It will always be a Thursday
night to me, no matter the date, that my father left us in a rush. A rush not of his choosing and one of a
higher calling for which only our Lord God knows why.
Thursday’s events are that of
any other day of the week where the mundane tasks of the day are forgotten the
moment they have passed, yet still I can remember that evening with clarity and
recollection so vivid it seems to have transpired only yesterday and moments ago.
Dad and I had spoken on the
phone that night as was his custom of the past few years, since cell phones
came to be in our family. His cell phone was a new lease on life. He was now connected. Connected to the outside world beyond the
cabin in the woods by the river.
Connected to his family and friends.
Freedom! We would call each other
two three times a week just to say ‘hey’ and see how each other’s day was, tell
each other a story or two. I was not the
only one to receive such calls, he would call his Grandsons, Josh, brother
John, and there was the morning calls from Warren. Warren had retired from teaching a few years
back and liked to remind Merle of his joy at not having to go into school to be
around all those knuckle heads.
I would later find out that on
this Thursday late in the afternoon Dad had a nice long conversation with his
Dad, Grandpa Lloyd. It brings joy to my
heart to know that father and son had a visit together that day.
This random Thursday Dad and I
talked about nothing real important, no deep revelations on life, in fact at
one point he put me on speaker phone so he could have both hands free to load
the woodstove in the garage for the night.
I can still hear his voice in my ears “yup this new woodstove is
great”. He just loved that new
woodstove, it kept the garage, his sanctuary, warm and toasty all night long
and into the next day with one fill up.
It made him giddy as a farmer with a new tractor, just to talk about it. Yet for us, Josh the boys and I, we would
give a little grimace as the new woodstove only meant more work for us. You see we are the wood crew. Bucking, splitting, and stacking the winter
wood supply for the house and now the garage.
But it made him so darn happy none of us had the heart to tell him we
weren’t too sure about all the work it would bring.
After he had the wood stove all
set for the night he said “well I guess I should be getting ready for bed. Talk at you later. Love you daughter”.
“Love you too Pops”.
As I write this tonight it is just
one hour away from the end of that phone call one year later.
That random Thursday Bretten and
I finished the evening and got ourselves ready for bed too. I remember still how I was feeling when I
laid down, rolled over, and had just drifted off to sleep to be awakened by the
ring of the house phone.
Drew was on the other end, he
said Grandma just called and we need to get to the hospital, Grandpa had had a
heart attack. I had turned my cell phone
off for the night and Drew was at the University late studying and had his
phone on to receive Grandma’s call.
Dressing in a hurry I turned my
phone back on, called Josh to tell him where we were going and that we would
keep him posted. He works during the
week flying out of Anchorage so was not in town. Driving to the hospital,
meeting up with Drew, having the emergency room staff ask me for Dad’s date of
birth, sitting down only to stand right back up as the State Troopers car
pulled up out front and Mom getting out and rushing in to find us. Walking back through the emergency room and
being shown to a little waiting room in the corner, never a good thing, that
little room. These events are all too crystal
clear in my memory.
The nurse was kind and the
doctor was solemn, a bit straight forward but I suppose there is no other way
to be given the news he had to deliver.
The four of us huddled together
to cry. I caught my breath long enough
to call Josh and told him to come home.
I called Uncle John and Aunt
Marilyn. Time zones and lateness of the
hour are tough things when there is news that just should not wait till
morning. I knew Dad would not want me to
wait.
Then I called Uncle Jim and Aunt
Karen, no blood relation save for the spirit of blood that runs deep through
your heart, the kind of people that you cherish deeply and scarcely know what to
do without.
It was only a short while later
when they arrived at the hospital to gather us up and see us home. Without them none of us would have had the where-for-all
or strength to leave.
As we were walking out I asked
Uncle Jim “we have to leave without Dad”?
“It’s just his body” he said, “Your
Dads with us… it’s going to be all right”.
...
