This post is completely off my usual topic.........On this day (12/4) in 1925 my Dad was born. I lost him 2/18/2008 and this is the third time that we won't celebrate his birthday. I never made it to his funeral because I was in the hospital for 20 days (that's another weird story). People have asked me about my "closure", or lack of it. I HATE that word........it's too over used, imho. I know people mean well but, it just hits me wrong.
According to Webster......closure: 1) the act of closing or state of being closed. 2) a conclusion or end.
It definitely was an end.......the end of the life of my hero, my father. But, it was a beginning, too. I learned from him that day that now I am officially an adult (at 49). I have to carry on and do what adults are expected to do. I'M the older generation now. Does this make sense???
My husband and I were out of town that day. My parents live(d) with us because he was a double amputee and diabetic. We kept our promise to keep him at home. It was slowly getting to the point where we wouldn't be able to do this anymore. Mom called me at 7AM to tell me the paramedics were on the way because something was wrong. After an hour or so, the hospital called to tell me he was VERY ill and that we needed to get back to Minneapolis, and hurry. So, we drove 4 hrs through an ice storm. When we got to the hospital we ended up in ICU. I knew he was gone.......just machines doing the work. I knew what I had to do but, Mom wasn't ready to let go.......he missed their 60th anniversary by 2 months.
We finally "unplugged" him, but he was a fighter. He hung on for a little over 4 more hrs. I was empty........I still feel an emptiness. My heart still hurts.
I planned the funeral but, ended up in the hospital the day before it. So many people that went to the funeral and found out where I was came to see me after the memorial. The nurses told the hospital chaplains and they had a private little service for me in my room. The whole thing was surreal......it still is.
(Funny, I thought I was done crying but, I'm doing it as I type).
He was a good man, husband and father. At 17, he ran away to serve his country. He served in the US Army in WWII in the South Pacific for 3 yrs. He was awarded 2 Purple Hearts (for combat wounds) and 2 Bronze Stars (for bravery in combat). He was on a transport ship not far from Japan when "the bombs" were dropped and ended the war.
There is absolutely NO way that I can adequately describe his 82yrs of life and what he meant to me. The picture is of him at 17 right before he went to war. I realize now that you can NEVER say "I love you" too much.......
Maybe this is my "culmination", maybe my "conclusion", maybe his "completion" and my birth........
I love you Dad......always and forever.
