NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue

Dad's Eulogy

The details of Dad's childhood are hazy. I know his Father was absent for most of his life, since his early teens, and set into motion within him a sense of responsibility that most children, if lucky, can be blissfully ignorant to. The untold story is that his Mom (Nanny) grew tired of the abuse she received at the hand of the Grandfather I've never met. He was described as a nomad ranch hand with an inclination for alcohol and sounded vastly different from the man who was our Dad. At some point I assumed Nanny had enough and requested her then husband to leave, and sometime around my Dad's 13th year his Father obliged.

I can recall only one story my Dad told about his father. I may not have been born yet. The story goes that one day my parents and some of us kids were out driving. Up ahead walking along the shoulder of highway XXX they could see a solitary figure in the far distance. My Dad emphasized, as he retold this main part of the story, that just in the way the man's head was tilted, the placement of his hat, his jacket off and carried across his shoulder, he recognized that it was his father. They stopped and picked him up, and delivered him up the road to his destination.

There was nothing more to that story; nothing more to their relationship.

One day upon returning home from school my Mom told us that Dad's father had passed away. I never saw him grieve. I remember Dad remained upstairs alone in his room, behind a closed door.

My recollection of detail regarding the death of my Dad's father is that he died of complications after being caught outside in a Montana blizzard. I have to admit that the whole ranch-hand cowboy lifestyle, even the manner of his Father's death, was intriguing and easy to romanticize.

Decades earlier, at the age of thirteen my Dad stepped into the vacant role that was left behind when his father moved away. He helped to support his Mom and kid-brother XXXXXXX and remained faithful to that role for the remainder of their lives, as each has preceded him in death.

Dad was a smart guy; anyone who knew him will tell you this. He did exceedingly well in school and was afforded many opportunities before and during college, and thereafter when attended law school. His ability to prioritize and stay on task, for me, was enviable. It must have been hard for him to show the empathy that he did, to a son who found difficult what he made look so easy.

When Mom became ill after the birth of their first child, Dad took a leave of absence from law school. He found extra work to pay the bills and eventually went into insurance sales. It was to be a temporary fallback position. But as the additions continued in roughly 2-year intervals that marked the births of XXX, XXXXXXXX, Me, and then lastly XXXX, this temporary status became permanent. Years later, my Dad received a self-winding gold watch as he retired from The XXXXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXXXX Company.

My Father didn't speak of regret in his life, a life that thanks to my Mom and everyone close to him was fulfilled in a way that a law degree couldn't have provided. But still, there must have been disappointment. It's what he had planned and would have been the culmination of all his scholastic efforts. Dad's dream of being an attorney, like everything throughout his life since childhood and through the births of his own children, he put second to the needs of his family. There is no better example of being a man; nor source for inspiration. He will continue to guide my decisions.

I didn't know it would be our last conversation that Saturday evening before his death. I drove home straight from work, and XXXX and I arrived at the hospital just after 10 pm. Of course I was concerned, but not thinking circumstances were dire. I just wanted him to know that I wanted to be there for him. Truth be told, I relished the thought of having him to myself. I don't know why after becoming an adult Dad and I didn't do more together, just the two of us. I know it wasn't from lack of love on either of our parts. We did spend a long weekend together once. We stayed in Yosemite, cooped up in a small trailer that I had owned years ago. I'm glad he accepted my invitation.

Earlier before deciding to visit him I called the ICU staff to approve the late night visit and agreed that if he was sleeping not to wake him. He was groggy at first, but a few minutes into our visit it was time for the nurses to turn him, an every 2-hour event, and when allowed back into the room Dad was wide awake. XXXX sat in the chair and I stood at his bedside. For once, he did most the talking and I just listened.

Seemingly inconsequential things were discussed, different houses and shiny cars he had owned before I was born. But once he warmed up to what turned out to be an hour-long chat, he mostly talked about Mom. How she worked at a Café named Tilley's and how he would see her there. He spoke of Mom's transition to working as secretary for the City Attorney's office and how through an affiliated work contest she had won a trip to Hawaii. She brought along her older sister XXXXXX as a chaperon. "XXXXXX", he said, "had to coerce your Mom to return." "Your Mother, being essentially an obedient person back then" (his words not mine) "reluctantly did so." "After that", he joked, "she didn't talk to me for a while."

These weren't all new stories, but I enjoyed hearing them again just the same. He started to fall asleep and I softly said, 'It's Okay Dad, just sleep.'

I didn't say the words...but after kissing him on the forehead, as I stood there, my hand on his warm upper chest just below the shoulder blade protruding from his hospital gown, he reached up and placed a hand on top of mine.

Days later Dad passed away peacefully in a room filled with his family and friends. It was sad, raw with emotion, and real. It was beautiful to be part of and to witness such love for him.

There's an image I retain of Dad that was born of a story he told from his youth. He worked as a stock boy after school in a local grocery store. Back then all product codes and prices had to be memorized and my father, unsurprisingly, showed a great aptitude for this. So, after being the youngest person to be promoted from stock boy to clerk, they had to provide a milk crate for him to stand on to reach the register and perform his new duties. I love that youthful image imagined of my father and the scenario that somehow encapsulates his life to which I've been privileged to experience.

I have fathered four boys, and sometimes when thinking of their little boy faces, frozen in time and permanently etched on my mind, it can hurt. There's a similar ache felt now from his absence, and I realize the melancholy over my kids, and this current pain, are both for times past that can no longer be.