Today marks the 36th anniversary of the day my father died suddenly in his sleep of a myocardial infarction. This was not his first one, as he had suffered three in a row about thirteen years previously when I was just ten years old. One of those three was a massive heart attack, so it really is a blessing we had him for another thirteen years. I will never forget the night it happened; the chaos waiting for the paramedics to arrive, the disbelief that this was happening at all, and the shock when we realized he was gone for good. I wrote about that night and the after effects of having to deal with life without him in the poem called Gone from my third book “Gather Seeds of Hope”. The post and poem can be found here: https://thepracticalpoet.com/gone-from-gather-seeds-of-hope/
I still miss my dad daily, and his booming voice still rings in my ears if I concentrate really hard. Each year it gets harder and harder to remember. Although my dad was not a religious person, he raised us with good values and a sense of responsibility. He would often lecture us when we disappointed him, jabbing the tip of his index finger into our shoulder as he spoke. The family joke was, if we were ever in a plane crash, don’t send for dental records; just look for the indentation in our shoulder. Seriously, that makes him sound like an ogre, but it was done with love as he only wanted us to be better people. And isn’t that a parent’s job? I’d like to think he did a pretty good job with me and my siblings and I do believe he is proud as he watches over us. Speaking of a father watching over his family, check out the poem Gone from This World from my fourth book “Sow Seeds of Wisdom.” This poem deals with the family who is left behind as they grieve for their deceased love one and how they miss their physical presence, but maybe that loved one isn’t so far away after all (https://thepracticalpoet.com/gone-from-this-world-from-sow-seeds-of-wisdom/). Do you believe?
Several years later, my mom passed away after an eight month illness, where in the end she made the brave decision not to continue with kidney dialyses and enter hospice, where she passed about a week later. Throughout the years I have often wondered which is easier to deal with; a person suddenly being taken away, like my dad was, or a lingering illness where you have a chance to spend time with the person while they slowly slip away. In a way, I have made more peace with my mom’s passing then my dad’s. I was older. I not only had more time with her in life, but I had more time to prepare for her passing and come to terms with it. I think I cried more before she died then after, because after she breathed her last breath I knew she was no longer in any pain and had been reunited with my dad, which brought me comfort.
I still have some struggles with my dad’s death, all these years later. I was so young and it was so sudden. I still have bouts of anxiety if I am trying to get a hold of someone and they are not responding, especially if they live alone. I wonder if the hand of death got them and I just haven’t been made aware yet. I hold my breath until I hear from them, and then heave a sigh of relief when at last they respond. It is usually within a reasonable time, but in my mind it feels like hours have passed, and by then the anxiety has ramped up to irrational levels. My heart clenches whenever I hear of someone who died in their sleep or passed suddenly, and I empathize with the family, as I know the shock and disbelief they must be dealing with.
The bottom line is death is difficult, no matter how it happens; suddenly or after a drawn out illness. Even if the person is elderly and it is somewhat expected, it still comes as a bit of a shock when you learn the person is no longer in this world; that the world keeps spinning without them being a part of it any longer. I can assure you, as someone who has lived through both sudden and expected, they both suck, and the final day is brutal no matter how it arrives. It often seems we are left with more questions than answers. All we can do when we get to this day is hope the person knew how much they were loved and appreciated and how much of a difference they made in our world just by being a part of it.
This poem, which became a family favorite, was written shortly after my dad passed away when I would wander into his “man cave” and look around at all the things he was tinkering with that would never see completion. The poem Gone referenced above deals with all of the things left behind when someone suddenly passes away. Truth be told, not too many things got finished after all the hours he spent in there tinkering around with his tools (aka the “friends” in the poem), while listening to the Cubs game on WGN radio. But it made him happy to be in that place, and if we didn’t know where to find him, we always knew where to look….in his garage.
His Garage
The tools lie dark and dusty
As they wait for skillful hands
To bring them all to life again
To dance with his commands.
Everything is peaceful,
Like the calm before the storm.
The hammer and the nails grow restless,
Anxious to perform.
This place was his palace
And in it he was king.
He could make those tools do a dance
Like puppets on a string.
In this place he spent his days
Doing what he loved best.
But now the show is over
And the actors are at rest.
A calendar upon the wall
Still marks that final year.
A box of broken watches lies still
Waiting for repair.
The dust has covered footprints
That once walked across the floor,
Enveloping them in their wake
Like waves upon the shore.
His “friends” that still reside here
Watch the days and seasons turn,
Growing anxious as they sit
Awaiting his return.
I pray that he is happy
In the place he now calls home.
His mind is free of all debris,
His spirit free to roam.
If there is a Heaven,
And I surely know there is,
For him I hope it is a place
That’s similar to this.
For this place was his Heaven
Where his tensions would release,
And to know that he is happy
Puts me, like him, at peace.
-K.A. Bloch-
