Today, a little after lunch, I got one of those phone calls that you never want to get. My stepmother called in tears to tell that my father had just collapsed at home and that the paramedics were there and said he had no heart activity.
Until about 2 years ago, I thought my dad would outlive me. At 85, he worked full time for the State of Illinois and wasn't that interested in retiring. He and my stepmother traveled a bit and he sounded quite vigorous. Then, in March, 2006, a tornado struck their part of Springfield, Illinois. While their house wasn't damaged, they were without power for several days and the basement got flooded. After several days in a cold, wet, powerless house, he developed pneumonia and he never could shake it. He would come in and out of the hospital and lost a lot of weight, down to about 130 pounds.
Last summer, I drove up to Illinois for the first time in 16 years (they had seen us in Texas and Georgia, where we lived) because I felt that I needed to get up there. While I was shocked by the frailty of his appearance, he was in fact stronger than I expected, doing things around the house. Throughout, his mind was clear. I really didn't get the feeling when I left that I wouldn't see him again.
But, he seemed to steadily decline, going back in the hospital and finally came home a couple of weeks ago. I talked to him last Thursday evening. He didn't really want to talk because he said he was so tired. Although he sounded very weak, I didn't really think this was the last time I would speak to him. Yesterday, I even mailed him a birthday card.
I have a mixture of emotions. I'm sad for several reasons. Since my mother died 23 years ago, the last link to my first years is gone. Although we got together rarely, we had frequently spoken frequently. He was proud that his grandson was interested in attending his alma mater, Georgia Tech. He was concerned as his granddaughter adjusted to married life. He was disappointed not to be able to attend my retirement from the Air Force Reserve last year, but enjoyed seeing the pictures I brought him. He knew I loved him and I knew he loved me.
I feel relief that his suffering and sickness are over and I am reminded that healing can mean release and not always curing. He now can be reunited with those who went before him, his parents, his sisters, my mother, and many more... and he now waits patiently for my stepmother and eventually my sister and me.
I now have a painful (final?) trip to Illinois in the next few days. I guess you could say that the sombreness of my mood matches Lent, which begins tomorrow.
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