June 2, 2004: The saga continues as Janet and Ralph arrive in San Diego after a long drive from Dallas Texas,  facing a wide range of emotions including depression, fear and anxiety over the extreme upheaval in their lives due to the catastrophic stroke to Ralph's dad.

Click Here to read Ralph and Janet's updated story about how he is dealing with his dad's recent stroke on May 23, 2004.

Read the other chapters of our Baby Boomer  Saga concerning our aging parents by Clicking Here.

The hardest thing in the world is to leave you genetic family who needs your help.

A cloud of sorrow floats over our car. We almost feel just like the little character in the comic strip "Little Abner," that had a floating black cloud over his head that followed him everywhere...one disaster after another.

We are shell shocked after experiencing two catastrophic health related events in our family in less than sixty days.

It is natural to whine and complain and say, "Why did this happen to our family? Why can't others take care of them? Why do we have to radically change our lives to take an active part in helping my mom and dad?

Of course, these are "woe is me," self-centered and selfish questions that stream through everyone's mind.

No one likes change. Moving across the country to a new state is an incredible expenditure of time, energy and money. Changing snail mail and email addresses, home and cell phone numbers is difficult and time consuming. Finding new internet consulting clients in San Diego is one more gigantic challenge.

The least I could do is love them with all my heart.

It is important to help them in every way possible. This I believe is the least that God's expects of us.

Few realize how huge chunks of time are gobbled up by life threatening incidents.

Sitting by their bedside, hoping against hope that your loved ones will survive is exhausting and time consuming. You pray that by the grace of God they will recover completely.

This a tense and stressful time!

Everyone is under extreme emotional and physical pressure. There is little rest, especially when talking about a full night of peaceful sleep. What is that anyway....a dream of the past? The "What Ifs" plague your mind.

Moving into a small space with two other people, even if they are your parents, takes a tremendous amount of sensitivity and caring.

It is challenging to move back into your parents house without adversely affecting their life style, privacy and living space. We live in a one bedroom apartment. Even that space is too small for all of our possessions.

Working from home is challenging to say the least.

Business stuff is scattered everywhere. Moving personal and business lives into a small room with a mini closet will test organizational skill to the max. Our only hope is the workshop out in back or a "Rent-a-Space" to hold the overflow.

Janet could not believe El Centro is close to 25 feet below sea level.

As we passed the famous water tank that shows "sea level" with a prominent mark on its side, we consider our thoughts of being overwhelmed...almost like downing, crushed by the events of life...pushed down into the depths of sorrow by a tidal wave of difficult decisions caused by a series of unfortunate events. We were desperately trying to keep our heads above waves of reality, constantly pounding on our hearts, shattering our hopes and dreams, altering our lives for ever.

Thank God for caffeine.

The girls at the coffee shop were not kidding. The dosage of caffeine in my system must have approached 8 on the Richter scale. My hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard the knuckles were turning white. My lips moved in a ceaseless flow of nervous chatter.

Frightening questions streamed through my mind, in a flood of emotion as I fought to keep tears from streaming down my cheeks.

I just did not know how to calm my heart and overcome my fears about my dad. Would he live or die? Would he be an invalid for the rest of his days? Would he suffer from intolerable pain? Would he need 24-hour care? What was the health of their finances?

The scenery in Alpine was gorgeous.

As our car popped up over the mountain range and entered Alpine, the beauty was breathtaking. For a few moments, I meditated on God's blessings, mercy and goodness. There is always a silver lining in the darkest of clouds...something good that comes out of the worst tragedy.

The glorious greenery, spared from the devastating fires radiated emerald highlights.

The contrast between the dead, burned areas was striking. Suddenly, a ray of hope flooded my soul. A strange calm settled over my soul. The peace of God that goes beyond understanding suddenly permeated my being.

The contrast of the the brightness of the sun's rays illuminating the dead, burned areas and the glorious, living trees became a powerful lesson in our lives.

