He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland
Daddy ~ Circa 2000
http://youtu.be/8_clO8PBzKM Fanfare for the Common Man~Aaron Coplan
Some memories, though painful and sad, can play over and over in your mind like a beautiful song. That’s what the summer of 2009 was for me: a beautiful song with painful and sad chords running through it. There are a lot of details here, but that’s where the story is, in those details. Each one is a necessary note needed so that you can hear the song that runs through my mind, when I recall the year my father died. So, I begin:
In March of 2009, my husband bought me an early birthday present. [My birthday is in mid-August.] It was something that I’d wanted and longed to do for the better part of 30 years: to see Jackson Browne in concert. He was going to be in Charlottesville, Virginia on, ironically, my husband’s birthday, which is August 4th. I was so excited, looking forward to my birthday that year and a gift that, until that moment, I thought I would never get – FINALLY seeing Jackson Browne live.
Fast forward to the end of June. We were on vacation in Belfast, Maine [our little slice of heaven here on earth]. As part of our Maine experience, we went to see the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse in Rockland, Maine. It was made from granite and spanned twenty-feet-wide, with a length that went .9 miles out into Rockland Bay. It’s purpose was to break water brought in by severe storms or rough waves from the ocean into the bay. It was a fascinating structure, but given that it went almost a mile out into the water and the granite walkway was periodically doused with a wave or two, my husband and I thought it best that I examine it from the safety of shore, since walking can prove challenging for me some days. We thought strolling out there with a cane could have proven treacherously difficult for me to maneuver, on that potential slippery slope, and I didn’t particularly want to get a mile out on a strip of granite surrounded by seawater, only to have a mishap. So, Tom went on the adventure, and I happily watched.
It was Thursday, July 2nd as I sat and watched people walk out onto that granite walkway and, like my husband, disappear into a little pin-point speck the further out they went. They seemed to disappear right into the water. It was an oddly fascinating sight.
After watching that spectacle for about 15 minutes, I decided to call my mother, as I waited for Tom to return. When I reached her, she told me that they had taken my father to the hospital the previous day. My father had been sick for several years, so, that news typically shouldn’t have made something shift inside me, but it did. I heard a voice in my head, as my mother told me not to worry, to stay and finish out our vacation, tell me, instead, that we should get to Florida and SOON! We were planning our annual end-of-July trip to Jacksonville anyway, but Mom assured me that there was no reason to change our plans. That’s what she told me. Still, the thought gnawed at me for two days, and the more time passed, the harder it gnawed.
That Saturday, on July 4th, after we had been to a celebratory parade in Searsport, we drove around all our favorite places in Belfast, then we went back to our hotel to await the evening fireworks downtown, over Penobscot Bay. I remember my husband asking what I wanted to do to pass the time, and I looked at him and, regretfully, told him I felt we needed to go home. My husband is a good guy! A good sport! He didn’t hesitate in cutting our vacation short because of my strong feeling that we should head to Florida. He slept for about an hour and a half, while I quietly packed up the room. Then, like one of those afternoon storms in Jacksonville – ones that rapidly move in and just as quickly move out, the car was packed up, and we were on the road by 4 p.m.
I recall, as we drove out of Maine, apologizing, teary-eyed, to my husband because we were going to miss the fireworks. I’d really wanted to see them too! He squeezed my hand and told me that it was okay. He assured me that we’d return the next year to re-visit our sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of daily life. I closed my eyes and silently thanked God for putting this wonderful man in my life! Some men truly would not be willing to cut their vacation short - especially after having been told to stay put. It was never a second thought for Tom.
I will also never forget the incredible journey home. Sometimes, when we make a decision that carries some personal disappointment for us, God rewards the sacrifice with something more spectacular than we could have ever imagined! That night, as we drove back to our home in Virginia, in order to re-group before we headed to Florida, we were treated to a fireworks display that will rival anything I will ever see again in my lifetime! From 8:30 until 11:00 p.m., we saw fireworks – brilliant fireworks – as we made our way through Massachuessets, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania. It was amazing! It was spectacular! And, it made the leaving a little easier to take. We laughed. We oohed. We AHed! We marveled at the memory that was being created in that moment. Who else can say that they saw fireworks in FOUR states on the 4th of July?! By gosh, I’ll bet nobody! Nobody but us, that is! It was an experience so grand that it made us feel like the only two people in the world, when we remember it! Sometimes, miracles come in the smallest of ways in the overall scheme of things. That night seemed like one of those things to us.
But, It was no more a wonderful sight than the surprise and happy sparkle we saw in my father’s eyes when we walked into his hospital room two days later. I knew when I saw him that we had made the right decision. We spent almost a month in Florida. It was one of those surreal occurrences, when it seemed like the days were endless, yet the time passed quickly.
