Sunday night after errands

[ I initially typed the unedited version of this as a private message to a groupchat with a couple of friends Sunday night, and realized it’s the sort of thing weighing on me more frequently lately, AND I haven’t posted in this blog in awhile, so with some small edits, sharing here. For better or worse…]

I keep seeing Dad in the edge of my mind. Like I always did…before. I want to get the iced coffee he loved. I want to get the lemonade he drank. I want to call him to see if he wants hard boiled eggs or chips or ANYthing/whatever.

Or call to see if he had dinner yet–should I get an extra thing of salmon for him, too?

I want to go into the house and step out to the cave to let him know I’m home, after greeting mom in the living room. Or holler out to the cave “DAISEY!! It’s JUST me!!!” and then make my way out there.

Tell him some of the groceries I got, some thoughts for meals for the week.

He’d ask what else I bought. Did I get that ice cream he was wanting? What about olives? Tomatoes?

And maybe I’d have remembered, maybe not.

He’d inquire if I bought any “figures”–toys/etc.

Tell him yup, or nope, as would be the case.

Then he’d grab his phone–he might have something saved to show me he’s looking at on eBay. Tee shirt for himself, or a vest for the dog; maybe something he thought was best that I might like cuz it’s got Superman on it or some other comic-y thing.

Or he saw a shirt I might like, or shoes.

Or ask me if a package came yet? Was it for him, or something if mine?

Fill me in on what he was up to while I was out. Dave called, or he called Lynn, or talked to Janice or Becky or Sue. Fill me in on “news” from Zanesville–extended family.

I’d relish the conversation, the little things. But eventually I’d have to go put groceries away. Cold stuff.

TOO OFTEN he’d ask if I wanted to watch Blue Bloods, or 911. Always thought there’d be “later.” Figured we’d all three of us (him, me, mom) catch up over Christmas.

Now I have all the nights I could want to do whatever, but never gonna get to catch up on Blue Bloods with him. Or 911.

And I’m typing all this on the phone in the car cuz I don’t wanna go in.

It’s not that I AM pretending, but it’s like if I’m out here, it’s like any other time getting home from a grocery run and such. I’m out in the car, he’s inside unware of my being back yet. When I go in, Daisey’s gonna bark, but it’ll be WITHOUT Dad, and nothing I can do can change that or fix that.

2014: My “movie year” with Dad…

Back in late 2013 into early 2015, Dad and I had a DEFFFFFINITE “year of movies.”

See, I was in visiting MOST weekends. And there was a redbox outside a gas station a couple of blocks from my parents’ house…along my route to GET there. So it was literally a matter of pull in one driveway, pull up to the machine, pick a movie or two, swipe my card, get the discs, hop back in the car, and be at the house.

And for basically ALL of 2014, MANY Friday nights were “redbox nights” with Dad. Also had movies that I flat-out BOUGHT, whether “new” or cheapo-bin stuff; or already had; or Netflix, or something from the library. Some nights, we’d end up getting through TWO movies in one sitting. Most often, though, it was at least one movie per weekend, if not a couple.

I realized I still had a LIST of those movies that I kept in 2014. I can’t remember for CERTAIN on all of them which ones Dad and I for sure watched together, but I’ve got the entire list below, and marked with an asterisk the ones that are pretty likely we watched together (and some of them included Mom watching, but she often wasn’t a fan of much of what we’d watch).

And that’s another thing I’ve had in my mind lately: trying to think of “favorite movies” that Dad had. And I feel horrible and rotten and all that that I really can’t think of any. Like…no singular movie that I knew of, KNOW of, can recall offhand that he considered any particular “favorite.”

I know that he watched TONS of movies, especially the last few years, that he’d randomly check out on Netflix, Hulu, and other streaming apps…not to mention random stuff he’d DVR from tv. And even with all our Redbox nights, he always vastly PREFERRED high-action flicks; not necessarily VIOLENT, but stuff that was exciting to watch with plenty of action, stunts, etc.

And that would be my criteria a lot of times: “just some action-looking flick.” Or back then, we’d have some idea of stuff that had been in theaters that would be “coming soon to home media” that we’d LOOK FORWARD TO watching together. There were movies that I specifically passed on seeing in the theater, so that I could see them with him. (Other times, even if I had seen a film in the theater, I would enjoy watching it AGAIN with him!) And there were times that it’d turn out HE had already seen a movie, but he’d be glad to watch it again with ME.

Just the other day I was in Walmart, and kinda muddled along and found myself in the movie section…looking for a movie that we might watch together.

And I’m increasingly regretful of allllll the evenings the past several years that I was “content” to just watch “whatever” on my own. That I didn’t MAKE more time, put in MORE EFFORT, to just grab something, and go watch a movie with him.

