When my father met Patrick for the first time

Bringing home a boyfriend to meet your father is always a big deal.  The first time Patrick met my father was Father’s Day 2004.  At the time, it never even crossed my mind that I would be married to Patrick within the next 16 months.  That day he was just a boyfriend, and not the first boyfriend I had introduced to my father but he was definitely the last.

This was their first Father's Day, taken right before Patrick had to head back home while we stayed in PA

That Father’s Day, we decided to go to the gun club and shoot pistols.  My dad was a decorated marksman and sharpshooter, a lifelong member of the NRA, and had tried out for the Olympics for shooting.  Did you know shooting is an Olympic sport?  I belonged to that gun club for the first 18 years of my life and was taught about gun safety from a very young age.  Patrick also grew up with a father who was a gun enthusiast.  I thought it would be perfect for them to meet over a shared interest.

My father was a very big man, about 6’6” with a good sized belly for most of his life.  He always had a beard except for that one time when he shaved his head and beard when I was in my 20’s and he looked really weird.  He could come off as intimidating but was really just a big teddy bear.  He was also armed which could have scared off any boyfriend but not Patrick.  Patrick hadn’t shot in a while so he was more nervous about that.  We set off for the club and shot some paper targets. Then Patrick and my dad got to talking about trap shooting.  We went back to my parent’s house and traded the pistols for rifles.

We both love to wear the baby.

If you do not know what trap shooting is, a clay disk is thrown into the air and you have to shot the moving target.  Think the Nintendo duck hunting game, duck hunt.  At the gun club, they have a metal box which houses a mechanical arm which will launch the disk into the air.  Dad went to take the lid off the box and the arm went off taking a big chunk of his finger with it.  I started screaming and freaking out, there was blood all over my dad’s nice button down dress shirt.  My dad told me to calm down and call 911.  I called them while scanning the surrounding grass for finger chunks.  My commotion drew the attention of a father with his young son who were at the nearby archery range.  They asked if there was anything they could do to help maybe get my dad something to drink.  Then they asked me if I needed something to drink.  

After my dad was injured he never cried and the strongest words he uttered were that it really “smarts”.  In no time the ambulance was there and they were checking out my dad’s finger.  I remember them asking my dad which hospital he wanted to go to and I was thinking that we did not call a taxi, we called an ambulance so take him to the nearest hospital for crying out loud.  I may have said something to that effect but it was 8 years ago so my memory is a bit blurry.

My dad told me to calm down and take the guns home.  My dad had priorities and his rifles sitting in his Lumina were not one of them.  So I drove that ridiculous minivan to my parent’s house crying most of the way with Patrick freaked out beside me.  I get home and put the guns away and the house phone was ringing and ringing.  I answered the phone, not sure why as I no longer lived there, but there was no answer.  I was full of attitude and screaming hello when a voice announced himself as so and so of the police.  They would not be taking my dad to a local hospital.  They would be air lifting him to the emergency room at the University of Pennsylvania.  He told us where we could meet the helicopter.

We got into Patrick’s car and set off for a golf course which used to have a pool where I spent some time in middle school.  They had since filled in the pool to make room for more golfing.  When we pulled up, there were police everywhere and they were trying to stop us from getting too close.  I jumped out of the car and started running for the helicopter yelling that my father was inside.  We were too late and watched as the helicopter took off.

The hospital was about a half hour away so we hit the highway and made great time.  When we arrived they said my father had not yet arrived.  I knew we made great time but how could we have out run a fucking helicopter.  Oh yes, I was so mad and freaking out and trying to get my mom on the phone.  My mother was a forced to be reckoned with and I really wanted to sic her on this stupid receptionist.  I remember there was a fish tank in the waiting room, my dad loved fish.  There also were a few gunshot wounds coming in and the place seemed jumping for Father’s Day.  

My mom and my aunt arrived and seeing them was a relief.  My mom being a nurse and having worked in the ER for years knew who to talk to and what questions to ask.  He had a heart attack and pace maker installed years before as well as being diabetic and suffering from rheumatoid arthritis.  As he was on blood thinners, I was concerned about him losing too much blood.  She got to see him before I did and he was fine, cool as a cucumber.  The entire finger had not been severed but a large chunk was missing.  He would have to stay the night and might need future operations to attach nerves or ligaments.

My dad was a grin and bear guy and never got any other operations on his hand.  It did bother him for the remaining years of his life especially compounded with his arthritis.  I felt so horrible that my dad had to spend Father’s Day in the hospital and that Patrick met him under such insane circumstances.  I remember Patrick called his dad while we were waiting at the hospital.  Such craziness and it would not be the last crazy experiences we would have on an occasion which should have been much happier.  Part of me would not have been surprised if Patrick had slowly backed away from me with a it was really nice to meet you but I got to go wash my hair (which he has none).  

