Well, the day I had been afraid of for so many years has finally arrived. Dad passed away Friday at 1:15 am.
And I don't feel anything.
I mean, I have thought about this day off and on for many years now. Dad and I were so close that I was certain that his death would be devastating for me. But it's not. His illness took that away from me. I've been struggling with him and his situation for so many months now that I guess I'm already used to not getting to talk to him. Seeing his body wasn't even a shock since he had looked like a corpse for many weeks now. (Sorry, I need to get a little graphic here.) He had layed in a bed with his mouth gaping open since February. So long that his facial muscles had distorted and atrophied. Ya know how people look after they've died and are in the casket? They never look quite right, and that's how Dad looked all the time. So when I went to the hospice after he'd passed he really didn't look all that different other than he was very pale. Over the past 2 months he hadn't spoken, barely moved, and only occasionally opened his eyes. Many times if he did open his eyes, he didn't really look at me, but through me. Although about a month ago he was having a pretty good day and he seemed to recognize me and (I think) he mouthed the words "I love you" when I said I love you to him. I'll choose to remember it that way anyhow.
I'm going to miss him a lot. Mom is having him cremated and I am going to get a small amount of his ashes and we are going to go to Glen Lake and scatter them. I don't know if I will be able to go and do that this year- that was such a special place for me and my Dad. But maybe next year. Mom picked out the perfect urn- it's a wooden box with a sculpture of a golf glove and a ball on top. We're having the funeral this coming Thursday with a luncheon after. Right now I'm focused on ways to honor Dad. I finished the two photo boards that I posted about earlier. Here they are and I think they came out great:
I was really tempted to make them bigger, but 24x28 is fine. Mom is going to keep the Husband one and the Dad one is mine. I have another photo to show you too:
This has become one of my favorite photos and here's why; I took this picture a few years ago when we were up north. Dad was on the dock and Kane was playing in the water. Kane was our first boxer and my best buddy. He died two years ago from a long battle with kidney failure. He was an overweight dog, about 80lbs, but when he died he was just a bag of bones. Just like Dad. Dad wasted away to nothing too. The similarities were eerie. Then, a few days ago I sent it out to AdoramaPix to have it printed. My order came in early- the day Dad died.
The other this, one thing I did was wrote a eulogy of sorts. I was thinking one night a while ago, about all the things Dad tought me, and I realized that I was kind of making a speach to myself. So I wrote it out. I think I'd like to read it (or have it read) at the funeral, so I'd love to hear what anyone thinks. Here it is:
On behalf of myself and my family I'd like to thank you all for being here to celebrate my Dad's wonderful life. Dad was always a generous, giving social butterfly and it shows by the large number of you that are here today.
I was always a daddy's girl. Whatever Daddy was in to, I was. So much so, the poor guy couldn't ever eat a meal out without me begging to try some. I always had to have what Daddy was having. (This totally backfired when dad once ordered frog legs) Dad liked baseball, so I liked baseball. Dad went to races at MIS and took me with him, never getting too mad when I squirmed because I was bored. He rooted for Indy racer Gordon Johncock, so did I although I barely knew who he was.
But lately, while thinking back, I realized that Dad directly and indirectly, taught me many things. So I thought I'd share them with you.
When Mom and Dad were married in 1962, they honeymooned at Glen Lake, up north in the Sleeping Bear Dunes. Our whole family has a long history of visiting the area; when I was little it was not only our family, but also my Grandparents and great aunt and uncle. I remember being very young and listening to them play euchre late into the night. Over the years it became just our family and my grandma, then after my brother and I grew up, we stopped going. But I was always connected to Glen Lake, and to my Dad because of it. It was our special place. Every May he and I both felt the pull of the north. So I was really happy when Mom and dad decided to buy a travel trailer and resume going to the lake. We were together again in our special place. Only now I was able to share it's magic with my Husband Dennis and our daughter, Sydney.
