Eulogy

 I got the crushing news today that Daddy is not going to make it. He isn't going to ring the bell. He isn't going to turn the corner, as we had all hoped. I picked up the phone when it rang, knowing that it wasn't good news if my sister was calling me from work in the middle of the day. Cancer is worse. No more treatment. Hospice coming tomorrow. 

I broke down, of course. So did she. 

After a few minutes she had to get back to work. I just sat in the room, still in my nightgown, and stared out the window and at my hands. 

Life without Daddy. I can't imagine it. Can't picture it. 

Memories flitted through my mind, like flickering sunshine through the late afternoon trees. 

He was a good dad, not perfect, but, to quote my sister "he was present". After Mom and Dad divorced he didn't disappear like many dads do.  He took us to the park. He took us to McDonald's. He took us to the movies. He played baseball with us, Monopoly. He flew kites with us. He spent time with us. 

I remembered, as I sat there, how he taught me to make a cheesecake, and how to expertly shuffle a deck of cards. To this day nobody in my immediate family can shuffle a deck of cards like I can. He taught me to ride a bike and to mow the lawn, which I still love to do.  He taught me the importance of keeping my room clean, and he took the three of us to church. 

He gave me a love for Rockford, Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash and Wolf chili.

I have so much to thank him for. And now so little time. 

After some time had passed I got up and moved on with things of the day. Got dressed. Combed my hair. Took out the dog. 

But then I got out my paints and put Marty Robbins on the record player. The album, the actual album is very old, full of popping noises, and permanently dirty, ruined really. I plucked it from his bedroom floor in the debris of hurricane Harvey. He would have thrown it away but I wanted that record. I took it home and cleaned it up the best I could. From time to time I listen to it, but yesterday I sat in the office and painted and played it over and over while memories fell softly around me. The feeling of his big hand in mine as he took me trick-or-treating for the very first time. Him holding my bike as I took off for the first time without training wheels. All the Christmases. Barbie sailboats and Nancy Drew books. Baseball gloves and dolls. Tea sets and wind up trains. Decorating the Christmas tree. Sitting on the floor between his knees while he sat in his chair and brushed my hair. As a teenager, when he would have to go on trips he would always bring something back. A doll. A puzzle. Always thinking of us. 

When I got older and moved out on my own he brought me dishes and kitchen towels. He cosigned on the Scooter I bought, because I didn't yet have a driver's license. And when I got my license, he bought me my first car, a 1974 Toyota Corona, for four hundred dollars. He taught me financial responsibility. I paid every cent of that four hundred dollars back to him. 

He gave me away at my wedding. 

The concern on his face after the birth of my first child. As soon as he heard I was in labor he dropped everything and drove eight hours to be there. I wasn't recovering well and in fact I nearly died. When he entered the room I could see the worry etched into his face, as well as the weariness from driving all night just to see me and newborn Katie.

And when I had Matthew...he called me and the first thing he asked me was who does he look like? I looked down at my sleeping baby, with the big brown eyes and said You, Dad, he looks just like you! And it was true!  In pictures of them as children the two of them look like twins from different eras, fifty years apart. From the blonde/brown hair to the identical nose they share, and those beautiful big brown eyes. When Ally came along, he delighted in her, as well. 

He made them toys from his workshop. Wooden 18 wheelers with cars that went inside. A ferry boat with more cars. They loved those toys, and they are still loved by my own grandchildren. 

And he was there for them, as well. When Katie had Arya, he came to visit and to hold the baby. He was so proud. And when Claire was born he took care of two year old Arya so that we could be with Katie in the hospital. The look on his face when I placed Claire in his arms...He just smiled this huge smile and then put his hand over his heart and melted mine.

