Aknowledging Dad Memories

He passed away a few days ago. the call came a little after 3 am Monday morning. A tearful daughter was on the other end. Within, minutes I was out of bed, short-walked the dogs and took off in my Kia Soul to be with her. The nursing facility (far from being called a ‘home’) had called informing her that her dad(my former husband)had passed after coding and did not respond to any efforts made to revive him.

I was more or less waiting for that call. We had visited only days before, as visitations were once again allowed, due to pandemic restrictions being lifted a bit. To our surprise, he was able to speak…no one had informed us of this new progress. He had not been able to speak for over a year because of his dependency on the ventilator. Very little effort had been made to change that on the part of the nursing facility. A new respiratory therapist seemed to make the difference. Needless to say, the nursing facility care was less than adequate over the past year. Our state has a limited number (13) of nursing facilities that can care for ventilator dependent residents. He ended up two hours away, making regular visits a little more difficult, then impossible with the pandemic’s arrival (his vent dependency was due to COPD, not COVID, which surprisingly he never had).

While his voice was weak, it was audible and clear. His first words to me were, “Do you have the copy of my insurance?” I nodded yes. “..You may want to keep it close by.” I knew at that point, that after a year of being on the vent, nourishment through a feeding tube, catheters, diapers, numerous hospitalizations, and isolation from all that he once held close, he was ready to let go. So, yes, I expected the news.

Though he looked so frail, lost more weight, there was a little more energy in his expression. We had a good visit, and though the nursing facility stated only 30 minutes, we were allowed us a couple hours. As I left, I held his hand, released it, then held it once more, a little longer hoping he felt the vibes of love and forgiveness that was given many a year ago.

So as I sat with my daughter, witnessing her sobs and tears in her grief stricken silence. Then she spoke, stating she had only bad memories of her alcoholic father. I countered that yes there were bad memories, but also good ones. She has the choice to be weighed down by all the bad and ugly, or to yes, acknowledge those existed, leave them at that, and hold closer the good ones. That was me preaching, what I had practiced, thirty years ago after our divorce. It took a little longer for him to accept and appreciate me as a friend rather than his wife, but he came around. We remained friendly and he was always a welcomed part of family gatherings.

My daughter is 4 months along with her first child, so naturally I was concerned with the emotional impact. Though, she was ‘there for him’ in anyway she could, or was allowed, she felt it was not enough. Feelings, maybe we all have experienced, but nevertheless, very real at the time. I reminded her of all the things she had done over the past year, including giving him a swab of brandy when we visited.

I left her when she felt she could rest. Was still concerned until I read this beautiful tribute she wrote the following day:

“My dad had gray eyes, and an IQ of 130.The first attribute was his most unique physical quality. “The rarest eye color”, Kevin tells me after meeting him for the first time. His eyes will be what I will see when I think of him.

How they lit up with joy whenever I would make fun of my brothers,how they would bulge when I told him of their latest ideas and antics, how they pierced through me when he was angry or scared, how filled with wonder they were every time I had a new tale of my mom and her “adventures” and newly acquired stray animals, how tightly he closed them with euphoria when I snuck him some XO Brandy, and how tired they were the last time we said I love you to each other.

I blame the second attribute on the noise in his mind, and why he used alcohol to silence the unwanted thoughts and guilt that would creep in. But it’s also why he was the best story teller. I knew the tales of the Hobbit, Gandalf, and Golem long before I could read the books and watch the movies. He was playful and creative with nicknames and original fables. He knew the dates of every Civil War Battle better than he knew our birthdays. While I inherited most of my mother’s looks and and compassion for others, I inherited my father’s theatrics and love for authentic conversation.

Having a father who is an alcoholic is anything but predictable. For most of my childhood, I had to accept that he would never fully be a part of my life. But he proved me wrong when I was an adult. He made it to my high school graduation, my college graduation, and my most cherished memory, danced with me at my wedding to a Grateful Dead song, a day I never thought he’d even live to see.

And that was my dad. He was a conundrum, he was ridiculous, he was funny, he was flawed, but most of all, he loved his children. And I love and miss him a lot. So in his memory, I may suggest that if you have a loved one struggling with addiction/alcoholism, try to forgive the things they are not, and love them for who they are. And if you are struggling with addiction/alcoholism, never stop trying to be better.

I love you dad, descendent of the mighty and noble viking, Giarc.”

“Long is the road

We must travel on down.

Short are the legs

That will struggle behind.

I wish I knew for sure

Just where we’re bound,

What we will be doin’

And what we’re gonna find.

Wherever we go, there will be birds to cheer you

Flowers to color in the fields around.

Wherever we go, I’ll be right here near you

You can’t get lost when you’re always found.”