The best part of going up north was, of course, the lake. Dad taught me to fish early on, and I loved it. He taught me to bait my own hook, the best spots for bass, and how to reel the big one in. You would think the lesson learned from fishing would be patience. Nah, how can one be patient when there are so many fish to catch and the next night crawler could hook the big one? No, the lesson I learned from fishing is never give up. Perseverance. Well, that, and how to tell a good fish tale. One time, I think I was in my teens; Dad and I were at the south end of the lake, in the shallow reed beds. We would quietly drift through, casting as we went. Suddenly I had a hit, and started reeling the fish in. It broke water- it was a big one. My heart raced as I reeled furiously. Then my reel jammed. I panicked and passed the pole to Dad who took the cover off the reel to find the line unspooled and in knots. As Dad desperately tried to fix the jumping rod, I watched as the line snapped near the reel. Somehow I managed to grab the line as it slipped out of the eyes of the pole. I wrapped the line around my hand as Dad scrambled to get the boat turned around; we had drifted pretty far. I held tight on the line when it snapped again. We were both devastated. But quickly we realized that we could see the fins and tail of the fish sticking out of the water a little ways away. Dad pushed the boat closer with me manning the net. The fish had snagged himself! I scooped up both the fish and the reed it was tied to. This silly fish had wrapped more than a foot of line around the reed! And it was a beauty; a 21 inch 5 pound smallmouth. Dad and I proudly tell that story often and always end it with “we had no business catching that fish!"
Dad sang a lot. I remember him singing, mostly while shaving. Dad was not really a good singer, but he did it anyway. He used to say, "Can you believe I never had a singing lesson? But it taught me bravery. Bravery in expressing myself; Sing if it makes you happy, no matter what. I'm pretty crafty, I knit, sew make pottery, whatever interests me at the time. It's ok if it's not the greatest work of art; it gives me joy and that's all that matters.
Like most of us, my Dad taught me to drive. My driving lessons really started quite early when I realized that no matter where we were going, dad always knew how to get there. And he never seemed to take the same route twice. When the time came to actually teach me, Dad was a lousy driving teacher and passenger. He made me nervous, always seeming to panic at the littlest hint of danger. But I learned. He was so proud the first time I drove up north- my first road trip- following him along the way. It rained so hard that we actually had to pull over and let the storm pass. No big deal; I was well prepared. He and I often laugh about that day. He showed me to see new sights, never be afraid of the journey.
Dad was a hunter, which was always tough for me to reconcile, because at the same time he also loved to just look at deer. We used to just drive around and count as many deer as we could. It became a competition to see who could spot the first one (usually Mom) or who could count the most. I used to wonder how anyone could kill something so graceful and innocent. But Dad also taught me responsible conservation. He always explained that it was important to keep the population down by careful hunting because overpopulation leads to far worse fates. Besides, those of you who are familiar with his hunting skills know the deer population wasn’t in much danger from him. When Brad and I were younger we used to go with Grandma and Grandpa to White Cloud for deer season. We stayed in a cabin in the woods. I can remember Dad heading out the door all layered up in his blaze orange and his hat with the furry earflaps. Then one morning he appeared excitedly, in the large picture window in the living room. He was smiling from ear to ear. He then placed his hands, fingers spread out, thumbs down, above his head. He then started jumping up and down wildly. He had shot an eight point! His pride was even funnier when we saw the ratty rack on this little buck. But however successful he was he really loved the experience of just being outdoors. He taught me success isn't the only thing that matters; sometimes the experience is just as fulfilling.
Dad liked everybody. He always joked with my friends, giving many of them silly nicknames, such as Jefferson Davis for my friend Jessica Davis. While this isn't exactly a life lesson, per-se, it is something I find myself doing in my job as a school photographer. Nearly every child walks away with some sort of goofy nickname and a smile on their face. He was a social person, having many friends, and talking to nearly everyone around him. He was a very generous person, always helping out anyone who needed it. I follow his example, and it gives me a huge sense of pride.
These are just some of the many ways Dad helped shape who I am. I know he was proud of me, and I hope he was proud of himself. He will be greatly missed, but his lessons will live on in myself and my daughter as I pass them along to her.
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