Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain

"My father's eyes

When I looked in my father's eyes"

The last time I looked into my father's eyes was a year and a day ago. It was one brief glimpse of bright blue as he looked at us for the last time. Did he see us? I like to believe he did. It was the most movement we had seen in those eyes for several days, and he scanned the four of us, as if taking one last look. His eyes seemed bluer than they had for some time, most likely because the color of his skin had become almost ghost like.

I was hoping to sleep till at least four this morning, No such luck. It was three-fifteen when my brain reminded me that I have one more story to write about him.

The call came at 5:10, August 13, 2012. The nursing facility which he had called home for the last several months of his life called me, not my mother, to say he was gone. For the past few days, his chest barely moved as he breathed. Sometime during that early morn, his breathing just stopped.

Dawn was just breaking as I drove my mother to say goodbye to the man she had loved since she was sixteen. Not being in a hospital meant the facility was very quiet when we arrived, I was thankful for that. Not much was different from the last time I had seen him a few hours before, except that everything was different.

From the day he entered the hospital a few months earlier, we knew things would change, and change quickly. When you have no options, you hope for speed. While you desperately wish to go back, hold onto the good times, the lifetime of memories, the man he was... in reality all you wish is that he does not suffer.

In the end, he was luckier than most with pancreatic cancer. Discomfort yes, but agonizing pain never came to be. I could not be more thankful for that.

Just as my dad's journey is over, so are my posts about him. When I started writing about him, around his last birthday, he wasn't sick... just getting tired. It really wasn't a plan to write his story, those of you who know me are well aware I don't plan much, other than a concert schedule. But it helped to write. It's always been easier for me to write words rather than speak them.

So I'll say goodbye to him one more time. Looking at the clock, it's almost 5:10, and the house is at peace.

Just like my dad.

Miss you Pops.


For anyone who wants to read the rest of the story, The Journey Home, has the links to all of them.

A Birthday Memory

Today would have been my father's birthday.

Thursday, it will be six months since we lost him. It seems like he's been gone forever. This past weekend we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast. Blame it on my dad; apparently he still has the power to conjure up a winter storm. It was a running joke within the family that whatever weekend in February we planned to get together to celebrate his birthday, you could count on either a snow storm or ice storm to interfere.

Except last year.

While we would usually get together at my brother and sister-in-laws house for the party, last year we went out for Chinese. Not your local dive, but an upscale restaurant where certain dishes are insanely great and everything is overpriced. A family favorite, though one we don't normally go to as a family. My brother would go there most often, in fact a waiter once thanked him for dining there often enough that he was able to send his son to college. Nice.

Anyway, we all went out for the birthday party last year and if Mother Nature knew it would be his last, she behaved herself. I remember looking at him and thinking this might be his last birthday with us. While he wasn't sick at the time, 87 was a big number and he grew weaker almost in front of your eyes. He had the best time. Sitting between my mother and brother, he tasted everything. He had Peking Duck for the first time and loved it. The wine flowed and the staff brought out their version of an ice cream cake...for my father, it was the gift that kept on giving.

Whether he also felt it would be his last birthday with us, I can't be sure. His eyes filled with tears as he looked over his beloved family with pride, and it did seem like he was taking in the significance of the moment. But then, he always looked at us with pride. While he wasn't the world's most successful man or the most popular, he had a family who adored him.

We still do. Miss you Pops.

Happy Birthday.

Enjoying The Evening Light With My Dad

Today was a good day.

The visit with my father in the hospital yesterday was disheartening because he was sleeping throughout my time with him. He had been sedated after becoming agitated when they put the giant mittens on his hands; the result of his trying to pull out the catheter. Cause and effect.

When I last saw him awake on Friday, he was barely coherent, could not hold a cup in his hands and was scared. Today when I walked in, he was close to what he was a week ago, before this nightmare had begun. He smiled and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He was sitting in the chair, still with the mittens but able to verbalize how unhappy he was about it. In my family, if you can bitch about something...you must be ok.

He began to talk about things he told my brother earlier in the afternoon. About the softball team he played with, probably from the early 1960s. He knew all the guys names. Knew plays which occurred fifty years ago.  Dad, what did you have with your eggs this morning? I don't know..who fed me this morning. But that's ok.

As I fed him his pureed dinner he looked at me and said "It takes real guts to eat this shit." Indeed it does. 

We talked about his beloved St. Louis Cardinals, who pitched the night before, who would pitch tonight. Sports talk will be the last thing to leave his mind. His love for his family is evenly matched by his passion for his "birds."

I don't know how many more days I will have with him, but then tomorrow is promised to no one. I do know that as the last of the day's sun came through the hospital window, it was just him and me. It was a precious moment, a gift to be tucked away and remembered for eternity.

Love you Pops.

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