At my dad’s wake, we toasted him with his favorite wine. My husband stood next to me in case I could not read this, but I did. And he thought I should post what I had to say that evening.
Sharing a bit of insight on our dad.
There is so much to say, people to acknowledge – those who have been there for my dad, for my mom, for us, for so long. So many of you have already lost your parents, and just a few have yet to experience this level of grief. This is not easy. This is not a relief. It’s just the beginning of the true loss. An old friend sent me note last night — that losing one parent is a comma, but losing a second parent – that is the period.
Over the years, my dad (and mom) have buried so many others before them. Best friends, brothers and sisters; sometimes family or friends so much younger than they were. They had helped relatives with arrangements in the past, and sometimes, closing the eyes of someone who had just passed. My dad missed his cousin Kevin Casey so very much. I did not have the heart to tell him that we learned Kevin had passed way, just prior to my mom. He would have been devastated. It saddens me that people who genuinely care about one another, lose touch over so many years and life changes, distant or even nearby.
So very sad was that my dad lost his mom when he was only 9 years old. She had suffered with tuberculosis and you can guess what they may have been like in the ‘30s. He still remembers her and has identified with other children that have been in/out of our lives who have lost a parent. Two of my dad’s aunts – Kate and Mayme raised him. And I do remember them. What wonderful Irish women those Rowan sisters were.
My dad’s favorite color of clothing was beige, or tan, or brown. Until recently, we didn’t dare buy him anything blue, as he would be reminded of parochial school uniforms. For such a long time, he wore suspenders. And because he did, he felt Eric should as well! He did most of the decorating in the house; even hanging of pictures – the odd positioning of framed photos, etc. on the walls – well, he wasn’t going to have a show on HGTV, though he enjoyed watching them, esp. Property Brothers.
How he loved animals and children. He would be brought to a huge smile with any child, stranger or family, just like the rest of us. He looked so forward to having great grandchildren one day – and was over the moon about his two grandsons – Eric and Cory, 17 years apart. They moved hell and high water to get back home from Florida, driving straight through to meet Cory on the same day he was born. When Eric was born, my dad had started a new job the same day that I went into labor. So, he left work to get to the hospital, and I met him in the elevator because they were sending me back home. Earlier in their lives, they were young and healthy enough to enjoy numerous outings and activities with Eric, including serious babysitting as I had a full-time rotating work schedule and managed another 1 or 2 part-time jobs as a single parent. Even with Cory, 17 years later – they still would enjoy a lot of time and activities with him.
All animals, cats, dogs, birds – he loved. He could never understand hunting. Neither can I. He could not bear seeing an animal suffer in any way. Beyond wildlife, my dad said goodbye to so many of his own 4-legged family members. As far back as I remember, there was Boots when I was a toddler (who they never admitted the true story of his ‘running away’ until only several years ago); there was Chipper the Parakeet, whom I believe may have been the reason for the disappearance of Boots. Then so many others but those I recall the most – Nippy (the former show dog French Poodle) given to me by my Aunt Betty. Nippy loved her daily coffee and occasional spaghetti. Then there was Pokey who was part of our lives when Eric was small. There was Holly – the out of control Basenji who spent her days tearing down drapes and terrorizing my mom. Then Sparky, the German Shepard/Husky who had spent his days prior tied to a stake in someone’s yard. Oh, how Eric loved Sparky to pieces. Then there was Tillie, who was adopted with Cory in tow, to help choose her alongside my parents. We don’t believe in purchasing dogs from a breeder – we believe in rescuing them from a foregone conclusion. Tillie – she was the last dog my dad said he would ever have. Tillie would need to outlive him. She did not. So today, Tillie’s ashes are with my dad, forever. Though he said that he would never have another dog, ever – then came Dolly, in late 2012. Dolly had about 5 different names in her first week until one was settled on, so he could sing ‘Hello Dolly’ to her. Her adoption was to help my parents better cope with the unidentified disease raging inside my mom. Every dog, he loved even more then the last, though he swore he never could. Dolly spent the afternoon with my dad just 2 Saturday’s ago – with our Rico in tow. Then there were a few cats along the way. Petusch, the rescued cat left in a field inside a shoebox to die – that my mom brought back to life. The handful of kittens I would sneak into my bedroom and hide; until my mom would see their tiny paws peak under the door while she was vacuuming. Then of course there is Sassy. The runt of all cats, who shocked my mother when she realized an abortion would be required before they could take her home from the shelter. My mom felt she was far too young to have gotten pregnant. Both Dolly and Sassy are with us now, and have been since my dad’s tragic fall at home.
