In Remembrance. My Father

Journal Entry: October 25, 2004 - Monday

I spoke to Mom on the phone tonight. They took Dad down to the specialist in Idaho Falls to see if he was a candidate for a stunt to be placed in his head to drain fluid off his brain. He (the doctor) leveled with Mom that he was not at all confident that the procedure will make any difference in his mobility and Parkinson's. Taking him off his medication (blood thinner) endangers him to stroke, but necessary before they will do the procedure. Putting the stunt in may make the clogging and drainage even more dangerous.

Mom was just asking what my feelings are in connection to leaving him alone verses going ahead and taking chances on the procedure. We are going to collectively take it to the Lord.

My main reason for recording this account is I want to remember, and pass along some of the sweet memories my Mother shared with me tonight.

She said she sat at her new home tonight, listening to Joe Polka, and told me how much Dad loved to listen and dance to Joe Polka, and what a wonderful dancer he was, and that all she wanted was to be in his arms again, dancing. We cried together for awhile as I felt her loneliness and love for this man and the memories they have with one another, and realizing she will not be able to dance with him again until the next life.

Dad is not happy. We wonder if we should do anything to prolong the agony he is going thru - not an agony of pain, necessarily, but the pain of the loss of freedom, to move and do for himself he so richly cherished. It is so degrading to him to have to be taken care of by these young girls at the nursing home because he cannot do anything by himself anymore. I know that hurts him.

I know he is in prison. But I rue the idea of hoping his passing is soon. Mom says he sleeps so much these days. She said he hopes he can just go to sleep one time and pass into the bliss and freedom he so deserves. How can I want this for my Father? Yet, is seems the most merciful way of thinking.

God, help me with this decision. What is best for Dad. Is his journey over, his mission complete? If so, take him home... welcome him into paradise to his loved ones passed. Grant him the righteous desires of his heart. Please let us know Thy will, I pray Thee...

……………………………….

My Father passed away January 10th, 2007. My Mother, brother and two sisters were there with him during his last moments. They have described the events of that time. One sister described it as "horrible" to watch.

The nursing home had summoned them to come, that they felt the time was nearing. We had had a false alarm a week before when he suffered a series of mini strokes that looked to be too much for his frail body to deter. I cried thru most the nite accepting the fact that by morning he would no longer be with us.

But with the tenacity of a Danish man we had all come to expect, the following days astonishingly saw him improving.

When they arrived at the nursing home that day, they found my Father fully conscious and very labored in his breathing. The nurse pulled the covers back away from his legs explaining that this was for real - his heart was no longer strong enough to circulate blood thru his body and it was already succumbing to gravity and pooling in the underside of his extremities… that it was just a matter of "a few minutes"...

My Mother held his hand and tried to sooth him and tell him it was ok to let go. Having been unable to speak for almost two years due to the onset of Parkinson's, my brother told me he just kept looking at them, eyes wide and pleading, "Why don't you help me?!"

His passing was not pleasant nor peaceful as described to me by my siblings. My sister told me that when he finally did leave, that his body went limp, his face almost immediately started to ashen an his eyes glassed over.

Two weeks or so earlier I had knelt at his feet during our Christmas visit, promising I'd be back in February and for him to just hold on. Tears welled in his eyes and then trickled down his cheeks. I joined him in weeping, told him I loved him, kissed his hand, stood, then took my leave. I think we both knew then we would not see each other again in this mortal existence…


I miss you Dad...

……………………………….

I never got to properly mourn my Father's passing. Events in my life at that time and the selfishness, inconsideration and insensitivity of another of that, made certain. I'm still try to reconcile that with myself.

It is hard.

The Man at McDonalds

As I sat eating in a McDonalds one day, a man walked in who had all the signs of being homeless and having no money. His clothes were dirty, his long, shaggy hair and beard were tasseled, matted and unkempt - he looked like a wild man or a man possessed - or maybe someone who was just scared and had no hope. I suspect he spent the night in the streets. He walked up to the counter and asked for a cup of coffee. I don't know whether this was a ritual and the cashiers knew this man and had given him coffee before, but he secured the cup of java and proceeded to a table just across from me. He held the paper cup between his hands as to absorb the warmth.

Initially I tried to avoid eye contact but soon realized he was looking far beyond me out the window into the distance. I wondered what he was thinking – what kind of fear he might have – if he wondered what the day would bring. His eyes were the most beautiful, clear and blue I had ever seen. They betrayed the rest of his features which looked far too old and worn for such youthful and magnetic eyes.

He sipped the coffee, seeming to savor each drink. I was slightly embarrassed when I finally snapped to my senses and realized I was staring at him while these thoughts and others were going thru my head. I could not get the stark contrast of those eyes in the midst of the misery that the rest of his physical presence exuded. I felt strongly impressed to approach him and ask him if I could buy him a meal. I sat and enumerated in my mind all the reasons not to act on the impulse – it would embarrass him, it would embarrass me, etc.

As I contemplated my next move, one of the workers came over to his table with a tray of food saying, "Someone wanted to buy you lunch, so here it is." A look of overwhelming joy came over his face as he could barely mouth the words, "Oh, thank you!" I watched every bite, every french fry, disappear into a dark hole in the midst of all that amassed facial hair and could nearly feel the security and warmth each bite of food provided him, as if I were eating it myself.

It didn't take long for the meal to disappear completely. He gathered his scant belongings, perhaps his whole material world, and left. I sat for some time contemplating all that has just happened. I felt terrible that I had not been the one to buy him his moment of joy, but was also glad that someone else saw and felt the same need as I had. I thought of the parable of the good Samaritan and Jesus Christ saying, "Even as ye have done it unto the least of these your bretheren, ye have done it unto me". And again I lamented my inaction.

