IBTISH: Chapter 8

May 24, 1999

The nightmare begins.

Nancy calls out to me to call 911. I will never forget the intense pain and panic that is in Nancy’s voice. She screams that Tisha has stopped breathing. In a rush, I call 911 while I listen to Nancy pleading for Tisha to start breathing. Wayne and Nancy start CPR. I’m giving 911 our address when Nancy screams for me to come help. No more 911. I rush into the bedroom and Tisha is sprawled on the bed. Her eyes are open -- without life. She has no color. The word pallor enters my mind - the color of death. Nancy is giving mouth to mouth while Wayne is applying pressure to the chest. I make one more call -- to Calvary. I tell Pastor Mike Oberg we need his help and please come at once for Tisha has stopped breathing.

I take over for Nancy. The nightmare continues. Tisha’s color is returning but her heart is not beating. 911 calls back and starts giving Nancy instructions that she relays to Wayne and I. Nancy is pleading with T to fight. To live. To breath. We move T off the bed onto the floor. Elevate her head. Slow our count for mouth to mouth and chest pressure. Nothing. This goes on for about 15 minutes until the paramedics arrive. They are very business like. They tell Wayne and I to continue doing what we are doing and they prepare to take over. A few more minutes pass and then they take over. Mike Oberg has arrived and is keeping Nancy and I informed as to what the paramedics are doing. What they think Tisha’s status is. How well we did the CPR.

There are now police and firemen throughout the house. As I walk outside I see Landon Beard who has come over to take Wayne to the airport pacing on the deck. Poor Landon. So concerned and so helpless – as we all are. I’m sure that Tisha is dead. I don’t understand what happened. How do you die from vertigo?

Grandma is lost in the shuffle. She is crying. Trying to convince herself that what she has been hearing is wrong - that Tisha is not dead. Seventeen months ago, Dad died from a brain tumor. Now, Tisha is dying. It cannot be true. No miracles today.

Pastor Oberg is calling to get Mark in San Jose. Poor Mark! He is so far away. No knowledge of what is happening. He will be frantic to get back. It will take hours before he can return.

The paramedics prepare to take T to the emergency room. They are obligated to take T to the closest facility which is Scripps Encinitas Hospital. They leave. We get organized and leave for the hospital a few minutes after they’ve gone.

We are now progressing deeper into a nightmare world.

We arrive at Encinitas. The emergency vehicle has not yet arrived. Nancy and I go into the reception area and start getting the paper work ready for when T does get there. Friends start to arrive -- Stan and Heidi, Michael Skoor, Brenda Anderson, etc. What can they say? What can they do? Their presence is comforting, but it won’t help.

The ambulance finally arrives with T. They move her into the hospital and we wait. After about 20 minutes the doctor comes in to tell us that a CTSCAN shows a great deal of pressure on Tisha’s brain. He is going to life flight her to Scripps Memorial Hospital where they have facilities to help T. Why didn’t she go there in the first place? It is about the same distance as Encinitas from our house and they could have helped immediately if Tisha could have used it. We are allowed to go into T’s room to see her. Tubes and monitors are connected to her. Her color is back. There is no life.

Life flight finally arrives and they move T to the helicopter and it takes off. We must now drive to Scripps Memorial. I’m thinking that isn’t it strange that Tisha is going back to the hospital where she was born? How did this happen? Why didn’t they find anything at the Emergency Room the night before? This can’t be true.

We arrive at Memorial and more friends are arriving. We move from nightmare to a surreal dream world.

Dr. Tung meets with us in a waiting room and explains that when he shunted Tisha, the pressure was so great that blood sprayed the room. The pressure in Tisha’s brain is 90 to 100 times greater than it should be. That this is fatal in most cases. When we ask what happened, he was surprised that we did not know that Tisha had a tumor. How would we know this?

When Nancy asks Dr. Tung if he could have saved Tisha if he had been with her when she stopped breathing, his answer was an unequivocal yes. With that question, Tung’s demeanor changes. He is no longer the professional, aloof, clinical expert. It’s hard to describe this change. I believe up to that time, Dr. Tung believed that we were aware of Tisha’s condition and were prepared for the clinical explanations. We weren’t. Our shock, our grief, our disbelief touched the doctor. He offered some hope regarding brain flow and suggested that we wait 24 hours before testing. Why should we wait? By that time, we were all aware of the inevitable. We agree that they will test as soon as possible.

Tisha is moved to the Intensive Care Ward. We move to a familiar waiting room. Only weeks before, Nancy and I were in this same waiting room with my aunt and cousins when my uncle Arnie was dying from a heart attack. In Arnie’s case, a miracle did occur and after 24 days in a coma, he recovered to the point that he could be transported back home to Dannebrog, Nebraska. No miracles today.

I must now call Brooke at the Air Force Academy and tell her the tragic news. How do you do this? Brooke’s big sister who only days before was the bride to Brooke’s Maid of Honor was dead. There is no easy way. Pastor Oberg has called the school and the Chaplain arranges for Brooke to call me. Brooke knows that if the Chaplain is involved it has to be bad news. I tell her. We immediately start arranging for Brooke to fly back. It will take her 4-5 hours to get her back to San Diego.

