My father died four years ago today. I’ve been thinking of him a lot, remembering that terrible last week. 
He had been in and out of the hospital, and we had just finally been able to place him at a local nursing home facility. He was going blind, and he couldn’t keep up the situation at the independent living center anymore – not even with the help of my brother and myself.
His dream had been to retire to the heart of the Smokey Mountains, and he moved there from Massachusetts some years before. He had managed to eke out a very minimal living there selling “computerized” photos on mugs and tee-shirts. 
It was cold in the winter, though, and healthcare facilities that he could use weren’t nearby. He needed supplemental support. His longtime companion Lorraine finally moved back north to live with her family because of her own health issues. Living alone in that environment wasn’t a good choice for him. Harrah’s Casino moved in and changed the dynamic, and it was harder and harder for him to survive. He moved to Atlanta about a year before his death.
I am grateful for that last year, although I also have some regrets. He was always good to our son Ben, and that covered a lot of ground with me. Somewhere I have a video of him pulling Ben in the red wagon – patiently, over and over, circling the front yard. We spent some uncomplicated time together, and that was a priceless gift. We didn’t really work through any issues or anything like that, but somehow just spending some time together made many of them somewhat irrelevant.
He had been on dialysis for a few months. Initially, he was opposed to it. He was more than ready to go and his images of what it entailed were a bit outdated. We talked about it, and he finally agreed to try it – but on the condition that he was absolutely free to stop anytime he wanted. I think it was the only time we ever came to an agreement about something (smile).
He had multiple heath issues by then. He’d been in critical – and a whole team of doctors were needed even to delve into the mysteries of all that was going on in his body. Still, he lived longer than anyone thought he would. When his doctor would say, “Now, be careful of what you eat or you could have a heart attack” his response was always something like, “Promises, promises…”. That was typical of his dry (and sometimes cruel) sense of humor.
In the nursing home, the telephone hasn’t yet been connected. I visited him there and found that his bed didn’t go up and down properly. I asked them please to replace it, because he needed to be able to control that after the dialysis. I don’t know whether they did, and I suspect not – but it can’t be helped now.
Then, I got that deadly flu. I was at death’s door myself – it certainly felt like it. I was out for the count. Even if I could have stirred myself, it wasn’t a thing that one would bring through the doors of a nursing home. I had been planning to bring Dad come to the house for Christmas, but I couldn’t even reach him to let him know that it wouldn’t work. The people at the desk wouldn’t even pass on a message. It filled me with rage. I regret not asking a friend to go over and tell him. I should have done that, but I didn’t think of it.
I talked to him, finally, on the 27th. His phone was finally connected and he called me. He could tell by my voice that I was really sick. I told him that I was so sorry to leave him all alone on Christmas with no word. He just said, “well, that explains it then.” We talked for a few minutes, and then he told me that he loved me. I still smile thinking about it. It’s not something he said easily or often.
That night, he was found unresponsive in his room, and rushed to a hospital about two miles from my house. My brother got the call. He had just returned to town and was exhausted. He says he didn’t call me because I was too sick to have gone to say goodbye. 
Reportedly, my dad’s last words were, “What’s a guy gotta do to get a cigarette around here?” (He hadn’t smoked cigarettes in some years, but he liked a cigar.)
The next day, my brother Michael showed up at the house dressed all in black. He didn’t have to say anything. My defenses were immediately up and running. I vaguely remember being flippant. I’m a bit like my dad that way; when things are overwhelming I tend to become inauthentic. I shut off. I become darkly humorous. I don’t really connect to the people around me. It’s something I’m working on, but for me it is so hard to be in the moment with another person when things are difficult.
Daddy wasn’t someone who showed his emotions easily, or dealt with them well. For much of my life I thought that he didn’t have them, but now I think his emotional life was so overwhelming to him that he just buckled it down. He was a bit of a control freak. I never thought I measured up to his standards (whatever they were). 
I wasn’t the perfect child he had tried to raise as a Jehovah’s Witness. That I was female was always a problem, too; he didn’t really like or understand women.
I wish that I had finished the Ph.D. before he died. I was almost there.
Our relationship was complex, ambivalent, frustrating, confusing. We could never get the right closeness, the feeling of authenticity. Everything always seemed awkward. Just awkward. Part of the problem in our relationship was mine. I didn’t really understand until recently the extent to which I had kept him at arm’s length, too. He always remained the archetypal father to me. I never really had much insight into him as a person.
