As my Dad's 86th birthday approaches, I remember him as a man in his 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s.  I remember that his father who died at 46, left my grandmother to raise 5 kids during the depression while he lived with his mother and impregnated another woman and took care only of their son.   They were so poor that all 6 of them slept in one bed while my grandfather did "his thing."  My grandmother had a 4th grade education and divorced her husband against her own faith tradition in order to work in the same glass factory to feed her children.  She was told that she couldn't work in the same place as her husband and was going to be fired which would have left her without a job when the "man" of the house wasn't using his money to support any of his children.  Instead, he lived with his mother who suggested to my grandmother that she should put her kids into an orphanage to which she replied:  "Over my dead body." 

My Dad's father drank although the family didn't come to even see that until my father was almost 75 years old.  He admitted that his Dad was an alcoholic in his early 80s.  That didn't take away anything for him but it did help him understand some of what happened when he was a small boy wanting and needing the attention and support of his Dad and not getting it.  What he did get was no attention from his Dad and the family job of going to his grandmother's house to beg for $10 from his Dad each week.  On one occasion, he did spend time at his grandmother's going through a catalog and looking at pictures of bikes - something he longed to have but his Mom and he couldn't - at age 5 - afford.  His Dad said:  "Do you see something you want there?"  As normal little boys would do, my Dad got excited and said yes.  His Dad laughed and said:  "Cut it out."

My grandmother never let my Dad feel sorry for himself.  He wasn't allowed to miss school, church or chores.  He wasn't pitied and he was loved although his older sisters helped with this. 

My Dad didn't know anything about alcoholism, codependency or how it affects us.  What he did know was that he wouldn't be the kind of man his father had been.  He was faithful to my mother and made many sacrifices to raise 10 kids.  He made mistakes as any parent does and one mistake he didn't make was allowing any of us to show disrespect to our Mother or to him.  He was honest.  He cared about other people.  He was a top salesman in his field in large part because he cared about his customers and because he believed in his product.  People loved being with my Dad because he was easy going, fun-loving, and according to my friends:  "Like a big teddy bear."  He was also somebody who was very shrewd and could see through the masks that people wore right to their core.  He had boundaries that you knew were in place and if you crossed them, there would be hell to pay.

During the last years of his life after suffering a stroke and then stroke-induced Alzheimer's, he lost a lot of freedom, mobility, his athletic prowess, his ability to defend himself, short-term memory and little by little the ability to speak well, get out of bed, clean himself, drink or eat.  What he didn't lose were the assets he had cultivated and nurtured even without a program throughout his lifetime: gratitude, honesty, eyes lighting up when anybody entered his room and the ability to comfort, encourage, strengthen others. 

I can remember the first night the nursing home staff told those of us in town to hurry to the SNF because it wouldn't be long.  The moment I walked in his room, he said as well as he could:  "Honey, I'm dying." He wanted me to know the truth from his mouth.  One of my brothers sat in a chair next to my Dad's bed in the tiny room sobbing - something this brother never does.  My Dad reached out, difficult as it was for him to move his hand and arm and stroked my brother's back and rubbed his hair as he did when we were kids.  He wanted my brother to know he was there for him.

Later, he rallied which I understand is normal for dying people and lived about another week.  He spent that week offering visitors coffee or pop - something he wasn't allowed to have, remembering with them what they wanted to remember, and simply being happy that people were there with him.  On the day he died, he could no longer communicate or move his body at all.  His eyes registered that he was aware that the few of us who could be there were there.  Again, what I saw was a person who was present in love and in gratitude for all that others could do for him and for being with him.  As the dying process continued, the only person remaining in the room with him was me.  I did what I could to cool his body, to wet his dry lips, to say what I hoped would be comforting to him, and to re-assure him when his body and his breathing seemed tense and anxious by putting my hand on his shoulder (a place that is safe on a body and helps a person keep their own power and strength) and saying:  "It's okay, Dad.  You're okay.  You're not alone." His body would relax until the moments when he breathed his last.

This is a tribute to my father and to his mother who would not let my Dad feel sorry for himself because his Dad was an alcoholic and a lousy father.  She didn't put his Dad down.  She did what she could to provide for her family as hard as it was and she made no excuses for bad behavior.  She also built my Dad up as did his sisters by telling him all she saw in him that he was capable of doing whether he felt like doing it or not at times.  My Dad made a decision early on that he would be the father his Dad wasn't and the husband his father wasn't.  He lived out those promises to himself until the day he died.  As odd as this might sound, I also believe that his Dad in a strange way helped my Dad become the man he was.  Although my Dad couldn't forgive his father, he didn't stay in self-pity looking at what he didn't have.  He built on what he knew he did have.

I share what I know about my Dad in tribute form 1.  It helps me grieve.  2.  It is meant to be a support for Moms who might be going through hard times because their husbands are doing what my Dad's father did.  3.  It is a story worth telling.

-- Edited by grateful2be on Tuesday 26th of August 2014 10:39:54 AM

-- Edited by grateful2be on Tuesday 26th of August 2014 10:47:33 AM