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| One of Dad's duties: driving the Army Chaplin |
Time
passes; our memories wear away. So I’m scribbling
memories on paper to file them in boxes in my mind.
Friday
marks an indelible day. It’s when my Dad
left his earth suit. He’d been living
with congestive heart failure for a number of years. We were never totally surprised to receive
the “Dad’s been transported to the hospital” phone call. This was just another of th0se
occasions.
Visiting at
the hospital, Dad looked fine or at least a fine as you can with IVs and
monitors. We joked and he gave the
nurses a hard time. He enjoyed the teasing
banter.
Memorial
Day weekend was our annual slog to go camping in Central Oregon. My brother and I decided we were going to
stay home. It just made sense, Dad was
in the hospital. Uh, oh…Dad was fit to
be tied. He told us we were not to
change our plans. If we didn’t go
camping, he’d give us the what for.
Reluctantly, we agreed to his wishes.
Leaving
the room, I commented to my brother, “One of these times Dad won’t be leaving
the hospital.” A very somber statement; that
was the last time I saw my Dad.
Following
his desire, we packed our tent trailer with the necessary junk. Arriving at Fall River late in the afternoon,
we set up our glam camp and enjoyed cocktail hour by the fire. I talked with Dad before we left; told him I’d
phone around bedtime, if the cell reception was okay. It was always on the sketchy side.
Evening
lingered, so I went to the trailer to unearth my phone to call Dad. I had crystal clear reception that night. I rang his room. He answered straight away and sounded
good. We chatted about our drive over
the mountain, what he had for dinner, normal trivial stuff. I remember Dad saying, “I bet the stars are
beautiful there.”
I stepped
out the trailer door, looked at the sky and said, “Yes, they are brilliant.”
They
always are when you have uninterrupted skies.
I gave him my love, said goodnight and assured him I’d call in the
morning.
Joining the
others around the campfire, I passed on the news Dad was doing well and was about
to go to sleep.
Bodily
functions called, which meant a short trek to ode de outhouse. I took the lantern and left. On my way back, my husband met me and put his
arms around me, “He’s gone…we just got the phone call.”
“No…it can’t
be. I was just talking with him.” He held me tight and let me cry.
That was
May 23rd, 11 years ago. I can
think about and share amusing, quirky things my Dad did with no sadness. Writing this brings a few tears and a content
smile; treasuring our last conversation, which is placed in the box labeled “Dad”
in the archives of my mind.
Missy
If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have
read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even
random acquaintance
Lovely :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Shirl.
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