Janet and I needed hope to calm our fears. As I mentioned my insight to Janet, we both cried.

Over the last four years so much sorrow had crushed our hopes and dreams.

Janet fractured her spine on Thanksgiving weekend of November of 2001. Her car was broadsided by another driver, totaling the car. She was bed ridden for almost 2 months. Then Janet's beloved Dr. Robert Winslow, the alternative medicine doctor she worked for close to 15 years, suffered a crippling stroke in March of 2002. He was the father she never had. (Dr. Winslow was the first doctor inducted into the Alternative Medicine Hall Of Fame.) Without his leadership the business died a slow death. The final burial was in May of 2004.

Janet's daughter-in-law experienced two collapsed lungs over a 6 month period.

During these last two years, Janet cried daily for the loved ones in her life. Our lives were filled with sorrow and tragedy. Prayer and trusting in the goodness and love of God were the only things that kept us going.

Now, with the tragedies striking my family, this revelation of God's marvelous plan, calmed our fears and encouraged our hearts.

We felt at peace after so much suffering. Our hands crept toward each other until they were clasped in intimate spiritual union. With God's help and grace we knew we could handle anything that would come our way.

The traffic flowing out of San Diego in a steady stream was incredible...bumper-to-bumper, as residents raced at a standstill to begin their Memorial Day holiday.

Almost like lemmings, racing down a commonly followed path, the cars crept along at a snails pace, hauling trailers, dune buggies, boats, etc. The gas consumption was awesome.

I could almost see the gas gauges creep toward empty, especially on the SUVs and large trucks with the mega-powered, super-charged engines.

"Now that has to hurt," I thought as I passed a gas station, shocked by the price of gas. $2.50 a gallon was outrageous. Even in Dallas, the price was only $1.70 a gallon. "What was this world coming to?"

Home sweet home.

Few lucky individuals have the opportunity to live in the house they grew up in. My mom and dad still lived in the same little house in Ocean Beach. After almost 52 years, it was still as pristine as the day it was constructed.

My dad and mom are both nurtures...born with green thumbs.

The number of plants in glorious living color covering every square inch of soil was phenomenal. I suddenly wondered what would happen to all these radiant, happy plants. I managed to kill every plant in my life by either over-watering, under-watering or pure neglect. Janet was not much better.

No one was home so I fears skyrocketed.

As we opened, a foreboding silence penetrated our consciousness. Where was mom? How was dad? We raced to unload the car so we could drive to the hospital to see dad. We prayed he was still alive.

The living room looked like a cyclone hit.

The contents of the car were strewn everywhere. It was hard to believe so much stuff could be transported in a 1998 Camry. Anxiety filled our minds. No one's cell phone produced a live person. What were we to do?

The answer suddenly appeared!

Denise, my younger sister drove up to the curb and deposited mom at our feet. Everyone hugged as tears rolled down our faces. "How is dad doing?" was the big question. Mom said, "He seems to be doing better but cannot swallow, move his left arm and leg or open his eyes." Wow, that did not sound very encouraging. I guess he was a lot worse, right after the stoke when death was a frightening possibility.

The race to the hospital to see my dad broke the speed limits.

We were anxious to see dad, hold his hand and give him a kiss on the cheek. As we entered the hospital, I had transposed the last two numbers of his room. Instead of 814 it had become 841. As we raced down the halls, looking for the correct room, we came up blank. Janet, the faithful and helpful spouse, remembered that the room was 814. With her help we found the correct room.

In our wildest imaginations, we were not prepared for the grim sight that met our hopeful eyes.

My dad was a slight reflection of his former self. Pain and paralysis warped his gentle features. Tubes streamed from his body as he struggled to breathe. The blood trickled from his nose, around the feeding tube taped in place. A machine trickled liquid nutrients into his emaciated body. A clear bag collected the dark urine, mingled with blood, from the irritation caused by the catheter. Other tubes dangled from his body, winding their way to different beeping and blinking machines.

Silent tears poured down our cheeks.

To Be Continued...