The Dad Revisited

 It's hard to believe it's almost a year since The Dad left us. As he had cheated death oh so many times, I guess I assumed he'd live forever. Even having uncontrolled diabetes, eight (he said) heart attacks, a mini-stroke, emphysema, and chronic heart failure, he only missed his 82nd birthday by seven weeks. His orneriness (is that a word?) is what kept him going, I guess. 

Several times each month, I forget he is gone, and I go to call him on the phone to tell him about an exceptional meal I've had. I browse through the thrift store book selection with him in mind, as I sent him a box of books every month from 2014 until, literally the week he went into the hospital after he fell and broke his hip. That seems to be the beginning of the end for so many older adults. I have fallen more frequently than I like to admit (about once every six months) but so far, I've only dealt with bruises, to my chin, my knee and my ego. I'm healthier than he ever was, but as I am the opposite of ornery (truly a delight to all who know me) I may not bypass his 80+ years, but I think I have a good thirty years ahead of me. 

In the last few years, I was privy to the thoughts of The Dad, who usually kept his thoughts to himself, unless they were funny or shocking. He wasn't one for grand pronouncements or emotional outreaches unless they were related to his unhappiness with something. I learned much about growing old and coming to terms with a life that didn't quite go according to plan. Many of those were lessons about what not to do, as opposed to sage advice like he was Morrie, and it was a Tuesday. 

I am JD, the son of The Dad, alike in some ways, markedly different in others. But I could understand what he was trying to say but didn't know how. He couldn't bring himself to apologize for how he treated me, his admittedly odd, oldest son, but I knew what he meant when he said, "I liked living with you the best after your Mama passed on. If you woulda moved to the country, even in California, I'da never left."

For most of my life, I did everything I could think of to make him proud, to feel like I had earned his love. I tried to be who I thought he wanted me to be, but when that was spectacularly unsuccessful, I had to just be me and hope he would be okay with that. I discovered the search for acceptance and validation is genetic, as it was his primary motivator. Most of his emotional blow-ups were directly related to feeling unappreciated or disrespected, even when he was unappreciative and disrespectful to those same people. Me. Us.

My brother Thorn was with The Dad during our last phone call in May 2022. He had slipped into a coma and the doctor told us it was a matter of hours, not enough time for me to fly to Texas. I asked Thorn to hold the phone to The Dad's ear so I could say my goodbyes. I knew what he needed to hear.

Hey Old Man, it's JD. You did good. You had a good life. You were a success, even if you didn't think so, because you always took care of us. I am who I am because of you. I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself. Give Mother a hug from me. I love you.

He held on, stubborn as always, for almost 24 hours, before he left us; on his own terms, wearing his Tractor Supply hat.

The end of an era.