My father had
outlived four wives. He had always worked hard and
loved and properly supported his children.
He was a tough
old bird. He had heart by-pass surgery several years
ago. The operation was done on a Tuesday, but because
of trial, I couldn't go Outside until Friday to visit
him in the hospital. When I arrived in Houston, where
the operation had been performed, Dad was waiting
for me at the airport. He had told the doctors that
he wanted to be discharged early because he had to
meet his son at the airport. He apologized to me,
however, because the doctors told him that he couldn't
carry my luggage.
Dad had surgery
for an aneurysm and had half of a lung removed yet,
two months later, when he was 86, he drove to California,
and later spent three weeks in Europe. He then bought
a new car.
In April 1990
his wife died, and some of his old drive left him.
He had married this lady when he was eighty. Since
she was seven or eight years younger than he was,
he had always assumed that he "would go first". My
brother from Texas and my sisters from California
came for the funeral. Dad was quite pleased to have
all of his family with him for the first time in many
years. But he knew that after the funeral, he would
find himself alone again, at age 87, with an empty
house, a long way from his kids.
We convinced Dad
to come to Alaska with us "for a while" after the
funeral. He had a good time here, especially playing
cards with his grandchildren.
We took Dad on
a trip with us to California. It was a great trip.
A guy seldom gets a chance to really "treat" a parent
to a "first class" trip but, on this occasion, I got
that opportunity. We stayed in a penthouse suite at
a fancy hotel, saw the Gene Autry Museum, Knotts Berry
Farm, the Queen Mary, and the Spruce Goose. Dad was
having trouble walking long distances, so we rented
a wheel chair for him, and he "traveled in style".
He also spent more time with my sisters who lived
in the area.
After we returned
to Alaska, Dad expressed the desire to return to Wisconsin
"just to see if I can make it on my own". While we
cautioned him against it, he was determined to try,
and we let him do it. It quickly became apparent that
Dad couldn't make it on his own, and after two stints
in the hospital, Dad went to a Nursing Home.
Barbara heard
about Dad being in a Nursing Home before I did, and
immediately called him. "What are you doing in a Nursing
Home?" she asked him. "I thought that we agreed that
when you felt you were getting old, you'd come to
live with us on a permanent basis. " "Do you mean
it?" Dad asked. "Of course we mean it! " Barb
answered. "Come get me! " Dad responded, "But don't
take too long. "
Barb flew to Wisconsin,
and helped Dad sort his things. He picked out the
things he liked best, and she packed them up for the
trip to Alaska. She packed his clothes. Picking out
one particular suit, Dad said, "We have to take this
one. That is the one I want to be buried in". We found
out later that Dad had already made arrangements for
his own funeral.
When Dad and Barb
arrived back in Alaska on August 9th, Dad found his
room was waiting for him. His grandchildren had painted
the walls, and shampooed the carpet. The kids had
even hung a big sign over his bed which said "Welcome
Home Grandpa!"
Dad spent the
next few days playing with his grandchildren, and
getting his affairs in order. He went over, in detail,
with Barb, what he owned, and how he wanted it to
be distributed. He showed her his will. He wanted
"to be prepared", he told her.
One evening, six
days after Dad's arrival, we had a group of friends
come to the house for a small party. I put a TV in
Dad's room in case he didn't want to participate,
but he stayed up until 9:30 visiting with our friends,
many of whom he had known and enjoyed from his previous
trips up here. His was the center of attention. After
he had gone to his room, I stuck my head in, to see
how he was doing. He was sitting on the edge of his
bed. "Would you help me get ready for bed?" he asked.
"I get so tired undressing. "
As I helped him
get out of his clothes, and into his pajamas, he told
me how happy he was to be living with us and out of
that Nursing Home. I told him how much we loved him
too, and how pleased we were that he had agreed to
stay with us. Then, for no conscious reason, I kissed
him "Goodnight". I hadn't done that for many years,
but somehow, it seemed to be the right thing to do.
Barb couldn't
wake Dad the next morning. The doctors said that he
had suffered a stroke. He was in a coma. We visited
Dad several times a day at the hospital, and Barb
would stay with him for two or three hours at a stretch.
Somedays he seemed to know we were there.
Dad died Tuesday.
His worldly affairs had been put in order. His religious
affairs, he had always kept in order. Recently he
had seen all of his kids together, and had visited
with old friends. He did not die alone; he was with
people who loved him. He received the last rites of
the Catholic Church, and the Apostolic Blessing, before
he died.
Through my tears,
I understand what the nuns meant by a "Happy Death".