Dr. Tung meets with us again. This time there is no hope. There is no brain flow. Tisha is dead.

We arrange with Dr. Tung to keep T on life support until Brooke and Mark get back to San Diego to say good bye. He agrees and says that it is what he would do if this was his family.


We regret to inform you that Tisha Noel Rinehart Graham, age 27, died at Scripps Memorial Hospital of a massive brain hemorrhage.

There is no time . . .
No color at all.
And there are no answers
To questions I call.
A moment ago,
Your future was bright
But now in the darkness
I look for some light.

Tisha is an adamant donor advocate. It is her desire to help even when there is no help for her. We will respect this desire. There is nothing left but to wait for Mark and Brooke.

The waiting room is now full of friends. All in disbelief. Time passes. Mark arrives in a state of shock. He goes in to see Tisha. Poor Mark. We wait.

Brooke arrives. She has her time with T. We wait.

In our grief, I tell Nancy that we can’t ask the question “Why?”. There is no answer. Yet, it is the only question I have on my mind. Why? We wait.

Mark, Nancy, Louise Stanger and I meet with the representative for donors. This is a paper shuffle. We must wait until they examine Tisha for fitness to be a donor. My God, this is a healthy 27 year old. We should not be here!!!! Papers are signed. We wait.

Many of our friends go in to say good bye to the T-bear. We wait.

More people arrive. What can I say to Mark? He is searching for a sign. Something from Tisha to let him know she will be waiting for him. It is beyond comprehension. We wait.

I am so sad! What is going through my mind is that it is fortunate that Mark and Brooke were not there to see T in our home. Their memories of her will not be anchored to that lifeless body lying in her bed that I cannot remove from my mind’s eye. Unfortunately, Nancy and I will always have that nightmare. We must find a way to remove this image which is so deeply burned into our mind. I struggle to remember the wedding night. We wait.

We are told that they will be able to perform the organ removal around 3 am. No one speaks but it is understood that we will wait until T is taken off life support before we leave. We wait.

Around 2:30am, I walk down to the door leading to Tisha’s room. Others start arriving. By 3am, we are all standing outside the room. More than forty of us, holding hands, quietly waiting, two rows of grieving people bound together in disbelief, questioning our beliefs, searching for something to hold onto and finding only each other. Stan starts to sing the Holden Village Benediction. The same song he sang at Tisha’s wedding. For the first time in the fifteen years that I’ve known Stan, he cannot complete a song. His voice cracks and fades into silence. We wait and wait. At 3:20 am, the doors open and Tisha is wheeled out. As they approach the opposite door, they stop and Mark, Brooke, Nancy and I are allowed one more good bye. Tisha is wheeled through the door. Our Tisha is gone.

We drive home. There is no sleep this night. Our souls have been torn. From the peak of the wedding to the depth of despair in such a short time. How can Tisha be dead? Her life was so full. Her future so bright. Slow to bloom, yet gone so soon. My God, she hadn’t even opened her wedding presents.

Tuesday arrives and so do our friends. People are making phone calls. Others are cooking meals. Some friends came to the house the night before to clean the house, move the presents, try to make our Tuesday morning easier on us. Stan makes the comment that Monday night he looked for God and couldn’t find Him. But on Tuesday, he found Him in all the support that arrived to help us through this nightmare. Logically, I know he is right. But, why are we in this nightmare? The support continues throughout the week.

Funeral plans start. I’m lost. I write poetry to relieve the despair. How does a mathematician become a poet? I don’t think he does. He just cries on paper.

Pastor Michael Skoor comes by to discuss funeral arrangements. I suggest we start a memorial fund to build the narthex. How strange. I wanted to build this entry before the wedding for the wedding. Now, we may use Tisha’s funeral to get it done.

Michael expresses his concern that he won’t be able to rise to the occasion. I think he is questioning his faith as we are ours. He will rise to the occasion. I’m sure. Mark, Nancy, Brooke and I are in are own worlds. Each traveling a different road. All going to the same place.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday are lost. There are blank spots in my mind with just brief bits of memory letting me know that the days have passed. Wonderful people have come to the house to share our grief. For some, it brings back memories that have rested near the surface for a number of years. Their pain is intense. For others, disbelief with no words to express their grief. Cards and flowers start arriving within days. The cards continue to arrive two months after T’s death.

I call a lawyer friend for advice. I don’t know why, but something went terribly wrong with Tisha’s treatment. Four doctors had five opportunities to diagnose T’s tumor in the three weeks before her death. How could they have missed this? The night before her death the pressure had to be there. How was this missed? We’re advised to get Tisha’s medical records as soon as possible. “Strange things could happen in the next few weeks to these documents.”

Nancy has a mission. She goes to both Scripps Memorial, Scripps Encinitas and Scripps Clinic to get the medical records. She gets the same response at each medical center – “This will take at least two weeks to gather the records.” “You know it takes quite a while to process the x-rays.” “Why do you want these records?” No is not an option. She gets them with patience and soft words. Her response is consistent. “You know I have all the time in the world. This is the most important job I have to do today. I’ll wait.” Without fail, the records are produced after a short wait.

