Dad.
91.
Sunday, June 17, 2012. Chattanooga.
In his room at my brother's house.
In his sleep, holding the clicker with his candy box open.
~~
Oh. Sorry.
Hi.
Hope you are well.
~~
Bear with me please. I am in the initial phases of The Fog that God graciously provides those in shock and/or grief, lest we be overwhelmed beyond what we believe is already overwhelming, but isn't.
~~
As is obvious to anyone who has read any of my previous blogs (Yes, I know they're called "posts," not "blogs." I don't care.), my actions and/or reactions are "all about me."
This blog/post will be no different.
~~
My brother (MB), God bless him, was in deepest, darkest somewhere (DDS) when Dad passed away.
After caring for Dad for years, MB was about Our Father's business when Dad departed.
All is well. MB being on the mission field was not an omission of love or care, merely living life, following God's call and guidance.
~~
Know anybody with wood floors?
Did you ever witness them being freaked over the floors being scratched or marred, before they gave up and went back to living life with more sane priorities?
~
Knew a lady who moved a piece of furniture on her wood floor. Scratched it. Feared her husband would see a bloody gash and accuse her of some sort of indolence, ignorance or hostility.
Right. They're no longer married.
~
Now, imagine your fancy schmancy floors -- worthy of humongous helpings of hubris -- being used for a one-man Roller Derby.
Can you hear plates dropping? Iron skillets? Chairs being scooted from the table in a way so careless that the least amount of drag coefficient on the floor was irrelevant? <gasp> Chair scooting with only one goal ... one selfish motivation ... one conceited purpose!!! ... moving a chair far enough to stand up!
~~
After many tumbles and spills, Dad reluctantly agreed to use his walker.
On MB's beautiful floors.
Would you allow your father to do that?
Might be silly to you, but I'm very proud of MB for that particular example of grace, love and care.
~~
Dad was fun to be around.
While MB was in DDS and my sister-in-law was home, I rarely visited.
Didn't want anybody to think that one of the most godly women on the planet and I were having midday monkey sex, ignoring Dad's cries for food or pain medication.
The whole "avoiding the appearance of sin" takes on a screwy life of its own among the religious, in my bitter opinion.
But it was Father's Day weekend, MB was in DDS and I have this zippy motorcycle that was made for zipping on mountain roads, so I made plans to zip 150 miles to take Dad for lunch.
To hell with any pervert who could find an evil appearance in that.
Popped Dad in his car, flipped off the dialysis center as we drove by and drove to Logan's Roadhouse for a big meal.
~~
Dad wore his summer jacket inside because his fat-to-bones ratio was about 0/100 and he had nothing but warm memories to fight off the frigid air conditioning.
Family came and sat at a nearby table. Young lady was having her 12th birthday party with her parents.
Dad and I adopted them.
Dad offered to sing Happy Birthday, but the birthday girl (TBG) declined.
We would not have that, of course, so we blabbed to the waitress ... who offered to have a HUGELY embarrassing amount of people scar TBG for life by chanting, clapping, singing and generally make her stand out from the crowd -- with her parents! -- which, of course, is worse than acne or having you-know-who wear the same dress at the prom.
~~
Dad's diet was limited to looking at pictures of bland food. If he salivated, he had to turn the page.
I never pretended that Dad & I kept his diet when we were together.
No, we never got a keg of dark beer and ate bar peanuts ... but close.
I shortened his life, but made a few of his final days worth looking forward to.
Those who loved him more withstood Dad's dietary protestations and extended his days until we could get together again.
~~
The truth be told, while we were in Logan's I said, "Dad? Would you like a glass of wine with dinner?"
Which was similar to asking me, "Robert? Would you like to own a car with fewer than 337,373 miles on it?"
The menu had one of Dad's favorites: sweet potato French fries. No doubt they were meant to be on Dad's daily diet and were only missing due to a neglectful physician's oversight.
I think Dad had ribs.
I know I had steak.
Dad had some kind of beered-up onions.
I had a salad.
Neither of us had dessert, because my sister-in-law (SIL) had one prepared for our return.
