Click & unzip to hear a message from Darkmum.
On May 27, 2004, my Daddy died. He had been ill ... had a stroke and a heart attack and was suffering from Alzheimer's. He no longer knew who my mother was most of the time. He did not always remember me and my brother either, but he seemed to know my husband. Perhaps that was because they had spent hours upon hours working together at our pigeon ranch in Empire, which is located just outside of Modesto. Men bond in such a way that women will never understand. He kept thinking my son, Dallas, was my Uncle Shorty ... his youngest brother who had long passed away by that time.
I took Daddy to his chemo appointments and to his doctor's appointments when Mom needed a break. My children were still young and my brother lived in Southern California, so while much of it did fall on me, Daddy's sister came in from Sacramento and spent time helping Mom get Daddy through the worst of the chemo and radiation side effects. Aunt Sis is gone now, as well.
I vividly remember when I told Daddy it was OK to let go, that Robert was there for him, and that I would not be coming to see him the next day. I would make sure Mom was taken care of and I would contact him in the afterlife. He knew I could do it and so did I. I did not want to be there when he transitioned. I did not tell him this, but I think he must have known, on some level.
He could not speak, I told him one squeeze to my hand for 'OK,' and two squeezes for 'NO.' I asked him three times and got one squeeze each time. I knew he understood. I asked the doctors to put Daddy on a high morphine drip; that he had indicated to me he was in pain and I felt it should be managed. His doctor understood and ordered the high morphine drip. I can only hope I have such a great doctor if I am ever in that condition.
I spoke to my brother several times the next day and learned that Daddy was going fast. Daddy waited until after quitting time (because he always put in a full day's work) and until Mom was out of the room for a few minutes. Then he quietly stopped breathing. Only my brother was there, and that is how it should have been.
It was as if it was all planned and went according to one of his 'templates.' Daddy always had a 'template' for everything. He was a high-ranking, Hiram-awarding- winning Mason and when I saw the tools they buried with him, I understood much of the symbolism of the 'template.'
I still have all the plaques and awards Daddy got from the State of California, awards from three Governors of California with their original signatures on them (of both major political parties) given to Dad in person, and the Masonic Lodge as well as the City of Modesto, the City of Oakdale, Fricot City, and San Andreas. Loads of photos of his family and his grade-school yearbooks. His report cards. His Navy medals. I don't know what will happen to them when I am gone. I can't let myself even think about it. A lot of years of work and memories will probably be thrown away.
My brother died at the age of 57 in 2018. Mom died at the age of 94 in 2020. My brother's kids are off doing their own thing, I suppose. My son lives with me as my caregiver, now. It seemed that, after Daddy died, everything changed. My daughter and I became permanently estranged and I have 5 grandchildren from her, 4 of whom I've never seen and never will. Mom became almost a total recluse. My health continued to decline and I am now homebound at the age of 64. Still, I have found a way to enjoy life through this blog and I devote a LOT of time to it. I find little on TV of interest these days, so I guess I'll just have to write it for myself!
Life's wheel keeps turning and I have photos and memories to keep me company. Daddy comes to me often and we still talk, if only in my mind. I still hear his voice, sometimes, and he is always right there with advice for me. I guess you could say he is now my conscience ... temper and all.
I miss him more today than I did the day he died. More than the day of his funeral. So many times I've wanted to ask his advice in person. Our ritual was for me to call him each night (or he would call me, or have the nurses call me when he went into the nursing home) before we turned in for the night. Usually, it was to discuss the events of the day ... or politics.
Toward the end of Daddy's life, the nightly call was usually so I could assure him that I had booked passage on the last train out and that I had paid for his meal and room when he got back to town. He would tell me he would pay me back when he got paid that week and I would tell him, "No, you don't need to pay me back, remember ... I owe you."
I never knew what town he was talking about and I never asked him. For some reason, he was always worried about that at the end of each day. It must have been something in his younger years that had happened to him and he had been left behind or something, because it always concerned him that he would not be taken care of. I know he worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad for a while before I came along, but I don't think this had anything to do with that. I think he was working as a teen jumping the rail cars for transportation and if he had to work late and missed the train he would be stuck out of town and not make it home to a meal and a warm bed that night. Mom could never settle him down, it always had to be me.
I wish I could tell Daddy what my life has been like for the past 20 years. I would tell him I had to remove my husband from my life, and why. I know he would agree. I would help him understand Mom a bit more, at least I would try. I would ask him why the world was so unfair. He would not know, but he would do his damndest to come up with a reason that pleased me. Because that is how he was when it came to his little girl.
Of course, he would start in about politics, but that was also how he was ... and I'd listen. I can't even imagine what he would say about the election coming up this November. Knowing him, he would probably get wild hair and vote for a third-party ticket, even though he was a registered Democrat. He and I had many 'talks' about Ross Perot back in the day.
Many folks would give almost anything to turn back time and do things differently. I think Daddy would disagree, although I was just beginning to teach him how to run a computer when he had his first stroke. He would have absolutely LOVED the internet. I would tell him I was sorry for not doing a better job of understanding why he did some things the way he did, though. Now that I’m older, maybe a little wiser, I get that life is hard, especially for those who lived through the Great Depression. I can see now that my parents, who adopted my brother and me out of the system, spoiled us with love and we had no idea it was happening. We’re all just doing the best we can.
Daddy, you’ll always be that big strong man from my childhood. You’ll always be perfectly preserved in my memory. Perhaps that is the one blessing of being dead. Folks remember all the good things. They tend to let go of the things that make them sad. But I miss your good and I miss your sad. I miss your short temper and your passion for life. I miss all of you. Your bad singing voice and your goofy smile made everything better.
Darkmum
THANK-YOU FOR READING DARKMUM'S MUSINGS