My Dad died 6 years ago on August 13, smack dab in the middle of summer, on a sunny morning, and I wasn’t there. I’m not upset about that fact, as I know that is how he and God planned it. Months before, I had overheard Dad say that watching my Mom die was one of the most horrific things he’d ever witnessed. So, I already knew he would leave when no one was watching. My Dad slipped away while I was still driving to see him, and when my siblings had turned away to talk to their children. Dad saw the back door open and he slipped through it. Whenever asked about him, I tell people that Dad had a good life and a good death. There’s no other way to describe it. I’m happy that my brother, sister and I were able to care for Dad at home until he left. My Dad was happy about it too. One of the last things he said to me was, “Just watch over me sis. Just watch over me”. He trusted us completely, right to the end.
When Dad’s oncologist told him his treatment options, Dad said, “If there’s a card on the table, I want to play it.”. My sister and I glanced at each other, knowing what that would entail. Dad would get chemo, he would get very sick, and he would likely suffer up until he passed away. But, if that’s what Dad wanted, we were prepared to support him in his decision. The next day, Dad called me, and said, “I don’t think I’m going to do it Sis. The doctor said it would make me really sick, maybe so that I couldn’t walk. I don’t want my grandkids to see me or remember me like that.” The Doc had said chemo might get Dad 3 extra months, but that those months may not be worth much. The next visit to the doctor, Dad told him his decision, and asked if that meant he could have a beer and smoke a Cuban? The doc said he could do whatever the hell he wanted to do. This made Dad very happy, and he immediately set about doing whatever the hell he wanted, wherever the wind blew him. He took my niece, and then my nephew, on cross country trips in his yellow Camaro. We spent every weekend at the cabin, drinking, bullshitting, playing cribbage, visiting with friends. Dad had a great laugh, a way of speaking where everyone around him listened. He had lived a very full life and was full of wisdom for anyone who asked. He also told it like it was, so you had to be prepared for the answer. He was chock full of charisma, robust energy, and fairly tactless, but a pleasure to be around nonetheless. That summer was a summer of merriment and togetherness and one we all enjoyed every second of.
At Dad’s funeral, at least a dozen people stood up and told stories about Dad’s generosity. How he had loaned them money to start their business, how he had given them some sort of a break that allowed them to be successful in some way or another. I was able to see first hand the gratitude of someone my Dad had helped. Just a few days before he died, a man knocked on the door. I opened it and recognized him as the dad of one of my closest high school friends. He asked if he could come in and see Dad. I told him he wasn’t really seeing visitors at the time as he was very ill and barely awake, but that I’d go see if he would like a visit or not. I told Dad who it was and he said to let him in, so I showed the man to Dad’s bedroom and left them alone. A little while later, he walked out of the room, I could tell he had been crying as he nodded to me and left. Months later, I was talking to my friend, and told him about the visit. I told him I was very surprised because I didn’t know that our fathers were even friends. His dad wasn’t part of my Dad’s social circle and Dad had never talked about him. My friend told me that when his Dad got back from the Vietnam War, he was a changed man. He had been a “tunnel rat” and had been physically and mentally traumatized by it. He became an alcoholic, and was known around town to be drunk most of the time. My friend told me that when his dad needed to go to the VA hospital in Ironwood Michigan after the war, nobody but my Dad would make the drive for him. My Dad would pick him up, drive him a couple hours north, wait, and then bring him home. He did this numerous times over the years. To this day, this story brings tears to my eyes. My Dad had never mentioned this kindness, never mentioned how he had helped a man who no one else would. My friend told me how much it meant to his dad, that his dad loved my dad, and never forgot his kindness.
Dad was a practical fella, always talking nuts and bolts, numbers, facts, observations. One day while we sat in the basement watching t.v., he said, “So sis, what’s this dying from liver failure going to look like anyway?” I remember my breath caught in my throat. I told him I’d google it and be right back. I told him that it looked like he would likely become confused as the toxicity built up in his blood, become lethargic, eventually become unconscious and die. It didn’t sound like it would be very painful. He looked at me, smiled and said, “Well, that doesn’t sound all that bad, does it?” I told him I guessed not, and he went back to watching a NASCAR race and I sat there, in awe of my Dad’s practical approach to his coming death, and his bravery. He also told me how pissed he was that he was dying in the middle of summer, his favorite time of year.
Watching a man like my Dad, self-assured, strong, willful, genius, a true lover of life, die, was one of the most life-changing experiences I’ve had to this day. There’s an English idiom of “giving up the ghost”. It’s defined as being associated with ceasing to exist or function when it’s clear one can’t go on. It has to do with death, with the implication being that at the point of death the body gives up the spirit or ghost, which is then free to move on to another sphere or realm. Watching my Dad give up the ghost during the last few weeks of his life was nothing short of watching someone do something that seems impossible, like swimming 100 miles in shark infested waters, only to realize that this was going to be it, roll belly up and let death happen. Dad went from feeling great and needing a cane to walk, to his deathbed in a matter of 17 days. To witness someone accept the fact they have to stop living and then start dying was something I’ll always consider the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I was able to talk with Dad about death before he went. I knew he wasn’t afraid. I knew he believed that in the afterlife, the deceased existed 4 feet above the world we live in. All you had to do was say their name, and they would be there in an instant.
