Things Father's Leave Us

The new millennium began without much fan fair. I had no free time in the past year, and it was getting to me. When I had help with my parents, I would take on call assignments in Longmont or Boulder that included hospice care. The work was simpler....and I was usually alone. The Meridian and other spots in Boulder County primarily needed someone who could get medications ready for apartment residents. The pay was great, and I didn't have to deal with the politics of the permanent staff. Care giving became my life and I was stressing. Instead of running.....taking a sabbatical like I used to when the shit got too deep, I started drinking Bombay Sapphire between my blows at the halfway house. My drug of choice was marijuana. But, it stayed in your system too long to pass a urinalysis. My taste for cocaine had run it's course, though, once in a while, I had these ill dreams about getting high. But, I never thought I would relapse. Using it robbed me of too many things.

Relief came shortly after New Year's. Angela got tickets to San Diego. My love affair continued with the city although it had been a place where I lost myself. We took the boys, stayed at the Hyatt, and had a ball. We spent time at Mission Beach, visiting all the restaurants and taco shops we liked when we lived there. The drive around Hillcrest and North Park was nostalgic, but, eerily, there was a tightness in my stomach,... a reminder that the beautiful city had been an ugly nightmare for me.

When we got back home on Valentine's Day there was a message from Kaiser Permanente saying Dad had not picked up his meds for the month. I was immediately concerned because his caregiver kept a close eye out for things like that. Hoping another nurse had not resigned, I called her later that day. She said Dad had his meds and just hadn't gotten the newly ordered ones. Whew! At times, my father would be lucid, remembering everything about everything; other times he would not even recognize me. On my job I could detach . It was easier said than done when it came to my father. All his life women had catered to him. He was the youngest so it began with his sisters. Grandma Anna passed away when Dad was twelve and he married his first wife at age thirteen. From there, he went to the streets where a older woman turned him out, and he became a pimp at sixteen. He met my mother at a

school social at Whittier Elementary where the young folk from Five Points gathered on Friday nights. Mom said she couldn't stand him because he was so conceited. The story was he chased her silly until she let him come by to visit. That was the beginning. They were married fifty years, and though, they separated when I left Denver for college in 1965, living their lives separately worked out for them.

We had been back home a few days when St. Joseph's Hospital called saying my dad suffered a stroke while shopping at the King Sooper's on Ninth Avenue. He was now undergoing emergency surgery. While driving the thirty miles down to the medical center from Boulder, I sensed this time was not like the others. Recently, Dad balked at having to wear adult diapers crying when I changed his bedding. His sense of humor was gone. At times, he would just sit and stare at nothing. Other times, he would lash out angrily. When I got to the hospital, the family gathered. Another hour passed before a doctor came out of the swinging doors marked Staff only. I braced myself for the bad news. But, to my surprise, he said things looked fine. He said we should go get some rest because it was going to be awhile before we could see him. Everyone sighs and we all leave. A few hours later, the Chaplin phoned, saying my father passed away from complications and internal bleeding. On the way back to the hospital, I cried. Daddy tried to prepare me for this day when I was barely an adult. He said then that he knew I had the tools to continue to live life without him. That I was his daughter tried and true. Women came and went in both our lives. But, when we committed to someone or something, we committed for life. I am the adventurer he was. I take on any challenge vigorously. He taught me life lessons that still prevail today that began when I was five years old. I wanted to learn to ride a bicycle. Daddy insisted I ride without the crutch of training wheels. I protested. Naaw. Not me. Well, he lowered the seat and handle bars, lifting me up so my feet would hit the peddles. Feeling his strong hands on my back, I shakily began to ride. He kept his hands close, constantly encouraging me to keep my balance. When I fell, he wiped my tears and the scraps with towel he kept around his neck. He put Vaseline on the wounds, motioning me back to the bicycle and the whole process would start again. Finally, after falling and getting back up a hundred times, I kept the bike steady and upright. That day, I learned an invaluable lesson. You may fall down, get cuts and scrapes, you must get up and try again. To fail is to not try. The woman, mother, daughter, grandmother I am today is because of that lesson and other teachings. Whenever I find myself having self-doubts about a program or project, I reach for his spirit. He will never leave me. Ever. I have happy sorrow instead of a sad sorrow when I think of him. Cancer teaches you to be the leading lady in your own story. I value that teaching. In losing my father, it brought my own mortality close up. In battling for my life, I was the leading lady....not one of the supporting cast.