One night, when Tom & I were visiting, the nurse came in to check on Daddy, telling me that he’d not been eating very well. I asked her if she could have a dish of chocolate ice-cream sent up for him. She looked at me, smiled and nodded, seeming to understand that, sometimes, daughters know more in certain instances than medical experts. In all fairness, I did have a slight advantage. I had witnessed my father turn down a grade A, filet mignon steak, for a sweet, decadent dessert. When all else failed, give him something sweet. I come by that trait naturally! So, it was no surprise that he ate every bit of the ice-cream. His nurse made a note on his chart that if he wasn’t eating well, to send a bowl of ice-cream up. In that moment, for that moment, all was well.
Later that night, when the intercom system announced that visiting hours were over, my father looked at both of us and asked us not to leave. He seemed a little uncomfortable – something was weighing on him, and he didn’t want us to leave him, not then anyway. Now, my family can attest to the fact that I’ve never been much of a rule breaker, [my brother has been known to call me the white sheep of the family] but on that night, the rules, I thought, be damned. We stayed for an extra half-hour, until the nurse stepped in and politely told us that visiting hours really were over.
It’s an unexplainable feeling when a child recognizes that the roles between parent and child have shifted. It was the first time in my life that I sensed a hesitancy in my father. In made me think of the times when I was a little girl who did not want to go to bed, because, on that particular night, I was afraid of the dark. Even though I shared a room with my sister, there was something about the darkness that unsettled me at times. That was until my father showed me that there was nothing lurking beneath my bed, there were no hidden monsters in my closet nor any frightful creatures hiding outside my window. The extra time he took to assure me that I was safe and all was sound, allowed me to go to sleep, peacefully, secure in those two facts.
It was my hope that those extra 30 minutes we gave Daddy offered him some of that same reassured solitude that he’d provided for me so many years prior. He seemed to relax when I kissed him goodnight and told him that we’d see him first thing the next morning. I remember the look in his eyes, when I asked before we left: "okay?" Within that "okay", my eyes told him that if it wasn’t, we’d stay until it was, and I’d deal with the nurse. I can still feel the squeeze of his hand in mine when he nodded that it was alright.
The following morning, we were up and out. True to my word, we got there first thing. Our visits were taken in shifts so that everyone could spend time with Dad. It gave each of us time to have quiet moments with him, discuss unresolved things, reminisce about specific shenanigans we had gotten into as children. It was a gift for each of us, for different reasons and in different ways. Nonetheless, those moments were priceless as they came to me and my family. We recognized that not everyone is fortunate to have time to settle things with a loved one before they make their transition onward. It truly was a wondrous gift.
One afternoon, my husband dropped me off, then went to Starbucks so that I could have some one-on-one time with my father. We were watching General Hospital, a soap opera that I had gotten my father hooked on, after he had retired. We watched it everyday together the year that he lived with us in Virginia. During a commercial break, he looked over at me and asked if I’d gotten my puppy yet? My mother had gotten a Chihuahua the previous year, and I had fallen in love with him. I was suppose to get the pick of the litter when my mother bred Slick, but those plans didn’t work out. When my mother told my father in early Spring that she was going to have to have Slick neutered, my father told her that I was going to be devastated. Mom assured him that she was going to buy me a puppy for my birthday, which was a few months down the pike, and Daddy had asked if he could go in with her on it. So, that afternoon, during the commercial break, he wanted to know if we’d taken care of that yet?
I remember chuckling, and telling him that I’d not had time to go find a puppy, because I had wanted to spend my time visiting with him.
He looked me straight in the eye, and we held that glance for a minute before he said, "I want you to get your puppy."
I assured him I would get on it, when I got back to my mother’s house. I told her that he had been insistent upon it. We had previously glanced at ads in the newspaper, but that night we scoured them. The next day, Mother took me to a pet store, to see some puppies. They were cute, but my puppy wasn’t among them. We decided to keep looking, but I sensed something in my father wanting me to take care of it soon, much the way I had sensed something more urgent in getting to Florida, after Mother had told me that he’d been taken to the hospital. So, I allowed myself the freedom to take time away from visiting with my father on a couple of days and enjoy going off in search of my puppy.
My mother and I looked and looked and looked some more. I wasn’t rushing. It had to be the perfect puppy. My mother and I had a ball searching for my Chihuahua. It was like a treasure hunt. I’d not been on one of those since I was a little girl, and it was extra special doing it with my mother. Between that and visiting my father, the days were full.
