is what I say to you about the death of your father!
Thank you Gabe Kaplan for this thoughtful and touching reflection. My condolences to you and your family for the loss of your dear Dad. I lost my Dad to Parkinson’s right before Thanksgiving this year. Thank you for the reminder that we need to find our own ways to work through the grief during these strange times. Peace and comfort be with you.
Kap: Sorry to hear about your father. May he rest in peace
Rely on your faith to see you through this questioning time. Find peace within your beautiful memories. My sincere condolences. MjBrust
So sorry for your loss and a thank you for sharing the story of his life. My prayers are with you and your family.
Your remembrance of your father is beautiful. Be well.
What a beautiful and moving tribute to your dad. I was raised by my step dad. He’s 87 now. He was always the smartest guy in the room and the mentally toughest person I know. After successful treatment for aggressive prostate cancer 4 years ago he’s lost a lot of his mental sharpness and knows it. He gets confused on past memories. He’s all I have left for family other than my kids and grandkids. He’s been my North Star for so many years that even in my 60’s I worry about how I’ll handle his death.
Your post is touching and inspiring.
My most sincere condolences go out to you. My admiration for the way that you have documented and realized the impact that your father has had on you and humanity is remarkable. Thank you for sharing your personal reflections with us.
Dear Gabe. What a beautiful tribute to your dad. How incredibly proud he must have been of you! I remember all the fun lunches with your mom and das after the high school legion games. Those were some great memories and fun times. Much love to you and your family.
Wow! So sorry for your loss, looks like you are also a writer….like your Pops. Thank you for sharing. Sending you and your family light & love.
Gabe – I loved your dad. Your grandmother Rose was my grandmother Bunny’s sister. When I was a kid and at family gatherings your dad used to toss me in the air like I was a sack of flour, making me laugh and feel a sense of freedom that I rarely felt. He would get down on the grass with me and celebrate my little world. He was the only one – not my parents or grandparents – your dad. He made a big imprint on me. I last saw him at his home after Uncle Leo’s memorial. My son Ben (now 13) is a catcher and your dad made sure to give him some of your memorabilia which made Ben feel seen and celebrated. Just like I did. Michael said he wanted to come see one of Ben’s Little League games and would I send him the upcoming schedule. I did, but never heard back. I imagine he had started getting sick about that time. Even though I rarely saw him, I’ll miss your dad so very much. Godspeed Michael.
Gabe, my heart is heavy for you and your family. My mom had dementia and it was difficult to see her that way as she had been a strong person. My dad died when I was 6, so she had to be also a dad in the best way she could.
This writing was a wonderful tribute to your dad.
Know that I am praying for you and your family.
Much love to you.
Hello. I am so sorry for your loss. My father was a college professor and also died of Lewy Body Disease at age 69. Your beautifully written tribute made me cry and feel the loss all over again. My twins were only 11 months old when my dad passed and I still feel cheated by this cruel disease. One thing that made me better able to deal with his illness and death were the insightful words of one of the healthcare workers in the hospital. She said that dementia is much easier on the patient than the family as the patient does not really have the ability to appreciate what is happening to them. This was so true as I know my dad did not suffer in the way that we think a terminally ill patient does. Your father gave you an incredible gift of love and wonderful memories. I wish you well.
Dear Gabe,
Thank you for your beautifully written tribute to your dad. Thank you for sharing your emotions and experiences surrounding his passing. Hey Siri much appreciate your ability to be so expressive and eloquent. I believe that the process of your writing will help many others, and also will help you. Of course, we each process the death of loved ones in individual ways, but there are so many commonalities in the ways that we feel. I always appreciate that you, as a public figure, openly share your thoughts and feelings with honesty. As you mention, perhaps some of this ability came from the strong role model your dad provided. I wish you and your family love and support as you move through the grieving process.
Dear Gabe,
My heart is touched by your words. Michael was a superb father, a devoted husband, a darling of a grandfather and the dearest brother one could ask for. He gave us all so much of himself- always and in everything. Such a mensch! Such a man! I love you, Gabe and share your sorrow. Aunt Nina
Gabe,
I’m sorry to learn about your dad passing. Your letter to the community is insightful, personal and touching. It struck a familiar cord in me of how important our fathers were in shaping us as men. God bless your mom and family.
I also want to thank you for all your support years ago when we lost our dad and for creating memories for him during his last days that we all cherish.
Mr. Kapler,
My father passed from Parkinsons two years ago today, January 2nd. It was much longer for him to not have the use of his legs, he fell at home and went to rehab, they couldn’t help him and they sent him home. Hospice was called in. I don’t think anything can prepare you for the loss of a loved one even when you know their time is near. I’m thankful for the many years of loving him and he loving me, but I miss him so much still. I ache for my Mom who lost her soulmate of 60 wedded years. Today was sad, but I feel that your writing was seen by me today for a purpose. Thank you for sharing.
Delaine Head
Dear Gabriel,
Thank you for sharing yourself. I’m so glad you had such a wonderful father, a loving, warm human being. We will miss him terribly, but have many thoughts of his joyfulness. Love to you. Aunt D
So sorry for your loss Kap – this is beautiful and thank you for sharing. I’m sure your dad is and should be very proud. I will keep you and your family in my prayers. Be safe and God bless you and your family.
Clyde
Gabe
We have never met, but I have to say that you write quite well. I lost my Dad 25 years ago and the loss of a beloved parent is one of the hardest truths that life has taught me.
Grief is an exhausting feeling, and in time, like me, you will grow to envelope that sentiment and be stronger for that growth. Believe it or not, you will become better at handling situations that challenge us every day. I didn’t become a Dad until I was 49 and my Dad never saw our 2 kids. But as sure i am writing this, I know that he loves them.
I am happy that you are a manager for a baseball team. I followed your career when you played for my favorite team, the Texas Rangers.
Peace
I am very sorry for your loss. That it happened during this isolating time makes it even harder for everyone involved. Still this piece is incredibly moving and it is clear that your dad gave you so much. Every sentence shows us that.
And you are 100% right about grieving in this unprecedented time…. we all need to figure out how to do it.
Thanks for sharing this but I am sorry you had to.
I am sitting in my home watching the Dodgers / Giants game and was thinking about your dad. I worked at VBS when your dad ran the Rhythm Rhyme Music TIme program there. I worked with him to help put his classes together etc. He always came in early to talk about you and was SO SO proud. Always shared pics of you in your young career. You should know and I am sure you do, that he was and is proud of everything you did. My condolences as I just found out about your dad’s passing.