Remembering Daddy
Back in 2006 on this date, I was getting ready for church. The phone rang and it was Daddy telling me that I didn't need to pick him up because he wasn't feeling well. He said his chest felt heavy, like he was getting a cold, so he had put on some Vicks and was going to rest. I said ok and then he said this "And I'm sweating". And that phrase sent me running to Howard, listing Dad's symptoms and thinking we should get our butts over there STAT. Which was a damn good thing because Dad was already in cardiogenic shock when we got there, having just suffered a major heart attack. It was really the beginning of the end for him. After that day, he needed a lot of help doing things he had done for himself all his life. He couldn't take walks by himself to get his newspaper anymore. He couldn't garden without help. Nine months later he was gone. The thing about Dad was he made the most of his life, always. He made the most of those nine remaining months, doing as much as he could, never losing his sense of humor. We went to movies, gardened by setting up a container garden and took short walks whenever we could. He never lost his spirit. After he died, I found out things about him that led me to realize his life was never quite what he wanted it to be. I think he had settled for a life he hadn't really wanted in a lot of ways but he still made the most of it. He got married, raised a family and instilled me with some very important values. Our relationship was one of the constants in my life, something I could always count on.
Even though he lost a lot of his independence, he never lost his ability to joke. He might get depressed about things but he could always make me smile. Encounters with doctors after his first heart attack went like this:
Doctor: When did you have your heart attack?
Dad: March 5th
Doctor: Do you smoke?
Dad: No, I quit.
Doctor: Oh? When did you quit?
Dad (With that impish smile of his): March 5th
I'm grateful for all the time we had together, but especially those last nine months. Three of those he spent living with me and my family. In those nine months there were many trips to the hospital, some very serious. But there were laughs and quiet conversations and road trips to places from my childhood too. To the last day, Daddy was making jokes. He taught me the value of a dollar and how to save money. He taught me, by modeling, what a decent person is supposed to be like. He taught me to persevere. He taught me to keep my chin up when the shit was hitting the fan. He taught me to tell it like it is. And he taught me to laugh. Thank you Daddy. Thank you for being you.
Even though he lost a lot of his independence, he never lost his ability to joke. He might get depressed about things but he could always make me smile. Encounters with doctors after his first heart attack went like this:
Doctor: When did you have your heart attack?
Dad: March 5th
Doctor: Do you smoke?
Dad: No, I quit.
Doctor: Oh? When did you quit?
Dad (With that impish smile of his): March 5th
I'm grateful for all the time we had together, but especially those last nine months. Three of those he spent living with me and my family. In those nine months there were many trips to the hospital, some very serious. But there were laughs and quiet conversations and road trips to places from my childhood too. To the last day, Daddy was making jokes. He taught me the value of a dollar and how to save money. He taught me, by modeling, what a decent person is supposed to be like. He taught me to persevere. He taught me to keep my chin up when the shit was hitting the fan. He taught me to tell it like it is. And he taught me to laugh. Thank you Daddy. Thank you for being you.