On June 16th my father-in-law passed away. There was a lovely obituary about him, about the the children that he helped while being a child psychiatrist, about the boy scout troops and choirs that he led, about the adventures that he had with his wife and family and his continued pursuit of knowledge. But I only knew him for the last 6 years of his life. I met him as the father of the man I love. He had already beaten cancer once and during the time I knew him, he had two more fights with it. He could be a stubborn man, a boat should be backed into a slot, only seafood casserole should be eaten on Christmas Eve, but at the point in his life that I knew him, Doc had also learned that if he didn't compromise that he would drive a wedge between him and the people he loved.
My husband and I moved to Boise a little over a year ago, June 2013. Part of the reason that we moved here was to be near my husband's family and in particular, as his father wasn't well, to spend time with him before the inevitable happened. The idea being that not only could my husband reconnect with his father and family as a married adult, but so that I could know him and all of Pat's family in a way that cross country phone calls and yearly visitations cannot provide. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am that we made that decision. We had Sunday dinner almost every Sunday during this past year with Doc and Pat's mom, JoAnn, often with Pat's aunt and sometimes the whole family of three brothers, my sister-in-law, my niece and her mother. Doc oftentimes would talk to Patrick at the end of one meal of ideas he had for the next dinner. He loved rich food and Pat loved talking to him about ideas of how to make older recipes a little more zesty...which sometimes Doc would not welcome with an attitude of... it was good like that, why change it? but other times he would give it a try and sometimes even seemed pleasantly surprised.
There are times when I wish we had Wednesday dinner with him too before he left, but I'm so glad I got to know him more. To hear him laugh at his own corny jokes, to hear him and all three sons making duck sounds. To hear his financial advice and his life advice. His decline went slowly over the last 3 months of his life and then the last month was a much quicker slope. He quite rapidly changed from eating dinner in his room instead of at the table, to remaining in bed. He told Tim, the brother in North Dakota, that it was time to come home. Hospice was brought in, the bed he shared with his wife for 52 years was removed.The week before he passed, we had dinner at their house every night. There wasn't much to do except bring food and be there. Pat and his brother sat with Doc watching old tv shows, Adam 12 and The Riflemen. Arguing a bit to engage their dad into smiling. Thursday around lunch time, we got a call from Pat's mom that Doc was slipping. I will never forget standing around Doc's bed on Thursday afternoon with the whole family. One part of me so warmed by this small tight circle of support, the other larger part of me so sad that the leader of the circle was leaving. We all told him that we loved him, that we would take care of JoAnn, that we would miss him, but that it was okay to let go. Pat's brother, Bill, a deacon in the Catholic church made this wonderful circle happen and even piped in another family member over Skype. It was one of the most cathartic happenings I've ever been a part of.
I've never really seen death or dying. Friday, after that lovely circle, we came back and while Doc was still alive, he was gone from human communication. He remained like that for Friday, Saturday and Sunday (Father's Day). Then Monday morning after JoAnn had spent time with him and was in another room for her morning prayers, Doc let go....or Jesus decided it was time to take him, I don't pretend to know how that works. The nurse came and disposed of all the drugs. The funeral home came and wheeled him out under a flag, which was a flag with 13 stars because the funeral home had forgotten their flag and that was the flag that Doc had at the house. It was quite appropriate that his flag was used, he loved historical items, coins, trains, books, old boy scout paraphernalia, and much more.
We sat in the living room with an air of sadness, relief and unknowing of what next. So we took a walk. Pat, his brother Tim, Pat's mom and his aunt. It was such a lovely little walk. Perhaps just a time filler, but to me it felt like the circle that we formed around Doc would not disappear, it would be around JoAnn too as now she would be the one going through a trial.
That week the brothers started going through old books and other items per their mom's request. My dad, along with our family friend Lee, came on Friday in time for the vigil. It was momentous to see Pat, with his brothers and close friends, Dad, Lee and several of the funeral home employees carry the coffin up a very long flight of stairs into St. John's Cathedral. Perhaps this is narrow-sighted of me, but as Pat's wife, it felt like a band of brothers around my husband as he was going to start feeling this loss of his dad.
The vigil: the choir boys that Doc had so loved to lead, sang several songs. The Deacon gave us words to start letting Doc go to the next world. I've never understood why there are viewings of bodies once someone is gone, but I have to say seeing him there that evening I had the thought that seeing a body after the life is gone from it, is reminder that there it isn't anything to be scared of, but that none of us are here forever and our bodies are just that, living cells that stop living at some point.
The next day was the Funeral Mass at Holy Apostles. The Deacon there walked all of us through what the rites they were performing meant and one of Doc's friends gave a lovely reading about those on the other side of life's curtain cheering for Doc's arrival. Then Pat's mom had a simple wake at their house which was full of people that loved him and her. I hate that death has to happen to pull people together, but there were quite a few moments of joy spattered into the grief.
Sunday, Pat and I took my dad and Lee on a hike. Nothing like standing on top of a mountain to help clear the head, although it doesn't seem to work that quickly for clearing the heart. Then we had a family dinner before we said goodbye to those two the next morning. After which we went to the Interment at Dry Creek Cemetery. The United States Air Force Honor Guard presented Military Honors to Doc and the flag in commemoration of him to JoAnn. The gun shots that are a part of their honors have such a profound way of making a noise that simply matches the hole left when someone is gone. Although, for some reason the Guard had the guns pointed almost at all the family while they were shooting, which even though I knew there were blanks in, was a little unsettling. Taps was played by a bugle (although it may have been a recording which as my husband plays the bugle was a little underwhelming) still the song is so beautiful and hearing it with the wind rustling through the cemetery trees was such an achingly beautiful part of good-bye.
A few days after the services, I saw a picture of Doc taken when he was somewhere in his 40s or 50s, in his prime so to speak. He was so much larger than the man I knew, he took up so much more space, no wonder he was commanding. I tried to reconcile, I tried to ask who was that man? I get to hear stories of that man, but I am glad I got to know the mischievous one.
