E.F.G., 1/1/1929 - 9/12/2009
Seldom do 3 a.m. telephone calls bring anything good.
But there was the mobile on the nightstand, Joey Ramone singing “Hey Ho, Let’s Go” from “Blitzkrieg Bop” with my dad’s picture on the screen. He was in the bedroom directly above my head.
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you asleep?”
“I am not,” I lied. “What’s up?”
“Can you come up here and talk to me?”
We talked into the night months ago, during a week when I had the honor of taking care of him after his diagnosis of terminal lung cancer.
Mostly, he worried about black-and-white frustrations that he wasn’t a decent man his entire life. That inside him, there was an evil man and a good man.
There was no room for gray in his feelings.
Edward F. G died at 2:30 a.m. CDT on 12 Sept. 2009.
He was a good man, through and through. And the depths of his darkness propelled him to be a better man.
I was with him at the end, as I was when my mother passed away on 18 Nov. 2005. And like my mother at her passing, time and cancer had rendered him speechless.
Making our 3 a.m. chats (there were two) even more powerful.
At the end, he lay in a darkened room, when I thought I heard him call out, “hey.”
He then took a deep, gasping breath.
I put my hand upon his chest.
And watched as he took four more breaths, each a little less deep.
And he was gone.
Released from the pain of this world and onto whatever heaven he’s created.
While he had no parting thoughts on how I should live my life, he through the years encouraged me to become my own man. His only advice is that I should do what I love, follow my heart and be the best man I can be.
He was a deeply rich and complex person, not only in multiple shades of gray, but bursting with color and dimension.
I love you, dad.
But there was the mobile on the nightstand, Joey Ramone singing “Hey Ho, Let’s Go” from “Blitzkrieg Bop” with my dad’s picture on the screen. He was in the bedroom directly above my head.
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you asleep?”
“I am not,” I lied. “What’s up?”
“Can you come up here and talk to me?”
We talked into the night months ago, during a week when I had the honor of taking care of him after his diagnosis of terminal lung cancer.Mostly, he worried about black-and-white frustrations that he wasn’t a decent man his entire life. That inside him, there was an evil man and a good man.
There was no room for gray in his feelings.
Edward F. G died at 2:30 a.m. CDT on 12 Sept. 2009.
He was a good man, through and through. And the depths of his darkness propelled him to be a better man.
I was with him at the end, as I was when my mother passed away on 18 Nov. 2005. And like my mother at her passing, time and cancer had rendered him speechless.
Making our 3 a.m. chats (there were two) even more powerful.
At the end, he lay in a darkened room, when I thought I heard him call out, “hey.”
He then took a deep, gasping breath.
I put my hand upon his chest.
And watched as he took four more breaths, each a little less deep.
And he was gone.
Released from the pain of this world and onto whatever heaven he’s created.
While he had no parting thoughts on how I should live my life, he through the years encouraged me to become my own man. His only advice is that I should do what I love, follow my heart and be the best man I can be.
He was a deeply rich and complex person, not only in multiple shades of gray, but bursting with color and dimension.
I love you, dad.
Comments
Chris
-Robin
"...he through the years encouraged me to become my own man. His only advice is that I should do what I love, follow my heart and be the best man I can be."
When it comes to parenting, this is as good as it gets, imo.
This was a beautiful heartwarming view of your dad ... and you. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
It's heartening to hear you acknowledge that his passing is a release of the pain.
I hope you are surrounded by those who love you and your dad.
And yes, this is a beautiful tribute.
With luck, we can toast his memory somewhere in the mountains in the not too far future.
Take care, friend.
Lou
This is a wonderful tribute.
Take care.
It sounds like you and he were able to share a lot of good times, especially need the end. That's what is important.
Saying I am sorry for the recent loss of your father seems weak at best coming from me, as a fellow writer. Sometimes words are insufficient. I am sorry I didn't get to know a little about you before this, because having lived through something similar with my mother, I know this will change you. Deeply. Whether you want it to or not.
I wish there was something I could do to help you...some amazing insight or flash of inspiration I could impart to you other than "you'll get through this." Again, lame.
I guess I could say "Write it out"--but I think that's nearly instinctual with writers. It's what we do. It's certainly what I did.
Sorry, Thom. I suck at this. Just know you're in my thoughts and prayers and I hope to see you back on Three Word Wednesday making me wonder how I can write something decent to match your words.
Its a great tribute to a great person and a life well lived;
Sending my prayers your way;
Take care,
Hugs,
Jane
The truth is am not able to say much.
Everything that you have writteb about him shows the wonderful bond that you both shared.
And I believe a man can be best who fights his own darkness and stands tall over them.
"And the depths of his darkness propelled him to be a better man."
And what he said is something I too would remember and follow my whole life...
"What all he said and thought
to become my own man. His only advice is that I should do what I love, follow my heart and be the best man I can be."
I am happy that you were with him at the moment when being together mattered the most.
He is surely watching.
Tc dear.
~Harsha