Back...

The loss of a parent at any age is devastating. I've been there. There are no words that can take away the emptiness...no magic potion to drink to help you forget. Remembering the fun times does not ease the hurt; the sorrow comes rushing back--

Two close friends have recently lost their fathers. As if the loss of a parent wasn't enough, the families are at odds--one over a business; the other over the location of the remains. It is hard for me to understand why, at such an already difficult time, families would not make amends. No decisions over the business or location of ashes can bring their father back--

I was fortunate to have a strong, stable family when my dad died. My brother and I had come to terms with my dad's death long before the day he died. Perhaps it was from living with us in the last year or so of his life, the stories he shared, or that he had shown us he was at peace with God's will to call him back--

There was no disagreeing. Things did not matter. We only had each other. Dad would have not wanted to see us disagree over possessions. Instead we agreed unconsciously to always have each others back--

Throughout my time as a nurse, I've had the opportunity to care for patients at the end of life.  I've seen some really great family stories. One patient was nearing death, he was surrounded by his wife and children in a king size bed the night before he died in his own home. The memories of sharing that time with them come rushing back--

Another patient had struggled with the relationship between him and his son. When it was clear that he would not make it through but a few days, he shared with me that he wanted to talk to his son but that his wife would never call him. I asked if we could all talk together and he agreed. The wife did refuse to call but provided me the phone number. Before I made the call we talked about what could happen. He could not come to see his dad or he could come and they could put years of pain behind them. When I called, the son was not home. He would not come when he called back--

So many will tell you that time will help you forget. I don't want to forget. I want the pain to be there. If it doesn't hurt--it lessen the bond between father and child. I still wish I could have him back--

So to those that read--if your father is still in your life--strengthen the bond. When they are gone I want you to feel the hurt. It is a sign that they have played and important part in your life. If they are not close, mend the relationship and make the journey back--

One last request, you will see your father again. Our Heavenly Father has told us so. When you come face to face with your father--ensure that he will be proud of what you have accomplished, how you have cared for your family, and contributed to society. Make him proud to welcome you back--

Life Lessons: In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you...I will come again and receive you unto myself. John 14 (2)

The patches make the goodbye harder...still

My dad was the greatest man I ever knew; unlike the song, "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." He taught me so much and asked for so little in return. He was not an educated man. He completed the 6th grade. The early years of his life are vaguely etched in my mind. He enlisted in the Army and served during WWII in the Pacific. He rarely talked of the war; painful memories of a time he would sooner like to forget. I do know that he was a kind man--when we asked as kids about his prison guarding he would say, "I treated them well; our men were held captive too!" He hoped that American troops would be afforded the same respect. He served as a chaplain. He knew much about the Bible and read scripture daily.

My dad worked at the Hershey Chocolate Factory. Ocassionally, mom would take us to pick up dad when she needed the car. We would wait for him at the soda counter of the Hershey Pharmacy. Mom would allow us to have a dish of ice cream and attempt to keep us still on the rotating bar stools. Tirelessly begging us to...please stay still. Not much later dad would appear--finish up a few bites of ice cream, scoop us up and home we would come.

My dad was a HAM (Amateur Radio) operator--he would spend hours dialing to find another operator to talk to. He had a CB as well and when my uncles were driving long haul he would occasionally find them to talk. He had a CB in his car as well and would call home to talk to mom.

My dad found a box turtle one day while out driving after making some antenna adjustments. I began to cry frantically as I was in the back seat and beleived the turtle would crawl under the seat and bite me. I wedged my way on the back window ledge where I screamed at the top of my lungs to go home -- I keep a turtle in my office to remind me of that time.

My dad went by the name of "Groundhog" on the radio. I am not sure how he arrived at that. KKG3681 were his call letters. Funny how that is etched in my memory...my brother has his call letters and microphone.

 My dad liked to tinker--he could fix just about anything or at least attempt to fix it. That included mending broke hearts and relationships. We would talk about my friends, what had happened in school--how the boy I liked was being a --- well, a boy! He would give a different perspective and I would come to view the situation in a whole new light. He has shaped me into the person that I am today in that way.

My dad retired when I was in 3rd grade. Yes, I remember it well. He brought home his work boots and hung them in the basement. As kids, we played in the basement. We could roller skate, listen to records, and sit at the diner style table. It was fun-- no television! I looked at the uniform for nearly 20 years.

My dads health began to fail requiring him to be prescribed numerous medicaitons.
He rebelled and would pretend to take them. He would then place them in a glass jar. He much preferred the shot of whiskey. A daily shot--unless he wanted to drown out mom. She called me once to tell me he wasn't acting right; yep he was drunk.

My dad endured the loss of his wife on December 12th--the numbness of the day will live with me forever. A phone call, a run to the car, and a drive a mile up the road--I didn't make it. My dad's wife was gone. Our mom was gone. What would he do without her? The holidays came and went--can't say that I remember much. I made it a point to call my dad every day and night from that point.

My dad didn't anwer the phone that morning. A second call and still no answer. A drive up the hill to find an undisturbed house brought back the numbness as I entered the side door. I could see him on the bathroom floor. No, not again!

My dad had suffered a stroke. After the hospital he stayed with my brother and I. I think that was some of the best and worst times in my life. It is difficult to care for an aging parent when you are caring for your own children. But we did it. Bedtime was the best. Heating blanket on and tucked in-- a sit on the bed and a story. It was like being a little girl again. I love you dad; I love you too dear.

Cat Steven's (Yusuf Islam) song, "Oh, Very Young" is one of my favorites. The particular lyrics, "the patches make the goodbye harder still" struck me this week. What was the meaning in the words? As I wrote about my dad, these patches made the goodbye harder...still.

I love you dad...still.

Lessons Learned: Memories will fade; parental love remains.