In evaluating
whether I want to add to the this blog this year, I looked at the good old
Google Analytics, there have been almost 2400 views of the blog, and that is
enough for my vain self’s ego to write again this year. I myself feel more
reason to write and reflect this year with the passing of my father on Labor
Day. (For those of you outside of the United States, Labor Day is the first
Monday of September.) For me grief and
loss is real this year and I think I wanted to share my journey this year at
the holidays—and maybe that will lend some personal credibility and not just
because I am also a professional.
It
serves to say here that my family is spread out. For you technical types we are
“disengaged.” We all live our lives in
different states—hours or days away from each other. For reference I live in Kentucky and my
parents live/lived in Florida. We
occasionally if but rarely talk as a family, and if my family members talk
amongst themselves about this—I doubt they will tell me, or one of them will
act as a spokesperson (approved or unapproved).
If you are that self-appointed spokesperson, keep it to yourself unless
you are going to compliment me about what a great writer I am.
The following account is my personal story line. I have shown respect to not share much of what my family members have said or expressed; their feelings are not my feelings. It frames where I am going in this year's posts on surviving the holidays.
The
Story
On the
day Dad died, I had an answering machine message from mother that she had
called the emergency medical services to take dad to the hospital. I could not contact her because her cell
phone was not working and apparently she did not have Dad’s cell phone. I called my brother in another state and my
brother who is a minister (and who knows some tricks having to do a lot of
hospital visitation) was able to figure out which hospital to which Dad was
taken.
I posted
on Facebook a prayer request for my father.
A bunch of my ‘friends’ clicked on like and commented that they were
praying. I remember feeling numb but I
continued with my errands and tasks since it was a holiday. We did not go downtown to the riverfront as
planned because we were waiting on information.
I talked
with nurses a few times during the day in the Emergency Department and then in
the Critical Care Unit. I could not actually talk with Dad or mom. The emergency room nurse repeatedly told me
that Dad was stable the two times I called. On the third occasion I was told
Dad had been transferred to the Critical Care Unit and I was forwarded there. The Critical Care nurse told me that mom had
left the hospital to go let out the dog, and I could not talk with Dad. I then finally got mom at home at about 8:00
that night. She discussed Dad’s grave
condition and that Dad may not make it and if he did make it he would have to
be in a nursing home. I got mom’s
permission to call my uncle/dad’s younger brother in another state to inform
him of Dad’s condition. In the midst of
the phone call to my uncle, mother rang in (through call waiting) to let me
know in a desperate voice that she was going back to the hospital because they
called and said that Dad was dying.
I had
shut down my computer for the night by about 10pm. I was waiting to hear back from mother. I got
no phone call. I did not sleep well, waiting in suspense as to whether or not
Dad made it through the night.
The day
after
I got up
5:00 a.m. because it was my normal time and I had responsibilities with getting
the kids to school and work. I still had the number of the Critical Care
Unit. I called and talked to the nurse I
had talked to the night before. She told
me in a patronizing and annoyed tone of voice that my father had died the
previous night at 8:39 and my mother had already released his body by phone to
the mortuary. I then numbly and ignorantly
texted my uncle and copied my brother on it that I had information from the
hospital that Dad had died the night before.
My brother called immediately asking if I meant for him to get the
text. I told my brother that I had not
had a call back from mom and I called myself, and I assumed nothing. My brother apologized that I had not been
called last night.
My uncle
texted back that he had learned from Facebook the night before that my father
had died. I then got online and found
that one of my nephews and nieces had posted that my father/their grandfather had
died.
Yes, I
was annoyed and irritated about having been kept in suspense. But I was trying
to be mindful and understanding that we were all in shock. When we are in shock, we are not detailed
oriented and not necessarily empathetic as people; we are not in a giving
place. My first impulse was that I
really wanted to call the hospital administrator in Florida and complain about
the insensitivity of the borderline personality nurse who should have had a lot
more tact in telling a son that his father had died. Telling me stuff may have been a HIPPAA
violation, and that could have been especially punishing of the nurse and cost
the hospital, but I try not to be a malevolent type; she was the safer object
for my anger at the time. Okay, I was
moving from the shock stage to the anger stage of grief within 10 hours, I likened
myself to the author of Ecclesiastes who kept his mind sharp even when he was getting
drunk on wine.
My wife
had told our kids while I was riding the exercise bike that my Dad had
died. I would have liked to be the one
to have said it, but okay.
I
decided to go ahead and go to work. There
was no house to go to and sit with other family members and cry, and I was not
one for sitting home alone. While
waiting at my son’s bus stop I heard George Strait singing
Let
me tell you a secret about a father's love
A
secret that my daddy said was just between us
You
see daddies don't just love their children every now and then
It's a love without
end, Amen, it's a love without end, Amen
(Love without end Amen Aaron Barker writer,
Muy Bueno)
I asked
myself, as I fought the tears, whether going to work was a good idea? I was a stubborn person who had fought
through office politics and a doctorate, and I was going summon the
stubbornness today.
