my dad

Today my father died.

You always know that it can't last forever -- nothing can last forever. You just never expect that forever to shift right now. The finality is the crazy part.

Today was my dad's birthday.

A couple weeks ago I finally found the date alarm on my iphone. My dad's birthday was coming up, so I decided I'd try it out by giving myself a warning the day before, and then the morning of his birthday so I would remember to call and sing to him. All along this crazy three days, I've been getting the little messages popping up on all my machines.

This morning, when my mom called and told me he was getting worse and I should come out, the first thing I saw was the birthday popup on my iphone. I remarked to paul -- "why does it always seem to happen that way? people always seem to pick remarkable days to die. how do they do that?" I someone had a feeling it was the end, even the day before, even though it had come on suddenly. But when I received news that he was finally dead all that sensation went out the window and it was a sense of perfect disbelief, utter displacement from reality.

I was in the vegas airport, rushing from one gate to the next, trying to make a connection from a very late flight, and I called my mom to check in. "Dad died at 2pm." The line got static-y and weird and I was confused. There was a big clock above me in the hallway that read 1:41. It must be a dream. I must have heard wrong. I shook the phone a second and looked down and put it to my ear again. There was my mom's voice. It was true. This was true. This was reality. Later I realized it was the time zone difference, but for a second I was in an alternate reality, a do-over where I might make it in time.

The thought that my father might have died thinking we didn't care enough to be at his side tortured me. I loved that man so much. A large part of me thought that he would just pull through, I could see us gathered around him as he smiled and we'd joke around as we always did: "Dad! What a command performance! You got us all to show up for your birthday!" We'd laugh, and sing to him in person, and we'd be together and happy, and he'd smile through his pain as he always did.

On monday night I called my parents as I was cooking dinner. We had been discussing me making a trip in late february and settled on a weekend in early march. I had found a flight and wanted to make sure it was ok -- it was supposed to fly out early monday morning in order to get the cheapest direct flight -- 5:30am. Instead of booking it right away, I decided I'd call them and double check. This is actually odd because I knew it would not be a problem -- dad was always up by 4am-sh, rarely ever sleeping more than a few hours in the night and my parents would always bend over backwards to enable me to visit.

Nonetheless I called to check with them just as the ambulance took my father away and my mom had finished writing an explanatory email, but right before she left for the hospital. Strangely fortuitous timing. Else I would have just gotten the machine and been in the dark til the next morning when I checked email at work.

Food poisoning it was, she thought, but he was getting incoherent and not better after 24 hours so she worried. The next morning she emailed again, saying they thought it was the staph infection in his leg getting into his blood and they wanted to give him antibiotics and keep him 2-3 days. I emailed and asked if I should move my trip up and she said not yet -- it would be better to come when he was well again and could enjoy the visit. That evening we spoke. His fever was coming down a bit. The doctor said he was in critical condition, but when mom asked if she should have the kids come out, he said she should if she needed the support, but otherwise it wasn't necessary. Again we decided it would be better to wait and see.

The next morning it changed.

I received a wake up call at 8:30. There was the "Dad's Birthday!" on the iphone. The infection has gone into his kidneys, his fever is back up, it's sepsis, it's time. I booked the next flight I could get - southwest, 11:30. And so began a journey that took me through 3 airports and rush hour in tucson, and landed me in a hospital room with my father's pale but smiling face. The nurse on duty told my mother, which she made him repeat to both my brother and I, that he had never seen anyone look so peaceful in his 19 years at the hospital. And indeed he did. His face calmed me. He looked like a buddha. Gentle, gentle smile. I immediately lost any sense of guilt. This was my wonderful father. Of course he knew I loved him. I loved him so very much. I hugged him. I held his hand. My mom and I sat there for 2 hours. My brother's flight arrived later, and he was just able to get there. Those wonderful people at the hospital allowed us to keep the body out for 5 hours so both my brother and I could see him.

On the way home, we three shared stories about him.

My father was one of the kindest human beings I have ever come in contact with. I don't think there was a single person who disliked him -- he was the definition of easy going, the peace keeper, the diplomat. He always had kind words to say about other people and never judged -- "It's just none of my business".

His friends came from every circle, lawyers to car repairman and janitors to librarians to engineers to musicians. He taught me so many things. I strove to be like him. I see my brother doing the same. He was such a great example of how to be a good person.