My dad had many cars; he loved cars. There was a year however, that he was getting a bit carried away as I think he changed his mind 2-3x. He was often critical of others’ driving, because as we all know – he was a ‘professional’ driver and you can’t tell them anything! In these past months or so – my dad was convinced that he would drive again, and even had purchased a Buick – one that Cory had took him shopping for. He even called 911 once (or twice) to report his car stolen. He thought I was just nuts not to believe him.
My dad had a thing, before he was never be able to eat again. Every time he left the house, especially if Bob or Joe were in tow, he’d have to stop at White Castles or somewhere for a hot dog. It was like he was on a road trip, yet he may have only been going to Menards. He was banned from a local Menards some time ago, for making too many returns/exchanges. I thought he didn’t like when I shared that story, but he would just sit back and smile.
My dad loved making his own breakfast. For the past few years, cream of wheat was his thing. A huge hot, hot, hot pot of coffee. I had finally found him a thermal carafe that kept the coffee hot for 12 hours. He liked dessert, too. He was a diabetic chocoholic.
He loved his Charles Shaw Merlot, sold only at Trader Joe’s. He even talked some of the staff at the VA Home to go out to Orland Park to try it for themselves. Just more than a week ago, we were able to celebrate his birthday with a little of his favorite Merlot. Hospice advised us to carefully allow him to taste it from a swab. My dad said, “to hell with that” and grabbed the cup from my hand and took a swig. Also on Christmas Eve, at our home – he was able to enjoy a shot glass full, albeit very slow and with several witnesses. Yet, we knew that anything he swallowed or attempted to swallow could kill him – either by choking to death or by getting the dreaded aspiration pneumonia.
In these past 2 years, my dad has oddly enjoyed us taking photos of him, and sharing them. He once held up a magazine ad for cigars and said to take his photo with it, so we would be reminded of what he wanted for Father’s Day last year. I’d be mortified if people took and shared photos of me, lying in a hospital bed or a wheelchair, with tubes hanging outside my shirt from my stomach. His acceptance and attitude over these past two years has been nothing short of amazing. Let’s be clear, it’s been hard – really hard. We could not tell my mom about his accident at home. We could not tell my dad about her passing until 3 weeks after the fact. Having to bury one parent while the other was clinging to life is too difficult to describe. Without support of certain family and friends, I don’t know how I got out of bed every day. There have been some days, even recently, I just could not.
My dad was so proud of me and my brother; our homes, our sons. He especially loved my husband, as so many people seem to as well. He first told me that at our wedding. Though he could not dance with me at our wedding because of the forever pain in his feet, he did like to dance. But in that regard, my mom had him beat! She loved to dance and was pretty damn good at it. I recall a few tabletops along the way that she may have climbed up on! My dad seemed to be drawn to Marshall Tucker and Bruce Springsteen (back in the day), but also liked contemporary music. He had numerous CDs that went along with him to Manteno, and some he bought during a couple of our Walmart outings; from Willie Nelson, to Sarah McLaughlin, to Michael Buble and Josh Grobin. He always liked listening to the Rat Pack as well.