While I got to share SOME of the earlier Marvel Cinematic Universe films with him, I had wanted/intended to make a point of sharing the ALL. Especially after a new medical scare back in 2018 that I’ll forever associate with my seeing The Meg by myself in a theater and crying; I’d had these grand intentions of “subjecting” him to the entirety of the Marvel films, in order.

We got through Iron Man.

I think we’d started Iron Man 2, but he wasn’t feeling wonderful that night or something, or it just wasn’t grabbing him, and he was falling asleep and…we just never finished it.

I THINK I got to watch Spider-Man: Homecoming with him; as I think about it, I remember some scene with Spidey and the (Washington Monument?) that we both agreed was rather spectacular (and not something we’d actually want to watch in “3-D”). I also know he and Mom actually (with zero prompting from ME!) watched Spider-Man: Far From Home one time without me!

Even as recently as the afternoon of the 29th, I was “planning” to–once he was back home–giving the whole run of films another go with him (and Mom).

Regretting that I let the “project” slip off into taking-time-for-granted-land for so very long…far longer than intended.

But now I’m headed down a mental path I need to leave alone; so gonna just end this post with the aforementioned list of 2014 films that I myself saw–and WordPress seems to have transformed my asterisks to bullets, next to the ones I’m reasonably confident Dad also saw (with me).


  • 2014:
    Cars
    Cars 2
  • Red 2
    The Day After Tomorrow
    We Bought a Zoo
    Firefly: The Complete Series
    Serenity
    Man of Steel
    Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit
  • Taken
  • Captain Phillips
  • Escape Plan
  • 42
    The Terminator
    Terminator 2: Judgment Day
  • Taken 2
    The Croods
    Frozen
    Patch Adams
    As Good as It Gets
  • The Trouble With the Curve
    The Sound of Music
    Frozen
    Saving Mr. Banks
  • Paranoia
  • It Could Happen To You
  • Gravity
  • Old Boy (2013)
    Frozen
  • Saving Mr. Banks
    Cliffhanger
    The Vow
    Life as We Know It
    LOL
    Braveheart
    Just Go With It
    Captain America: The Winter Soldier
  • Reasonable Doubt
    Titanic
    Divergent
    Something Borrowed
    The Spectacular Now
    Failure to Launch
    Drinking Buddies
    The Notebook
    Facing the Giants
  • Star Trek: Into Darkness
    Easy A
  • Grudge Match
    Dear John
    40 Days and 40 Nights
    This Means War
    Mean Girls
    The Change-Up
  • The Switch
  • The Island
    Next
    Faster
    Avengers
    Mary Poppins
  • Fast and Furious 6
    Grumpy Old Men
  • Blitz
    Grumpier Old Men
    The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
    Frozen
  • 12 Years a Slave
    X-Men: Days of Future Past
    The Contract
    Cloverfield
  • Wanted
  • The Takers
    Swingers
    Cop Out
    30 Days of Night
  • Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit
  • Poseidon Rex
    Independence Day
    Starship Troopers 3: Marauder
    Honey, I Shrunk the Kids
  • Red Dawn
    Jurassic Park III
    The Lost World: Jurassic Park (2)
  • Non-Stop
    Robocop
  • Primeval
    Saving Mr. Banks
    Pulp Fiction
    Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
    Her
    The Lego Movie
  • 3 Days to Kill
    Philomena
    300
    Guardians of the Galaxy
    Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
    Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)
    Batman: Assault on Arkham
  • Rage
  • God’s Not Dead
  • Transcendence
    The Fisher King
    Amazing Spider-Man 2
    The Iron Giant
    Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze
    Enough Said
  • Need For Speed
  • In the Blood
  • Draft Day
    The Big Lebowski
    Mrs. Doubtfire
  • Captain America: The Winter Soldier
  • Avengers (2012)
    Friday Night Lights
  • Walking Tall: The Revenge
  • Godzilla (2014)
    TMNT: Turtles Forever
  • Limitless
    Transformers: Age of Extinction
  • Contraband
  • Bullet to the Head
  • The Bank Job
    The Fault in Our Stars
    xxxxx
    Neighbors
    Brick Mansions
    Sextape
    Blended
    Mortal Kombat: Legacy
    Fire With Fire
  • Live Die Repeat: Edge of Tomorrow
    Mortal Kombat
    Mortal Kombat II
    Expendables 3
    The Giver
    Prometheus
    Grumpy Cat’s Worst Christmas Ever
    Country Strong
    Into the Storm
    Turtle Power: The Definitive History of the TMNT
    The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies
  • Argo
    When the Game Stands Tall
  • Jersey Boys
  • Left Behind (2014)
  • Erased
  • Hercules (2014)
    Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
    Now You See Me

Even bonus time…runs out

As horrible as the last couple weeks have been, and as much as I may not be able to get my HEART to truly FEEL it right now, there’s something that I see in my mind’s eye, that seems to fit coldly, “logically,” etc.

