Sometimes pithy statements have a way of catching you because of the truth they communicate. Have you ever heard this one? "Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer to the end, the faster it goes." Today is one of those days where it feels like time is moving fast.Ten years ago, today, my dad passed away. I had just returned home from visiting with him as he was rehabilitating from a hip fracture in the local nursing home. He remembered my birthday and had a card ready for me when I arrived. Those few days before his death were precious and sweet. It was hard to see Dad sitting in a wheelchair at the dining table wearing a bib. Tears welled as I realized that the Dad whom I had known and loved was slowly slipping away. A bib? Where was his work apron he always wore in his workshop? Those moments were the beginning of distant memories.
I left on Sunday. Parting was sweet and filled with hopeful return. Two things lingered in my mind as I drove the 7 hours home. The pneumonia that Dad had been battling since surgery seemed to be returning. He was just about to cross the three week mark where the elderly with fractured hips most likely die of a pulmonary emboli. How did I know these things? I had watched it happen to a number of my elderly patients when I had worked surgical nursing.
My family was excited when I pulled in the driveway. They were waiting to have a belated birthday celebration for me. I needed that. Tuesday morning the phone rang. I knew immediately what my brother had to tell me. "You better come, drive carefully. I'll keep you posted." Halfway there the call came. "Too late! Dad died. Meet me at the hospital when you get to town." Three hours later I arrived. They took me to his room. He looked so peaceful. I picked up his cold limp hand and gripped it for one last time. I wept.
Dad was a very hard working man and his hands told you so. They were large and his grip was firm. He was an engineer and his mind always worked in the realm of fixing and organizing things. His tools hung neatly and organized in his workshop. For every tool he had, he had at least two more of the same tucked in a drawer just in case. His garden was amazing and the bounty huge. He kept records of everything and filed them more than neatly in his filing cabinet. He was the one who inspired my desire to sew by giving me a sewing machine for my birthday. He planned the best vacation times every year to travel us around the country. I remember his hand holding the back of my bike seat when he was teaching me to ride a two-wheeler. The second I went wobbly he would catch me. I felt safe. I was loved.
These past ten years have rolled by very fast. Our family has grown up and moved on and into the marketplace. Grandpa would have been very proud of his grandchildren. I am thankful for the fond memories and the legacy he has left behind. Most of all I am thankful that He is eternally home.