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“Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” Renee Stahl’s version of the Elton John Song
I am so grateful to his family and some of his friends for sharing some of their experiences, insights and thoughts with me. Through them, I found out that he actually was proud of me and bragged about me all the time. His friends knew everything I was up to – they had the details.
I think of my Dad, ultimately, as a tragic figure. He had his faults and they helped to destroy the glimmering possibilities of who he might have been. What he was given and what he chose made his life a hard one.
I have some good memories, even so, to call upon. I miss him terribly.
I regret my own lack of insight, compassion, and maturity in communicating with him. I hope that he found the answers he was looking for. I hope that now he understands. I hope that some part of who he might have been is clearer now.
Today, I honor my father, and I let go – finally – of all the issues and negativity. 
I light a candle in his name, and I send prayers to cosmic benevolence and love to care for his spirit. God and Goddess, bless his soul.
Maybe there is an atom or two floating in the back yard…
I call upon the someone that he was and the someone that he could have been. That energy and those bits live on through his children and grandchildren – sending love back into the webs of being and non-being. He lives on through us, and we accept him as part of who we are. I miss you Daddy, and I love you always.
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“Hushabye Mountain,” Stacey Kent’s version
Heidi, as you know, I am navigating a similar road now. My road is easier because the other party wants the same thing I want. With someone like your father (who sounds a lot like my father, sans the religion) it can be tough.
One example… I decided to leave the Army after my hitch was up. My father thought I should make a career of it, because I’d been promoted rapidly and was well thought of. I tried to explain to my dad that I’d seen and done things that left me no longer able to BELIEVE in it. It was my opinion that you had to believe to serve, and it was his that you didn’t have to (as a five-theater war veteran, he was also a Cherokee who basically despised the Federal Government. Still, he was definitely a patriot. It’d take a better mind than mine to sort that one out.)
He didn’t talk to me for 3 months after I got out, and that was by far not the first time that we had severe differences over things that really shouldn’t have mattered much. I am saddened, 11 years after his passing, that we lost so much time to such pettiness. I trusted him more than anybody else, and I also couldn’t stand him most of the time. I wish he’d have been willing to explain a few things to me.
JollyRoger’s last blog post..They Packed Up Their Balloons, and Flew Away
I´m sure that you do miss your father, Heidi, and how beautiful to come here and find this so touching message you wrote to/about him. His memory remains to bring you peace and light.
Hugs!
Rosei’s last blog post..Cinco coisas para se fazer na última sexta do ano
Heidi, what a beautiful moving tribute. I barely remember your Dad, mostly I remember the trip I got to take with your family to Southwick Zoo. It is so difficult to watch someone you love (and have fought with, hated and resented too at times) go thru that kind of slow torture. As a child (even an adult “child”) it is difficult to fathom your once vibrant, in control parents now being the child. I know the feeling of regret, the “I did not do enough, if I had only done this…..or that….. or …..” It is hard to live with. This April will be 4 years since my Mom died, in a similar manner, slow, drawn out, difficult to watch, (cancer) in a nursing home. I remember that same feeling when I or a child was sick and could not go to see her. It was torture for me. It sounds like you and your Dad had found peace at the end, and that is good. Focus on those times, the love, the happiness. I wish you peace and am sending big hugs to you via this world wide web! Mary
That was a lovely post, Vi!
He knew you were gonna get that Doctorate…
And he knows it now!
Peace!
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he couldnt have asked for a cigarette on his death bed if he was a jehovahs witness. that was a contradiction
O, Benevolent Deities preserve me. I cannot believe that these are the depths to which and yours would sink. It makes me so upset that I am willing to abuse cliches and other figures of speech.
Dear “ace” – It would be nice if “God’s people” had a little more flexibility with regard to decency, civility and common courtesy. Truly, what a shining example you are. Perhaps, if you are as stimulated by small thoughts as you seem to be, you might turn yourself to the task of self-awareness. (I sure hope that your nickname isn’t meant to connote primacy or luck. If you look into it, I believe that you will find that both are against your religion.)
How did you find the post? No, wait… don’t tell me.
You read that whole post just to say that? It was a long post. You must be a determined sort of person. (Firm and determined…. “in this time of the end.” No, I take it back – that song is probably too old for you. You have the “new Kingdom” songs now. Maybe you’re just a determined sort of person in any case.)