Within a week, it became more apparent where things were heading with regard to Daddy. My father had been receiving certain treatments that he neither liked nor wanted, but doctors are in the business of saving lives, even when the life they are fighting to save is fighting not to be saved. [There are times when a person knows the deck is stacked against them, and their heart knows, as the song says, that it’s time to fold ‘em.] I think my father knew the score. I don’t fault the doctors for their efforts. It’s what they’re there to do. However, we had a purpose too: to carry out my father’s wishes.
My husband sat with Daddy watching tv and talking about sports, while my mother and I spoke to the doctor in the hallway. As a family, we had decided to move Daddy to Hospice but wanted to make certain we understood my father’s prognosis before we did it. As any good doctor would do, he attempted to sway us from that decision and continue on with their treatments, instead of allowing my father to just be. It was met, on my part, with vocal declaration that our family was moving forward with regard to my father’s expressed wishes regarding cessation of treatment. My brother had been the one, earlier, to talk to Dad at length, for clarification purposes on that point – he didn’t want the treatments he was being given. We were armed with the knowledge of what my father’s wishes were, and we intended to see that they were carried out.
The doctor told me that he had liked me much better when he had spoken to me on the phone, before we’d left Virginia. There was something comical in the comment–the way he’d said it. At least I took it that way. I was raised by a southern couple to be gracious and polite in the ways that I conducted myself as a woman. Sometimes, as I’ve learned from my southern mother, graciousness, politeness and niceties have to take a backseat to the assertive and direct approach that are often required in order to get things done.
It’s like a circus, high-wire act – this lesson my mother taught, in how to balance and navigate the currents of being a gracious, southern woman, who could take care of myself. It’s a training that rivals anything a coach instills into their sports team, I’ll guarantee you! So, with as much gracious decorum as I could muster, I politely told the doctor that I was sorry if my assertiveness seemed abrupt to him. It had not been my intent to offend him in any way, but we were not there to be his friend nor amiable with regard to his feelings. Our purpose was greater than that! We were there solely to be my father’s advocate. We moved him to Hospice.
I cannot say enough good or positive things about Hospice. The environment and atmosphere was all about comfort and peace for the patient as well as making certain that, we, the family, were doing alright as well. It is a wonderful organization. I felt the love in which the staff considered not only my father’s feelings and wishes but ours too. His room felt like a bedroom not an antiseptic, stark white room in a hospital that teemed with the sounds of rolling carts and intercom notifications, and various other noise and clatter. It was night and day in terms of atmosphere. I knew we had made the right choice. Also, with Hospice, they allow the family to come over at night if you want to sit with your loved one. No more nurses to tangle with after the visiting hour bell chimes. That was a big comfort for us children.
After spending the morning with my father, my sister came in and spent Monday afternoon with my him, while my mother, husband and I went off in pursuit of my puppy. It was July 20. It was the day we found Chuey. It was a happy, good day. He was a tiny little sweetheart of a thing, no bigger than a fist, or as Daddy would say, "a minute!". He was fawn colored with a black muzzle and dark chocolate eyes. As soon as the woman put him into my arms, the deal was done-sealed-finito! I had found my puppy. He was perfect and, oh so sweet. I didn’t know a heart could fall in love THAT quickly, but ours had. We laughed as we drove back to the house. My mother oohed and ahhed over him, as if he truly was her grandbaby, and he was! After we got back to Mother’s and settled, I called my father to let him know that I’d gotten my puppy and would be bringing him over the following morning.
"You did?" he sounded happy. My brother was there with him. There was no telling what they’d been up to – the tree and his apple. [I must be careful using that analogy because some say it about me as well]. Anyway, I felt like a little girl telling him all about Chuey, my sweet puppy, as I laughed and giggled and, yes, cried a little, all the while talking to him about how adorable he was. My mother had heard me rambling, ad nauseam, about Chuey’s extreme cuteness. I was certain she was thankful for the respite from the continuation of that conversation – glad my father was on the receiving end of my continued gushing for a while. In any event, I told Daddy we’d see him soon.
"That’s good, Sug!" he replied, sounding pleased. "I’ll look forward to it."
He seemed relaxed – more relaxed than I’d heard him in years. There are times when conversation with my brother and sister can put you in a really good place. Daddy had gotten a double-dose of it that day, I could tell. It was a good thing.
The next morning was a good thing too. Something happens when people see a puppy. Eyes widen – light up, a hand reaches out and some light play ensues. That’s exactly what happened the next day, when I took Chuey over to meet Daddy. My father pulled back when Chuey popped out from beneath the blanket that covered him. Daddy made his "Ugh" kind of laugh. Chuey wasn’t sure what to do or make of everything - new environment, new smells, new things to get into. He scampered up and down the bed, while my father’s eyes darted after him.
