Mourning
~a poem to my father from KBK~
I have visions of yesterday, or was it yesteryear?
Should I smile, laugh, or shed more tears?
I somehow now remember the real you so clear.
Distant, close, or maybe just too far.
I grieve alone, waiting for dawn.
Broken, strong, relieved, and forlorn.
A Memory Page Blog for my Dad...
Despite the unrelenting thief of Alzheimer’s, I vividly remember my father and what defined him as a person. He was a simple and practical man who was born four weeks early as the tiny but determined first child of my 18 year-old grandmother, who delivered him totally alone on my grandfather’s small farm in rural Georgia during the great depression which carved him into the honest, hardworking and pragmatic man he would forever be.
As a young boy, my father learned about dedication and how to be resourceful. He learned about the give and take of things. Later on, in his teen years, he and his family found themselves living in the metropolitan city of Miami where there were dramatically new lessons to be learned. City life was very different from the country life he was accustomed to and he initially felt awkward in his new environs but managed to find his own small circle of friends. He went on to be a graduate of Miami High, class of 1951 and Miami Dade Community College in 1977. My father was a friendly, yet shy country boy who loved to tinker with things, like classic cars, and showed strong mechanical aptitude as well as an appreciation for reading and music. He read just about anything he could get his hands on and enjoyed listening to jazz, swing and early rock–n-roll. He literally lived right down the street from my mother in the Miami area now known as “Little Gables”, yet their first date was not until he reached age 27 after my mother came back home from the University of Florida and began her career in merchandising working as a buyer for Burdines. They were married only a short year later.
My parent’s 46th wedding anniversary was this past April. I can honestly say that my father’s decade long battle with Alzheimer’s was the only challenge my parent’s marriage faced – their loving and respectful relationship forever set a high standard for me and my brothers regarding love, relationships and commitment. My father worked at the Miami Herald for 35 years before retiring only to find himself in the early stages of his disease.
Despite working long hours as a printer & pressman, my father was the person who taught me how to tie my shoes, when no one else could. He skillfully taught me how to pitch a ball and swing a bat. He accepted that not all girls liked ballet and dolls and were no less feminine for their less traditional preferences. He taught me that it was more than okay to be myself and to accept others. I recall how he prided himself on how much faster I could run than neighborhood boys rather than focusing on my ever-skinned tomboy knees as a young girl. I fondly remember him bragging about how intelligent my older brother was, and how ecstatic he was when the Kansas City Royals drafted my younger brother.
All through my growing up years if my brothers or I had a ballgame, awards ceremony, concert or open house, my father would always trade shifts or work overtime to attend it. My mother was the clear caretaker and nurturer, but my father had a definite role and purpose in our lives; he equipped us with autonomy. He taught each of us how to change the oil and flat tires before he would teach us how to drive. To this day, in certain instances, I can still hear my father’s steadfast advice when driving in unfavorable conditions. “Never stop sharply in the pouring rain or blinding lights, just focus intently on the lines painted on the road and drive on using those.” My dad was the kind of man who never needed a plumber, mechanic, or handyman – he could fix anything and enjoyed tackling the task. He glowed in completion and self-reliance. He was a voracious reader, never without a book in his back pocket, in case he found a few spare minutes to read – this love for books and reading as it turned out, would be a gift that he passed to his children and grandchildren.
I remember seeing my father cry for the first time in my entire life at the birth of my eldest son. This was his first grandchild and my father felt for the first time, no shame in showing his tears, which gave me a great sense of honor. This prepared me for his down hill ride with Alzheimer’s, which sadly also began around this same time that I began my journey into motherhood twelve years ago.
Try as we may, we could not protect my father from his disease. We said our final goodbyes to my father and to whom he was this past Memorial Day when nature finally, mercifully, let him peacefully pass on. It was a long and bittersweet goodbye to a man who helped define our lives, our hopes, and our inner compasses.
Dear Dad, we miss you, but will never forget you in our hearts and wish you the peace you so deserve!
My father’s full body was donated to scientific research just after his death. He would have wished to help society better understand and find new treatment and hopefully, in turn, future cures for others who will tragically follow in his path of living with and battling hypertension, diabetes, brain tumors, and Alzheimer’s disease. (full body donation - www.medcure.org ) He never wanted a funeral and wished to be privately remembered & scattered over the ocean. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made in honor of his memory to the Alzheimer’s Association or the charity of your choice – thank you.