My dad was obsessive about his house, and especially his yard. We vowed that we could never live within his eyesight because he would scold us for one blade of grass too long. He has scolded a couple of neighbors in the past. I am sure those younger people or even those who spoke little-to-no English just appeased him. But seriously, the winter of either 2013 or 2014, it had warmed up after a snow in November, so for him, it was time again to cut the grass. Even with his pained feet from diabetic neuropathy, he would plow the snow from some of his neighbors’ sidewalks. He wanted things neat and clean and safe, at least in his view. Always worried about the value of his home, long before we were forced to sell it. But a good neighbor he was – and so appreciated by his.
My dad moved into the Veteran’s Home in Manteno because we had no other choice. We could not take care of him in our home, or his own. His needs were now 24/7 skilled nursing. I firmly believe that while he was at death’s door the same day my mom was buried, that his transfer that night to Lexington Rehab/Nursing was what saved his life. After 90 days in various therapies, it was determined he would need a far greater level of permanent care than he could get with us. The staff at the VA home has been beyond outstanding. The care and family environment was not only supportive, but critical to his well-being and acceptance of his fate.
His fate. To not only ever drive again, or walk again, but to never eat or drink again. Many of you know how difficult that has been for me to accept. I will never understand how he could. Once we got past the overkill of fast food commercials and me turning the channels constantly – I soon found my dad to be watching cooking shows! But he would also crack up at commercials with animals and babies, and at times binge watched Don Knots movies.
Ironically, my mom’s youngest brother Babe came to the VA home as well – late in 2015. My dad had kind of a awkward brotherly-in-law relationship with him. ‘Sixty years of being his chauffeur’ he would say, ‘was 50 years too many’. Yet, the first time they saw each other in Manteno, my uncle obviously far more ill than my dad, they reached out to each other immediately and held hands, for quite a long time. When my Uncle died in January of last year, my dad insisted on going to his service. We hired the ambulance that was required to transport him, just so he could spend a couple of hours saying his own goodbyes, and getting a chance to see other family as well, most he would never see again. Before he left, my dad had me wheel him back to pay his final respects – and said ‘’well, you look pretty comfortable in there Babe!”
Unfortunately, my dad did not reap all the benefits of the VA home. He was alone in his room through 3 meal periods daily. He was rushed out near the end of Bingo games because of Pizza, desserts or other treats that were brought in by the sponsors. He never went to the VFW outings where the guys would get dinner and drinks, on the house – almost weekly. So, lack of socialization was a factor of being on a feeding tube.
My mom, the love of his life. I never felt that I honored her passing with the depth it deserved, as we were preparing to lose my dad as well. So, for me, I may be losing her all over again, because now they really are together, “side by each” as my dad always claimed that he wanted to be.
My dad had a few crushes at the VA home. He lost a few filters as well. He had a wife, or maybe it was a couple of sister-wives! But they all loved him. Those were his friends, his family. The staff, more than his fellow veterans. When one of his few favorite nurses, Pat, resigned last year – my dad was devastated. I found him crying hard outside one day, saying he felt like he lost his mother all over again. Pat was likely younger than me, but that is how they felt, about each other.
We celebrated my dad’s 85th birthday on March 14th. We were happy to have been able to see him enjoy 3 birthdays since his fateful accident. Who knew. Who knew that we would say our final goodbyes just a week later. In recent weeks, he was declining in ways that were very subtle. But that last hospital stay in January was the one that deemed Hospice care was going to be the next step, as he had recovered from that last round of double pneumonia, when we didn’t think he would.
During that stay, and as sick as he was – he still found some humor. No longer wanting to live or be treated with continued insulin, blood pressure checking, etc., he would tell this one nurse Jackie, as she listened to his heart and lungs – that he must be dead already, because he was looking at an angel; or that why is she bothering to check because dead people don’t cough. He called out to my mom a few times, that he was coming and he couldn’t wait to see her. Seriously, I thought he was going to die laughing when I was there overnight with him and at about 4am, he advised me that he decided who is funeral director should be – Joe Pesci. He had us both cracking up but within seconds I was hitting the call button and screaming for help because he could not breathe. And yet again, he survived.
In closing “A Funeral is not a Day in a lifetime – it is a Lifetime in a Day”.
"Side By Each" 