I’m thinking I shouldn’t just leave a dangling one-liner about my dad.
He was 97 years old. He knew at an early age that he wanted to be a chemist. Went to college, then, before grad school, was drafted into the Army during the Korean War. Worked stateside in the Counter Intelligence Corps. After the Army, went to grad school, earned his PhD in physical chemistry. Had a 35 year career at the same company.
He was an outdoorsman, woodworker and player the sax. His personality was the most stable I’ve ever known.
41 years ago, he was crossing the street from a parking area to a ride share pick-up, when he was hit by a car. Broke both legs below the knee; the left leg in seven places and the right in about 20. We got a call and arrived at the ER at the same time he did. They allowed me into the area where they were cutting his pants away, and he was lying on a gurney with bones sticking out of his legs in about six places. He knew I had a job interview that day, and said, “Be sure to go to the interview today.”
So I did. And got the job. During the next eight months, I did most of his in home care, showering him, feeding him, etc. He recovered to a large extent, but over the years had both knees, the right hip and right ankle replaced. Even so, he retired, traveled the world, measure trails for parks all over the Bay Area, hiked with me in the mountains, fished on the Klamath river and stayed as active as his battered legs allowed.
Then, five months ago, he fell in his driveway, breaking his right femur and humerus. The attempt at recovery was grueling. He had to lie immobile for weeks until the bones knitted, while his muscles atrophied. A viscous cycle of infections began, leading to more immobility, leading to more infections. Finally, one crossed the blood barrier and his decline began rapidly. This was about three weeks ago.
He truly was my role model. I’m not really like him, but was always inspired by him. There wasn’t anything left unsaid between us. At different times in our lives, we had each changed the other’s diapers. We admired each other. Wednesday night, everyone else had gone and we got a couple of hours alone. Though there wasn’t anything unsaid, we each got to say some of it again. We told a few stories, he told me where his favorite place is and I told him I would scatter his ashes there.
When I came to see him 20 hours later, he was in a bad way. My wife and I recognized what they call the “death rattle.” We settled in next to him and held him. He was being given morphine and oxygen to tamp down the panic of not being able to breathe. I periodically suctioned fluid out of his mouth. He knew I was there, but was already far away. Shortly afterwards, he died with my wife and I both holding him, both telling him we loved him.
It was both a lousy and wonderful way to go.
I’ll miss him, of course, but am grateful his suffering is over.
The workbench broke a mounting point on my $100 front wheel extension mud guard thing so I will superglue it back together today.