But, I will never forget that man at McDonalds. His eyes pierced me, hauntingly, as no others ever have. I saw a lost and hopeless soul for a moment see meaning and am confident that he went forward then to share what bit of humanity he had received with someone else in need. That day, a hungry, ragged homeless man at McDonalds taught me about Jesus Christ and how far I must yet travel to become like Him.

Overture

Like January's temperate turn chill

Icy, knotted fingers weave thru

heart's sinew

Squeezing life to

welcomed death

And what could not

be realized previously

sees it accomplished

so quickly

a soul dies

Alone

I am alone

never have I felt so isolated

people and noise ... all around

but I am alone

Bare tree limbs reach, scrape the cool fall sky

crisp air exhilarates in an eery surge

clouds, moving hypnotically

rim lit by the full moon on an ominous night

the feeling of some sort of foreboding

as my eyes scan the mountain range

don’t you see it?

smell it?

feel it?

Surely I’m not the only one who knows...

always have I strived for security

ever elusive it seems to be

In retrospect

I am supposed to feel grateful

Where given much, much is required

sometimes I think expectation is too great

a time when I should feel the most belonging

I am — have always been, a lost Child

I am alone...

Just a walk...?

I punch the "Command-S" on the Mac keyboard sending whatever mundane project I'd been working on into the depths of some cyber world of "ones" and "zeroes" for momentary safe keeping, then push myself away from the desk with an almost exasperated gush of air from my pursed lips hoping the reflexive gesture might relieve some of the boredom induced stress.

It's 10, 10:30 am which is the approximate time I attempt to take a break, and a walk, on days when my work schedule allows. I remove my Payless knock-off of some name brand pair of sport sandals and slip on a pair more conducive to the task at hand. Cheap shoes have their place when you sit at a graphics computer all day, but not for the knees of a forty-eight year old "afterlete" who seems to find a new body part that functions just a little less efficiently than it did the day before–can rigor mortis set in over the course of years, even decades, before anyone actually takes the Big Dirt Nap? I'm beginning to believe.

Bi-pedal covers donned securely in place, I stand at the door way of my office, indifferently check both ways like an obedient child readying himself to cross the street, to see if there are any co-workers in my direct line of escape that I may have to passively chat up before I continue on.

As luck would have it, today the coast is clear and I proceed to the door of the second story exit and outside stair well–this again done to avoid any time consuming small talk that might delay me by taking the downstairs warehouse route. I push firmly on the breaker bar and the door glides open almost as if the building actually wants to yield me to the outside world. I step out onto the stairwell terrace and it seems I've entered a new dimension of existence; the warmth of the sun immediately engulfs my senses and urges me to take the decent on the stairs much quicker than my years would suggest I could, or for that matter, should.

But who cares? Now a sense of freedom wells from my stomach outward, pulsing thru me like like blood thru a purebred race horse at the starting gate….. until each extremity is filled with a certain tingle of euphoria. The synthetic scents of this industrial part of town mingle with those of the summer flora smattering the area. An article about the creative process I read just a week or so ago comes to mind; "What we (creatives) really need are more "visceral" experiences to better understand and communicate with our audience. It’s often why the best ideas don’t come to you while you’re sitting in front of a computer. But too many companies demand butts in seats, behind screens, at all times. The appearance of busy-ness trumps the pursuit of differentiated thinking."… oh yeah… I can relate.

"This isn't about my health" I justify… "this is about my creative survival… my sanity". And so, I walk.

Out of Commission

Farley hated war. Training and preparation seemed fun at the time of enlistment, but now in the thick of it, nothing disgusted him more.

As he cautiously approached his kill, he lamented the fact the the girl he had seen thru his scope just before pulling the trigger would have been the exact kind of girl he would have been so lucky go to the prom with back on the home world.

He wondered if she had gone to her prom or even knew of such a thing here. He imagined a picture of her and the team quarterback setting on the fireplace mantle. He wondered about her parents, whether she had any brothers or sisters, or what her favorite color was.

As he came closer he looked for any signs of life, labored breathing or heaving of her chest, gasping her last breaths of life.

Nothing. She was dead.

There would be no college graduation or wedding day. No white picket fence in the suburbs with kids running in the front yard. Just a transmission to loved ones confirming that she had been KIA while nobly serving the cause.

Farley wondered, what if it had been his sister or girlfriend laying there? Killed by someone from a distant planet he'd never been to, or cared about for that matter. He clenched his jaw as he tasted the bile in his mouth and fought the urge to vomit.

Just then he noticed the clear, green fluid pooling around the corpse and the unmistakable stench of burning metal - pungent and stinging in his nostrils.

He didn't know if he was more relieved or embarrassed by being fooled by his own imagination. "Damn mechanoid... I must be getting tired" he muttered under his breath as he released a salvo of blasts from his pulse rifle to finish the job.

"Don't be overly predisposed to fancies of futurity at the expense of treasure at your feet."

Today as I meandered along I crossed an aged man doing likewise contrary to my course.

"Find any valuable coins in your wanderings today?" he quipped congenially.

Pulling my chin upward using it to point progressively, I retorted somewhat presumptuously, "Rather, I'm taking in those outlying mountains, and the sites about me…"

Head lowered slightly, grey eyes now with less glimmer still affixed squarely on mine, his eyebrow arched incredulously as he riposted, "Don't be overly predisposed to fancies of futurity at the expense of treasure at your feet." - ME (anecdotal quote based on true event)