There was this day back in April 2017–the 6th, specifically–that I got off work, went about my usual routine of doing whatever and winding up back home, eventually. Only that evening, when I walked in the door, I saw through the ‘passthrough’ that Dad was laying on the floor near the fridge.

He was alive, he was EMBARRASSED, but he was alive. He thought he may have blacked out for a moment; found himself on the floor. I tried to help him up to no avail…and we wound up calling 911.

He refused transportation to any hospital–he FELT fine, he’d claimed, etc. The EMTs had managed to get him up and helped him to his chair out in the cave, and that was kinda that. And not a “great” thing to spring on Mom when she got home.

Plenty of other “details” rolling around in my head as I let them, but they’re not necessarily relevant here.

Long story short, though, that Sunday morning–the 9th–with Mom here, too, 911 was called to transport Dad to the hospital. And we spent the vaaaaast majority of the day in the ER, and they finally admitted him. During the wait, he was insistent that I still go to work the next day, that he was fine, etc. Even then, he didn’t want me overly worrying about him.

And so I did. I went to work that next day, and the day after. Even after a terrified moment with crossed signals with Mom and getting into the hospital to “visit,” I somehow managed to work that week. And the situation had felt personal in a way that I never actually shared it with any coworkers.

Then Dad was transferred to a nursing home in Mentor for physical rehab. I still remember when Mom referenced he might be there a couple WEEKS how shocked I felt, at how SIGNIFICANT that seemed. That Dad would be out of this house more than a couple DAYS had already been a long time. Thinking of a couple WEEKS?!?

And the situation continued to…continue, and we had those couple weeks of the hallucinations and such, and whatever else….but he came back to us. Mentally, anyway, at first.

And those couple WEEKS stretched on. Into MONTHS. The doctors never were able to figure out what happened, what caused him to black out or fall or whatever. Nothing was ever determined as to how he got to where he could barely even move. It was some “perfect storm” was what we were told–of a number of things including a UTI that had raged–unknowingly to us all–for weeks before he fell.

Medicare decided he wasn’t getting better, up to their standards ON PAPER, fast enough. They were going to stop covering his stay at the nursing home. Fortunately, the VA came through, and while there were a couple weeks there that he was stuck basically “just” in a bed–with Mom and me visiting every single day (though he had me skip weekends, he wanted me to “have a life”)–ultimately, he wound up at Eliza Bryant in Cleveland, paid for by the VA…the first week or so in July.

Mom would visit him every day during the day…and every day after work, I would stop by. Sometimes we’d talk more than others; sometimes it’d be more of a quick greeting, pleasantries, and he’d send me on my way. He was always so worried about ME and MY “having a life of my own” and I always just kinda let him…though none of it was more important to me than him.

And then in November, the medical folks (and us, of course!) thought things were well enough and we’d get him back home. But shortly after I’d gotten home that night, he fell in the bathroom and we had to have EMTs out again to get him up. And the next day, he was back to a nursing home for about a month.

Just a few days after MY BIRTHDAY, we had to put Ziggy to sleep. That was a Thursday. The following Tuesday, Dad came home, and we had him here–excepting several hospitalizations, including for pneumonia and the cancer–for just over 4 years.

And maybe I’m just rambling here at this point; sooooo many more memories tied up in all that time; so many “moments” at least from the specific visits. But I think what I’m driving at, from the start of this post…

That day that I walked in and “found” him, he was alive.

And as challenging as the 8 months after that were, as taxing as allllll his “health issues” have been, and as much as all three of our lives changed that night and in the years since…

We GOT those years.

It’s very possible, very likely, that every single time I got to see him, talk to him, help him with anything…that every single time since April 6, 2017 was “bonus,” a gift from God.

I’m having a REALLY hard time with it right now; as I type this Sunday evening it’s been 10 days. I want him back. I was already scared as heck that Tuesday, and Wednesday, and while I was not looking forward to the prospect of more months of a nursing home…it was ALL supposed to be in context of his being alive. That we’d still have him. I would still have him.

I have moments that I’d swear he’s just in the other room. I found myself in the movie section of Walmart actually scanning the movies for something that he and I could watch together. This afternoon at Meijer, I was heading for where they have the iced coffee so I could get at least a couple of those for him.

But our “bonus” ran out, and I had NO IDEA it would happen so soon. WHEN it did. I didn’t know the finite size of the gift, and I missed so much. Took so much for granted.

He always came home.

