Remembering Daddy
Jun. 4th, 2005 07:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
melo_annechenI took a ride on the Way-Back Machine after checking on my friends this morning. If your parents are still around, go give them a hug. Now. I'll wait.
Mama and Daddy were divorced a year or two after I married a really wonderful guy. I don't know all the reasons. Mama said it was because he was ready to sit on the couch and be retired, and she wasn't. Daddy moved into a place less than half a mile from their house. He would take her out to dinner to deliver the alimony check. They were still friends, but that was about it.
Then the warranty on his chassis ran out. Daddy contributed by not eating right, smoking like a chimney and not exercising more than walking to the mailbox or the car. After his second stint in the hospital within a quarter, he was moved in with my husband and me.
This is where I learned what a wonderful guy I married. He put up with changing his habits to accommodate our new roommate. He only showed minor irritation to Daddy's less savory habits like putting out his cigarettes in his dishes, which were sometimes plastic. I, on the other had, had some right awful snit fits. Yes, I actually used the "my house, my rules" phrase. As soon as I said it, I stopped and we all had a good laugh over it. To say Daddy was set in his ways was an understatement.
My husband and I had quit smoking a few years before, so when Daddy was put on 24-hour oxygen, we didn't see a problem. We forgot about Daddy's habits. You see, except for about a couple of year or two breaks (as I remember them) Daddy had smoked my entire life. His medical chart during his first hospital stay in this round stated he had a 50 year pack-per-day habit. We cleaned out his stash of tobacco, but didn't count on him not wanting to quit. He would drive, WITHOUT HIS OXYGEN, to the local convenience store and buy a couple of packs. Then, instead of smoking outside on the deck, he would light up in his room. RIGHT NEXT TO THE OXYGEN CONCENTRATOR! It's a wonder he didn't set the house afire.
His medications also caused some interesting reactions. Once, while he was in the hospital, he insisted he had bought a truck, and wanted to make sure I got it home. Since I had his car, wallet and checkbook, I asked how this was possible. Luckily, Sister had some experience with Dilaudid dreams from her stint with leukemia, and was able to talk him through it. He asked one evening what the guys in the front yard were working on. Apparently his heart medication was slightly off dosage, and was causing extremely realistic hallucinations. This became a major worry when I found out he had purchased a pistol to shoot the dogs that were dumping in our yard. Hyperactive Lad had joined the family by that point, and was rapidly becoming mobile. Finding that automatic under Daddy's pillow while changing the sheets on his bed caused a massive tantrum on my part.
We had taken Daddy's car keys about a month before I found the pistol. He had gone to the garage to get a tune up, and had forgotten his wallet and checkbook. My mate had taken said items to the garage and was following him home when Daddy drove through a construction site. Luckily, the bridge was complete. That ended his driving, and he was eventually able to quit smoking, under duress.
Daddy spent quite a few stints in the local VA medical center. I am really happy with the nursing staff there - they put up with people who don't want to be there, and still manage to be nice about it if not outright cheerful. It was with the help of the nurses and support staff we were able to have Daddy with us and aware as long as we did. He may have been a cantankerous old coot at times, but he knew who was in charge at the hospital. When he was in the hospital over Christmas, he had me get the biggest box of Godiva truffles I could find for the nurses' station. The man did know how to gift.
Hyperactive Lad has some vague memories of watching television with Poppa, and visiting him in the hospital sometimes, but not much more. As far as I know, HL's cousin, Princess Legal Eagle, doesn't have first-person memories of him. She was born a little over a year before Daddy left. One of the traditions started during Daddy's VA stays was running the kids through the indoor playground of a local fast food establishment. They would get worn out enough to behave at the hospital. The nurses had no idea the children were not angels at all times.
Eventually, Daddy deteriorated to the point that we could not care for him at home, even with the help of the VA home care services. It was hard to make the decision to find a skilled nursing facility, and finding one was almost as hard. He was there a week, before he died. It was the day before his 77th birthday.
This is where things got wonky. After all, Daddy was involved. Luckily, he had left a note, written years before, concerning what he wanted done afterwards. That helped with his sisters who wanted to know why on earth I would donate his body to a medical school. I was able to show them his letter, which got the response "well, that was him all over". They didn't understand why I found that funny.
I also found out at that time that you need a reservation to get into Vanderbilt, alumni or no, even when you're dead. I could swear I could hear Daddy laughing with me when I hung up the phone after that conversation. Daddy was a practical joker, and things like that became expected. At the memorial service, my cousin from Texas related the tale of his last visit to his brother, her father. She had made a special Sunday dinner the night before he was to come home, and he responded "Well, that tears it. You ruined it. Now, I'll have to eat it all to hide the evidence."
It turned out the medical school who took Daddy's body was the school that had absorbed the dental school Daddy had attended decades ago. When they arranged to return his ashes, they called ahead to make sure someone would be there to accept delivery. I affirmed I would be home. The afternoon of the appointed day, the doorbell rang. i answered the door just in time to see someone jump in their car and drive off. I looked down, and there was a package. When I saw the address, my first statement was "Daddy? Did you tell them to ring the doorbell and run?" I heard his laugh in my memory again.
