A Year ago today

TallTom

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I spoke to you by phone just to see how you were doing. You didn't have a lot to say, you were watching it snow, complaining about Mom not letting you do anything you wanted to do and happy to be enjoying the National Geographic channel. We didn't talk long. At your age you didn't have much to say anymore. One week from now, I will get a call from the paramedics attempting to resuscitate you. I respected your wishes and told them to honor the DNR and not continue. You will die in the arms of your bride of 69 years, peacefully and with no apparent pain. I could hear her sobbing in the background as I tell them this. She begged them to continue. She was convinced you were just sleeping from having one too many spiked Eggnog's You were at peace with dying. I knew that. You had a good full life at 94 years old. You did your best to raise your kids and make a good life for us all. I was at peace that you were at peace. It was not a hard thing to tell them, but I knew that I would never have the chance to talk to you again. It would have been selfish of me to have told them to try and make you stay because I needed to say a few things before you go.

Had I known a year ago today that I would lose you in a week I would have said more than Howzit going Pop. Had I known a year ago, I would have called you more often, told you I loved you more, even though you didn't like to hear that silly kind of stuff.

I would have said thank you for being a good father. Thank you for raising me to be strong, yet not pushy. Teaching me to learn and watch before acting. Teaching me how to respect others and be compassionate when needed and tough when I didn't. Teaching me how to follow, yet know when to lead. Teaching me how to stand up for what was right and yield when it wasn't.

I would have said thank you for being tough on us. You never spared the rod, nor spoiled the child. I learned backbone from that. I knew there were to be consequences for actions. You taught me how to calculate my planned mis-steps against the expected punishments if I got caught. You taught me to work for what I got and not take what isn't mine. You taught me to look past where I am now, to where I need to go later.

You grew up not knowing where your next meals would come from some days. You had nothing. The Great Depression had taken your father from you, and shattered your family. You were raised on a farm by your uncle because at least they had food to offer you. You lost your sister and brother for 5 years because of this depression. Despite all of that, you fought for your country in what was to be the War to End all Wars. And you did so with pride.

The family now looks to me to take your place. I do so, using everything you taught me. Mom is doing fine. She was stunned for about 2 months but she is thriving now. Thank you for going in peace quickly. It was much easier on us all. She can enjoy a new life while she is still healthy enough to do so. Your best friend Jimbo searched for you for a month. He looked at your cap waiting for you to come take him for a walk. He sleeps in your bed every day now. He protects that bed for you. When I visited mom, Jimbo thought I was bringing you back home. Mom wanted me to have your cap. Even though it doesn't fit me. It sits in a place of honor and helps me see you when I need to.

Thanks Dad and Merry Christmas. I never got to tell you that last year because I expected to tell you so next week.

Never take for granted the opportunities to do today what you thought you could do in a week. Lots can happen in a week.
 
Wow. Well done. Sorry for your loss and many other's losses here as well. Merry Christmas Dad.
 
Sorry sir for your loss, I'm headed to my fathers house now to give him a hug... Thanks for the reminder, this reminds me of EXACTLY why my parents live next door to me!

cap
 
I am not sorry I lost my dad. He was 94. I knew the time was near. Its time like this when you remember that simply being able to say Merry Christmas has meaning.
 
Toughest time of the year, going on my second time around without my Dad here...this made me cry but you are so strong for being able to sit and write this, for making that call, that tough decision to honor your Dad's wishes when everything in us wants otherwise...what a wonderful tribute :love:

Today I was sitting at the same cancer treatment center that treated my Dad, a routine visit checking for anemia...if I'm anemic, I spend a day in the infusion suite where my Dad spent countless hours wondering if the treatments he was ensuring was all for nothing...it's always so hard for me to be in there. There's a very special nurse there that adored my Dad and always makes sure I'm her patient if I walk in the door, and she always takes great care of me. Today there was a man waiting with his family, in a wheelchair, weak from treatments and annoyed and the series of questions he had to answer about how he feels; I know how he feels - damn tired of cancer just like my Dad was. It was all I could do to not see my Dad in him, that same weakened state, those final stages of such a terrible and cruel disease...I cried then too and hoped no one would notice in a room full of people. Reading this Tom, makes me sometimes wish my Dad had gone quickly too. I'm thankful I had the time I had, knowing he was slipping away, but watching that was so painful for us, was so hard on him...

I don't know what's worse - not being able to say the things you want, or having to watch someone you love so much suffer for so long, but get that time to say everything you need to say...

Sorry, didn't mean to go on so long or take away from you...been a tough day and this was a tough post to read. Thinking of you Tom, and your family!

via Samsung Galaxy SIII
 
Toughest time of the year, going on my second time around without my Dad here...this made me cry but you are so strong for being able to sit and write this, for making that call, that tough decision to honor your Dad's wishes when everything in us wants otherwise...what a wonderful tribute :love:

Today I was sitting at the same cancer treatment center that treated my Dad, a routine visit checking for anemia...if I'm anemic, I spend a day in the infusion suite where my Dad spent countless hours wondering if the treatments he was ensuring was all for nothing...it's always so hard for me to be in there. There's a very special nurse there that adored my Dad and always makes sure I'm her patient if I walk in the door, and she always takes great care of me. Today there was a man waiting with his family, in a wheelchair, weak from treatments and annoyed and the series of questions he had to answer about how he feels; I know how he feels - damn tired of cancer just like my Dad was. It was all I could do to not see my Dad in him, that same weakened state, those final stages of such a terrible and cruel disease...I cried then too and hoped no one would notice in a room full of people. Reading this Tom, makes me sometimes wish my Dad had gone quickly too. I'm thankful I had the time I had, knowing he was slipping away, but watching that was so painful for us, was so hard on him...

I don't know what's worse - not being able to say the things you want, or having to watch someone you love so much suffer for so long, but get that time to say everything you need to say...

Sorry, didn't mean to go on so long or take away from you...been a tough day and this was a tough post to read. Thinking of you Tom, and your family!

via Samsung Galaxy SIII

You aren't taking a thing away from my post. It was posted for anyone to use anyway they like. Good or bad. High or low. I feel worse for my mom than I do myself. This will be her 1st Christmas after losing him. Last year didn't count as she was in shock during the whole holiday.

My dad and I had many long talks when his health was good. I knew that when his time came, he knew I would do as I promised. I let him go when it was his time.

The purpose of the post was to recognize that we take for granted how easy it is say Merry Christmas to someone that we said it to since the day we could say it. And how we take for granted saying things when we have plenty of time to figure out how to say it, rather than trying to do it in a rush.

This post was a celebration not a mourning. I had a good dad. Many don't. I feel fortunate.
 
Sorry for your loss. Your father sounds like a great man who raised a great man. Best wishes and merry Christmas.
 
Thanks for posting this...it is awesome and elicits strong feelings. Congratulations for sticking to you and your Father's plan.
 
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