Dad giggled.
Now, for those of you who don’t know this, a giggle is very different from a laugh. It’s more playful - mischievous. In some ways, it’s like having a secret. It was a carefree moment – a truly happy moment. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, thanking him for the best birthday present ever!
"Make certain you thank your Mother!" he replied in an instructional tone, as if I was four years old, and he had to tell me something that had already been drummed into my head and solidly instilled, regarding manners. "It was her idea after all! She told me I could go in on it with her, but she’s the one to thank."
I assured him that Mother had already been thanked a dozen times or more the previous day, each and every time I looked at my munchy, little puppy.
"Did you get the one you wanted?" he asked, curiously.
I nodded that I had. I had wanted the one listed with Chuey’s coloring but specified as female. I jokingly told Dad that aside from the people not being able to tell the difference between a male and female puppy, I’d gotten the one I’d wanted. Tom and I were smitten with him. Boo, not so much! [A story for another day]
"Well, that’s good!" he said, laughing about the sex mix-up. "As long as you’re happy!"
I don’t know why I felt tears come in that moment, but they did. I looked down and said softly. "I am, Daddy! Thank you. I am very happy!"
Then, he said the last thing that I would ever hear him say to me: it was a compliment and a blessing, which I know you’ll understand if I choose to keep private. I rested my head against his quilted-covered chest with my arm draped across him and told him one final time, when he was able to say it back to me, that I loved him. It was the last thing we ever said to each other. It was one of the most important moments in my 45 years of life, that I had shared with my father. Aside from the quiet words he’d whispered to me before he walked me down the aisle to marry Tom, or the emotional telephone conversation we shared, and the words of comfort he offered to me, after I suffered my first miscarriage, the last time my father and I said we loved each other will forever be emblazoned in my heart and mind as one of the most special moments of my life.
It was the following day that my father slipped into what I prefer to call the place between the worlds: the one we live in and infinity. He was physically there with us, but he’d stopped communicating with us, except for an occasional hand squeeze here or there, which could have been construed as merely reflex. Who knows for certain? We chose to interpret messages in the way that provides us with comfort. For me, Daddy was communicating with us in those periodic hand squeezes. Again, we were back to taking shifts with him so that he wouldn’t be alone, which was a promise that his children had made to him, during another time in his life when he seemed a little unsettled, and we assured him that he’d never be alone.
My days with my father during that time period were spent reading him the Bible - just opening it up and reading wherever the spirit lead me. There were some incredibly comforting passages that I was lead to. Even Tom made comment one day when he came into the room and heard me reading that it was amazing that my hands had just open to that particular passage. God works in amazing ways...
I continued to watch General Hospital with him – comment about the stories I knew he liked the best, then informed him what the stocks had closed at each day, at 4 p.m.; the idea was to continue with as much of his daily routine as normal, because we believed he could hear us. It wasn’t a difficult groove to fall into. It didn’t seem strange to talk to him and not get a response. I can’t explain it beyond that. There was a purpose in the silence, and I still believed that my father was present in the moment with me. All I can say is that it reminded me of a song I had learned, in church, as a child:
"I believe in the sun, even when it isn’t shining. I believe in love, even when there’s no one there. And, I believe in God. I believe in God, even when he is silent..."
Just as I believed that, I continued to believe that my father could hear me. So, on we went in this journey to his finish line.
The wonderful thing about Hospice is that they are open to families 24-7. They also allow pets to come in for a visit. If we couldn’t sleep at night, we were more than welcome to go over and sit with Dad. One night, I did just that. I had Chuey wrapped up in the baby blanket that my mother had given him and sat in the recliner that was closest to Dad’s bed, which allowed me to hold his hand. I nestled in with the remote control trying to find something decent at 3 a.m. to watch, when lo and behold, I stumbled upon Jagged Edge. It’s a thriller with Glen Close and Jeff Bridges. We’d seen it together when we lived in Maryland. Still, it’s a movie worth seeing again, if you like thrillers. We did.
"Ooh, Dad!" I said, pulling the blanket and Chuey closer around me. "Jagged Edge is coming on. Let’s watch!"
I think I truly humored one of the night nurses who was tickled by the way that I talked to my father. She happened to pass by as I told him:
"Keep your eyes closed, Dad, the scary part is coming!"
She couldn’t help herself. She had to pop her head in, because she said it sounded like we were having waaaay to much fun. And, in our own way, we were. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t answer me. I knew he was aware of what was going on and enjoying my playful banter with him, because he loved to banter.
