Dad, you left us too soon April 3, 1925 to June 3, 1987

My father, husband of one wife, parent of ten children, sibling of one sister, three brothers, two of whom survive him, died on this date in 1987, and he is still missed by all of us, as well as his grandchildren. One of them had just turned five on the day that Dad left us, and the baby of our family was graduating from High School the next day.

My father grew up during the Depression, and one of his worst fears was that he would not be able to provide for my Mom and the children well enough to care for them should he die early. Dad was able to do so, partly because of the timing of his death ... all ten grown but one, and she already 18, nearly finished with high school herself.

He was a hard working man who began as a new employee of a paper mill after a few other jobs, and rose to a management position, including teaching himself how to use a slide rule. He often said that when you work, you stay busy, even grabbing a broom if necessary. It was, til later when he learned to say "I love you"... his way of showing his love, to put food on the table, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads....

I had been hurt seriously as a four and a half year old in a car accident, and spent a lot of time in the hospital, with at least two surgeries on my arm, plus a huge cast, plus a 'stab' wound on my chest that happened in the ER when I was having problems breathing, due to a collapsed lung, and the other punctured, developing 'crepitus'... I was terrified of doctors, nurses and shots to the point of screaming and kicking when one came near me, including my dentist uncle (when I was a patient in his chair, awaiting needed work on my teeth...). I caused Mom a lot of grief when at ten, I had a bad injury to my knee, requiring a doctor's visit and a tetanus shot. She vowed, NEVER to take me again...

At twelve, it was determined that I had to have a Tonsilectomy/Adnoidectomy, and Dad was informed that HE was taking me... due to the shot I would have to have pre-op... Dad took me. He held my hand, reassured me firmly that it would be ok, and that I was not to move... and then just kept saying... 'that's a good girl'... something triggered in my mind as I was put under the ether, and the doctor became my YOUNG Daddy in my mind's eye (looking as he must have when I was in the hospital as a young girl...) saying over and over... that's a good girl... that's a good girl... that's a good girl. He was there yet when I came to after the surgery, saying the same thing..... holding my hand, patting it, something HE HATED me doing when it was him lying in the hospital bed ill.

He was proud of the fact that my oldest daughter, when he met her, LOVED lying on his big belly and falling asleep with him, and boasted often that on one day in particular, no one but him could get her to stop crying...they had a game he loved... she took his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and chewed the box to pieces all the time, so he planted his empty packages there just for her whenever she was around.

When we brought home our second daughter, and told him her name, Dad, being 100% German, married to a 100% Irish woman reacted to my second choice of an Irish name (another grandchild also had an Irish name) by saying "Don't ANY of you know any good GERMAN names? Like Olga or Wilhemina???" DD#2 is VERY grateful we did not know those names....When JPII was named Pope, he began to call her 'the Pope's cousin', as she is a tad Polish....

When I was once again on fertility drugs, Dad was terrified that something dreadful would happen, especially multiple birth. But he was not afraid of us HAVING several...he was afraid that there would be four or five (he actually said 'litter of four or five') that would not survive, and that I would subsequently 'go nuts'.... when I tried to reassure him that I was on the lowest dose of the mildest form of fertility drug, it did little to ease his mind.

Several days later, an article appeared in our local paper about the new grandparents in our area of quads born in Texas... and brought me the quote from them saying that the mother had been 'on the lowest dosage of the mildest form of fertility drugs'... exactly my words to him just days before.

When our son was born, and I called him to tell him at work, his comments to me was 'just one?' Just one, Dad.. "And he is healthy?" .. yes, he is healthy, Dad.... "Good... that is good. I am happy for you." and he hung up.

However, he called back, a short time later. Dad did not often make long distance calls, and this was long distance.

He said to me..."What did you name that kid again?" I told him, Kevin Patrick...a short pause, and he said a few 'teasing type' choice words and hung up on me! I laughed long and hard, and the nurse in the room looked at me. I told her that it was my Dad, and he'd hung up on me when I told him my son's name. She looked shocked, and said 'He hung up on you?'... while still laughing, I said... "You have to understand. He called me so that he COULD hang up on me... " Still not understanding (obviously.... if you did not know my Dad, it would seem to be rude, not hilarious...) and as I was trying hard to wipe the tears and stop the laughing, I told her about the Irish name thing... and she also laughed.

He'd often come over for a cup of coffee after I married, alone... instant, this much... microwave it for 2 1/2 min, and put ONE ice cube in the cup.... his directions. When that cup was gone, Dad kissed me good bye and left, after telling me 'not to tell Mom' some of the things he had said. We had some nice kinds of secrets (most of which Mom already knew). It was on one of these visits, shortly after our wedding/honeymoon that he told me the first slightly off-color joke, saying 'You're married now" when I reacted, saying "DAAAADDD!"....

Each bday he had, somewhere along the line, I began to buy him elephants of all kinds (he was Republican...). On St Patrick's Day, a red carnation, with an Honorary Irishman pin that he would promptly take off... as he and my other two fully German uncles sat together 'grumbling' about the dumb Irish and 'having to be here'..... every year, without fail... they were there... refusing together to be made honorary anything.... especially Dad and Uncle Ron, as Uncle Dave just laughed....