I can’t begin to know what it was truly like for him, on his end; and I know he went through more than I can even imagine as he was the one actually going through the medical stuff. As hard as any of it was on me or Mom…we were “outside” and it was all stuff he was directly facing head-on.

But he always came home.

When he had bad days or week, always had that morning that he’d seemingly “suddenly” be back to normal. I’d go out to the cave and he’d be awake, alert, smiling, greeting ME cheerfully, and the relief that would hit me.

He’d BEATEN the cancer. He was technically in REMISSION. He was here with us. Christmas was supposed to be low key. When he wasn’t feeling well…fine, we were gonna do our “Christmas meal” a few days later when he WAS feeling better. We were supposed to have New Year’s Eve together, as always. Cross the threshold of the years, and be in 2022, him, Mom, me, Daisey, Chloe, Sarah. Just be together, and thankful we’d all made it through another year.

But our bonus ran out.

And I’m writing these words instead, trying to focus thoughts, trying to keep my mind from going back to that hospital room. Trying to hold myself together because my life is now missing something huge, and I’m just…lost.

Broken mold

One of my earliest “regular memories” when I was little is this song Dad made up for me, that he’d sing to me, and get me to sing along with him.

I’m W. W. 3
Yessir, look at me
I’m rough ‘n tough
And mean ‘n bold
And when I was born
They broke the mold
I’m W. W. 3

I definitely have a hint of that bedroom in Michigan associated with it, so I had to have been at least 4-ish.

I don’t know…maybe I don’t have so much to SAY about it. But this is what kinda “stuck” to me this morning as I contemplated what–or if–to write a post here today. (I’d done a post that went live at the comics blog today).

So even MORE “stream of consciousness” than usual, I guess.

It’s “interesting” to look at those words written out. It’s always JUST been this little “tune” in my head. 36-37 years. And surely over 30 since the last time he sang it to me.

BUT.

I’m vaguely recalling–and this could be wishful thinking, or what-if, or deja-vu, or who-knows-what–but I feel like it had come up “recently,” like I can “hear” him in my mind that he’d asked me if I remembered “that song.” Can’t remember what the context might’ve been, what brought it up or to mind.

And jumping back to when I was a kid again, I do remember asking what it meant “they broke the mold.”

And that’s what I think has prompted me to go ahead and write on this.

Grandpa was the first.

Dad was the second (II).

And me? I’m the third (III).

I’m 41 years old, single, no prospects, and while I’ve never NOT wanted kids, simple fact is that I HAVE NO kids.

I’m the last of this branch of the family.

I didn’t follow Dad into the military. Grandpa was born in 1920. Dad was born in 1950. I was born in 1980. I have no child, and 2010 is now 12 years ago.

So many other things.

When I was born, they sure did break the mold.

Flew a flag out in our yard ’til the day that he died

There’s a Toby Keith song that opens with the following:

American girls…and American guys
We’ll always stand up and salute
We’ll always recognize
When we see Old Glory flyin’
There’s a lot of men dead
So we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our head

My daddy served in the Army
Where he lost his right eye
But he flew a flag out in our yard
‘Til the day that he died
He wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me
To grow up and live happy
In the land of the free…

I remember the first time I heard this song back in probably 2002 (nearly 20 years ago!) the resonance it had for me. Back THEN it was more in seeing the various use of symbols, and personification of stuff…there’s words for it that I don’t recall at the moment, being so far removed from academia.

But the song came to mind to me yesterday for these opening two parts.

Moreso the second, but the first holds well in my eyes.

Cuz see…Dad was a veteran. He was in the US Navy for 21 years. He served on a ship in Vietnam, where he was exposed to Agent Orange, which contributed to so much of his health decline in recent years.

The song lyrics–and I’ve never researched to see if these are Keith’s words or some songwriter; whether they’re autobiographical or “just” the narrator; etc–reference the fact of someone’s father serving in the Army; my Dad served int he Navy.

My dad did not lose an eye or limb, but had that AO exposure over there. But despite that, and despite all his medical conditions these past few years in particular…he always considered himself so very blessed. To be here, to be alive. For Mom (oh, how he would go on about how he loved her and was so blessed by her!), for me (and he would “embarrass” me telling me how proud he was of me, to be my father, to have seen the man I’ve become, etc), my sister (I can’t/won’t speak in her stead); for all that he’d come through. Never “why me, Lord?” He was thankful for the opportunities it gave him to share of his faith; the opportunities he had to GIVE, to help others; and so on.

And he had a flag out in the yard all he could. Flagpole(s) in the yard, or mounted on the house and/or mailbox. It was always so important to him to see that flag flying. Even when his son had no clue the depth of its meaning to him.

Three of the four flags in the front yard. Photo by Walt Kneeland 1/5/2022

In recent years, Dad had these huge flagpoles installed in the front yard, with solar lights mounted to them, to fly the flags. The US Flag; our Ohio state flag; the US Navy flag; and a POW flag.