And he was so smart and so talented in so many ways -- He held a masters degree in music, and would have a PhD but for the fact that he never completed the foreign language requirement. He wrote symphonies. He held patents on moving stage light technology and chairs manufactured for musicians, among others. He programmed computers. He drove race cars. He obtained a pilot's license and flew planes. He played softball and basketball all the way up to his 50's. He traveled europe by motorbike once, then went back with my mother and camped across the continent for 3 months for their honeymoon. He grew up in northern minnesota in a house without indoor plumbing until his early teens, but managed to keep up with every new technology as it came out: there were vacuum tubes in the late 50's, microcontrollers and circuitry that tested emissions in cars in the 1980's, and in the late 90's and early 00's he was programming computer databases for large corporations including the us post office. He started and ran his own company for ten years. He taught music. He wrote the most amazing short stories and in his later years began several novels. He lived life to the fullest in every way, and he was still the perfect father. And a wonderful husband to my mom in every way.

When I was very young and he was running the business, he was gone quite a bit, but for several years after that when I was in my early to mid teens, he did consulting and worked from home quite a bit. I could always, always count on him to pick me up late when I had stayed out at the mall or a friends house far too late. There was no questions, he just showed up and took me home. He was always willing to give me a ride to school in the morning, and both he and my mom sacrificed so much to drive me in to minneapolis many days a week for the theatre productions, practices, and classes that I was obsessed with.

I have so many fond memories of waking up and seeing him at the kitchen table writing lists and making plans, and he always had time to explain things to me. One morning it was the difference between AM and FM wave modulation. Another day it was counting in binary code. My father had the answers. So many treasured moments - he taught me to program, he listened to me recite lines and coached my acting, he taught me to paint with acrylics, he taught me to shoot a basketball and throw a football and make a pancake. He always believed EVERYTHING was possible. In grad school when I was learning Lingo and making balls bounce back and forth across the screen, pong style, on my way to programmatic motion, he helped me make it make sense. We set up my installations together, making everything work with the little 24 pin chip.

And yet his body got to be too much for him. He was never a drinker, he was never a smoker, but he had an addiction to eating the way others have an addiction to hard drugs. Even as it made his sports,and eventually walking, a challenge he continued to eat his side pork for breakfast, his potato chips for a snack, his pie and ice cream on a daily basis, and always the mcdonald's. It was so hard to watch. His body became a prison. It was painful for him to get up. He couldn't fly out to visit. He could hardly walk down the block. But he still found enjoyment in so many things -- he loved the championship girl's softball team at the U of A and wrote a heavily followed blog about their games. He loved his alfa romeos, and continued to restore them in both the home garage and a space at a local garage. And he was still strong. At 62 or 63, when we were helping them move things out of storage and into their new house, I saw him lift huge metal car parts that were too heavy for me. There was nothing that my dad couldn't do in my eyes.

I take comfort in the fact that he will no longer be in pain. I take comfort in the fact that he and my mom made it to their 40th wedding anniversary. While it's never easy to see the end, I know that this has been a wonderful year together. Last summer we were able to spend a great 10 days together. First there was our immediate family: my mom, my dad, my brother and I. Then multiple generations of my mom's side of the family. Then my dad and I drove to northern minnesota and spent 3 days together with his mother. Next we had the first reunion of his side of the family where just about EVERYBODY was able to come -- his brothers, their wives, their children, their children's children. Grandma's health had been bad, and everyone made the effort because we thought it might be her last summer. Little could we imagine it was his instead.

Still, we were able to go to the small town where he grew up and see his grandparent's house and the creek he played in -- talk small town -- there were about 10-15 houses in Gentily, MN. And then this christmas. We were able to go to dinner and celebrate their 40th anniversary on December 21st and spend several wonderful days together -- opening presents, playing cards, looking through old pictures. I couldn't ask for anything more -- except another 10 years of those wonderful times. I am so happy my brother was able to spend a long 6 weeks here in december and january and pal around with dad. Dad was able to see me established in my career, to see michael graduate from college, to know that we were both on our way. It does sadden us all greatly that he will never be able to meet his grandchildren. His death is a great loss to them, and a great loss to all of us.

I don't think a day will go by when I don't miss him. Sitting here on the couch next to the empty chair where he spent so much time, the emptiness is vast. I have a lot to strive for. Thank you for the wonderful example, dad.