That’s how the days and nights went. One of us being there, sitting with him, talking to him, holding his hand, while the others rested until their turn came. It was 10 o’clock on Saturday night, July 25th, when the night nurse called and suggested that the family gather. We called my brother and sister to let them know that we were being told the time might be at hand. Then, we threw on some sweats and jeans, and headed out thinking-believing that the time was near. It was quite a ride over. We were all lost in our own private thoughts, which is not always a bad thing.
One by one, we arrived, until the five of us were gathered around his bed, kissing his forehead, telling him that we loved him, urging him to let go, assuring him that we’d be alright, and we’d see him again one day. Now, anyone who knows my father, knows that he has always done things on his timetable, when he was ready and not one minute before. This night would prove to be no exception. However, at the time, we didn’t know that he wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet. It was oddly comforting being piled into that room together like a grown-up slumber party was about to commence.
I don’t recall when the last time we’d all been in the same room together was, but I knew this would be the last time, regardless of the outcome. I guess it’s why every moment of that particular night is so acutely etched in my mind, because when you recognize something like that, you tend to pay more attention to the details than you might have otherwise.
We sat in the cool, semi-dark room, illuminated only by the light coming from the cracked, open bathroom door and spoke softly to one another. My mother and brother each took a recliner; my sister was curled up on the window seat with a pillow and a blanket, and my husband and I laid side-by-side on cots that had been brought in. I don’t know what the protocol is for something like that – sit still and not make a sound as we waited for my father to leave us? After all, that is a truly reverent moment. However, we don’t do that very well: sit quietly still, unless, of course, we’re in church. Even then, it’s a test.
My mother can tell you that - having doled out most of her half-moon-nail-patterned reminders for silence, to antsy children struggling to sit still and be quiet in church. In Dad’s room, we spoke in hushed tones about mundane things. It was much easier to pass the night that way – light conversation. Periodically, one of us would get quiet, overcome by the magnitude of the moment. There were many long moments that passed that night, but nothing happened the way we had been told it would happen. Daylight broke, and my father was still with us.
I could hear his laughter in my mind as if to say: "Oh, Sug! I can’t believe you fell for that! Did you really think I was leaving tonight?"
Because, my father, you see, had a wicked sense of humor.
We decided to go for breakfast, because we desperately needed coffee, but my sister wanted to stay behind and join us later. One thing, I learned during this entire process was to let people maneuver through this unfamiliar territory in the space and time that they needed to – to find their own way through it at their own pace. So, we left her with Dad, but not before I whispered into his ear,
"You didn’t fool me for one second, Old Man! I suspected all along that you’ve got one more trick up your sleeve...." It was a comment my father would have appreciated. "Old Man" was a term of endearment that always humored him, when it was used-in the context that it was used! I kissed his cheek, joined the others and left my father in good company with my sister.
The next week went much the same way as the previous ones. With one exception. We were coming into the first week of August. As previously mentioned at the beginning of this post, Tom and I had made some very special plans, months earlier, for my birthday that happened to coincide on my husband’s birthday. Tom and I spoke about the concert but only in the context that we were sorry we didn’t have any way to get the tickets to anyone to use. They were hanging on our refrigerator in Virginia.
My mother overheard our conversation as she passed through the living room. She looked at me intently. "I don’t think you should miss the concert," she told us. "Your father wouldn’t want that."
I shook my head. I couldn’t think of leaving. I told her as much.
She sat down with us. "Jhill," she said in the comforting mother-tone that a child yearns to hear when they are in a quandary. "You’ve done everything here that you can do! All we can do now is wait. You don’t need to stay for that, when you’ve made these plans. You know that Daddy would tell you to go."
I started to cry. "If I leave, I won’t see him again!"
She reached for my hand and squeezed it, then hugged me. We were silent for a minute, then she pulled away to go to her room. "I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I know what your father would want for you to do!"
When she left, I buried my face in my hands and cried some more. It was too much and coming from all directions. I was torn. I didn’t want Tom’s birthday to be ruined. Yet, I didn’t want to leave my father. My father, however, was in a twilight place, and I knew there would be no coming back from it for him. I let go and let reasonableness in.
It was true, what my mother had said. There wasn’t anything left for me to do in Jacksonville, but sit with my father and wait for something that I didn’t really want to wait around for. My mother and I had already made his arrangements together. I’d written his obituary. It truly was a waiting game. There was much I had to do in Virginia, because we had decided that we would bring Daddy’s ashes home and bury him in the family plot. My mind was overwhelmed with all that was left to do there, but it was true that I had done all I could in Florida.
I looked at my husband and nodded. My mother was right. I knew she was right. We decided to go home.