Mama and Daddy were divorced a year or two after I married a really wonderful guy. I don't know all the reasons. Mama said it was because he was ready to sit on the couch and be retired, and she wasn't. Daddy moved into a place less than half a mile from their house. He would take her out to dinner to deliver the alimony check. They were still friends, but that was about it.
Then the warranty on his chassis ran out. Daddy contributed by not eating right, smoking like a chimney and not exercising more than walking to the mailbox or the car. After his second stint in the hospital within a quarter, he was moved in with my husband and me.
This is where I learned what a wonderful guy I married. He put up with changing his habits to accommodate our new roommate. He only showed minor irritation to Daddy's less savory habits like putting out his cigarettes in his dishes, which were sometimes plastic. I, on the other had, had some right awful snit fits. Yes, I actually used the "my house, my rules" phrase. As soon as I said it, I stopped and we all had a good laugh over it. To say Daddy was set in his ways was an understatement.
My husband and I had quit smoking a few years before, so when Daddy was put on 24-hour oxygen, we didn't see a problem. We forgot about Daddy's habits. You see, except for about a couple of year or two breaks (as I remember them) Daddy had smoked my entire life. His medical chart during his first hospital stay in this round stated he had a 50 year pack-per-day habit. We cleaned out his stash of tobacco, but didn't count on him not wanting to quit. He would drive, WITHOUT HIS OXYGEN, to the local convenience store and buy a couple of packs. Then, instead of smoking outside on the deck, he would light up in his room. RIGHT NEXT TO THE OXYGEN CONCENTRATOR! It's a wonder he didn't set the house afire.
His medications also caused some interesting reactions. Once, while he was in the hospital, he insisted he had bought a truck, and wanted to make sure I got it home. Since I had his car, wallet and checkbook, I asked how this was possible. Luckily, Sister had some experience with Dilaudid dreams from her stint with leukemia, and was able to talk him through it. He asked one evening what the guys in the front yard were working on. Apparently his heart medication was slightly off dosage, and was causing extremely realistic hallucinations. This became a major worry when I found out he had purchased a pistol to shoot the dogs that were dumping in our yard. Hyperactive Lad had joined the family by that point, and was rapidly becoming mobile. Finding that automatic under Daddy's pillow while changing the sheets on his bed caused a massive tantrum on my part.
We had taken Daddy's car keys about a month before I found the pistol. He had gone to the garage to get a tune up, and had forgotten his wallet and checkbook. My mate had taken said items to the garage and was following him home when Daddy drove through a construction site. Luckily, the bridge was complete. That ended his driving, and he was eventually able to quit smoking, under duress.
Daddy spent quite a few stints in the local VA medical center. I am really happy with the nursing staff there - they put up with people who don't want to be there, and still manage to be nice about it if not outright cheerful. It was with the help of the nurses and support staff we were able to have Daddy with us and aware as long as we did. He may have been a cantankerous old coot at times, but he knew who was in charge at the hospital. When he was in the hospital over Christmas, he had me get the biggest box of Godiva truffles I could find for the nurses' station. The man did know how to gift.
Hyperactive Lad has some vague memories of watching television with Poppa, and visiting him in the hospital sometimes, but not much more. As far as I know, HL's cousin, Princess Legal Eagle, doesn't have first-person memories of him. She was born a little over a year before Daddy left. One of the traditions started during Daddy's VA stays was running the kids through the indoor playground of a local fast food establishment. They would get worn out enough to behave at the hospital. The nurses had no idea the children were not angels at all times.
Eventually, Daddy deteriorated to the point that we could not care for him at home, even with the help of the VA home care services. It was hard to make the decision to find a skilled nursing facility, and finding one was almost as hard. He was there a week, before he died. It was the day before his 77th birthday.
This is where things got wonky. After all, Daddy was involved. Luckily, he had left a note, written years before, concerning what he wanted done afterwards. That helped with his sisters who wanted to know why on earth I would donate his body to a medical school. I was able to show them his letter, which got the response "well, that was him all over". They didn't understand why I found that funny.
I also found out at that time that you need a reservation to get into Vanderbilt, alumni or no, even when you're dead. I could swear I could hear Daddy laughing with me when I hung up the phone after that conversation. Daddy was a practical joker, and things like that became expected. At the memorial service, my cousin from Texas related the tale of his last visit to his brother, her father. She had made a special Sunday dinner the night before he was to come home, and he responded "Well, that tears it. You ruined it. Now, I'll have to eat it all to hide the evidence."
It turned out the medical school who took Daddy's body was the school that had absorbed the dental school Daddy had attended decades ago. When they arranged to return his ashes, they called ahead to make sure someone would be there to accept delivery. I affirmed I would be home. The afternoon of the appointed day, the doorbell rang. i answered the door just in time to see someone jump in their car and drive off. I looked down, and there was a package. When I saw the address, my first statement was "Daddy? Did you tell them to ring the doorbell and run?" I heard his laugh in my memory again.
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