Good Memories

1965...I was 4 years old, we were on a ship to Germany, all of us.  You were 29 years old, with a wife and 3 little boys.  Just a "poor E-5", but we didn't know any better.  As young as I think a 29 year old is now, you were a giant back then.

I remember when we hit the hurricane in the Northern Atlantic, you had no fear. You helped us "batten down the hatches" and put on our life jackets when we stood on deck, preparing to disembark if needed....but we never had to.  There we stood, all of us, our family - facing whatever we had to, together.  Complete trust that Daddy had it under control.

It's funny, the things I remember from that trip.

That was the first time I remember you telling me you like Lemon Lime drinks instead of cola drinks.
That never changed.  Even a few weeks ago, when we ate some burgers together, you still drank Lemon Lime.

I remember when our ship left New York, you held me up so I could see the fanfare as people waved goodbye to us.

I remember when we docked in Germany, you got the car and we took off, a little family in a strange land, but it was okay, you had it all under control.

We had great times - Sunday afternoon picnics on the mountain, cooking burgers on the little charcoal grills, touring German Castles, seeing bombed out bunkers from WWI and WWII, and you telling us the stories behind the fallen heroes.  I remember the silence of Dachau, the concentration camp, and the awesome engineering marvels in Rome, the Vatican, the Catacombs, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Pizza in Naples, snow in Switzerland, and camping in Italy.

Good memories.

I remember the trip back to the US, and how in the 4th grade, I attended my first "American" school.  We lived south of Tucson and that was the year you drove us to the shopping center and bought me the first "cool" bike!  I was 8 years old and had my first Stingray Bike with a Banana Seat, and high rise handlebars.

You made it easy to be "cool".

It wasn't too long after that you had to leave for VietNam.  I was 8, the oldest was 10, the baby was 6.  It was hard, that year without you.  I remember talking with you on the phone through a 2 way radio, having to say "over" when we were through so the technicians could release the microphone so you could talk back to us.  I remember those were the days we sent tapes back and forth in the mail, and I remember the one from you when the air raid sirens went off while you were talking and we heard the rockets coming in.  Later we heard you describe the attack you had just experienced.

I remember how happy we were to see you.  How you slept so incredibly long the next day...

I remember lots of good memories, always the coolest toys, and even though you complained, we always had the trendy clothes.

I remember dogs, many dogs, and home made skate boards, tree houses, incredible hunting trips with our BB guns, summers when the pool was more of a home than our own house, any musical instrument and lessons we wanted, football, baseball, basketball, and track.

We were boys and you helped us be anything we wanted.

Motorcycles at 15, you parking your car in the driveway so I could build my own "man-cave" in the garage to practice our first rock band.

Teaching me how to use single frame action 8mm cameras to make movies from GI Joes...stuff nobody else ever thought of!

I remember the time you thought Teriaki was the ultimate sauce...it felt like we ate teriaki EVERYTHING for a year!  I remember some of your experimental bbq dishes...there are somethings that still scare me!

We have a lot of good memories, we lived great lives, and you made it happen.

Thanks Dad, this life was not an accident - you chose it.

To quote your 3 year old great granddaughter, my granddaughter, "High Five Granddaddy - Good Job!"

Hang in there Dad - we are still here with you.

Running...and the darkness is unforgiving

Same old thing...rushed on the weekend...running to take care of everything...something is missing... as usual, that which goes unattended is the thing with the least amount of "squeek." (squeeky wheel gets the grease).

Is it just me, or is time moving faster now?

Sometimes, it is like a dream, one of those where you feel like your feet are planted in mud, in marshmallow, in glue, and you can't move fast enough to do whatever you need...all you can do is watch the slow motion version of life as it runs amok.

You touch a hand as it slips away...

You try to say that thing of value...and your voice fails you...

The sun is setting and we are running with all our might.  We no longer know the path, our sense of direction has failed us, all we can do is hope we were headed right when we started...

Lately, darkness has been arriving earlier, autumn is becoming winter, and soon we will be in the solitude of memories.

I talked with my father yesterday, he struggled to answer me.  The ammonia level is increasing more all the time, he sleeps a lot now.  When he wakes, he no longer tries to tell me he is "ok", now he talks about his dizziness, his confusion, and he just sits quietly...a lot.