Tom and I stopped by to see Dad on our way out. I remember standing beside his bed just staring at him, for what seemed like hours, trying to memorize every detail that I could - hoping that my mind’s eye would be able to recall, at a later date, the detailed image of my father. I knew I would not be seeing him again in this lifetime. I laid across his chest and placed his arms around my neck. It was the best that I could do for a final hug. I bathed his blankets in tears as I promised that I’d see him on the other side. I scratched his beard, then kissed him there as I re-affirmed a love that had begun between us on a hot summer’s day in 1963, when I came screaming into the world. His exit from it would be more gracious than my entrance, but I think it’s suppose to play out that way. One moment was a joyous celebration. The other was a bittersweet and somber one. Yet, in that moment, as I looked at him one final time, I heard the sounds of Fanfare for an Common Man pound in my head, and I smiled at him one last time, because there was nothing common about my father.
I was happy that he would soon be freed from a body that had betrayed him through the years; that the constant pain he’d lived with for far too many years would no longer plague him; that his worries would soon abate and life’s disappointments would become a distant memory for him. Those were the things to celebrate with his transition onward. That, and that he would soon be walking in fields of gold - joining the rest of our family who had gone on before him. I can see that imagine so clearly in my mind. My grandfathers are walking with him - Granddaddy and Granddaddy Bosher ; my Grandmother has a pitcher of iced tea waiting for them and Nannie Ocie calls to Martha to see if she needs any help setting the table. Then, my Daddy helps his sister, my Aunt Betty, and her son Eric to the table as Aunt Shirley helps round up Tom and my children to sit beside my father, and they all join hands and say grace. That was the happy thought that played out in my mind as my father prepared to join them...
The drive home was long – emotional – draining. Tom and I didn’t speak a great deal. Boo was ticked off with us because of Chuey. And, Chuey...well, he kept me from completely falling apart. He snuggled against my chest, wrapped in the little, blue, baby blanket my mother had given him. Periodically, he’d raise his tiny head and lick my cheek or cuddle close against the space between the front part of my neck and chest – snuggle cuddles as I call them. I use to do it with my mother when I was a little girl, and she held me in the rocking chair. It was a comfort. More of a comfort was when silent tears would rain down on Chuey, and he’d look up at me and begin the task of licking my face and cleaning all the tears gone again. I smiled as I looked into his chocolate brown eyes [the color of his My-Mama’s] and remembered my mother smiling and laughing the day he was placed into my arms. Her face faded into my father’s as he watched my little bit scamper up and down his bed, reaching his hand out to touch him. More tears fell, and Chuey collected every one of them. I held him closer to me as I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes. It went that way for a while: me crying and Chuey licking all the tears gone. It’s amazing how old a 45 year old body can feel. In that moment, the days and weeks had caught up to me, and I felt like I was 80 - a very OLD 80...
It was a different coming home than normal for me - bittersweet. Dad had lived with us for awhile, before he moved to his condo in Jacksonville. When we walked into the house, my eyes went immediately to his chair in the living room. Images of him sitting in it - watching his tv shows filled my mind. I called my mother to tell her we had made it safely home and to see if there had been any change? She told me he was holding his own. I remember hanging up the phone and chuckling over that. My father had always held his own.
Tom and I went to bed, knowing that the following day would be filled full with unpacking, doing laundry and re-packing for an overnight trip to Charlottesville. Immediately, upon waking, I called my mother. It was to be a back-and-forth of touching base all day. That night, my stomach was in knots. I don’t know why, but just as I sensed in Maine that Dad’s situation was dire, so I sensed his impending exit strategy. My husband’s birthday was the following day. I don’t know why, but my gut feared, for some unfathomable reason that Daddy would be leaving us on Tom’s birthday. If that was the case, my heart felt an extra ache. I didn’t know what that would do to Tom if it proved to be true? I called my mother late that Monday night.
"If Daddy passes tomorrow," I hesitated, feeling guilty for wanting to have my husband's birthday drama-free, when SO much was going on in Florida. "Would you wait and tell us on Wednesday? I don’t want Tom to have to think about that on his birthday. It won’t change anything," my voice broke as I made the request. It was unlike me to think of me first, but I think my mother knew that, at the heart of my request, I was thinking of Tom first.
My mother agreed.
The following morning, Tom and I had a subdued breakfast celebration for his birthday.
"Any news on Dad?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee.
I shook my head.
"Why don’t you call?"
Tears came. "You sure?"
"It’s on our minds," he said. "I think we’ll enjoy the day more if we know what’s going on."
I nodded my agreement and called.
My mother didn’t seem surprised to hear from me. She told me he’d made it through the night and she and my sister were heading over for awhile.