Family Fun Time!

As insane as it was it really exemplified how strong my father was and how supportive Patrick was and is to this day.  Patrick is my rock and without him I would not have made it through a flooded wedding location, the death of my mother or my health issues and eventual diagnosis of MS.  Without Patrick I would not have gotten my son, Orion.  But it was Orion who really got me through the death of my father.  Having Orion to hug, kiss, and cuddle was such a comfort after my father’ death but he also gave me strength.  I had to be strong for Orion and could not fall apart because that 6 week old baby needed me.  I also knew how much my father wanted this grandchild and how happy he had been to see him and hold him.

I hope Orion has 1/10 of my father’s strength.  I also hope he has the patience, compassion, love of reading, thirst for knowledge, sense of humor, and the culinary adventurousness that both my father and Patrick share.  Now that my father is gone, his best dad in the world crown gets passed to Patrick.  I think it fits his head rather well.  I am a very lucky girl to have such a wonderful husband who is truly a partner in raising our son.  I love seeing Orion get excited when his dad comes home from work.  Or seeing him sit on his father’s lap and read a book or watch TV together.  I look forward to seeing Patrick teach Orion to ride a bike and do all the many things they will do together.



Happy Father’s Day!

This was on our 6th wedding anniversary.

   

Remembering my father

A year ago, my father drew his last breath.  I hate saying that he passed away but to say he died seems so harsh and blunt.  I remember my Facebook status that day was 4 little words with colossal meaning, “My Dad is dead”.  When I got the news around 11 pm, I was in bed holding an almost 6 week old Orion.  Was I nursing him, was he sleeping, was I sleeping?  I don’t remember, but he went in the bassinet and Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and told me that my dad was gone.  I cried, he held me, and he cried.  I remember calling my brother in Japan and being surprised by my calmness.

That day was a Sunday and we were going to make the trip up on Tuesday after my 6 week post pregnancy check up at the obstetrician’s office.  My Dad went into the hospital the previous Monday and on Friday they were talking about sending him to a rehab facility.  He had lung cancer and they just discovered stomach cancer, two primary locations.  Sunday they were talking about hospice.   My cousin called me and said I should get up there as soon as possible.  I couldn’t drop everything, I couldn’t go without Patrick and our dogs needed to be looked after and Orion was so little to be going into a hospital and I had my appointment.  No one knew he would be leaving us so quickly.

My last memory of my father was a phone call the day before he died.  I had made him a photo album of his grandchildren and our trip to Japan and mailed it to him so he could look through it during the long hours of chemotherapy.  When he went into the hospital, I had asked my aunt to pick it up from his apartment and take it to him.  When we talked on the phone, he said he didn’t want to look at it and didn’t want to leave it in his hospital room.   When he spoke, he sounded tired and weak.  He hadn’t been eating for most of the past week and I tried to encourage him to eat something, anything.  If everything tastes bad then it doesn’t really matter what you eat but you need to eat to be strong, to survive.  I remember being mad and frustrated and wanting to be there to force feed him and yell at him.  Was he giving up? 

The last time I saw my father, he had come down for a visit when Orion was 2 or 3 weeks old.  This was his second visit.  It had been a rough visit and there was one day when my Dad hardly got out of bed and did not even see Orion at all.  When he left, I was sitting in bed nursing the baby.  It must have been around 2 or 3 in the morning.   My Dad liked to do the 4 hour drive early in the morning before traffic when no one else was on the road.  Dad gave me a kiss and kissed Orion good bye.  If I had known that would be the last time I would see my father, maybe I would have put the baby down and hugged him forever.  My dad had such wonderful hugs.  Even though it is my last memory of seeing my father, it is a happy one.  He was not suffering.  He was happy and proud of me and his grandson.    

My dad had been after me to have a baby for a while.  He loved babies and his 2 grandkids lived half a world away.  I remember when we went to Japan, he had hoped we would find out I was pregnant during the trip.  But the opposite happened and I learned that buying tampons can be hard when you don’t read Japanese.  I ended up with the smallest tampons for the lightest flow.  Anyway, my dad was super excited when we told him I was pregnant.  At our baby shower in March, he looked good but a bit skinny. 

For months before Orion was born I was asking my dad when he would visit and how long he wanted to stay.  That he would have dibbs on the guestroom and that we had bought a nice new bed so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the air mattress.  He kept dragging his feet and I didn’t know why.  Six weeks before Orion was born, Dad told me he might have lung cancer and had been dealing with getting a diagnosis since January.  So I guess that was why he forgot my birthday?  He didn’t want to tell me because he didn’t want to worry me.  He also didn’t want me telling the rest of the family.  So why was he telling a very pregnant me now?

