Explaining death (Part 7): Death of a father
Out of the blue, I received a call from one of my high school buddies that his father has passed away. It wasn’t a surprised as his father was suffering from Alzheimer’s and has been deteriorating for a number of years. He leaves behind a widow, two kids and two grandchildren. As we were under a pandemic, there was no funeral service. My buddy and I chatted on the phone for an hour and that served as my private memorial with him. I don’t have many memories of his dad other than a few times I biked over to their house as a kid to see if his son can come out to play. But I did recall him to be a loving father and his son (my buddy) became a great father himself.
I hung up the phone and was in a bit of a weird mood. I don’t know why I felt the way I did, but I think I also mourned the loss of his dad simply because I sometimes lived vicariously through my friend and his positive father/son relationship when I was younger. I started to think about my own relationship with my father and I honestly can’t recall many positive moments. My own experiences were less than ideal and the days leading up to his funeral were probably the most time I’ve ever spent with him.
When my father was diagnosed stage-4 lung cancer, he finally knew that he didn’t have much time. From hospitalization to his death, it was only a matter of four months. He was lucky his decline wasn’t long and painful. At first, I visited with other siblings and even still, it wasn’t very regular. My own daughter wasn’t born yet and so I can’t use her as an excuse not to visit. I must admit that the initial visits were done out of obligation. He couldn’t talk much and we had next to nothing to say to each other, so I was clock watching to ensure I don’t park more than 30 minutes and risked getting charged more. I didn’t even feel guilty thinking that. I’m an awful son. Then as the weeks dragged on, my sister told me that there wasn’t much time left. It was at that time, I asked my then wife if she wanted to visit. She did, but just to accompanied me because I asked. Once upon a time, I had thought about taking my father to see the Great Wall of China. It was just a passing fantasy. But that day, I decided to bring my honeymoon pictures where my wife and I did visit the monument. I flipped through some of those pictures and after 20 minutes, he was tired and rested. We left. The next morning, he died.
I had so longed for a meaningful father/son connection that when one presented itself, I think I missed it.
I will never know what my father thought of me taking him on a (virtual) trip to the Great Wall. I can only assume he enjoyed it. My own feeling was one of ambivalence: I could have shared pictures of Disney World and it would have had the same impact on me as I felt I was just flipping through a slideshow to pass the time. Later I was told by my sister that my father felt the happiest he’d ever did after my slideshow visit. I’m glad for him. I’m glad it touched him. I had so longed for a meaningful father/son connection that when one presented itself, I think I missed it. It’s ironic that after decades of absence, he chose his last moments in this world and gave them to me. There are more deserving siblings who looked after his care whom he should have bestowed this gift.
I think I spent just as much time thinking about my friend’s father as I had my own that night. And I also couldn’t believe that my friend’s father (a man I barely knew) can have this effect on me decades later. It made me look at my own relationship with my daughter with fresh eyes. My role must be quite profound to my daughter! I knew that my obligation to her is that I live everyday as though it was the last day of earth: to be genuine and true with my words and feelings to her. Love and be loved. Nothing else matters. Nothing else will ever matter more than that.