"Tell Pam to give him a kiss for us!"
I remember going into the kitchen as Mom spoke to Tom - telling him to try and have a happy day!
I picked up a napkin and dabbed at my eyes, as I stared out the kitchen window. Please God! Don’t take him today!
I remember that prayer so viscerally. I wiped at my eyes and put on my happy face. It was, after all, my husband’s birthday. He didn’t deserve a gloomy Gus.
Chuey bounced all around the room as Tom opened his presents. Then, he packed the car as I got ready for lunch. The game plan was to leave for Charlottesville after we returned from the restaurant. Get the bird; grab the puppy; hit the road.
At 12:45 p.m., as we were walking into the house to get the bird and grab the puppy before we hit the road, the phone rang. I remember looking at the caller i.d. I wasn’t going to answer it, but I still looked. The room spun briefly as I saw my mother’s phone number on the Caller I.D.; I looked at Tom, grabbed hold of the sofa’s edge and sat down before I answered.
I knew when I heard my mother’s voice say my name that he was gone. I spared her from actually having to say it to me.
"Daddy?" I asked, nervously.
She told me it was Daddy.
"When?"
She told me that she and my sister had left to go have a bite of lunch, and had no more gotten down the road when his nurse called and said that he’d passed.
"I can’t believe we were there with him for two hours," she said. "And, as soon as we walk out of the room, they call and tell us he’s gone."
"It works that way, sometimes, Mom!" was all I could say. It dawned on me that we had been having a Mexican dessert with ice-cream when Daddy passed. Tom was wearing a huge sombrero and the gang at Mexico had sang to him. My father never could stand to miss a party - especially where ice-cream was being served!
Then, I recall breaking down at that point, and feeling Tom next to me. I listened as my mother consoled me then, I handed the phone to Tom as I sobbed. It’s an indescribable feeling when you lose a parent. There’s a moment of panic followed by fear, because it dawns on you that one of your greatest support systems is now gone. Then, the grief settles in and takes hold. There is a true Oh God! moment, when all three emotions converge and you feel lost. It’s a horrible feeling, but, then, I wouldn’t expect any less on the day your father dies.
I did my notifying from the car on our way over to Charlottesville. It seemed odd to be going to a concert on the day that my father died, but it was also my husband’s birthday, and I needed to give him as much of a happy day as I could muster. I don’t think I was a very good musterer, but Tom didn’t fault me for it.
I reached for his hand and told him I was sorry. It needed to be acknowledged that it wasn’t just regretful that my father had died, but that he had done so on my husband’s birthday. The magnitude of it is something that I still haven’t wrapped my brain around, two years later, other than to say what I said to my brother when he called to check on us and give Tom birthday greetings [I know....it sounds like the plot of a badly written play!] My brother and everyone else in the family, however, love how I expressed this loss.
Still, it had become our reality, and we had to find some way to deal with it. The only thing I could come up with and hold onto was this: the two most important men in my life share a birthday! My husband was born into the world on August 4th, and my father stepped into eternity on that day. My brother thought that it was a nice and fitting way to look at it.
Well, truth be told, my family has had its share of dealt lemons to contend with. I know how to make lemonade. When life hands them to you, you can either try to turn it into something palatable or let it make your disposition bitterly sour. I don’t do sour, though I struggle, at times, with the bitter. Some pills...you know.... are like that and my human-ness makes me struggle. It’s a fine line. That’s the grace moment though: struggling with the bitter, while not becoming sour.
Tom asked me if I wanted to go home.
I remember shaking my head. "No," I told him. "I want to see Jackson Browne, and I want to celebrate your birthday."
He squeezed my hand.
Now, being the sign person that I am, I reached for one in that moment. I remember telling him. "Ya know, Jackson Browne doesn’t sing For a Dancer very often [from what I’d heard] in concert. It’s my favorite song of his, and if he does it tonight, I’ll know Daddy’s gotten safely to where he’s going and is okay."
I think Tom felt a little uneasy by that reasoning. He didn’t want me to be any more disappointed given the disappointment the day had already dealt. It seemed as if I was setting myself up for more of it.
"What’s your second pick?" he urged me to find a backup strategy.
I shook my head. "Nothing," I said, knowing what he was doing. "I don’t really expect him to sing it. It was just a thought..."
"I just don’t want you to be disappointed, Sweetie!" he said softly, his own voice breaking a little.
"We’re seeing Jackson Browne in concert tonight!" I reminded, and there was true excitement in my voice. "There’s nothing that can be disappointing in that!"
He didn’t push it any further. [He knows me too well]
The concert was at a lovely, outdoor venue. Because Charlottesville is surrounded by mountains, the weather isn’t overly hot or humid, even in August. Tom got me situated, then went to buy me a program.
