- I think of my father every day. I love this picture of us - taken months before his death. Though weakened by cancer, his drive to live and wonderful spirit shown through his pain and fatigue. He would often say "I'm not afraid of dying, it's the process I fear...." I lived with him the last 3 months, fixing up the house on Lakeview Ave. Painting. Ripping up carpet, preparing the hardwood floors to be refinished. And wonderful quiet times of his remembrances of childhood, and old freinds. His love of the Sea and places he'd been in the Navy. We watched old movies, and when he felt up to it, we'd shuffle off together to the kitchen. My Father was the head chef for Oscar Mayers cafeteria. He loved to cook when he could. Being very weak, he would have me come beside is big comfy chair in the living room and then hook his hand around my belt. This way he could get up, and so hand firmly gripping my belt he'd say " Up, up, up ,up" more for covering the pain. It became our routine. Dad did this as a way to still feel like he had some dignity - I could have easily picked him up, and did on occasion when he'd fallen or was just so incredibly weak. Once upright, he could walk beside and a little behind me - directing which way we should go. And so it was, off to the kitchen, slowly. Dad had an old step stool that was also a tall chair. This was always folded up, sitting ready for when he'd come to the stove. Dad sitting as I stood gathering items, stirring, and adding spices as dirrected. Some days he did more, some days I did with his directions. I miss him. It's funny, dad was quite short - yet I never thought of him that way. I always looked up to him - even when I was looking down at him sleeping. Every night was a prayer and a kiss - just like when I was little, only this time I was tucking him into bed. Sleep well now - you have fought the fine fight, your race is done, be welcomed into the loving arms of your creator and rest - peacefully.
Every Year this this week - the week that covers Dad’s birthday and his death - I am immersed in memories. 18 years ago Dave banged on my father’s door, waking me up around 6 am. I’d been living with Dad at the Lakeview Ave house for the last 3 months, taking care of him and the house after my brother finally moved out. (My Brother had moved in, delegating my father to a tiny room in the basement. 3 months turn into almost a decade…. But I digress, and that unhappy story is for another time.)
I had gotten little sleep that night, or I should say morning. For I’d been at the nursing home late where Dad had been moved the day before. His cancer returned - this time embedding in the small bone at the top of the spine that the skull pivots on. It was bad. They immediately radiated it, and put Dad in a neck brace. Even if they had killed it - that bone was weak, very weak. He’d be in a neck brace - and probably a wheelchair - for the rest of his life.
To say that this hit Dad hard - was an understatement - but he hid it well. He didn’t cry, or bemoan his situation. He’d been fighting Cancer for 7 years, and for the most part had functioned well - despite the Chemo. But this meant needing help all the time. Any wrong movement could break that small but critical bone. Dad had often said “I’m not afraid of death. It’s the process of dying that scares me.” And here it was. He would be “immobilized” - not able to walk around freely without someone by his side. Couldn’t drive. Would have to be in a Nursing home of the rest of his life. Despite his cancer - Dad had been quite active, when his strength was up. As a Jehovah’s Witness - he took the preaching work very seriously. Even after he couldn’t work - he was out and about knocking on doors. He wanted to help people, and that had given him drive. Dad had a great love for people. Now he would be limited - extremely limited.
Even though the radiation lowered the pain, it was still extremely painful. They had hooked Dad up to a morphine box. He could push it whenever the pain became too much. The day in the hospital waiting for his radiation treatment was very long. We discussed a lot of options. John, my brother, showed up and options were rolled around as to Dad’s future living arrangements. Dad and I had met with hospice earlier in the month - after some issues with his treatments. I’d thought that was an option, but not now with his high medical needs. He’d have to be moved into a Nursing home - not something I was crazy about.
That night Dad was transferred. The home was on the West side - and very nice. But I could see Dad’s depression starting. I also pushed for him to sign the Aditem papers, and sign papers giving John and I rights to his Bank account, so we could pay his bills. Here is where Dad went to running silent. After signing the bank papers. It was like someone let all the air out of him. I knew it was hard for him, and my heart broke. But I also knew it had to happen if we were going to take care of him. Still - I’ll never forget how he looked. I stayed long after John left. I read to him, talked. Dad just nodded and pressed the button. He was tired, exhausted, and in pain. I slept by his side till 2 or 3 am. Then slipped out after kissing him on the forehead. It was a long drive back to the North East Side. Dad’s breakfast I’d made sat cold in the lining room on the TV tray by his favorite chair. His neck had gotten worse, and he’d been in too much pain to eat. I called his doctor, and we took him in. It seemed like days ago.