I try not to think of inevitable.  I hope for my family to last forever, but I know that is a foolish hope.

I have lost the living and the dead, and the mourning is the same regardless.

Dad, we are increasing the doctor's visits, the tests, the pursuit of your health.
I know this is hard for you.  At some point we may have to accept this as it is, and try to comfort you.

Until that time - I will do what you would do for me - I will not give up.  I will do all within my ability, and more.  I will ask for help when it is beyond me.

I am there now...

This is too big.

My older brother and I talk a lot now.  We were always pretty close, only one year apart in school.  For a short time, we were roommates in college.  Now we try to be strong with each other, but we know our father's name, and we know the voice of our maker.

Sometimes, when we are quiet, we can hear the voice of eternity whisper his name...calling him...inviting him...welcoming him home.

I try to drown out the voice with my own...I am not ready to let go yet.

I am running...and the darkness is unforgiving...

Today...another day in the life

Today, my Dad has another appointment at the gastroenterologist. It is amazing all the things we have learned lately. He has a neurologist, a gastroenterologist, a cardiologist, an orthepedic surgeon, a hepatologist, and a primary care physician.

I am sure I am leaving someone out, so unlike the academey awards where some overpaid entertainer gushes on thanking people most of us have never heard of, I try to remember the names and functions of the few heroes that help my father and tell them thank you every chance I get.

Today we find out more about the elevated ammonia levels. He is on medication now, supposedly to reduce the ammonia level (a byproduct of protein digestion). According to the information I heard from the doctors and my own personal research, a level of 35 - 65 is normal. When the level is in the 90's, a liver transplant is recommended.

His first test was 186.

His second test was over 200.

The test after the medications was 320.

It does not appear anything is helping.

Have you ever felt helpless, standing by a loved one's side...while they fought the battle of their life? I did the right stuff...so it is all supposed to work out, right?

I guess sometimes it is not our call.

I don't know I have ever seen my Dad this weak, this frail, this feeble.

I know in his heart, he is still the same healthy old Army Sarge, the anchor of so many lives. He could run with the wind, had muscles on muscles, was a superman to us, his family. He stood tall in that uniform, whether in a dress uniform or his combat boots and jungle greens, there was no mistaking him as a man's man.

I remember getting a whack on the back of the head when I did not put my hand over my heart during the National Anthem, I remember him being unafraid to walk onto a basketball court or a football sideline and "rip me a new one" when he saw me being disrespectful to my coach or the other team. He did not allow us to do anything that would bring shame on the family or our heritage as Americans (most of this was in Germany).

I remember him standing so strong, he could be intimidating to my friends. But I also remember waking him when I was scared, when I needed him, and he never hesitated to be there, to be what was needed, when it was needed.

He never asked for thanks.

He just did the right thing.

He did not sit us down, and teach us what to do; he did not say to us, "You boys (he still calls us boys) need to hold a job, and take care of your family." But we knew what to do.

When my children were younger, I worked...I worked...and I worked...sometimes there was so much more than I could ever do. But I worked...as an hourly civil design technician, OT made the difference. Sometimes, I felt like I was the only person left in the world awake, running design applications at 3 am Sunday morning, trying to find the "hole" in the design...and it paid off. Not only did I complete the project(s), but I completed my night school education, and ended up working for the company that created the design apps.

I never thought all those things would come out of working extra, all I knew was I had to take care of things, and this was an opportunity. This was no different than what my Dad would do.

He never told me what to do, he just did it.

When my older brother, one of the most educated men I know, was laid off 2 months ago from his job, he never complained. He just did whatever it took. For 2 months he worked as a custodian at a school while he looked for a job. We learned a long time ago...

There is no shame in doing whatever it takes.

There is a glory that comes afterwards, when the dreams begin to materialize and we know, in our heart of hearts, that we did the right thing.

My brother made it through the rough times, life is getting better as he starts his new job in two days.

We try not to tell my Dad the things that would upset him, we just let him see us, his boys, do the right thing.