 I am glad he did tell me because I understood why he wasn’t making plans to come down.  I was scheduled for an induction so we knew when I would be going into the hospital.  That week I asked him when he would be coming down and he said he was waiting for test results.  Orion was born and my dad was not there.  During delivery I wanted my mom more than anything but she had been gone for close to 6 years. After Orion was born, I wanted my Dad to see this adorable baby boy.   My Dad was only 4 hours away and was missing the chance to hold his grandson at his smallest.  We got home from the hospital and again I asked him when he was coming.  He said he was still waiting for test results.  I told him that if it was cancer he would have to start chemo and then he really wouldn’t be able to travel.  He had seen my mom go through breast cancer so he had an idea as to what he could expect.

 After hearing that he would be waiting to come down yet again, I had a bit of a break down.  I called my mother’s sister and cried, trying to talk through tears.  I wanted my dad and was scared he might never meet my son.  She called my dad and gave him a good earful and he was on our doorstep the next morning.  His first visit was unannounced, we heard him outside around 6 am when Orion was a week old.  Dad felt silly for waiting so long to come down and stressing me out.  But there he was, holding my son and everything was better.

My Dad had been afraid to get in our way but we wanted him there and his great big gnarly hands to be there.  We didn’t expect him to cook, or clean, or change diapers.  His only job was to hold the baby which can be such a big help with a newborn.  It really was amazing to see my tiny little son in my father’s enormous hands.  I remember him telling me that as difficult as this time is that it really is the best. 

A few months after my Dad died, I got a call from his rheumatologist.  It was nice that she called to tell me how much she had enjoyed looking after my father.  She went on to tell me how excited he had been for the arrival of his newest grandbaby.  Apparently, he had been planning to stay with us for a few months after the baby arrived.  This was something I didn’t know and wish I hadn’t known because it didn’t happen and never would.

I had no parent left to tell me how old I was when I started teething, or how old I was when I weaned.  No parent left to tell me that my son looked just like me at that age.  Most people say Orion looks like Patrick but I can see myself in his face and see my brother in him too.  He would not have my parents spoiling him.  My dad would not be there to tell him ridiculous stories. My mom would not be knitting him hats and booties like she had for so many other babies.  Orion will never really know my parents but he will grow up hearing stories about them and seeing their photos.  

This past weekend, some of my family got together in my father’s memory.    I brought up a photo album I made after my mother died which was focused on my Dad’s side of the family.  I made it from the photos and scraps I found when I was cleaning out her room.  I also brought up a new photo album filled with pictures, papers, and scraps that we found when we cleaned out my dad’s apartment.  It is funny what people hold on to and what you can learn from those treasured photos and scraps of paper.  My favorite thing about these old bits of paper is seeing my parent’s handwriting. 

I found letters and postcards I had written my father as well as cards and arts and crafts from early childhood.  I found a police report from June 29, 1972 for my dad’s stolen 1968 Mustang.  There were gun permits with pictures of my father in his 20’s who I almost did not recognize.  Then there was a police property report which listed 13 quart bottles of beer, 8 Schmidts and 5 Ballentine.  It went on to say that my dad was slated with “corrupting morals of minors and illegal possession”.  It was from February 28, 1964 when my dad was almost 20 years old.  Then there was a letter from November 16, 1998 asking for this incident to be removed from his record.   

These were all things that I knew about my father.  Now they are safe and contained in a photo album so his grandchildren will be able to glimpse into his life.  I have told Patrick that if the house catches on fire, we get the dogs and baby out but we must also grab the photo albums.  We have a lot of photo albums, they are heavy and take up a lot of space but they are my most treasured possessions.  They are the history of my family that no longer exists.  The memory is alive within their bindings and I hope they will outlive me and be passed down to future generations.    

So today on my father’s death day, I remember him.  I can hear his voice in my head reading Annabell Lee to me.  Hear his laugh which he gave so freely.  I can see his gnarly hands and scruffy beard.  I remember him being my teddy bear when I was little.  I used to ride on his shoulders and use his bald spot as a bongo.  I remember when he taught me how to paint my nails, he painted his thumbnail pink.  Then we went grocery shopping and the cashier was amused by his big pink thumb.  We always made a game out of trying to make the cashier laugh.  I remember how worried he was went I was backpacking around Europe, alone, for 4 ½ months.  Today I ate onion pie and thought of him.  I will always be able to feel my father’s love and I have no doubt that he never questioned mine.