Sleep was horribly restless, and I had to return to work for the morning and a bit of the afternoon. Called the nursing home - checked in with the nurses in the morning. Said that Dad was sleeping a lot, to be understood with the pain and morphine. I headed over around 2:30 ish - got there at 3. Spent the afternoon talking to him. Reassuring him that I loved him and that things would work out. That I’d be there to see him every day. Dad never said a word. Just stared off into the distance, pressing the button every so often. There was a limit on how much it would output, in case it got pressed too much. But still it was disconcerting how often he pressed it.
John came after 6, and left a couple hours later. One thing that Dave, his best friend, had told us: “It’s important to let your loved ones know that it’s O.K. To leave. That they don’t have to keep fighting for your sake.” And so I told Dad it was ok, as did John.
After my brother left, Dad dosed. I didn’t talk much, unless he’d wake suddenly, to push the button. I think the pain woke him those moments. Again I’d reassure home it was OK - that I loved him. That John and I, and our families, would be just fine. I was so exhausted I drifted off sitting there. A Nurse woke me and asked if there was anything Dad needed. He was fast asleep now, his breathing regular and deep. I kissed him on the forehead for the last time, and headed back to the house, feeling very empty. Dad hadn’t said a word to me - though I know he knew I was there - and I know he wanted me there. I’d had the same empty feeling the first night after Amber was born - and I was sent home. I was leaving my new little girl and my wife far away. Driving back into Deerfield from Madison is always a jaunt - but that night was hard. This was the same feeling - only far darker.
Dave’s knocking brought me awake, and for a moment I had no idea of where I was. A feeling of extreme disorientation - and I thing a feeling I’d lost or forgot something - though I couldn't remember what. As I opened the door -Dave took me in his arms and said : “Your father is gone, he passed away this morning around 5.”. I shook with the news and Dave was so kind and loving. I don’t remember the words - just feeling, as we stood in the little entryway of my now deceased fathers home. (Dave was my father’s first contact for medical reasons - as I was living in Deerfield - and Dave was much closer, and semi retired - such that he was the first to be called )
After a time, I climbed in his car, and we headed over to the Nursing home. This is such a surreal memory for me - even after 18 years - ( My God! The span of time from my birth to “becoming an adult” 18 years - has now gone by since his death). I only remember walking into the cold white room where dad was lying on a bed. I couldn't believe that he was dead. They told me that the night nurse had been reading to him around 4 AM - as Dad had been wide awake, and buzzed for something to drink. After a point, he’d started to drift a bit, and she was called away. There - alone - in the early morning - with little hope of a life as he’d had. Knowing I loved him. His family loved him. That it was OK. My father let go. He gave his confidence over to his Heavenly Father - whom he loved, and had shaped his life to server. Dad at last found peace amongst the pain and turmoil.
The last time I touched Dad, was to take the ring off his finger. Holding his hand in mine. Funny how the mind works. My brain was surprised that his hand still had some warmth to it. I leaned - forehead to forehead, and said goodbye.
My Dad was not a perfect man. He’d made mistakes, some that cost him dearly - but those were few. At his funeral - the Kingdom Hall ( the name of a Jehovah’s Witness Church ) was packed - people were standing - even in the entry way. The outpouring of love for this man was amazing - though not shocking. My Dad gave. He gave and gave - not in monetary sense usually ( though he did ) but in time and caring. Sometimes that cost him. Cost him time with his wife, and time with John and I. After Mom and Dad divorced ( actually during that whole dark time period ) he told John and I over and over that he was sorry, that he’d let his responsibilities to the congregation overshadow the much needed attention to our mother and us. But he felt that if he had said no to someone, or some need - he was failing Jehovah. He realized he was wrong there, and asked forgiveness.
How could I not? How could I hold any of that against him? I never felt unloved in our home. I never felt neglected - though did feel the lack of his presence. I knew when Dad was focused on something - and I’d need to wait. As I got into my teens - it became easier and easier to do that. Even still - Dad would have heart to heart talks with me, though the times between these became longer and longer. Yet still. I NEVER had a doubt - that Dad Loved me - that Dad cared about me and wanted the best for me. And even when I’d failed and messed up - he stood by me - and was proud of me. And so - I give tribute to a man, warts and all, who will be missed - and in some who still remember him - loved in our hearts and minds…...
An after thought:
I am no longer a Jehovah’s Witness, but have never lost my love and belief in a loving God. In fact - I’ve learned that he is far more loving and kind than the one I was raised to believe in. I have friends who are of other faiths, agnostics, and even atheist. You know the amazing thing? They are all kind and wonderful people. I don’t need to measure them - don't need compare them - don't need to judge them.
In my life - I want to emulate the best parts of Claire Harrison Gile - a man who looked beyond the outer shell of people - and saw the good and potential in them - always……...
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