My Dad had been sick for quite some time...years actually. He was a Type II diabetic, and then many more complications added on. They took his left leg many years ago. I don't remember how many exactly, but I know where I was living and I remember the plane ride home to be with him & my mom. I remember the look on his face and the fear before he went into surgery. I remember him holding my hand, looking me in the eyes and asking me to pray for him. It's one of those memories that hovers at a time like this.
We've been put on notice a minimum of 4 times...not knowing if he would make it through the night or day or the next hour. But he always did. He always bounced back. But I knew this call was different. When I talked to him a couple of weeks ago, I heard in his voice that he was done. I wasn't really ready to face it, but I was resigned to the news.
In talking to my Mom later, she told me about the last day they had together...and it made my heart smile for a moment. It had been obvious over the past couple of weeks that he was slipping, but just putting together how it all played out...perfect. My parents 61st wedding anniversary was last month...it wasn't a "good" day, but they were together. Longtime friends came to visit and my nephew got married that past weekend...so good that they were able to do that without the shadow of this overhead. And his last day...he was able to go for a wheel outside in his chair, watch a baseball game on television and eat the gluten free pizza my Mom made him for dinner. It was a good day :) God's timing is perfect in all things.
In the past several days, as I have thought and talked through this, I am thankful for the man my Dad grew into. I didn't have that storybook childhood, but I wouldn't trade it for who the heart of my Dad became in his later years. He gave his heart to Jesus in 2004 and was baptized...and it changed him. He could still be that surly, grumpy guy...but the middle of him that had always been marshmallowy? Well it was more like the center of a perfectly roasted marshmallow now. When you were persistent to get down to it...it was warm & melty.
My dad was from an era where father's didn't do a lot of hugging and saying "I love you". At least not with those actions or words. My dad hugged me with actions like rescuing me from a cow at the fair that decided it would pummel me into the manger when I took it hay. He shouted out his love when I was in the show ring with the words "get your hands off that cow!". In my defense, my cow (Susie Q) loved to be scratched on the side of the face when the judge wasn't looking. But my dad was always looking! He had been showing cows a great portion of his life. There was a right way and a wrong way. The wrong way was rattling the chain & scratching the side of the face of the cow you were showing...but I didn't fare too badly in the show ring anyway! And Susie Q...well she didn't mind being shown most of the time. She would urp up a cud and play along. Dad wasn't always impressed. He would move around the ring (on the outside of the fence) with me. I can still see him standing with his feet apart, arms crossed with one hand to the side of his face. The sentinel. At the time...I wanted to shout back "she likes it!". Now...the memory makes me smile.
Later, when I was married and living away, my phone would ring. I would answer and hear "got a joke for ya". It always made me smile, because sometimes they were really stupid jokes. Sometimes he would get them out of order and botch the delivery. But I always laughed, and it made me happy because I knew he was telling me he loved me. As soon as he was done with the joke, he would say "here's your mother"...short, sweet and to the point.
And over the past few years, the moment that always made me smile and made tears clog my throat, were the prayers he said at every meal. It always included "watch over the little ones"...full to the top with "I love you". He had a fierce love for his grandchildren and great grandchildren. Nearly every time I talked with him on the phone, one of his first questions was "how are the babies?". Then I would relate little stories for him. Each phone conversation was shorter...each moment when he would say "here's your mother" would come quicker. Each would leave me wanting to say more...but I always tried to leave him with "I love you, Daddy".
This week the family will gather to say good bye to the earthly remains of my Dad. But the memories will always be in my heart. I will always know he is watching out for me. I will always remember the last visit home, playing poker & eating popcorn and reading him the paper. Whenever I have pancakes I will wonder if I should try them the way he liked them, with milk & sugar, just once. Maybe the sogginess will be worth it? I will remember the good times, and let the memories of the pain he lived in fade. I'll remember the twinkle in his eyes and his impish grin. Always...I will remember...
Milo Burton McCright 1/16/32 - 9/5/13