Dr. Randy Hawkins comes to the house Wednesday evening to review the medical records with Nancy and I. It is not good news. As we thought, there were many mistakes made by the attending physicians. Randy cries with us as he goes over the reports. Randy can’t understand how they could have missed the indicators. Where was the CTSCAN, the MRI, the simple light in the eye exam? So many opportunities to help Tisha. None taken. Finally , the ultimate pain. Randy is convinced that if they had found the tumor, it would have been completely operable. Tisha would be alive.

Mark, Nancy and I start preparing for the burial. We must pick the cemetery, burial plot, make decisions about the head stone, all the trivial things in preparation for the funeral. The burial will be expensive – 12 to 13 thousand dollars without a head stone – paid in advance. We write a check knowing that we won’t be able to pay the wedding bills until Tisha’s death insurance funds. First things first.

The mortician calls to tell us that we’ll need something to cover Tisha’s head. During the autopsy, they had to shave part of Tisha’s hair - that lovely golden hair. I’m angry, but without anyone or thing to be angry at. Nancy suggests the hat that goes with her dress.

I must keep busy. I write T’s obit. Call the newspapers. Prepare a collage of pictures of Tisha. I take these pictures to “our family framer” Jim at First Street Gallery. Jim, Kimmie, Mike Schopf and I design the layout of this collage. Jim, then, sets aside his other work and finishes the collage by Friday morning.

Finally, Friday arrives. The funeral is at 11am. Stan has been working all night to get sound and video wired to the fellowship hall. Both Stan and Michael believe there will be a lot of people at the funeral. We’re anticipating around 300, but have no idea as to how many will come.

Nancy and I have requested that a few of the songs from the wedding be included in the funeral. Nancy also asked Stan if the choir would sing a song, Make Me a Channel of Your Love, from Lady Di’s funeral that both she and Tisha liked so much. Stan arranged the music and rehearsed the choir the night before. I ask if the recording of T, Jodie and Kimmie, Praise the Almighty, from our choir tape could be part of the service.

It begins.

We arrive at the church and start the wait. The family viewing is not as bad as I thought it would be. This form in the casket is not my Tisha. She left us on Monday. This is simply an icon of our Tisha. Her hat, her dress, her hair – but nothing more. It is obvious that Tisha has escaped the shell of her body. If there is a better example of the soul leaving the body, I don’t know what that would be. I find . . . relief in this.

At first, it seems that our estimate of 300 people is too large. Michael doesn’t think we’ll need the fellowship hall for overflow. The people begin to arrive. When the service begins, there are over 550 people in both the sanctuary and the fellowship hall. These are Tisha’s friends from grade school, high school, Lake Tahoe, our family and church friends, Nancy and my work friends and Brooke’s friends from soccer, high school, the Academy. People touched by the tragedy -- the unthinkable loss.

The service is beautiful. Stan sings “Gone to Soon” followed by the trio’s taped song. The Choir sings with Jillie’s solo. The words from friends are so powerful. Landon’s song touches everyone. Brooke is amazing. She reads the same scripture as she did for the wedding. Again, without a flaw. I could not have done it. My heart is breaking, but I am so proud of Brooke. Michael’s words are so appropriate. A fitting tribute to Tisha. She would have loved it -- everyone was crying. Stan closes with the Holden Village Vespers. The third time in less than a week that I’ve heard this song. I know that from this moment on I will cry whenever we sing it.

We proceed to the burial site. In a touching and moving ceremony, Michael invites all in attendance to cover Tisha -- starting with me. A hand-full of dirt falling to the casket. This is the final goodbye. As we end this service, we seem to be in a reception line accepting the grief of the 100 people in attendance. Hugs and tears end this service.

May 28, 1999

Tisha Noel Rinehart Graham is laid to rest at Eternal Hills Cemetery in Oceanside, CA after a memorial service at Calvary Lutheran Church.

My daughter, my darling,
Mark’s wife for just days,
My spirit’s been broken
In so many ways.
I wander unseeing
As now, from above
It’s your light that shines forth
In RAINBOWS of Love.

I’m at a loss. Tisha who had such a wonderful future ahead of her is gone. How can this be? This beautiful woman with the heart of gold. How did I let her down? Should we have questioned the doctors more? Could we have done something more? How could the medical profession let us down so completely? This fatal error is so permanent. In my entire life, I’ve never felt so useless, so helpless.

My heart is broken for both the loss of Tisha and the utter despair for Nancy. Nancy, who no matter what the situation stood behind Tisha and supported her, loved her, and admired her. Nancy, who lost her mother at seventeen, cared for her ailing father for fifteen additional years. Nancy, who willed herself to be the perfect mother and was and is. Nancy, who so wanted to share her joy with her kids as they became adults, wives and mothers -- something that she missed when her mother died and her father became ill. This loss is beyond comprehension. I can conceive of no door opening with the closing of this one.

We must go on for we have to go on.

It will never be the same.