But perhaps I give you too much credit. You didn’t even notice that we were celebrating Christmas as well.
You would do well to read widely, think critically, and open up that watchtower gate that imprisons your heart.
Indulge me for a moment while I try to explain a small bit of reality to you. I’ll try to keep it as simple and non-threatening as I can.
My father was on the very edge of death at the time, oh small one. People in that kind of state can say all sorts of things. It is not a time for judgment. He died among strangers. Give him a break – you didn’t even know the man.
He was probably hallucinating himself into a completely different context. It was the only thing he said for hours. He’d been unresponsive until that point, and he died shortly after. He was most likely flashing back to his years in the Navy (for which he got no benefits although he served honorably. To parenthetically go even further, I will also add that it was after his return from building a golf course in the Arctic Circle during the Korean “conflict” that he became a Jehovah’s Witness. His life, like everyone’s, was full of stories – good and bad).
Your priorities are so disordered, but ok – I’ll plod along with you.
To answer your solemn claim of the absolute contradiction between Jehovah’s Witness identity and the practice of smoking cigarettes is really beside the point, but sure, let’s go there.
It is in fact true that Jehovah’s Witnesses are forbidden to smoke cigarettes by their governing body’s “guidance.” On the other hand, I knew some Jehovah’s Witnesses for whom cigarette smoking was a secret vice, and therefore a pleasure. Every rule has its price.
Yes, my father wasn’t a Witness when he said that, nor was he a Witness at the time to which he was flashing back. After he left the Jehovah’s Witnesses and was no longer an elder, he started smoking again. In his last years, he preferred a good cigar, though – not a cigarette.
The “what’s a guy gotta do” (or perhaps what he said might even have been a little stronger) strikes me as “young man Navy” of the time. Obviously, JW’s aren’t in the Navy either.
It is interesting to me that although Jehovah’s Witnesses are not allowed to smoke, they are allowed to drink alcohol.
In moderation, of course.
Alcohol, unlike cigarette smoking, is counted as a “gray area” in which one’s durably-shaped “conscience” makes the decision – with the aid of Watchtower publications and lectures and other methods. It’s a historical thing, the separation of the treatment of alcohol and cigarettes. It had to do with rival groups and cultural assumptions of the time, rather than eternal truths or biblical direction. Leaving aside blood transfusions, since that is such a well-known topic of controversy, one of the other pronouncements of the time was a prohibition on vaccines – which has since been buried, quietly.
Also worthy of note are the “treatment options” for Jehovah’s Witnesses who cannot or will not stop smoking.
There are a lot of treatments for smoking cessation today – counseling, support groups, patches, even prescriptions. You just can’t beat the all-or-nothing treatment though. It’s really a little bit surprising for a congregation just swarming with love, but the JW method is to disfellowship (excommunicate) the smoker. This means that all their friends and probably all or most of their family will no longer speak to them or “associate” with them. And of course they have been rather severely warned about any associations (their replacement for friendship) among non-JW worldly ones, who are going to be destroyed by their loving God at any time now. What a way to quit!
I’m not going to speculate about your motives here, “ace” – it would be too embarrassing to both of us. More for you than for me, of course, but still… others might not even believe the kinds of motivations that would impel someone to leave this sort of a comment on a post about remembrance, grief, acceptance and love.
I was angry (livid) when I started this comment. I’m not now. That’s what so great about writing down your thoughts. As the narrative progresses, you become aware of so many things.
I can’t remain angry of offended. Your comment isn’t intentionally malicious, just small-minded, unthinking, and crass. You just really lack any kind of deeper understanding of the layers of life. Perhaps you are just young.
Bless you. May you learn better lessons. May you encounter more (and better) experiences of kindness in your life. Look at the people that you most admire – deeply and from the heart. Follow only the qualities that you admire about them. You’ll learn better that way. Don’t discount non-Jehovah’s Witnesses as your teachers.
Everyone teaches everyone. No-one has the Truth on a leash in their basket.
Let the spirit of love find you, and heal you. Peace be with you.
Heidi,
My problem with organized religion is summed up wonderfully here. Even there is no provision in Scripture for men to appoint themselves the judges of the worthiness of other men, in organized religion it is de rigeur to do so. Christ said you’ll settle up at death for your behavior in life; he didn’t say a thing about any advance agents making decisions on you on Earth.