I told my immediate coworkers that my father
had died. A few of them expressed anger as to why I was working. I emailed my boss and told him of the
situation and that I would let him know of family plans.
There was nothing more self-righteously
gratifying in giving her the intangible bitch-slap of telling her in almost a
whisper that my father died last night.
The information morphed her stupid smile into embarrassed shock.
One
self-righteously satisfying moment was when one of the school teachers on the
hospital unit I work came up with a cheesy smile and told me to smile in a
playful tone. There was nothing more self-righteously
gratifying in giving her the intangible bitch-slap of telling her in almost a
whisper that my father died last night.
The information morphed her stupid smile into embarrassed shock. She apologized and then went into an angry “why
I was at work?” The correct response would have been for her
to immediately shut up and creep away, but she silenced herself within 10
seconds.
Awkward Following
Days
I asked
for permission to place an obituary in the daily paper of the metropolitan area
in Iowa where we grew up and called home before Mom and Dad moved to Florida. Even though connections had died or dispersed,
I thought Dad needed to be honored. I
chose a recent picture of Dad instead of some picture from long ago. Only
two parties made comment on the online registry book, well Dad did not spend his time and
effort there being a civic pillar of the community.
I also
went on a retreat with my son to a church camp on the Friday following Labor
Day. I felt somewhat awkward, but I was
going to press on. I was not going to sit at home and do nothing.
As the
days went by I got sympathetic comments from people at church. Some of the condolences were smooth and some
were awkward. Some were patronizing and some were respectful. One that particularly
struck me as awkward was from one of the older, self-righteous types, with a
hearing impairment who continues to refuse to use the microphone at church
business meetings. He gave his condolences
with poor eye contact and embarrassed smile and almost joking tone of voice. Overall, it was awkward, because some of the
people who never talk to me . . . talked
to me.
My
mother announced about a week later that she was not going to have a memorial
service for Dad. She was going to hold
onto the ashes and we could in-urn them together after she died. She mentioned that we should move on and not
hold onto anger. It is not in good
taste here to go into the dirty laundry, but on the one hand I thought one
ill-mannered family member’s utterance was reminding me why we live the
distances that we do, but then another part of me said, “What’s the difference
anyway?”
Family
aside, different people in my community wanted to do something for me. The flowers from the church were nice but
awkward. The office wanted to give me a gift—I told
them to make a donation somewhere. As
far as I was concerned, as part of my disengaged family life, I was moving on
and I was focused on my own business and my own life as I had always done.
My
brother the minister flew down to Florida and got some of my father’s
things. He came back through Kentucky on
the way home driving Dad’s van with some of Dad’s possessions. I accepted a number of things that had
meaning to me. Among his possessions I have Dad’s slide
projector and film projector (still in their original boxes), his tool box and some of his Bibles (the man had
about 30 of them). I also asked to have
his college annuals as he and I graduated from Iowa State University. It was surreal that
I had possession of some of Dad’s things that he cherished and protected, my
kids will get my stuff one day too.
Still in
Process
I got to
talk with Dad on his 80th birthday. He
had gotten his copy of my book that I had published through the Springer Publishing Company. He had
already read the publisher’s proofs of it and he said that he was proud of what
I wrote.
I don’t
have any regrets—I came to appreciate Dad as a human being with all of his
weaknesses and quirks, but also his character and his values. He was not an athletic person and tolerated
my high school macho pursuits of baseball, football and wrestling and he sat
smiling as I struck out, got pinned in wrestling matches or warmed the bench. He did cheer me on as I got my masters
degrees and was there to see me get my doctorate. I was fortunate to have him
in my life—even if it was from a two-day travel distance and in the form of
five minute conversations every few months.
For the past 10 years, I knew that time was limited. I hugged dad whenever I saw him and I made sure to have told him that I loved him. I made the most of those moments as I knew that many of my peers had lost their parents by then.
As I
write this I admit that I am still grieving Dad and I will grieve him. There were days early on where I felt
essentially like I had just woken up from anesthesia and as if I was wearing
concrete shoes. Short of the George Strait moment, I am myself
but more tired and not exactly motivated to do all that much--even work on my next book idea.
Because
he has passed on, the holidays will be different. This Christmas, going to
Florida is off the list. I will not be sending Dad a playful novelty or
thoughtful book as a Christmas gift. I will not be talking
to him at Thanksgiving or Christmas on the phone. How I experience those differences is yet to
happen--and I plan to blog on them tastefully.
Going up
the letter of abstraction one rung, I have personally realized when writing
this, that when you are from a disengaged family, you keep the distances from
each other because it is about you living the way you want to live or you are
surviving the crap from when you were close. So even in the midst of being
struck with grief you are more likely able to continue living the way you do
because the deceased loved one was out of sight--out of mind anyway when he or
she was alive. It follows that when you
stop and ruminate, you get distracted from the life you have sought to create and live by
moving away, therefore, the holidays present the challenge and thus the journey
of surviving.
Closing note:
I have written about many different topics on this blog over the past three years. Feel free to go back in the blog. The most popular post has been my one on Ebenezer Scrooge. I hope that you are helped by reading this.
