It’s not summer, it’s not June, it’s not father’s day today, not according to any greeting card companies. But it’s father’s day to me. My husband Rick is in Chicago saying goodbye to his dad. Actually, he said goodbye to him Monday night, when they talked on the phone and reached a rare political agreement on voting Democrat. The next day–yesterday–his dad collapsed at the polling station from a hemorrhagic stroke. Now Dr. Z. lies in the hospital, a life support system for a liver and two kidneys for someone else, for someone else’s loved one. Our loved one is gone. Henry and Anna made cards for him before they knew that it was too late. They said, “you can make it, Grandpa!” Henry signed his “with faith, hope, and love.”
When Henry was five or six, his teacher asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. “A dad” he said. He didn’t think of being a firefighter or an astronaut or a race car driver. No, he wanted to be a dad. In our house, dad’s the bomb. When Rick goes out of town, I could make a drinking game out of how often my girls sob, “I want Daddy!” and my son asks me, “when is Dad coming home?” Sometimes I do make a drinking game out of it. Then Rick comes home and I can dry out while he practices his magical fathering.
My dad was diagnosed with cancer over the summer. The surgeon’s scalpel eradicated it, apparently, thankfully. When I found out about Dr. Z., I called my dad. He’s a doctor, so it seemed like I had some reason to call him, other than just wanting to know he was still there, like somehow we could come up with a solution for the bleeding in Dr. Z’s head. But really it was about the awful reminder that I’m going to lose my dad someday. That we all have to say goodbye someday to our fathers, and sometimes we don’t even know when we’re saying goodbye for the last time.
16 Comments
i’m very sorry for your husband’s loss, Anne - please extend my condolences to your husband. life is tough sometimes.
oh, bloody hell. Just when you think you’re all grown up, you suddenly realise you’re just somebody’s kid. *heart wrench*
Thinking of you, Rick, and your kids.
And calling my dad, immediately.
I’m so sorry… I’ve been through it with both parents (my Dad died of sudden stroke too) and it’s so hard. My condolences to both of you
Anne, having just lost my dad, I can definitely empathize with your husband.
Keeping you in prayer,
Miguel
Thanks for a thoughtful and timely post Anne. I forgot Henry’s wonderful wish that Father’s Day. We said our good-byes several times tonight, and left the hospital as he was being prepared for surgery, that is to have his kidneys and liver donated. Yesterday he was driving to see his local grandchildren at mid-day — the next day an organ donor. The magical “circle of life” metaphor I have often seen deployed as a throw-away sound-bite does have a real meaning.
So sorry.
Thanks everyone for the kind thoughts. It is an ordinary thing for someone in their seventies to die, yet it feels extraordinary, especially if it happens suddenly like this. And it reminds us of all sorts of trite soundbites: life is precious, remember what’s truly important–the people you love and who love you, and the circle of life too.
One happy thing is that Dr. & Mrs. Z celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary this past August and they had all their children and grandchildren with them. The last of the grandchildren–our adorable twin nieces–were christened at the same time. The circle of life.
Rick: I’m thinking of you and your mom and sisters constantly. I hope you are able to take some time during the funeral preparations to reminisce with them about all the good times you had with your dad. He was a fine man, a good husband, an admirable father. Just like you.
” … the awful reminder that I
My condolences to Rick and all the family. Look after him well Anne, he is going to need it.
Anne, My thoughts are with your family…
So sorry, Anne. All choked up. My father will have passed 20 years ago this summer, but the heartache still haunts me. Thanks for sharing.
Anne, oh this is tough, and my heart goes out to you and Rick and your children. My boyfriend’s mother just died a few weeks ago, so I’m in the midst of the S.O. walk through this valley of the shadow of death. It’s a time of hurting and of goodness, where the response to things that make one feel so powerless is to find satisfaction in doing good and treating others well.
No doubt you’ve a zillion things to do than to read posts linked to in your comment thread, but I wrote a couple of short posts about my experience:
There is Music
I’m so glad you did this, so glad
Wishing you and yours solace and support,
Susan
Susan K., thanks for the links, I enjoyed reading them. Part of the reason I got over my hesitation over posting about my father-in-law’s death was thinking how even though it’s ordinary and everyone goes through it, it’s still human pain, it’s still something we all deal with, and part of blogging is about reaching out and sharing how we deal with it in common and uncommon ways. I appreciate your reaching out and sharing. I stayed up late last night feeling off-kilter and out of it. I can only imagine what my husband is feeling.
I appreciate everyone’s comments and thoughts here, it makes me feel a little less out of phase.
So sorry to hear about your father-in-law, Anne. He sounds like a wonderful man. My thoughts go out to you and your family.
So sorry, my condolences to your husband and all the family.
Your post is one of the most beautiful that i have ever read, it has made and is making me think a lot about life and feelings.. thanks
Thanks, Mary and Beppe. Now the funeral is over and the reality of it settles in.
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