Took a while before the meal came, so we feasted and feted on buckets of peanuts. This was our Father's Day together, a most rare occasion.
We downed the peanuts like pain-pill addicts at an all-you-can-pop party.
Dad brazenly scooped up handfuls of peanuts and put them in his coat pockets.
That was beyond my ability to ignore, so I said, "Dad, I know I am your son from The Dark Side, but do you really think you're going to smuggle those peanuts in the house and snack on them and not get busted?"
Dad looked at me, as only a father can.
Sure, I was confident that he could not reach across the table and "whup me upside the head," but I decided it was best not to begin The War of the Peanuts.
Instead Dad paid for our meal -- although I sincerely offered to pay -- and thankfully watched as Dad left a tip for our waitress that was WAY more than she would've gotten out of me.
~~
We drove down to Hales Bar Marina on Nickajack Lake and watched people fish and putter around in their boats.
[Please Note: I do not know why it is called "Nickajack Lake," but for $50 I will create a dandy tale starring you or a love one, even if your name is not Nick or Jack. Thank you.]
Dad was patient with me as I yammered on (again) about how cool it would be to rent one of the floating cabins.
As always, I waxed on about fishing off the cool porch ... until Dad's interest waned.
But, we were in no rush.
Said a few times, "Would you like to go back now, Dad? Or shall we just sit here for a little while?"
"Let's stay for awhile."
So we did. Happily. Quietly. Comfortably. Pleasantly.
No need to rush.
Until Dad said, "We'd probably better be going." Which, being translated, means "[insert body part here] is killing me."
~~
Got back to MB's and my SIL had a delectable dessert for us. Real dessert food. Fresh, delicious and prepared with love and care.
Dad was tired, even though he slept much of the 20-minute ride back home.
As always, he was pleasant.
As always, he was fun to be with.
As always, I expected to see him again.
~~
When it was time for me to ride home, Dad didn't walk to the door to wave goodbye, as usual.
He stood in the dining room. Gently waving his arm and hand.
Bidding me farewell fondly.
~~
My sister-in-law walked me out to my motorcycle. As I suited up, she said, "Do you think Dad will last two more weeks?"
MB was scheduled to return by then.
Never really crossed my mind that Dad wouldn't last a few more days.
~~
We had all seen him worse off before.
I'd flown to Hawaii to care for him (I know. "Poor bunny rabbit," right?) during a couple of surgeries. I forget how many times really.
I recall hearing that he'd had a heart attack during surgery ... a small bit of cancer was found ... blockages ... warnings ... kidney failure ... dialysis ... but that never beat him.
I remember him asking me to hold a Mason jar because he could not bear the pain of making it to the bathroom.
Innumerable visits to a variety of hospitals after we drug him back to America in order to care for him as he aged.
There were lots of scares.
Dialysis sending Dad to the hospital in an ambulance. A zillion pills. Finding him on the floor, bleeding. Frightening wounds we thought would never heal ... although we begged God to do so for Dad's sake -- and ours, as we dressed and bandaged them.
Tests. More tests. Second opinions. Hospitals. Rehab hospitals.
Surgeries. A pacemaker. Infections.
Visits to doctors. Visits from home healthcare workers.
Seemed it would never end.
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"But I always thought that I'd see you ... one more time again. Thought I'd see youoooooooooooo one more time again."
~~
Zipped home on the bike. Quite proud of myself, naturally. 300 zippy miles on my zippy motorcycle. Safe. No tickets.
Called Dad. He sounded great. Great!
We chatted. Told one another what a great time we had together. Again.
Thanked Dad for the meal. He thanked me for coming over.
We both told one another that we were more than welcome.
~~
Wished Dad a Happy Father's Day.
Got the same.
~~
Said goodbye.
With love. Joy. Peace. Resolution.
~~
My SIL called me Father's Day morning.
She broke the news well.
Dad left in the night without a struggle.
~~
Gone for good this time.
At least for now.
~~~
Got any bridges you need to mend?
Don't be a fool.
Parents? Kids? Spouse? Family?
Get over it.
Seek peace and pursue it.
End well.
It's worth it.
