The Heart of a Lion
The gift that does not disappoint.... my father's lion heart.
Tom Brokaw called these people The Greatest Generation. Indeed. But you have no idea until you see it for yourself.
On Dec. 6, my dad was presented at ER with oxygen sats in the 70s, shortness of breath, and wonky heart rhythms (more so than usual). His children were called, we made a quick decision to intubate him to "just see" what was going on, but all of us were preparing, via rapid-fire cross-country cell phone calls, to rush to his bedside to say goodbye. An 85 yr old man, a stroke patient for 12 years, congestive heart failure, a host of Rx drugs to maintain him. He is a widower, his wife having left in 2003. He lives independently, with the help of caregivers who come in and fix him food, clean his house, make sure his glasses, bills and Rxs are current. His children live all over the country, but he maintains his home because he's always said, "THIS is the nursing home." He and my mother worked hard to make it financially possible.
My father loves Cole Porter, Beethoven, Mozart, Dwight Yoakum, Gipsy Kings and Josh Groban, Errol Garner, Marlene Dietrich, Jacques Brel. He plays the keyboard which is next to his table, he does the crossword (in ink), he mows the neighbor's lawn on his riding mower, he enjoys a glass of iced tea in the afternoon and a bowl of almond crunch cereal in the morning. He loves flannel shirts in winter and Hawaiian shirts in summer.
He fought in the Pacific theater in WWII, somewhere else in the Cold War (not supposed to say, but eastern Europe was involved and there was no "fighting"), on the homefront and TDY for the Korean War, and at home, TDY and in Thailand for the Viet Nam War.
He taught me how to shoot, drink, dance and rope (I taught myself to ride) - making me the perfect cowboy. He helped me with my astronomy homework in college, and he taught me how to memorize poems among many other lessons.
Over the years, he has given me several watches for Christmas (always Seiko), a bedspread that I still cherish (it's threadbare now), books, money, cashmere sweaters, wool socks, down jackets.
My father has given me backbone, heart and humor.
And last week, he gave me further lessons in courage, honor and strength. On a ventilator, through sedation, he wagged his eyebrows, he squeezed my hand, he permitted many forehead kisses. He listened to our advice for getting off the vent, and he gritted his teeth and did everything he had to do. He exercised the muscles he could, he indicated his strong will to live and he made jokes. He unquestioningly fought another war. And he's winning.
On Dec. 13, he sat in a chair and breathed on his own for hours, showing the doctors that he could. While they shook their heads and said things like "well, he *is* 85..." my dad quietly and with dignity gave Death the boot for a little while longer. His will encouraged the doctors to dig a little deeper and try a few things.
He is alive still, moving through the steps required to get back home to his chair, his TV, his puzzles and his in(ter)dependent life.
And that is all the gift I need from him this year.
Tom Brokaw called these people The Greatest Generation. Indeed. But you have no idea until you see it for yourself.
On Dec. 6, my dad was presented at ER with oxygen sats in the 70s, shortness of breath, and wonky heart rhythms (more so than usual). His children were called, we made a quick decision to intubate him to "just see" what was going on, but all of us were preparing, via rapid-fire cross-country cell phone calls, to rush to his bedside to say goodbye. An 85 yr old man, a stroke patient for 12 years, congestive heart failure, a host of Rx drugs to maintain him. He is a widower, his wife having left in 2003. He lives independently, with the help of caregivers who come in and fix him food, clean his house, make sure his glasses, bills and Rxs are current. His children live all over the country, but he maintains his home because he's always said, "THIS is the nursing home." He and my mother worked hard to make it financially possible.
My father loves Cole Porter, Beethoven, Mozart, Dwight Yoakum, Gipsy Kings and Josh Groban, Errol Garner, Marlene Dietrich, Jacques Brel. He plays the keyboard which is next to his table, he does the crossword (in ink), he mows the neighbor's lawn on his riding mower, he enjoys a glass of iced tea in the afternoon and a bowl of almond crunch cereal in the morning. He loves flannel shirts in winter and Hawaiian shirts in summer.
He fought in the Pacific theater in WWII, somewhere else in the Cold War (not supposed to say, but eastern Europe was involved and there was no "fighting"), on the homefront and TDY for the Korean War, and at home, TDY and in Thailand for the Viet Nam War.
He taught me how to shoot, drink, dance and rope (I taught myself to ride) - making me the perfect cowboy. He helped me with my astronomy homework in college, and he taught me how to memorize poems among many other lessons.
Over the years, he has given me several watches for Christmas (always Seiko), a bedspread that I still cherish (it's threadbare now), books, money, cashmere sweaters, wool socks, down jackets.
My father has given me backbone, heart and humor.
And last week, he gave me further lessons in courage, honor and strength. On a ventilator, through sedation, he wagged his eyebrows, he squeezed my hand, he permitted many forehead kisses. He listened to our advice for getting off the vent, and he gritted his teeth and did everything he had to do. He exercised the muscles he could, he indicated his strong will to live and he made jokes. He unquestioningly fought another war. And he's winning.
On Dec. 13, he sat in a chair and breathed on his own for hours, showing the doctors that he could. While they shook their heads and said things like "well, he *is* 85..." my dad quietly and with dignity gave Death the boot for a little while longer. His will encouraged the doctors to dig a little deeper and try a few things.
He is alive still, moving through the steps required to get back home to his chair, his TV, his puzzles and his in(ter)dependent life.
And that is all the gift I need from him this year.
4 Comments:
Wow, what a guy. I took my (90-year-old) Dad to outpatient surgery yesterday for a minor procedure. They put him under general anethetic and left a catheter in so he could heal. When I got him home (to his house where he lives alone), he cooked us both breakfast. He's a lot like your dad in the independence category.
I've been thinking positive thoughts for you since I stumbled on your journal and realized that your dad lived here.
Your dad dictates the terms of his life. Good for him.
Damn, I hope I can meet your dad one day. What a guy. Yes, send this.
Great post.
Thank you for sharing the gift of your father with us. What a special man!
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