THOUGHTS ABOUT MY DAD

POST # 349

"Marcotte's injuries were also to his back, suffering a fracture to his first lumbar vertebrae and concussion. For eight days he lay unconscious."

 

 

I've been thinking about my dad more than usual this past week.  I believe I know the reason why.  This past Sunday, I was fortunate enough to have yet another birthday, so I am now at the "ripe old age" of 64.  For some strange reason, this made me think of my dad at 64, which was in the year, 1980.  At that stage in my life, I would have considered dad, an old man, and I suppose that from my point of view at the time, he was old.

 

There is no doubt in my mind, that dad's first 64 years here on the planet were much harder and stressful than mine have been, even putting aside his participation in World War II.  We tended not to see eye to eye on many subjects, but on the topic of war, I think we both had the same view, which certainly wasn't a positive one. I recall a couple of things from childhood that made me think that this was his viewpoint.  When I was young, I was a cub scout.  He never liked the fact that I was participating in something that required a uniform, as it reminded him of having to wear one himself.  The other thing I remember was when I was about thirteen or so.  For whatever reason, we had a couple of young men stay at our house for a day or two.  They were both in some sort of military outfit.  One day, the four of us were outside, and the two young men made some comment to dad about the military (a positive one), and dad immediately gave them a dressing down, because of what he had been through.  I knew for sure at that moment, that dad was anti-war.  Unfortunately for dad, and many others in his cohort, he just happened to be the right age during that period, and like many others, made the decision to become a pilot and go and do his "patriotic duty." If there was a World War about to take place now, I am absolutely sure that I would say no to any participation. However, if I had been in his shoes back in the late 1930's, I may have done the exact same thing that he had done. 

 

The effect that had on him later on may have shortened his life due to the stress that he suffered, and back then, there was very few people he could talk to about it.  Whenever I would want to ask questions about his  experiences, he would just tell me that he didn't want to talk about the war.  Perhaps if he had talked, we may have become closer, but of course I'll never know.  I do remember having a conversation with his younger brother one time, and my uncle Al told me that my dad had changed as a result of his experience, and not in a good way.  Perhaps if he had not gone through all that he did*, he may have returned back to Canada and become an airline pilot, like so many others.   If that had happened, I am quite sure that I would have followed in his footsteps, and my life would have been completely different.  We would also have been closer, as we both shared a love of flying.  It would have been nice had he been around once I finally got my pilot's license, but that was seven years after his death.

 

By the time dad turned 64, he had just over three years left to go in his life, although I doubt that he would have thought so at the time.  He died on April 9th, 1984, after suffering a massive heart attack.  I remember asking the doctor at the hospital to tell me on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how severe of a heart attack had dad suffered.  He told me twelve on a scale of ten, in other words, very bad.

 

A few days prior to his death, I was heading to Vancouver to help celebrate a friend's 30th birthday, and I remember saying goodbye to him on the front porch of their home.  We smiled and shook hands, and I said I'll see you when I get back.  I did see him, but it was under very different circumstances, as he struggled for what remained of his life while lying on a hospital bed.  In a few hours time, he would die.  All of the family members were there, and I went into his room with mom shortly afterwards.  Dad was quiet now, sitting up in the hospital bed, with a variety of tubes and other devices connected to him.  It's a sight I will never forget.

Thinking back on all of this now, and I certainly couldn't have known it at the time, but I think dad provided me with a couple of blessings that day.   He fought his imminent death, and it wasn't pleasant to watch.  And, he died in a hospital.  I have come to terms with my death, and so when that day comes, I would like to think that I will go as gracefully as possible.  The other thing is that if I do have the choice, the very last place I'd want to die, is in a hospital setting.  Lying out under the stars would be much preferred. 

I could probably write a long list of the things that might finally finish me off, but it's all a bit of a guessing game. Doug the dog gives me a sideways look every now and again, but I think I'm safe.  I am grateful that I have made it this far, and compared to my dad, I think I've had a very easy run most of the way.

I try to live each day as though it may be my last, and one day I'll be correct.  In the meantime, I strive to get the most out of each one of them.

  maximizing my moments,

Paul
The Thoughtful Wanderer
*http://www.419squadron.com/X3477.html