It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and blue and the weather was pleasantly balmy. I remember thinking how ironic the backdrop was to this day. Tom and I settled in against one another and prepared for a night of incredibly enjoyable music. It was a welcome interlude from the day’s earlier event and the one that was soon to follow.
The one thing that I knew would go as planned with regard to the day was that Jackson Browne would NOT disappoint! He would be as incredible as I always imagined. And, it was true.
His voice was as smooth and mellow as I’d always heard it to be through the speakers of my stereo system. His presence was as grand yet as humbling as he presented himself in interviews. His songs were meaningful and rich with emotion. The only difference was that the delivery was better - so much better, because we were there with him - live and in person.
Sometimes, when sad things happen to us, God sends a hug more spectacular and comforting than anything we could ever have imagined a hug from God could be! God sent me a hug the night he called my father home. This is what the hug was:
The sun was setting, and in a patch of blackish-blue sky off in the distance, a twinkle of starlight appeared. One star was all that was visibly seen in the sky in that moment. Then, in the movement of a light summer breeze, that felt like a kiss against my cheek, I heard a chord played. It’s all I needed to hear to know what was coming. I cried out, "Oh," as I grabbed Tom’s arm. Just as the band began to play the song I had requested on the drive over. It was as if the heaven’s opened up [my hand to God, I’m not exaggerating this] and a bright ray of light from the setting sun, touched down directly over Jackson Browne as he began to sing, For a Dancer. That light stayed spot on him throughout the entire song.
"Oh my God!" I softly cried.
I think I heard Tom echo it back.
It was a most beautiful sight! It was a most joyous sound! It was truly indescribable!
I felt my hand clutch my heart because the odds of him performing that song were so much greater in favor of it not happening. Did I say that it was a most beautiful sight? It was! The way the rays of the sun shone down upon him, and the richness of his voice soothed my troubled, weary and sad soul. I felt the smile of God on me in that moment. Jackson Browne will never know the gift he gave me that night. It was truly a religious experience, and one that I have thought back on many times these last two years, when I’ve needed a moment of comfort regarding my father’s departure from this life. In the moments that it took for him to sing that glorious song, I knew that my father had made it safely home – he was at peace and okay. As I listened to that joyful sound, within the melody of solace in his poignant lyrics, I felt a peace come to me – the one that passes all understanding. It was one of those paradoxical moments when nothing about the day was okay, yet, in that moment, it was all okay...
In the aftermath of that gift, as we prepared for my father’s memorial service, I thought of another verse that also gave me comfort - that I carry with me. It became the final sentiment that I expressed at my father’s memorial service, when it was my turn to speak. My brother spoke first. Then, my husband read a poem. My sister spoke next. And, being the youngest, I spoke last. I couldn’t think of anything better to end with, after I had eulogized my father, than the words of William Wordsworth from Intimations of Immortality. They are this:
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
The soul that rises with us, our life’s star,
Hath had its setting elsewhere and cometh from afar.
Not in entire forgetfulness and not in utter nakedness,
But, trailing clouds of glory do we come from God who is our home..."
Amen...
There is one last thing, I’ll ask you to indulge me in, if you’d be so kind. I made a video for the first anniversary of my father’s death. I’ve attached it, if you’d like to watch it. [As well as a couple of others] We were in Boston for that milestone. [My father went to Harvard] Daddy and Tom loved to not only to watch baseball together but discuss it. Tom has always wanted to see as many ballpark’s as he can so, true to his word, we went back to Maine the following summer, and on our way back from Maine, I took him to Fenway Park for his birthday. We felt Daddy’s presence all over that place as the commentator called the plays and we listened to the 7th inning stretch and celebrated the day. It was almost as glorious as Jackson Browne singing For a Dancer the year prior. Almost. Nothing, however, will ever top that moment when Daddy’s circle of life completed and was beautifully wrapped up in the majesty of that joyful sound....
http://youtu.be/uWgY6eVzTNM [Video I made in memory of my father/8-4-10]
http://youtu.be/IU1rZa8Ur_Q [The song Jackson Browne sang to me the night my father died]
Written by Jhill Perran
August 4, 2011
In Loving Remembrance:
Leslie Earl Bosher
December 5, 1938-August 4, 2009
Tom and I on August 4, 2009~Daddy was heading out when this photo was taken.
Me & Daddy, 4/28/95
I miss his hug...
My favorite picture of me with Mom and Dad, Circa Summer of 1987
Chuey, the last gift I ever received from my father [and mother] for my birthday in August 2009
Me & Chuey ~ 8/13/09 My birthday
