Sunday, February 18, 2007

Dearest God,

I finished reading Daddy's letters. Correspondence written during the war, I watched my father change from a boy to a man. I saw his perspective alter from a small town view to one of the world. I observed the transformation of a teenager smitten with a pretty girl to an adult concerned after the war with purchasing a car, getting a job, supporting a family.

Although my father never engaged in battle, he was aware of the death of his hometown friends. He was sad for their wives and young children. Daddy was comforted by the presence of his twin brother. I am certain they shared every day. Secrets, desires, fears, loneliness.

Daddy came home in 1945, got a job, started a family. Four children in seven years. Three jobs to keep us going.

Daddy and his brother remained extremely close all their lives. No matter where they lived, they called each other daily. They were each other's best friend. Made of the same cloth, they had the same interests, hopes, and dreams. They worked at the same jobs for many years. Bought cars alike, even had some of the same clothing. Did have different wives. But siring children? Daddy had three girls first, then a boy. My uncle had three boys, then a girl. Mother and my aunt had miscarriages in between the change in sexes. We kids were all within a year of each other, some the same age.

Both entered a twin study at Duke University. When Daddy was diagnosed with Alzheimers, my uncle was spared. He's in his 80's, still free of the ravaging disease. But it was difficult for my uncle. Their life together changed dramatically. Daddy couldn't carry on a conversation any longer.

My father contracted bacterial pneumonia and was hospitalized. Daddy was given little hope. My family rushed to his bedside. My uncle arrived before me. When I walked into the room, Daddy was sitting up in bed. "Hi, Andy. How are you sweetheart?" (Daddy called all us girls sweetheart) I was shocked. He was talking and he knew me. Swiftly I took the opportunity to connect. "Daddy! Daddy! How are you? I love you, I love you, I love you." I hugged him and he hugged me back. We spoke for a couple of minutes, then he drew back, that distant look of confusion stealing him away. He lived through the pneumonia battle but emotionally and mentally he never returned.

When Dad became ill the last time, we knew it was probably the end. My uncle was vacationing in Florida. Dad became critically ill in the nursing home. My siblings and I took turns staying with him. Dad was restless; no amount of encouraging words seemed to help him although the hospice nurse did what she could to assist him.

I finally realized that he couldn't die without his brother. I called my uncle who was already driving home. In the hills of Georgia, he pulled off the side of the road. I held the phone up to Daddy's ear so my uncle could speak to him. "Oh, Mick, you're at the end of the road. It's been a good ride. I love you, Brother. It's okay. You can go on ahead. It won't be long before I join you. Mom's waiting." Then he broke down. Although Dad was very hard of hearing and incapable of understanding, he immediately calmed down. Mysteriously, the two had connected on a level the rest of us could not enter. Daddy remained very ill until his brother arrived. My uncle hugged his loving brother for the last time, told him everything he needed to say, tears streaming down his face, his mind chock full of decades of memory. Then he left after giving Dad permission to die.

I stayed with my father in the nursing home for the next couple of days. I had come so quickly when I heard he was ill again. I didn't take time to gather clothing, a toothbrush. I put on a pair of his sweats and socks. One of the nurses gave me a toothbrush and a mat for the floor so I could sleep there. I put on Daddy's size 13 slippers and walked around like I had when I was a little girl.

I held Daddy's hand, talked to him. I thanked him for my life. I told him that Mom would meet him and his mother, his brother, his father. I cried. But Daddy hung on. He was so near death, his breathing shallow. But he continued. A nurse called me out of the room very early one morning. "You know some people need to die alone. They wait until everyone leaves, then they simply slip away. Your father may be one of those." I knew what she was saying was accurate. It was just hard to hear the words. I wanted to be holding my dad's hand, stroking his hair when he died. But I had to deal with the fact that Daddy had to do it his way.

I spent several minutes saying my goodbyes. Sobbing, I kissed his forehead and told him of my undying love. I straightened up the room, rolled up the mat, changed clothes. Kissed and hugged him one last time. Told him goodbye. It was 5:00 a.m. when I left. The moment I walked into my home, the phone was ringing. Daddy had passed away.

I planned my father's memorial service at my church. We played one of his favorite songs, a navy hymn, Eternal Father, Strong to Save. My brother did a eulogy. I did the meditation and liturgy. Then we followed the hurst to Arcadia, Indiana where my family has plots. We laid my father to rest next to my mother who died three years before, and my 50 year old cousin who had just died at Christmas time.

I was the last to walk away on that very cold day. I slowly drove through the small country cemetery where my parents, my grandparents, my uncle, and other family members were buried. I allowed the tears to flow as I remembered my loved ones and gave thanks. One day I will join them here.

Loving God,
you root us in love,
then tear us away
from one another.
But the memories?
They are ours into eternity.
Daddy's letters
returned him to me for a while.
Like a sponge,
I soaked in every word
and phrase.
I could hear him,
see him in his Marine Corps uniform,
writing on his bunk,
telling his parents
of his devotion to them.
Signing the letters,
"Your loving son."
And he was my loving father.
I shall never forget him.

Eternally grateful, Andrea