I think about all the memories I have with my dad. Both the good and the bad. Although, bad is really a relevant term, because most of the time we ever argued, it just meant one of us was being a little pig-headed about something (a trait we had in common).
I was trying to think back to the very first memory I have of my dad. It's hard, because my memories from way back then are kind of all jumbled. But I am pretty sure I was just a toddler, maybe preschool age. I was a little sick one night, but still well enough to play a little with my doll. I remember I started to throw up, and my dad grabbed me and ran me in to the bathroom. I think I left a trail of puke all the way there. I remember my dad hugging me and stroking my hair and making sure I was alright. That may seem like such a strange thing to remember, but my dad was there for me when I needed him.
My dad loved camping and fishing, and I learned to love those things from him. He taught me how to bait a hook with a worm. There was absolutely no wheedling out of it. If I wanted to fish, I had to learn to bait my own hook. But I wanted to show my dad I wasn't some prissy little girl, that I could be tough. So I learned to bait the hook, without complaining (and ever since I have secretly thought other girls who did not bait their own hooks were kinda sissies, lol). I am so glad that over this past summer I was able to take him out fishing a couple of times. Private moments where just the two of us could sit and talk. We never really caught any fish, but it wasn't really about that anyway.
My dad was a hard worker. He taught all of us kids how to work from a pretty young age. And I don't mean "clean your room and sweep the floor" kind of work. We mowed lawns, helped bring down trees, hang drywall, and all manner of hard labor. That's not to say we always liked it, but I definitely learned from it. I am not afraid of getting my hands dirty when I need to. Sometimes I even enjoy it! Now that I am a mom, I realize how hard it is to teach children the importance of hard work. It is definitely not something that comes natural to most people, and especially not to kids. My son is still a work in progress, but I had a pretty good teacher myself, so hopefully I can pass on a little of my dad's knowledge.
My dad loved the LDS church, and he loved God. He converted to Mormonism when he was 19. Ever since, he was an "all in" kind of guy. He made sure we went to church every Sunday, read our scriptures, said our prayers, and taught us about God through example. My recent disaffection from the Mormon church was a hard blow for him, yet he still loved me. In fact, he said as far as he was concerned our relationship had not changed, and he would continue to support me in all my endeavors. A great example of Christ-like love.
Life wasn't always easy with my dad. He sometimes had a temper, and he could be REALLY stubborn about things. Those were the hard times. I hated when my parents fought, or when he would fight with my brothers. Well, I don't like fighting in general. I think mostly those times were just brought on by a lot of stress, and under those circumstances things get said you wish you hadn't. But mostly, the angry times were brief, and he would always come back and apologize for his anger. He would hold me and tell me how much he loved me, and that he was proud of me. I knew he really meant it.
My dad was a military man. He served in the US Air Force for more years than I can count, and eventually reached the level of Lt. Colonel. He served in the Vietnam war, and had a long list of job specialties to add to his resume, including working on nuclear warheads and working on top secret military ops as an intelligence officer. He really loved the military, and was always trying to convince any of his kids to join. None of us did, although a couple of us joined JROTC in high school. That was certainly enough military for me! But I know the military was good for our family, and definitely good for me dad.
We moved around a lot when I was a kid, and sometimes that was hard. But looking back I am grateful. I know people who have lived their whole lives without leaving their hometown. And yet I got to go all over the US, and even across seas. I don't remember Japan very well, but I remember enough to appreciate being there. Later, when I was older and away at college, they lived in Turkey for a couple years and I was able to visit. Best vacation of my life! And my one of my favorite parts was when my dad and I took a day trip to visit the coastal town of Antakya (biblical city of Antioch). It was a great time, just him and me, visiting an old temple, the little grotto where the Apostle Paul taught, and getting lost in a Turkish bazaar.
My dad was a great storyteller (but NOT good at telling jokes!). He was always telling little stories to us kids. He had a pretty good imagination, and loved to write. For many years he hoped to write a book. Although he never had any books published, I did get to read some of his stories, and a few of them even won awards. I think his love for words was passed down to all of his kids in some form or another. We are all avid readers, and some of us even write. It was something he always encouraged us in. If we got in trouble, we could be grounded from visiting friends or playing with toys or from the television, but we were NEVER grounded from reading books.
My dad's health was not always the greatest. In fact, some would say he had a pretty raw deal. He was born prematurely, and was always really small. I think he always thought he was smaller than he really was, lol. When he was 14 he contracted Polio, and was confined to wheelchair. Fortunately, his polio went in to remission, and did not have any major lasting effects until much later in life. Not long ago, he learned he had Asperger's Syndrome, which he felt explained a lot about his life and how he viewed the world. He became something of a local spokesperson on dealing with Asperger's, and encouraged others to learn to live with it and work through it, and not let it define them.
When we found out my dad had cancer a couple of years ago, it came as a real shock to all of us. Despite my dad's health issues, we really expected to live for a very long time. I suppose we all feel that way about our parents. Day by day I watch as he grew weaker and weaker. But I just felt it wasn't his time. I knew he would make it through. Even when the doctor's told us he had only days to live and we had his funeral planned out, I just knew somehow that he would pull through. And he did. It wasn't easy for him. He went through a lot with is treatments, and he was absolutely miserable. But he has always been a fighter, and even though he often said he "wanted to go", I think he really fought so hard for his family's sake.
After he got out of the hospital, it was amazing all the things he was able to accomplish. He was always grumpy about not being able to do all he used to do. But really, he did a lot. He went skiing and skydiving, he continued to write (a little bit), and he even did a 10k! We sat and talked, and I have learned more about my dad in the last two years than I ever learned about him in all the other years of my life.
When he told us a few months ago that the cancer had returned, I knew right then that I would be saying goodbye. My head didn't want to believe what my heart was telling me. He seemed so much stronger than the last time. He had more energy, joked more, talked more, and had a far more positive outlook on life. All the treatments seemed to work better. We thought he would pull through. And really, he should have. And yet, here we are at the end. A crazy series of events, and his time on earth is done.
Mentally, I kept trying to prepare myself for this. I knew I would have to say goodbye. But I think no matter how prepared you think you are, when you are facing the end, when you have to make that decision to end the suffering, no amount of prepartion is going to work. Because the end just sucks. I value these past couple of days, not because it was easy to see my dad lying in the hospital bed with so many tubes and beeping things all around him. But because I was able to quietly say goodbye. I talked to him and sang to him, and just held his hand. Feeling those little squeezes back, even though he has been so heavily sedated, mean the whole world to me. I don't know if he really knew I was there, but I would like to think so.
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| Mom and Dad last year, right after his 10k. It was a great time for our family. |
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| The last photo taken of my dad, just before his bone marrow transplant last month. |
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