Thinking of my parents
In our minds everybody has a book. The pages that are already filled out are what we call memories. The blank pages are what we call the future. All of us at one time or another, have gone to the end of the book, further than we could possibly live, and drawn a picture or two. These pictures are what we call our dreams. For some, it's hitting the lottery. For others it's being a music star, or a world renown athlete. For some, it's that the person they fantasize about will love them back.
For the vast majority of people we look at those drawings every day and dream. After a while we look at them a few days a week. And then once per week. And then a few days a month. Eventually a few days a year, and then the drawings all but fade away. Maybe someday years in the future we find them and barely remember the drawing that was on them. And we smile and laugh at our younger selves for believing such things could have been a possibility.
Almost every body experiences the trauma of seeing one of these pages destroyed. For some it's a car accident that takes a limb. For others it's a loved one losing a battle to illness. For others, it's watching a person they love find happiness in the arms of another as they walk down the aisle. For some, it's the realization that the person they love will never look at them the way they are looked at.
For a few lucky individuals, they get to move a page from the back of the book to the present as their dreams become reality and they step into the picture they have drawn.
On February 14th, 1961, two people moved their dream pages to the memory section as my parents got married. For the next 54 years they wrote a book called Family.
Mom wrote about the joys of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and of course, her husband.
And Dad wrote of the same things, and no physical ailment could come between him and his wife.
4 purple hearts, 2 bouts of cancer, malaria, Lyme disease, Legionnaire's disease, Agent Orange poisoning, 100% kidney failure, pancreas failure, kidney removal, heart stints, frozen lungs, complete loss of feeling in his legs and hands, and multiple vehicle accidents. All of these things he walked away from with a smile, as he walked into the loving arms of the love of his life.
But the one thing he couldn't survive, is when his, and all of our dream pages were ripped out and burned before our eyes on April 8th, 2015 at 2:22 pm when his wife of 54 years, and our mom passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack she suffered between 2am and 9am.
The doctor said she should have died instantly. But she held on for at least 5 hours to tell us all goodbye, and that she loved us. The last thing she said was that she loved us, and the last thing we seen as they took her to icu was a smile and a knowing look of peace.
One thing every one of those drawings has in common, no matter who drew it, is hope. For a lucky few, hope becomes reality. For most, hope is slowly forgotten about. And for an unlucky few, we watch as hope dies a sudden death. Over the next two years we watched, who we knew as the strongest man alive, wither away into a shell of his former self. He had given up hope. Without hope there was no reason for him to continue on.
On February 23rd, 2018, at 10:28am, 9 days after what would have been his 57th anniversary, and 8 days after his only sister passed, Dad joined his wife in eternal bliss in Heaven. After defying death so many times, the only reason he finally took the hand of the angel of death was so he could be led to his wife.
While everyone is out on dates with the person they hope to write a book with, or others are bemoaning the fact that their book is being written alone, today is the day I look back and celebrate the book my mom and dad wrote together.
For the vast majority of people we look at those drawings every day and dream. After a while we look at them a few days a week. And then once per week. And then a few days a month. Eventually a few days a year, and then the drawings all but fade away. Maybe someday years in the future we find them and barely remember the drawing that was on them. And we smile and laugh at our younger selves for believing such things could have been a possibility.
Almost every body experiences the trauma of seeing one of these pages destroyed. For some it's a car accident that takes a limb. For others it's a loved one losing a battle to illness. For others, it's watching a person they love find happiness in the arms of another as they walk down the aisle. For some, it's the realization that the person they love will never look at them the way they are looked at.
For a few lucky individuals, they get to move a page from the back of the book to the present as their dreams become reality and they step into the picture they have drawn.
On February 14th, 1961, two people moved their dream pages to the memory section as my parents got married. For the next 54 years they wrote a book called Family.
Mom wrote about the joys of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and of course, her husband.
And Dad wrote of the same things, and no physical ailment could come between him and his wife.
4 purple hearts, 2 bouts of cancer, malaria, Lyme disease, Legionnaire's disease, Agent Orange poisoning, 100% kidney failure, pancreas failure, kidney removal, heart stints, frozen lungs, complete loss of feeling in his legs and hands, and multiple vehicle accidents. All of these things he walked away from with a smile, as he walked into the loving arms of the love of his life.
But the one thing he couldn't survive, is when his, and all of our dream pages were ripped out and burned before our eyes on April 8th, 2015 at 2:22 pm when his wife of 54 years, and our mom passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack she suffered between 2am and 9am.
The doctor said she should have died instantly. But she held on for at least 5 hours to tell us all goodbye, and that she loved us. The last thing she said was that she loved us, and the last thing we seen as they took her to icu was a smile and a knowing look of peace.
One thing every one of those drawings has in common, no matter who drew it, is hope. For a lucky few, hope becomes reality. For most, hope is slowly forgotten about. And for an unlucky few, we watch as hope dies a sudden death. Over the next two years we watched, who we knew as the strongest man alive, wither away into a shell of his former self. He had given up hope. Without hope there was no reason for him to continue on.
On February 23rd, 2018, at 10:28am, 9 days after what would have been his 57th anniversary, and 8 days after his only sister passed, Dad joined his wife in eternal bliss in Heaven. After defying death so many times, the only reason he finally took the hand of the angel of death was so he could be led to his wife.
While everyone is out on dates with the person they hope to write a book with, or others are bemoaning the fact that their book is being written alone, today is the day I look back and celebrate the book my mom and dad wrote together.
46-50, M