He also has the US flag flying on a pole in the back yard, where he could see it from his main chair in “the cave.”

So that line about flying the flag out in the yard until the day that he died….oh, how that is 100% true here!

There’s a lotta stuff around this house; and mini statues and such out amidst the flowerbed and such…the word I feel Mom and I have most used to “categorize” the is “Patriotic.”

That was Dad.

Whatever politics, he loved this country, and seemed glad to have served; especially to see the life he was able to give my Mom, sister, and me, HAVING served.

I feel like there should be so much more for me to say, here, now. But I also feel like a lot of it would be presumptuous of me; trying to speak FOR him. Or putting words into his mouth. Or whatever other sayings fit. I wish I had talked to him more about this kinda stuff. I wish I’d talked SOOOO much more with him despite all the time and times we did spend talking.

But I can only speak for my impressions gotten from him, and my observations, and what I knew. And I am confident that for him, it was all so much deeper and complex than words I can find on a Thursday morning continuing to mourn losing Dad just hours over one week ago.

Tagging along with Dad: Bowling

Wayyyyyy back, when my sister and I were too young to be just left at home, parents had to make arrangements for ensuring we were cared for, amidst anything else they were doing.

Both worked, and we were old enough for school, so that covered a large part of the day. But Mom worked some evenings at the library, and…Dad was in a bowling league.

So while I do not recall the specific logistics of it, I do recall plenty of evenings at the bowling alley. Plenty of folks I didn’t know, and off the top of my head as I write this, I don’t even remember names for any of the other adults that were there; in this case, they’re maybe not the important part, though if any of you who would have been there happen to read this, please feel free to let me know…I’d love any memories to build onto these old ones I’ve carried!

I remember Dad would give us a couple/few dollars each, to play the various arcade games. I vaguely recall that I often blew through my coins pretty darned quick, and then would wander around and watch the demo screens and such. Looking back on that, maybe it sounds “sad” or something, but I remember genuinely enjoying that. (and I’ve “always” enjoyed WATCHING certain video games more than actively playing).

I especially remember frequently watching the cycle of demo screens for Street Fighter. I think I would look at it like a mini tv show or some such; with the repetetive intro and then different characters fighting each other. I’m pretty sure it was Street Fighter and NOT Street Fighter II.

I also remember Ms. Pac-Man. I feel like I recall both the “standard” arcade cabinet, but also the “lounge table” version, whatever those are called (“shame” on me for blanking, but stream of conscious writing here, you get what you get). I was never all that good at the game, as I recall…but it was fun. And I ALSO remember Dad enjoying it; whether I’m recalling that from the bowling alley or other arcade experiences.

(I’d even been planning to try to get him one of those Arcade 1 Up 3/4-scale cabinets of Ms. Pac-Man…but the HUGE increase in price since the MK one I got in 2019 put it off, as I knew he’d have been HORRIFIED at me spending that kinda money on him; as well as me understanding that while he’d CERTAINLY have gotten a kick out of it, it wasn’t something he’d actually USE all that much. Let alone even with the A1U riser, the scale might’ve been a bit of a problem for him)

There was also one of those “claw machines” with all the plushies and such. I always loved those; still do in a way; but probably goes back to that one at the bowling alley. I’d often manage to get SOMEthing if I devoted that night’s “entertainment allowance” to the thing. I vaguely remember this one man–I remember him as “old,” like “Grandpa-old,” and do not recall if he was in the league, or another one; or an employee, or what. I DO recall that Dad at least recognized him/knew of him (Dad let us have “the run” of much of the area, but as much freedom as I felt, I strongly suspect he had a far better eye on us than I was consciously aware of at the time).

And I remember one time watching this man put a single coin into the claw machine (oh, and this was back when you could play ’em for a single coin, none of this two-quarters or $1 or more crap!) and the claw dropped down, closed on something, then rose back up without whatever plush that was…and yet A LOT OF STUFF WAS MOVING. The claw mechanism had managed to close just right on some ribbon on a buried plush, so it hauled this plush rabbit or whatever up out from beneath all the other plushes that were visible–changing the dynamic of the layout–and dropped the thing out for him. I think he gave it to my sister, who I recall being right there watching as well.

And side-memory on the claw machine(s): I don’t recall where Dad had been–bowling alley, golf clubhouse, whatever; but I do remember one time he came home with a huge bundle of these plush puppies. I can’t QUITE visualize them specifically at the moment…I think I’m visualizing “Pound Puppies” toys. But they were all different colors, though the same “style”; especially in retrospect I know darned well they were obviously mass-produced. But he brought a bunch of these in; and it later turned out there were more out in the car in a plastic shopping bag. And I think I managed to get a couple more myself as they showed up in several claw machines or some such. Can’t recall what ever became of all of them, but obviously the memory is still there.