Religion is way too often a way for congregants to reinforce their own hatreds and sense of superiority. In the hands of an evil man, a congregation can be an instrument for activities most vile, and completely away from the teachings of the “good book” that they profess to adhere to. Faith, in my opinion, must be a personal thing. Congregations are simply too dangerous to associate one’s self with.
JollyRoger’s last blog post..They Packed Up Their Balloons, and Flew Away
I should expand on this from a personal perspective… :)
My in-laws are zealots (and also Chimpleton wingtards, as the two seem to go hand in hand. Though I love them, I despise their hatred and bigotry.) They belong to a Baptist Church, and convinced their daughter that it was her “dream” to be married in that church.
As a part of marrying into that church, one must attend “counseling” with the pastor. And since I am a divorcee, I would have been required to go to the pastor and explain what caused me to be a divorcee. After the counseling and the explanation, the pastor would have decided whether or not we were fit to be married in his church.
My MIL assured me that I’d have no trouble getting permission given my personal circumstances. The problem was, a man-same as me-wanted to cast judgment as to whether or not I was fit to be the husband of a wayward congregant. I told my mother in law that there was no provision in any Scriptures I knew of that allowed this guy to pronounce judgment on my fitness as a husband, and that in any case there was about zero chance that I’d be married in a suburban white-folks church in any event.
To date, my marriage has lasted longer than the marriages of either of the other two daughters, one of which had Mr. High-And-Mighty officiate over TWO of her weddings. Maybe he ain’t so great after all.
JollyRoger’s last blog post..Benazir, in Retrospect
I find it hard to believe that the quality of a marriage has anything to do with who officiates over the ceremony. My only question is whether your wife feels any regret for having a different kind of wedding. Maybe it was a lot more fun the way you did it?
Thanks to Rosei, Mary and Todd for your kind words. They mean a lot to me.
Blessings, my Dear, as we all stop to remember. Families are so complex; it is so difficult to stand back and get perspective! You are so wise to let time and others share and shape your vision. I know that you were so important to him; I’m glad that you got to let him know what happened: more for you than for him. “That explains it” implies to me that he knew something went wrong, not that he doubted you, ever.
I love the pictures.
Thank you, my sweet cousin. Have I mentioned that I love you dearly? {{{hug}}}
It may be that she does, and I’m sorry if that is the case. But I never pretended to be anybody but who I am, and I cannot do what I cannot do.
As it was, we spent a nice week in a place very near where your father retired to. A week in the middle of my ancestral home, while my MIL headed down to get fleeced at the blackjack tables, probably by one of my cousins. Everybody “won,” metaphorically at least :)
JollyRoger’s last blog post..A Huck-O-Rama Christmas Card!
Very touching story, Heidi, thanks for sharing. The world, and all that is in it, are the creation of God (or whatever name you choose to give Him) and meant to be cherished. We can even learn from evil itself. I’m happy you have found a degree of peace and understanding.
As for the marriage things, beauty is in the eye and heart of the beholder. I have performed many marriages, both religous and secular ceremonies. Never once have I even thought about passing down judgement on anyone. I will counsel on what I believe to be truth, but never condemn.
On January 2, 2008, I am officiating the wedding of one of my daughters (I have 4). I have been admonished by several preachers that consider this to be taboo. But it is my daughters wishes, and it is my duty, both to God and family, to fulfill those wishes. I will have a post up on my site with pictures and details on the 3rd or 4th.
Happy New Year, Heidi, and thanks so much for your tender posts.
Peace and Grace, Sister.
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Whoa, I’ve been MIA for a bit and haven’t visited you in awhile. With the new year upon us, I hope to check in more often. Happy New Year my friend.
traci’s last blog post..***
I think this post is beautiful, by the way. What a touching tribute to your father and to you as well. There are many things I wish I’d done or been able to do when my mom was dying. This post has reminded me that we all have to come to grips with something surrounding this stuff. I know you did your best with what you were given and I’m sure your Daddy knew that as well. Peace to you my friend.
traci’s last blog post..***
Hi
Such a touching story. Perhaps writing this has helped to give you some closure. I hope so. Happy New Year and thanks for visiting and supporting my site in 2007. I have reviewed your blog and you can see the review at http://www.myradicalblogs.com
cheers
les
the radical blogger
Les’s last blog post..Do You Know the Real PR story
Moving post.