Memories of my Dad

                                                                                  Memories of my Father

Last night I watched the movie,"Julie and Julia."  If you haven't seen it, it was made several years ago; it is about a woman who wants to be a writer.  Her hero is Julia Childs.  Julie decides to attempt to make all of Julia Child's recipes, over 500 of them, within a year.  She writes about her experience of making the recipes on a blog that she has created.  If you haven't seen the movie, I will say no more.  When I woke up this morning after seeing that movie, this was in and on my mind. Movies sometimes have a mysterious way of waking up dormant memories.

In 1999 my father was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He was 79 years old.  Dad had always been healthy and strong.  He wasn't a particularly big man.  He stood 5'7" and weighed in at 170 lbs.  He had big,powerful hands.  Jack put up his own garage door and moved his refrigerator from the store to his truck and then into his house.  He built a brick wall around the front of our home which involved loading many wheel  barrels full of rocks, pushing them to their destination, and then unloading all of those rocks.  He did these kinds of things all of my life.  A lot of physical labor of which I thought his heart might burst and he would die of an attack.  What you think will end someone else's life or even your own rarely does.

After my Dad retired he had a dream to make his own violin.  He was musically talented and played by ear.  He would listen to a song and then he could play it.  Dad owned 3 guitars: Spanish, Dobro, and a Hawaiian guitar.  I played the piano. One of the fondest memories of us together is my Dad playing his Spanish guitar as I accompanied him on my piano.  I can still hear him playing those Tammy Wynette and Hank Williams songs to name a few greats. Jack made half of his garage into a workshop.He designed and drew his first violin on paper. It was made entirely from wood that he brought home from his Dad's property in Mississippi. He bought literature on how to make violins,bought the tools, glue, and varnishes.  If he needed a certain tool and could not find it, he would make one.  The finished product was beautiful and had a pretty good sound.  He made more violins as well as mandalins after that.  He sold the instruments and repaired other musicians' guitars and violins.Dad found peace and serenity by using his talent to design and build after retiring as a maintenance supervisor for a major company. He taught himself how to play the violin.  He studied books to learn the proper finger placement and watched violinists to observe how they stroked the strings. The songs he enjoyed were transposed from his memory to that violin he had so lovingly made.  Great memories!

My first journey with a person diagnosed with cancer was my father's journey.  He had developed a cough which the doctor was sure was bronchitis even though my Dad had lost some weight.  The ailment lingered on during the summer of '99. The cough was getting worse, but Jack made light of it, and said little about how he really felt. My mother noticed the weight loss so they went to the doctor. Dad had lost 15 lbs. in a few months and was still losing.  The doctor ordered a CT scan which revealed spots on his lung and his liver.  The treatment would be chemotherapy, if he wanted it, and the prognosis was 6 months to live. Being the risk taker that he was, he chose the chemo and was hopeful he would beat this overwhelming disease.

Jack went home.  Our family shared a lot of emotions, some good, some not so good, during his last few months on this earth.  He came home and he celebrated Thanksgiving with his children, grandchildren, and extended family.  I had not seen him eat so much in at least 2 years.  He really enjoyed everything.  We all laughed a lot that day.  After Dad's chemo treatment in December his health and weight started to slide even more.  My family and I celebrated Christmas at my parents' house that year.  Dad put on a smile but my mother and I could tell that he was not feeling well.  My mother was a rock.  She handled the brunt of all the chauffeuring to chemo treatments and tried to fix meals that he would like which was a major hurdle.  Hardly anything tastes or smells good while on this drug of poison.

A bad case of jaundice landed my father in the hospital on January 21, 2000.  He had witnessed the millennium and had said that one of his goals was to see history being made.  If he were alive today he would have a bucket list.  I think my birthday would have been on that list.
I truly believe that he fought to stay alive for it.  My mother and I had moved into the hospital room. When I woke up on the morning of January 27, he started singing "Happy Birthday" loud and clear to me. He had a twinkle in his eye.  To this day, whenever someone sings this song, I feel elated because I can still hear my father singing it to me on that special day.

After my birthday, I rarely got to talk with my father much.  He became very ill and had to have a morphene IV drip put in.  He slipped into a coma on January 29 with my mother, my husband, our minister, and me by his side.  I held his hand.  It still seemed strong to me.  Our eyes met and even though his eyes were dull and glassy I knew that he heard me tell him that I loved him and that he had been a great Dad.  When I said goodbye to him I felt his grasp on my hand release as his spirit slipped away.  A huge wave of peace and serenity came over me in that early morning knowing that he was safe and would feel pain no more. I know that he has been playing heaven's guitars and singing his favorite songs ever since.