Another specific memory I have from that bowling alley is some little store or such that they had. I don’t so much remember the store itself as I remember there BEING one; because I remember one of the times getting a pack of Ninja Turtles trading cards! Who knows what my recollection has mixed up, but I think it was probably that first set, that came with the stick of bubble gum and had images from the original/first season of the cartoon. I do not recall if I would have spent my “arcade money” on that, or if I maybe begged Dad for extra; but I just have this random memory of carrying 1 pack of the cards in that bowling alley.


I do not recall if it was the same bowling alley or not, but I also remember being in a father/son bowling league for a single “season,” with Dad. I don’t really have any singular/specific memories of any particular moment of him “helping” me, but I’m sure he did; he was my start WITH bowling at all, ever. And whatever MY scores were, his were at least enough that, if I recall correctly, he and I won some first-place trophy from that. I’m not sure if I still HAVE that trophy (it may have been lost with stuff purged in the move from the old house a few years ago), but I had that thing for years, and have always at least “remembered” our sharing that time bowling and such and winning ANY trophy at all.

And while typing the above, I found ANOTHER memory of bowling and Dad: some sorta cub scout thing, most likely. I remember it being him, me, and a number of other boys. And Dad “challenged” us to “beat” him. And to be “sporting,” he stood back by the ball-receiver, adding the space from there to the lane itself to his bowling. Can’t remember if anyone DID beat him; I know I did not; but (if only deja vu of sorts now) I feel like I’ve always remembered that since, any time I’ve BEEN bowling…like just kinda looking at stuff and contemplating rolling the ball from back there without even stepping up to the actual lane.


As a final thought and because I don’t have enough memory of it to be its own post, might as well put it here: I was in a softball league one season as a kid. And I remember disliking it pretty quick…just wasn’t for me. BUT I do remember Dad making me stick with it for the season; combination of I think I was the one who asked to BE in the thing…and teaching some responsibility about finishing what one starts and seeing stuff through.

Deep breath and wistful sigh here, and feeling a hint of a smile and some sorta…satisfaction? Gratefulness? SOMEthing…even as I’m NOW tearing up a bit, but realizing that while many of these memories have been so long internalized and far from surface, conscious thoughts…Dad was always there for me. Always a part of stuff. Even when I was a little kid, he was THERE and present and participated IN my life…

Dad bringing Kayla into my life

Dad was in the US Navy for 21 years. A little over 10 of those were in MY lifetime.

I was born on Guam; I have a couple fragmentary, isolated “memories” of our stopping off in Hawaii on the way into the mainland–of Dad holding my hands (I would’ve been 3 or 4, maybe?) and “walking” me into the ocean a bit (like that edge of the beach where the sand is soaked but you’re only really getting a couple inches of water).

(And another isolated fragment of memory is Mom dumping my bucket of shells, which makes total sense to me as an adult but as a wee lad disappointed me such that I later collected a small bag of shells from a beach with Katie and Emily when we shared a spring break trip in 2002).

Yet another isolated memory of being taken to a pool with cousins when we stopped off visiting family in Texas at the time, I think.

ANYway…born on Guam. Moved to Michigan in…must’ve been 1984. When Dad was sent to “the Detroit area” at least. We lived in military housing “on base” or something, in a complex that was originally Kaypart Quarters or something and later Sebille Manor; like a gated community, but for military; same place but it changed names partway into our time there. I’ll expand on those some other time, most likely (and don’t cite MY spellings right now; probably “off,” and that physical community no longer exists; I’d looked it up years ago when Google Earth was “new” and all that)

Sometime in 1988 Dad came down to the Cleveland area; he lived in some apartment for at least a few months with a roommate–we visited him a time or two while he was there–but he was here for work AND house-hunting. That, I guess, will ALSO be something for another time.

Point being: Guam, Michigan, Ohio…moving all the time. And with various travel things for animals, we never had a pet to that point.

But Dad retired from the Navy in 1991, and the subject of a pet came up more; and by late 1991 it’d been decided that we WOULD get a cat.

I remember having ZERO “expectations” except I wanted a KITTEN. I’d had very limited “experience” with actual kittens (or cats, even) but wanted a kitten.

But Dad had wound up fascinated with the “Himalayan” breed (I think they’re officially “Pointed Persians” now). Long hair, main body one color, ears/face/tail/feet another. And in with the classifieds (I don’t think we were as aware as we should have been of shelters) he found a listing for a Himalayan and ended up taking us to at least “check out” this cat.

