DAD

This was written in late 1993.  It's a little long but tells a story about our family.  I think I wrote it for a Class at ICC.

      On Labor Day of this year, we had a big family gathering.  All of our six daughters and some of the nieces and nephews and all of my brothers and sisters were here.  We had one of our family's specialties.  A Garbage Can Dinner - vegetables and smoked sausages cooked over a roaring fire in a clean galvanized garbage can.  There were about fifty-five people here and we have found this is a great way to feed a large crowd.  Our daughter, Lora, had organized games for the young children, sons-in-laws, Tom and Randy, organized a clay pigeon shoot on the back of our property - we live on three acres in a rural area, and my husband, Vern, had put up the volleyball net and the croquet set.  Just a typical family get together.
     What made this one different was that our dad had gotten permission from the Hospice nurse to come out and stay as long as he felt like it.  In the past few weeks, the cancer in Dad's system had daily begun to take it's toll.  He was now using a walker to get around and a hospital bed had been put up in their family room.  With the help of the walker he was able to get from bed to chair and watch his beloved Cubs and do the daily crossword puzzle.
     He stayed late in the afternoon on Labor Day, sitting on our screened-in porch, eating, visiting with and being waited on by family and friends who stopped by.  About six, it had begun to get chilly and he was ready to go home.  My brothers, all big men, helped him off the porch and as he walked along the sidewalk to the car in the driveway, everyone came on both sides to say good-bye.  Hugs, kisses, a last word or two to all of us as he plodded slowly along.  I was walking just behind him and I glanced up and those behind him had tears in their eyes and as the car pulled out of the drive, several of the younger people were openly crying.  All of us had a sense that this was the last time we would be a complete family gathering.  And for many, it was the last time they saw him alive.
     My sister-in-law, Joanne, who is a nurse and lives in Florida, sent husband and kids home and stayed a few more days to help Mom and Dad get into a routine.  Our parents were so pleased that she would do this for them.  She talked with the hospice nurses and all of us and it was decided that when she left on Sunday we would take turns staying the night so that Mom could get some rest.  My brother, Russ, had brought Dad one of the lift recliner chairs and Dad, the person who sat with the remote control and cordless phone always within reach, loved it.  Not only another toy to play with but the chair gave him much more mobility.  He was able to almost stand in the chair and then to his walker.  My sister, Judy, stayed Sunday night, my husband, Vern stayed Monday night, I stayed Tuesday night and Vern stayed again on Wednesday night.
     When I was growing up, there was never a Church activity that my parents were not involved in, usually doing the dirty work, sorting clothes for a rummage sale, painting at the school or rectory or running the kitchen for the Spaghetti Dinner.  When they had moved to small town, Morton, they still remained active in the Knights of Columbus and Mother organized the funeral dinners for the church.  When they moved back to Peoria four years ago, they moved into a duplex in the area of an upscale parish.  They were now in their seventies, and just didn't feel like getting involved again.  No one from the parish welcomed them and when they went to Mass no one took time to say hello.  The past month or two, Mother had mailed the Church a check each week, as Dad's incontinence problems made him feel uncomfortable in places where he wasn't familiar with the plumbing, and they stopped going to Mass, watching it instead each Sunday on local TV.
      I called just before Labor Day and asked if someone could bring Dad and Mom Communion on Sunday and Father Greg, the Assistant Pastor, said no one had told him about Dad although Hospice had assured us that they did.  I told Father that my Dad was concerned where he was going when he died and Father came out and heard Dad's confession and brought him Communion.  This was about the first of September.
     Thursday morning, September 16, I was getting ready for school, when the phone rang about 7:00 a.m.  It was Mom, she was crying and said that Dad had had a really bad night and would I come over.  I suggested she call Denise, the hospice nurse, and told her I was on my way.
     When I arrived Dad was taking oxygen and was having difficulty breathing.  He smiled, squeezed my hand and we talked briefly.  Before I left home, I had called my brother Dick's office and they had located him in a business meeting and he was at the folk's house when I arrived.  Vern suggested that maybe the two of us should call the other brothers and sisters and let them know what was happening.  Dick got in touch with Suzanne in St. Louis.  I got Judy at work in Champaign and she said she'd be home in a couple of hours.  We held off calling the other three until we had talked to Denise. 
      When Denise came, she examined Dad and called all of us into the dining room.  "Russ has one to four days to live" she told us about 11:00, "He'll need two people here at all times."  We discussed getting Alterna Care - a program that provides nurses and nurses aides - Dad weighed about 215 pounds and was heavy for some of us to lift by ourselves - and we decided that one of us, his family, would be with him around the clock for the next few days. 
      Dick called Russ in Kansas City and suggested that he put a few clothes in a bag and come up for a few days.  Dave in Sarasota said he'd make reservations to fly home right away.  Carol in Pittsburgh has been ill and we suggested she stay home and take care of herself so she would be strong enough for the wake and funeral.  We assured her that it was much more important that she conserve her strength and we would keep her posted on Dad's progress.
      Vern was very tired after his all night vigil with Dad and Judy and Dick said they'd be there the rest of the day and Sue and her husband were on the way up so Vern and I came home.  As I was leaving, I asked Judy if she would call the Church and see if they had a hall where we could have a family dinner after the funeral and I added, "Do you think you could bawl out a priest?"  "Sure," she said, 'He's just a man".  I spoke of how upset I was that although Father had assured us that someone would be out to bring Communion, no one had come and although Mom and Dad didn't give a large stipend each week, it was what they felt they could afford and for all the work they'd done over the years, they certainly were not getting their money's worth.
      Judy did make that call, she made the arrangements for the hall for the dinner and then told Father Greg what she and I had discussed.  He apologized profusely, agreed with her that they had been treated shabbily and said he'd be over as soon as he could.  About three o'clock, he called and said he'd be right over.  When he arrived he had another priest with him.  A friend of his had come for a visit and he brought him along
      By this time Suzanne and her husband and son had arrived and so when Father gave Dad the Last Rites, Mom, Judy, Dick, Jim and nine year old Sean, were all there with Father Greg and his friend.  My brother, Dick was kneeling in front of Dad holding him upright - Dad's body that day had a tendency to sink in the middle.  At one point he looked down at his son, saying those old prayers and smiled and winked.  After Dad received Communion he motioned he'd like to sit in his chair.  Father Greg had just asked how many grandchildren the parents had.  Mother answered 'twenty seven' and Dad asked, "Where are my grandchildren?"
      Dick put his arms around Dad and lifted him from the bed to his chair and as he sat Dad down, Dad said, "Where am I going now?", put his head down and died in my brother's arms.  Was he confused for a moment or did he see something that no one else could see?  It was 4:28 p.m.