It feels odd to have a close relation to you die, that wasn’t. Wasn’t close that is. I have probably seen my father 15-20 times in my entire life that I can remember, although we spent the first 18 months of my life together. My sister can’t even say that. She was in utero when my mom left. So when you mention to people that your dad died, the sudden change in expression, the outpouring of sympathy just feels odd.
Most of you would have liked my father. I liked him. He was a very amicable man, with a quick smile. Since he lived life in the rural west it was fun to watch him come into the city where he continued to wave and greet passersby and people on the street or in a store. That is how folks behave where he came from, but in the urban Midwest it was strange. Nice though, and lots of folks waved or smiled back. Some didn’t.
He had soft hands too which I thought was funny for a rancher. My grandpa the farmer/welder/auto worker had rough hands and that is what I was use to, but my dad wore gloves.
My dad drank, a lot. He wasn’t a mean drunk, or a belligerent drunk. In fact he seemed very nice when he was drunk too. And very passive – too passive. Maybe passive to the point that our childhoods passed by before he remembered that he had things he wanted to show and tell us.
I guess in my babyhood he liked to play with me. His mother, my grandmother, could get me to make a little baby sound that I would make only for her, and everyone got a chuckle out of that. I don’t remember any of that time of us living as a family.
What I do remember was my mother and my maternal grandmother discussing how terrible the conditions of my mother’s marriage were. That Daddy didn’t spend enough time with her, that her in-laws were mean to her, that she had to carry water and chop wood, and that they all lived together and she wanted a house of her own. Then she left for a vacation to visit her parents and just never went back.
I remember being afraid when my Dad did come to visit. We had been warned that he might try to take us away and that if he did we could never come back. So we were afraid of him, but we liked him…what a paradox!!?? As a girl of maybe 6-8, I remember thinking my sister was succumbing to his charms and that he might take her back, but I stepped in and pointed out that we couldn’t move out of state… we had school!! He never took us. I don’t think he even tried, which at the time was OK with me.
I remember he did come to visit when I was 12 and he got into a big big fight with my maternal grandmother and she called him a lot of horrible, horrible names. He called a taxi to leave and I remember pleading with him, in tears, not to go. I thought that surely the cries of his daughter, that he only saw once in a blue moon, would not go unanswered… and they didn’t. The answer was no, and he was gone. My grandmother told me if I didn’t like it I could go too. I remember being literally so shaken by the whole incident that I could barely breathe.
Even more astonishing, the thing that seemed to set grandma off was that my mom and dad had decided to reconcile. Now let me just say that after having 10 or so years of hearing what a horrible person my dad was, and how awful his home was, and how my mother would have died if she stayed out there, it was a bit overwhelming to hear, “well, never mind!” Suddenly he wasn’t the bogeyman, his home was heaven and not hell, and we were moving!!! My sister and I were both mortified, determined not to go. You can’t undo years of brainwashing that easily. It never happened though. I don’t know if mom got cold feet, or dad did, or my grandma’s influence was to substantial. I know I didn’t see my dad again until I was 19 and my grandma was dying.
Once in high school I had some kind of project to do and I had to know more about my family on that side so I called my father. The first time EVER that I did that. It had never been suggested or encouraged before or since. I remember talking to my father and suddenly we were both in happy tears of love, each of us thrilled to hear the voice of the other. I don’t know why we never called each other after that.
My kids can’t get over all the things I never did with my dad. We never went sledding, or swimming, or on vacation. He missed my first communion and my graduation from high school. My sister’s too.
He did make it to my wedding though. Walked me down the aisle with him on one side and my grandpa on the other. I remember postponing my honeymoon so that I could spend a bit more time with him before he left.
As an adult, I visited him at his home twice. Once with just Mr. Pete, and once with my sister and her husband and two kids as well. We had a blast. Daddy was a good host and seemed to enjoy showing us off a bit. We met lots of the relatives who came by to find the “long lost sisters.” I decided that while my Dad’s place wasn’t hell, it was very very rural – what was my mom???!!! I have many fond memories of those trips.
Daddy also showed up unexpectedly and unannounced in my hospital room when I was naked from the waist up trying to get the hang of breastfeeding my firstborn for one of the first times after a C-section. Not one of our better moments. He was thrilled about his grandson though and my Dad and Mr. Pete, two strangers really, went home and spent about 14 hours alone together, and bonded a friendship of sorts.
Then after decades apart, my mom did pack up and move everything back with my dad. Really ticked me off at the time too because my sister and I were producing grandbabies, and here the grandmother leaves!!! But she did come back to visit and brought my dad along. It was nice to watch him bounce babies and play with little kids. But although my mom came back for many more visits, my dad made only the one trip. I guess old habits die hard.
The last time I saw Daddy, my mother had left him again. This time though for health reasons. She had developed a massive brain tumor and needed a lot of care and treatment that would have just been impossible in that rural setting. That lifestyle would have been impossible for her after the surgery. My dad, in his 80s then, refused to move with her. My husband, mother, one of my babies and I took a trip out there with the express purpose of talking him into moving up with us, but he wouldn’t do it. I felt a little like that 12 year old girl he left years before as we drove away from his house.
He will be cremated and there will be a rosary and funeral mass on Friday. My mom wanted so much to be there, but my sister and I just don’t think that type of trip in this cold, at her age would be a good idea so we put our foot down. But then we had a great idea. After his funeral mass, Daddy’s cremains will be sent up here to be with Mom, and he will be committed in a simple ceremony in the cemetery where my baby is buried after Easter. We are going to have a rosary for him in my home with my mom, sister and her family,and some of my mother’s friends. His urn will be out with as many pictures as we can muster up. The niches at the cemetery for cremains are very nice and he will have a name plate, a beautiful brass vase, and we can even has his picture on the outside if we wish. Mom will eventually be right beside him.
So after 46 years of marriage, less than 10 of which was spent together out west in the land that he loved, they will finally be together forever… in Ohio of all places!!! And I’ll be able to visit anytime I want, whenever I want. The irony of all this is not lost on me.
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