I have vague memories PROBABLY across two visits to that house; between an initial visit to “meet” the cat and then actually going to pick her up and take her home with us, as we’d decided to take her in. Of that cat curled up on a wooden chair tucked in under a table. A story from the owner of their other cat–a male–having gotten out once and making a racket to get back in, etc.

I suddenly think as I’m typing here that it must have been a Thursday night; Mom was working, whatever night it was. But having picked up the cat, Dad handling whatever official stuff, I remember getting to be the one to HOLD this cat in the car for the drive back to the house. And the cat was not happy. (Who WOULD be, suddenly leaving the home you’ve known for all 15 months of your life and going away with strangers?!?)

I’m sure Dad came around to the passenger side and would have carried the cat inside; my sister and I hot on his heels, eager to be inside with this new cat.

And this entire post to this point to get to this “memory”: the cat disappeared under the couch immediately. And I remember watching dad get down on the floor (!!!) and managing to “sweep” this cat out/pull her out. (We probably should have allowed her more time, but this isn’t about judging or what we “should have” done, etc).

And I’m pretty sure I was the one holding the cat when Mom got home from work and also got to meet the cat.

The cat “came with ‘Papers'”…she was a “purebred” Sealpoint Himalayan female.

“Miss Kayla Krystal” was the official name…but other than the “fact of it” and remembering to this day….geez, we’re days shy of THIRTY YEARS since that night she came into our lives…she was always “just” KAYLA to us. The formal name was just that–some formal name. But she was Kayla.

Kayla-kitty; Night Kitten; Kayla; Poof(er)…sooo many nicknames. And so many other memories of HER over the years; from those earliest days to the end; Kayla was with us for just over EIGHTEEN YEARS; from January 1992, until May 2010.

Dad brought her into my life; was why we wound up with that particular cat; he was there with me and my sister when we MET the cat and brought her home and all that.

And he made the difficult phone call, and he drove, and HE handled the paperwork and all that and he was in that room with me that awful May morning in 2010 when we had to help her cross the Rainbow Bridge.

I remember the tone/generality of some of his words, about what a special relationship I’d had with Kayla; never once did he make it about HIM or HIS with her; and as I’m typing this I’m realizing it was yet another selfless part of him, so much greater than me/mine, in that. I was living an hour away in Cuyahoga Falls at the time and only “visiting” on weekends. Dad and Mom were with Kayla every. single. day. Day in and day out. And after we lost Christy, it was “just” Kayla and all that.

I was the one holding Kayla when we brought her home; and I was the one holding her at the end. Dad was there both times; and he was so supportive and just…there.

And when we lost Christy; when we lost Kayla; when we lost Ziggy…I still always had HIM.

To do my duty, to God and my country…

I was reminded this morning by an old friend of something I hadn’t even really thought about/remembered the last few days: Cub Scouts.

Back in the day, Dad was a “den leader,” and I believe I remember for a time he was even a “pack leader,” or at LEAST had helped out whoever WAS quite a bit. (EDIT: Mom has confirmed my memory that yes, he was pack leader for a time.)

He saw me in Cub Scouts–from Bobcat, Wolf, Bear, Webelos, to Arrow of Light. He encouraged me along into Boy Scouts, through all those years up to being THE needed push through to making Eagle Scout.

Whether it was still Cub Scouts preparing us for moving along into Boy Scouts, or early as a Boy Scout…I remember him walking some of us through the “Scout Law.”

A Scout is: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, THrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.

As a kid, remembering such a list was a sort of challenge.

But whether it was THAT particular experience, or any of the random experiences…

I guess I’d “forgotten” what a leader he was even to ME, and MY friends. And to plenty of boys my own age, whatever directions we’ve gone.

It wasn’t JUST fellow veterans or men his own age. It wasn’t just ME.

He was a leader, and he touched so many lives, and this reminds me yet again that he touched so many lives that I don’t even know.

I feel like I should try to type up a lot more specific memories from Cub Scouts and/or Boy Scouts…but as I’m typing this, I’m so emotionally drained from typing at friends and other mental processing; the open rawness I’m sharing lately that’s NOT gonna be in this blog.

But I guess this means I DO have a post to share today, where part of me feared it would be a struggle.

And I decided that post title before I started typing, so let me elaborate on another thought here I didn’t get to:

Dad was in the US Navy for 21 years. He was military, and HIS Dad (my Grandpa) was ALSO in the Navy. I never was (and have been grateful that Dad not only didn’t PUSH me in to the military but rightfully saw that the military was not for me and so shielded me) but have always held all the more respect for those who HAVE served this country as a result…because he, and they, did what I did NOT.

But I realized that while it’s NOT the military…Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts gave me that “organization,” that brotherhood and experience with structure and ranks; to grow and learn. And that it was some of Dad’s getting to really model to me what it was to be a man, and to LEAD, and so on.