I was a kid Dad never really understood (his words and I agree), but loved anyway. He didn’t know what made me tick as a teenager, and when I was about 17, just threw his hands up and told me he didn’t give a shit anymore. So, I went my way and he went his. After a lot of time passed, he started understanding me better, acknowledging that I’d always dance to my own music and see things differently than him. So we agreed to disagree for the most part, and it we worked it out in our special way. In the end, we had come to a place of pure love and mutual adoration. I was in awe of my Dad’s bravery and faith, and he was proud of me and the woman I’d become, despite my mistakes and unorthodox ways. A few days before he died, we were sitting together on the couch. I’d been wanting to say something to him and finally had the nerve. As he was walking out of the room, I called to him and said, “Dad, when you get to heaven, will you send me a sign?”. He quickly answered with a smile, “How will I know you’re even paying attention?”. I gave him the raspberries and stuck out my tongue, and that was it.
I had a dream during the week before he died, that I was sitting in the yard at our cabin on the lake, and had looked up to see a beautiful mature bald eagle flying over the cabin toward the middle of the lake. In my dream, I knew that was my Dad’s spirit. Dad had always had an affinity toward eagles and would give boat tours to friends, pointing out all the nests along the shore. I hadn’t told anyone about the dream, not even John. The afternoon of Dad’s death, I was alone at the cabin. I had dragged a lawn chair from the yard to the end of the dock, and was laying there in the sunshine, crying. Every once in a while, I’d open my eyes and quickly peek through the sunshine at the blue sky and white clouds. The clouds were the big fluffy kind that slowly changed from one shape to another as the wind blew them around. During one of my peeks to the sky, I saw a square shape had opened up inside a cloud. I didn’t think much of it except that it looked like a picture frame, and shut my eyes. Next time I looked, there was a wisp of cloud in the square, nothing notable, just a wisp. The third time I peeked, the wisp of cloud had shifted around to make what looked like the beak of a bird, becoming more dense and forming a point. Then it’s wings spread out behind it. I was looking at a cloud eagle, and it was in the exact same place I had dreamed my Dad’s spirit had flown! I began to cry harder and hollered, “Dad! I’m paying attention! I’m paying attention and I see you!!”.
For some reason, My Dad always called me Sis. I never asked him why. He didn’t call anyone else Sis, it was just for me, and although I’d never asked him about it, and it may have just been something he said without thought or intent, it always made me feel special. I can still hear his voice in my head when I think about him saying it. The night after Dad died, we had a party at the cabin. I don’t remember much of it, but I’m sure a good time was had. Friends and family gathered around the bonfire and remembered Dad with laughter and tears. Although we had all known it was coming and knew it had to happen, his absence was more than a lot of us could take, so we made a party out of it. I’m not sure where everybody else slept that night, but I fell asleep on one of the couches in the cabin. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the other couch against the wall across from me. When I rubbed my eyes awake, I saw that there was a single Coke can sitting on the floor against the other couch. At the time, Coca Cola had started producing Cokes with labels that said, “Share a Coke with your _______”, filling the blank in with mostly people’s names. The can of Coke across from me was sitting upright, it’s label turned toward me, and the label said “Share a Coke with your Sis”. I almost fell off the couch. Again, I told Dad I was paying attention.
The week between Dad’s death and his funeral, I returned to work as an Occupational Therapist in a rehab facility. I was in a patient’s room, applying ultrasound treatment to his back while he laid in bed, when the CNA entered the room and asked what she could help us with? We hadn’t pressed the call light, in fact, it was laying on the floor next to the bed. I told her I wasn’t sure what had happened, but we hadn’t pressed the call button. She asked me to reset it and when I pushed the button on the wall, it wouldn’t reset. She said she’d get the maintenance man. The maintenance man came to the room a few minutes later. He tried the call light, saw it wouldn’t reset and replaced it with a new one, tested it and it worked just fine. About 15 minutes later, the CNA came to the door again, asking how she could help us? I said we hadn’t pressed the call light, but it was lit up on the wall. I pressed the reset button and it reset this time. Another 15 minutes later, the same thing happened. When the CNA showed up again, I said, “You know what? I know exactly what is going on. This is my Dad at work. This is my Dad. It’s ok, we’ll manage in here. If we need you, I’ll come and get you. This is 100% my Dad giving me a hard time.”. She looked at me funny and left the room. I explained to the patient that he was in the same room my Dad had been in after he had liver surgery, and that he had just died a few days ago, that he was a trickster when he was alive, and apparently a trickster after death. The patient was a good sport about it. The call light worked perfectly afterward.
One day, during Dad’s last week, his Pastor came to visit him. I didn’t know the Pastor at all, but knew that Dad liked him. The house was quiet, fans blowing for their white noise and air movement as it was the middle of August. When the Pastor walked into Dad’s bedroom, he shouted, “Jim! How are ya!?!”. I remember thinking, “What the hell? Dude, Shhhhhhhh!”. My Dad, who hadn’t spoken above a whisper for days, weakly shouted, “WONDERFUL!!!”. He wasn’t being sarcastic or joking, but genuinely sincere. He was doing wonderfully, being taken care of by his family, and giving up the ghost where he wanted to, at home. Although I miss him every day and wish he was here to help me through life’s tough spots, it was an honor to call him my Dad and an honor to be there at his passing. There’s no question that he sent me the signs I asked for, and I know that he knows I am always paying attention.