I remember when we were children, wearing Daddy's combat boots, struggling to take big steps, and my Dad laughing at our silly antics. Sometimes he would throw his hat or his helmet on our heads and there we were, little boys in a man's combat gear, trying to be like Daddy.

The boots fit better now, the helmet is snug, the flak vest is the right size, and here we stand, no longer little boys playing in Daddy's gear, but men...fighting the fight, continuing his legacy.

Just doing the right thing...

Rest easy Dad, your little boys grew up and are here for you.

Reality (again)

This is Monday. On Friday, I went to see my Dad, we went to get a few papers notarized. I wasn't sure how he was doing, until I saw him try to sign his name...

He would write a few letters, stop, and think...I f I gave him the next few letters, he would write, stop, and think... this went on everytime.

He recognized it.

He was embarrassed, but I never said anything. Why would you say something that only served to bring shame to someone?

I heard a preacher a long time ago. He preached a sermon on failures, and how we need to help people that fail, keep their integrity and not raise their failure publicly to shame them.

I have always remembered that lesson.

So here we are, and as my Dad continues to "fail", I will do all I can to keep his integrity intact.

Ramblin' time...

I miss my Dad. He is still here, but we don't get to talk, to share anymore. I miss that. He was a real confidant, someone I could trust, someone that listened more than he talked.

He still does...but I am not sure how much he understands anymore.

Sometimes when I try really hard, I can remember my Dad, a young man, carrying me when I was about 4 years old. I remember times when I was so very young, and how unbelievably safe I felt when he was taking care of things, of our family, of us.

I had no idea how hard it was.

I remember my Dad working 2 or more jobs at a time, days were on the base, his Army "job", nights were a fry cook at some diner or cafeteria. He never complained. This was a privilege, a responsibility, it was what men did.

Later, after he retired from the Army, he went to school full time in the day and worked full time at night. By this time, I was 15 years old.

He never complained about what he did, only about what I didn't do!

It was a long time ago.

Friday, I saw my Dad, he was weaker than ever, and he really looks bad.

I wish I could say "hang in there" and my words would amount to something. Right now, all I can say is "I'm so sorry."

You never deserved this - all you did was what you believed to be right. You just worked, and took care of LIFE, while we played.

Thanks Dad. You taught me the value of an education, and now I have a daughter that is a college graduate. You taught me how to work, and now i have a good job.

I just wish you had taught me how to tell you I love you.

Maybe before it is too late...

Coffee - an old one, renewed for this blog

It was a long time ago.

So long ago, the memories are fuzzy. Only a few items of clarity still exist.

I remember it was dark, early in the morning. Far too early for life to have started, but there we were, my young parents and three sleepy little boys, settling in for the beginning of "The Trip."

Who knows where we were going. Another vacation, another trip to the grandparents, it did not matter - they were all the same. Get up at some inhuman hour, struggle to get dressed, end up magically in the car.

I remember after we "got on the road", she would open the thermos of coffee, pour him a cup, and the smell would fill the car. The only noises heard were the steady hum of tires on the pavement, the scratchy AM radio playing Jim Reeves crooning softly, and my thoughts.

I was warm, I was safe, and there was coffee.

This was our life, for many years - and coffee was always a part of it.

When we arrived at my grandparents, the hugs, the laughter, and coffee.

Coffee was a joy, coffee was family.

As I grew up, things changed.

I left home, worked, had a family, and coffee changed.

It was no longer the happy, secure aroma. It bacame the life giving energy needed at 2 am when meeting deadlines. It became the harsh muscled up PE Coach in the fourth grade screaming for me to work harder, faster, and deliver more than I thought possible.

It was required.

No day could start without coffee. No project complete without gallons of coffee. It was the jet fuel for our rocket engines, the life giving energy we needed to survive.

Coffee, my friend, my task master.

No matter how many trendy coffee shops I have entered, no matter how many frappa-mappa-chickie-cinos I ordered, nothing ever had the experience of the original coffee memories.

Many years have passed, I raised children of my own, the nest is empty now - just the two of us.

Sometimes, late at night, when the rest of the world is asleep and the gallons of coffee are still percolating in my veins, I'll listen to some old crooner and as I drift to sleep...

It is warm, the hum of tires against pavement lulls me, and I smell it again...

Coffee...and I am home.