And it was also another thing where he was very actively INVOLVED in MY life, with me, with something that was a part of my life and shaped me…and shaping me himself, and solidifying/encouraging friendships that I have to this day.

So it was that even in this, HE did his best, to do his duty, to God and his country…

Get some good rest. Get some good sleep.

“Get some good rest…get some good sleep… love you.”

Or maybe get some good sleep/get some good rest. I think the phrasing was often slightly variable. And it’s also killing and stirring up so much guilt that I cannot right now–absolutely–REMEMBER.

Because for ages, that was part of our nights.

I would take him a glass of iced coffee. He would grab his pills container. He’d take his meds for the night. He’d hand me the now-empty container and I’d put it back in its slot in the main organizer, and I’d pull out the next day’s one. Hand it to him, where he’d tuck it off to the side, ready for the morning.

Far too often there weren’t really many words. His hearing was so bad that I frequently lamented that I had to SHOUT. Practically SCREAM. Sometimes. For him to hear and “get” my words. (Not always. And he was pretty good about reading one’s lips…though I was more difficult for him with this beard and all).

But he’d get this look on his face–maybe a slight smile, maybe amusement, maybe…I don’t know.

And then those words.

Sometimes he’d pause differently. His inflection might vary. Sometimes he’d kinda look at me, hinting for ME to finish it…like he was ensuring that I knew them; that I got them; that I was participating.

That he was sharing and it wasn’t just some one-way thing.

And sometimes it was “I love you,” all three words. And sometimes it was the shortened “Love you.”

I feel like it was only “recently,” though. I said above that it was part of stuff for “ages,” but “ages” COULD just be a year? Two? Definitely within the last 4.

The exceptions were nights that he wasn’t feeling well. Or when I went to bed early. Then Mom would take him the iced coffee.

Mixed in there was often Mom taking Daisey out for her last potty of the day. Often simultaneous–she’d get up to go get Daisey, and I’d grab a glass and the coffee. That always varied.

But I also often got to see and hear Dad and Mom’s exchange to each other.

And I’d be a bit embarrassed; like I was intrusive on what should have been a private moment. But they never seemed embarrassed at my presence.

Right now I can’t pinpoint our last “proper” instance of this routine. I can barely piece together that as I sit here typing this it’s been roughly 56 hours since…since that hospital room.

It’s been–give or take a half-hour or so, maybe less–four days since Mom and I helped him transfer from the power chair back to the lift chair.

It was either then, or when we had helped him first from the lift chair to the power chair, that he had commented on my “grip.” I think his words were “You have a good grip.”

But he did say–if not word-for-word, then close enough–“I couldn’t have done this without you.”

After making sure he wasn’t going to slide out of the chair, and worrying about him NOT adjusting to a “better” position in the chair, made sure Mom was “ok” and came back out to this part of the house.

But before I left I said something–now that I’m typing and trying to remember, my memory is failing me–I probably had “I’ll be ‘around'” and part of me is thinking I included “I love you.” I can’t be sure now–memory fails–if he said it back to me even if I did. I know there was at least once, weakly, between Monday evening and when he was whisked out of this house to be taken to the hospital.

POINT BEING…we never used to be big on saying the words. And whenever this particular nightly routine started, I do remember feeling sorta weird or off or something…because it was never a “regular” or “routine” thing to be said out loud. It was always there; we always knew it; but I guess maybe we both realized that it was good–for both of us–to SAY it. To vocalize it.

Hm. And as my mind has cast back, I think we may have shared the words a fair bit at the nursing homes, too; but it was a different setting and context; albeit the same heart and meaning.

I mentioned “4” years above. Because April 2017 changed our lives forever. Because that was when so many medical things came together in what apparently was a “perfect storm” of things and Dad was first hospitalized and then transferred through three nursing homes from April to December. And he finally was able to come back home, he’d been changed physically. He had the power chair and a wheelchair. He had a walker. Mom and I had become caregivers.

But we had HIM. He was home, he was with us, we were in this house that he so adored, despite the relatively short time we’d been here at that point; the still-relatively-short-time even four years later.

And words now fail me AGAIN; where I sat down thinking to start “a post” I can’t “stick the ending.” Thoughts trail off and scatter. And in the coming days and weeks and months, I suppose I’ll have so much more to share. Look at the expanse of these words began by his goodnight phrasing being in my head this morning.

I had just over 41 years with him…if I could remember everything, if I could convey everything, if it could be singular and comprehensive, that alone would fill volumes. And that’s just ME and MY experiences and memories.

Can’t begin to “do justice” and all that.

But it’s a start. I’ve typed this without breaking down. Tears have leaked, but I’ve gotten these words typed.

And it’s a start.

ONLY a start.