Humble Tidbits of Vacuity

On Wednesday October 5, at about 5:15am, my dad died, suddenly (and without warning), of a heart attack. He wasn’t sick, no existing problems. Just…snap…heart attack.

My phone rang at 4:55am. It was my mom, hysterical as can be and crying, “We’re on the way to the hospital! Something’s wrong with your dad and I’m afraid he might be dead!” After finding out which hospital they were going to, I hopped in my car and headed over there. Halfway there, my cell phone rang and it was my mom, wanting to know where I was because, it was official...he was gone. His heart stopped in the ambulance and never started again. I spent the next 3 hours with my mom at the hospital…comforting her and attempting to call my sister, who did not take the news very well.

When I saw him, lying there on the gurney, intubation tube sticking out of his mouth, I was amazed at how quiet it was. Typically, when you think about someone lying in a hospital bed, you just assume there would be all the hospital sounds to go with it. The beeping of the various monitors, maybe the hiss of the automatic blood-pressure machine, or perhaps the low hum of a diagnostic print-out every few minutes. Not that day. It was quiet in that room. Very, very quiet.

When my sister arrived, I took her in to see him. She collapsed and let out one of those wails that is just full of despair. She said her good-bye, telling him she loved him and that she’d miss him so much. Back in the room, she called my brother here in town; I called my brother in Chillicothe, and my uncle in Massachusetts.

After my brother arrived and he went in to see my dad, there wasn’t much else to do. My siblings went back to the house with my mom, and I went to work to tie up some loose ends and arrange coverage for the next few days.

The rest of Wednesday and Thursday was spent making the arrangements. To my utter amazement, I learned that my dad wanted to be buried with the Marine blanket (or was it a throw rug) that I had agonized over purchasing for him back in August of 2003. Rabid fans of HToV will recall various blog entries of my dad’s predilection for returning any gifts that I gave him. Finding out that he wanted to be buried with something that I had given him felt absolutely phenomenal, it that makes any sense.

The visitation was Friday evening. My mom had me make a CD that had the Marine Corps Hymn on it, which was played (and repeated) for the entire 2 hours we were there. Z and A cried some, but S was truly devastated. She and my mom would just hold each other and cry. Z couldn’t stop touching my dad. He’d stand next to the coffin and just stroke my dad’s hands or have his hand on my dad’s head. He stayed by the coffin a lot.

Saturday was the actual funeral. The reverend who did the funeral, the reverend at my parents’ church, did a pretty good job…up to the point where his talking turned into something of a commercial for Christ. But my mom was happy with it, so I guess that’s all that really matters. At the cemetery, there were two Marines who folded the flag from the coffin and presented it to my mom and another one who “played” Taps. See, here in the 21st century, they don’t have people who play Taps at funerals anymore. They have a guy who holds an electronic bugle to his mouth and then presses the button to have a recording of Taps played. And that’s when I lost it. It’s exactly what my dad wanted, to have Marine representatives at his funeral.

What amazes me is how fast everything was done. I mean, people spend more time getting ready to host a party at their house. He died on a Wednesday morning and by Saturday afternoon it was all over. The efficiency of it all was staggering.

I know that everything is going to be OK. It’s just going to be different. My concern is for my mom. A 40-year marriage has irrevocably ended. I can’t even begin to appreciate just how much of a life changing event this is for her. Wow.

This post was hand-crafted especially for you by Kevin at 3:10 AM | 0 of the live studio audience members commented already

The first person to look at a lobster or a crab and say, “I’m going to eat that” had to be one hungry motherfucker. It just doesn’t look like something you should be able to eat.

Well, the biggest thing to happen since the last time I posted is that I got roped into being a den leader for Z’s Tiger Cub den. After weeks of pressure from L, I finally agreed to be and assistant leader. Well, I’m the only one who signed up for any type of leadership role in that den so, by default, I got the job. At the most recent pack meeting, after a plea from the pack leaders since each den is required to have two adults, another guy volunteered to help out. But, since I actually signed up prior to the pack meeting, I obviously have more of a desire to lead so…….there ya go. I get to figure out when our meetings are each month, plan each of the den meetings, plan activities, and collect dues each week. Just the sort of stuff I didn’t want to do. Plus, I have to go through a full-day training program. And, as a leader, I have to dress the part, which means getting a scout leader’s uniform for me. Now, I was never a boy scout (or any other kind of scout for that matter), and I just don’t feel right doing it.

This post was hand-crafted especially for you by Kevin at 10:45 AM | 0 of the live studio audience members commented already