My Daddy

In the wee, dark hours of Christmas Eve morning four years ago, our telephone rang. Rarely, if ever, does a phone ringing in the middle of the night do so to announce good news, so I answered with more than a twinge of fear in my heart.

The voice on the other end of the line was one I did not recognize, but she knew me, for she said, "Patty, this is Ruth at Atherton, and I'm so sorry to tell you your daddy passed away a few minutes ago."

My dad was gone? I'd been with him a few hours ago, laughing as I kissed him and telling him, "Christy will be here tomorrow, so you'd better be good 'till then!" He laughed -- it was the first time he'd laughed out loud in so long. What a treasured sound!

Five months earlier, my dad "bottomed out", although the doctors seemed not to know exactly why. The vagaries of old age and Parkinsons Disease conspired to make life those last five months of Dad's life extremely challenging and limited. What we would have done without the incredibly tender care given by the wonderful caregivers at Atherton Baptist Homes, I do not know. He could no longer walk or feed himself, sometimes he could talk--but not always, and sometimes I know he knew me, while at other times, I'm quite certain he did not.

Every day -- before work, during the work day, on the way home from work, or early in the evening, I'd slip down to Atherton to spend some time with Dad. Mom had been gone for a year before Dad became so compromised physically. He missed her beyond words. She was the love of his life, the reason for his existence. "I just want to live long enough to take care of your mother," Dad would say. They were devoted to each other, an amazing example of love and commitment -- to one another and to God.

Two weekends prior to this middle-of-the-night phone call, I had expected Dad to die. He had pneumonia, and his blood pressure got so low, it seemed that he would just gradually slip away, but he did not. Now it was the day before Christmas, and two of his grandchildren were coming to see their grandpa, but . . . Dad was spending Christmas in heaven with Jesus & Mom instead.

If you didn't know my dad, you really missed something. He was wonderful! I almost said he was about the best man who ever lived, but there are several I've never met, so I guess that would be difficult to prove. But those who knew him would agree that he was a truly fine man.

Dad was frugal, something for which he has taken a fair amount of kidding. A standing family joke is, "Dad said money's meant to be spent," or words to that affect. Then we all crack up because that is so NOT what Dad would say.

Dad's memory was perfect -- well, perhaps I should explain that. Dad had two daughters, my older and much more mature sister, Merrilyn, and me. For decades -- thus totally not related to age and Parkinsons and the dementia that came near the end of Dad's life -- Dad had been unable to remember a single thing either Merrilyn (save one dusting incident that Merrilyn never lets us forget) or I ever did wrong. How's that for a great memory!! I've decided that being forgetful of your children's misdeeds is a wonderful thing, and I am trying to emulate it with my own children.

Dad was tender. He so loved his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. One of the hardest things this year for Merrilyn and me has been knowing how much Mom and Dad would have loved to see and snuggle with their three great grandbabies who were born in 2008. When our David first arrived from Vietnam and often needed to be held and walked, Dad would tuck him inside his bathrobe early in the mornings, hold him close to his heart, and just walk with him. So tender . . .

Dad was fun. He had the best sense of humor and an incredibly quick wit. You never knew quite what comeback he'd have to a comment or situation, but he always had something good.

Dad was caring and committed, working hard to provide for his family and serving God through his church faithfully. He and Mom were amongst the most generous people I've ever known, giving way beyond 10% to the Lord, in addition to giving of their time and talents.

One of my most special memories of Dad near the end of his life was the weekend he had pneumonia. I was sitting with him, praying and trying not to cry, feeling fairly certain he wasn't going to be with us much longer. Neil was in the hospital recovering from gall bladder surgery, and Merrilyn was in Washington, so it was just Dad and me. Lying in his bed at Atherton, Dad turned to me and said, conspiratorily, "Let's break out of here!"

Not quite sure I'd heard correctly, I parroted, "You want to break out of here?"

"Yep!"

"Dad, where do you want to go?

"Heaven!" said in a voice that indicated I should have known the plan. He was ready to leave that weak, feeble body and dance the streets of heaven with Mom!!

Dad's death was not a tragedy. It was a blessed release from a failing body and mind, an event that for Dad was much-anticipated and long-awaited because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would be with his Lord . . . and Mom.

This Christmas season, as I've reflected on Dad and Mom and their impact on Merrilyn's and my lives, as well as the lives of their grandchildren, extended family, and many friends, I again realize how incredibly blessed Merrilyn and I were to have these two amazing people for parents.

I also realize that, altho we continue to miss these two precious people, we have many friends who have lost loved ones this year, whose grief is fresh, for whom this is the first Christmas season without their grandchild, child, husband/wife, father/mother, grandparent, or friend. My heart aches for each. I pray that the God who loves them will hold them close in His arms, as He has held us, bringing comfort as only He can, and that warm memories of good times together will bring a smile to the face and comfort to the heart, even as tears trickle down the cheeks.


P.S. One more memory -- and a confession: the last Sunday of Dad's life was Christmas Sunday 2004. Dad could no longer attend church, so he and I were watching the worship service from our own church, First Baptist of Alhambra, which is available on TV at Atherton. Dad was relaxing in his recliner, having a pretty good day, and I was reclined on his bed, since there was not a second chair in his small skilled nursing room. The worship that morning was the Christmas musical, interspersed with scripture read in some of the many languages represented by our congregation, which is very multi-cultural. Neither Dad nor I understood most of the scripture, but we'd found out that the Holiday on Ice Christmas Special was on another channel, so whenever there was reading we couldn't understand, we'd watch the beauty of ice skating to Christmas music. Dad used to be a good skater, and I believe he and Mom even met on an ice rink, so it seemed fitting. We saw the most gorgeous, touching skating done to "O Holy Night" that morning.

Ever since Dad's death, that precious time with him his last Sunday on earth -- a wonderful combination of worship in word, song, and dance on ice -- has made it really hard for me to attend church on Christmas Sunday, so I spend the morning at Starbucks, talking to my sister, reminiscing about the great gift God gave us in the form of our dad, or . . . this year, telling you all about our daddy on this blog!