Mom and he had gone to Ireland after touring Germany with my brother who was stationed over there in the Air Force, and they had met Mary O'Meara, a long time snail mail penpal of mine that I have lost track of. He loved Mary's kids, especially Kim, the one he called a little imp.

Each Christmas time after that, he gave me ten dollars per child (5) and told me to get them something from their American Grandpa.... but don't tell Mom.... and he told me that Ireland was a beautiful country, that he'd like to go back someday, and that when he died, he wanted an Irish wake...but don't tell Mom....

He found an article one day, and brought it over, telling me that he was very angry ... it was a National Enquirer piece on narcolepsy. He showed me a scar on his hand from a ruler from kindergarten (or some early grade in school) where he had been hit with a ruler for falling asleep in class. He told me that when they had been on that trip to Germany, they went intentionally to places he had been in during WWII, and he had no memory of. He said he thought that he must have been sleeping during the march from Nancy, France all the way to Germany, as he had no recollection of any of it...

He made me read it, asked me what I thought, and then told me that he fit it to a tee, and was scared, because things had been happening that made it MANDATORY that he find out soon.

Things like being at work, and suddenly 'coming to' on top of a paper machine, and not knowing how he got there.... driving across a bridge one recent day, and 'coming to' as he hit the side, and another time, 'coming to' as he was heading toward a sidewalk where a young boy was riding his bike....and he was scared to death, knowing he could have killed that child. He asked me to pray, and told me he was going to see that MD...and demand answers...but don't tell Mom....

He was right, as a neurologist told him he could sell his medical history to the Medical School because he is a CLASSIC case of Narcolepsy, including catatonic states after emotional outbursts like anger or hard laughter.... and.... he had to tell Mom...

He was put on a med and called me from work the first few days, asking me different questions, and saying...something is wrong here...either the Mill has been AWFULLY understanding all these years, or something is wrong here.... when asked why, he said he'd started his work day at seven thirty, and it was only nine thirty...that he had not only FINISHED all of his work for the day, but had double and triple checked it, and had nothing left to do but sit with his feet up waiting for salesmen...do you think I can/should cut the pills in half?

I remembered all the times I had intentionally sat in the front seat of the car and waited, watching for the droopy eyelids, the tell tale sign he was going to sleep... Mom... "Art, you're falling asleep!" Dad... "No I am NOT"... did not work, as it only made them both angry, and I'd feel like a lost soul, uncomfortable. So I took 'control', claimed the front seat as oldest kid...and watched, waited for the signs..... then suddenly stretched or 'elbowed' him just a little... and we were safe again, sometimes repeating that same kind of movement several times on the way home from where ever we were.... but didn't tell Mom ...or anyone... especially not Dad...

I remember once being in the back seat, and Dad driving through a road barrier where construction was being done on the road (night time, he said..never saw it, he said... dark, you know... but ...it had a flashing yellow light on it.... working...). He was not happy, and because we had been squabbling...did also tell us that part of the reason he'd missed the sign was the distraction caused by the fighting of so many kids in the car....but it was also that Dad had probably fallen asleep...and I took charge in the only way I could... I claimed the front seat...

Dad taught us a valuable lesson that day. He took the damaged sign, fixed it the best he could and drove to the police station to report it.... take responsibility for your actions, he said....

I had opportunities to be his nurse while he was hospitalized a few times during my nursing career at the local hospital. I remember when he was told he MUST quit smoking, walking in to his room several times to see him 'smoking' a straw...thinking my co-workers simply HAD to think that this man was absolutely NUTS.... and how MUCH he hated being a patient...

We had a lot of conversations during that one cup of coffee... including some purchases of the company stock he had made, and plans to purchase an RV for just Mom and him, and take her golfing all over the US when he retired. He never made it.

Dad lost the use of his L arm one morning, Jan 3, 1987, and then the partial sight of one eye (blood clots) a short time later. He turned 62 on April 3, 1987 and was already on disability from work, and also on kidney dialysis three times a week right about that time.

I am convinced that it was also blood clots that took his kidney function, as later, a massive blood clot at the same area (the junction of the stomach and small bowel) where he had had a history of bleeding ulcers caused a massive bowel infarction, which is what killed him on June 3, 1987.

His dying months were very hard, as I, being a nurse, was asked by Mom to help, to take him to dialysis, to sit with him when she was working, to help when he got confused... and some siblings did not understand why I was there so often with my kids... doing as requested by Mom, being nurse/daughter to my Dad. As a then single Mom, I had no choice but to take my kids with me when I sat with him during Mom's work hours.

There were very hard times, his last couple of weeks.... both with him, and personally as well, in my own life and home. Because of that, I had the answering machine on, screening phone calls when Mom called, and she left no message.... and I was too late to really say good bye to my father, arriving as he had already been taken to emergency surgery, where the bowel infarction was found.

It seems like an eternity since Dad left us, but at the same time, it seems like yesterday.

Daddy, your 'little princess' misses you terribly, today, yes... but always.