And Harvey. I was worried about him. He refused to leave his house, even as the hurricane devastated the Houston area. He finally conceded that he needed to go somewhere safer, and went to a nearby hotel. When that began to flood he finally decided, at the urging of all of his daughters, to get out. Only he couldn't. All the roads were closed and he was, essentially, trapped. Stuck on a country road with only the clothes on his back and some bologna sandwiches in a cooler. He called me from the road and told me he was stranded. He didn't know where to go. The water was everywhere. I had a divinely inspired idea and told him I was going to look at the road closures and call him back. I found a way out for him and I called him back and gave him instructions on how to get out. He called an hour later and said they were on there way here, they had done what I told them to do and they were now safely out of the hurricane perimeter. 

I was so relieved. I had been so scared. After he had been here a couple of days he asked me to go with him, now that the waters had receded, to survey the damage to his house. I jumped in his truck and off we went.

His house was a total loss.  As we entered the house, I could hear his anguish. God Almighty! he said, after crawling through a back window and wrenching open the front door from the inside. It was unbelievable. The refrigerator was laying face down in the kitchen. All the furniture had floated out of place. The water had gone over the top of the house. There were dead fish. It smelled like death and sewage. The beds and mattresses had moved. The couch was in the dining room. High up on a shelf, all of Joyce's bell collection was intact, with the addition of one of Dad's bedroom slippers that had floated up behind them. It was unreal. We rescued what we could. Soaked photo albums. Old glass that had belonged to Joyce's parents. There was little else to salvage. 

He left with a broken heart. 

But dad is a tough old nut, and at 72 he started completely over. Built a new house three hours closer. Bought Joyce a new wedding ring. Started a new workshop. Made new friends. And carried on. 

And that is Dad. No matter what gets thrown at him, he carries on. When he was in the fourth grade he broke his arm. But they didn't know it for a month. They took him to the doctor and the doctor saw that it wasn't growing back correctly...So I asked him...what did he do, Dad? He grabbed it and rebroke it. He said. Just like that? I asked...No anesthesia? No pain killers...He just...grabbed it and...BROKE IT? Yep, he replied. Just like that. 

I cringed. I'm still cringing. I can't imagine that. But, in true Dad fashion, he carried on. 

And in spite of the cancer he is still carrying on. Taking care of Joyce. Going to the grocery store. Taking her to her medical appointments. Making sure all of his end of life care plans are carried out. 

End of life. 

That's where I get stuck. I know he is ready. But I'm not ready. At 58 years of age, I still need my Daddy. 

So today I will put on the Marty Robbins again. Today I will close my eyes and let the memories flood over me. Today I will think about and pray for my dad. Tomorrow I will go see him and spend time with him, and like my dad, I will carry on, one day at a time. 

Two months, almost to the day I wrote this down, my dad flew away.  I had wanted him to stay longer. I had wanted him to be healthy. I had wanted to see him well again, working in his woodshop, cooking eggs with onions for breakfast, or taking himself out for breakfast at the local restaurant on a Saturday morning, as he had done for years. 

But it was not to be. I arrived at his house, determined to stay with him until the end, no matter how long it might be, even if it was weeks, on the afternoon of March 13. I looked in on him as he slept. He was so precious in his frailty. No longer the big strong daddy I had always known, Yet, even in his weakness his larger than life presence was not diminished. The last time he looked at me he gave me a wide eyed wink and a half cocked smile. Still Dad, right up to the end. Then he went to sleep. The next morning he was with Jesus. 

What will I do without my Daddy? 

I will think of him often. I will have an RC Cola in his honor. I will listen to Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, and Glenn Campbell when I play my music. I will think of him every time I shuffle a deck of cards, play monopoly, make a no bake cheesecake, mow the lawn, or see a dad flying a kite with his kids,  swinging a child at the park, or teaching how to ride a bike. 

I will remember him when I watch the old reruns on TV that both of us loved so much, back in the day.  I will have a slice a fruitcake on Christmas, his birthday, remembering how he told me that Ila Mae's fruitcake was his birthday cake every single year. And I will look forward to seeing him soon.

As he would say...See you later alligator...