• Brewery – An establishment known for beer which may also serve food
• Brewpub – A restaurant that makes its own beer, which is featured second
• Beer Bar – A place that serves beers made elsewhere and does a great job of catering to the beer world
If you enjoy nonsensical rants, brewery reviews, and/or random facts about everyday things, this is the page for you.
They Call Me The
Ponderer
by
Rob Cottignies
I found a list of “questions worth pondering” and decided to answer them instead of simply admiring their quirkiness.
Enjoy!
…
Is
there another word for synonym?
*equivalent
If
it's zero degrees outside today and it's supposed to be twice as cold tomorrow,
how cold is it going to be?
*zero
degrees; 2 x 0 = 0
How
does the guy who drives the snowplow get to work?
*many
operators own their vehicles and keep them at home; women drive plows, too
If
convenience stores are open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, why are there
locks on the doors?
*in
case of emergency, maintenance, or to keep undesired people out
If
you are driving at the speed of light and you turn on your headlights, what happens?
*it
would look the same as turning on your headlights does regularly; now, tell the
world about this vehicle of yours…
Why
do we park on driveways and drive on parkways?
*both
terms originated before motorized vehicles were invented; ‘driveway’ once and
still refers to the area between a street and a house, which was formerly much
lengthier; a ‘parkway’ was a path through a place where vegetation grew but
took on its current use when cars began taking over such spaces
Why
are there interstate highways in Hawaii?
*they
are parts of the Interstate System even though Hawaii is over 2,000 miles from
California; Alaska also has interstate highways as does Puerto Rico, which isn’t
even a state!
Why
don't sheep shrink in the rain?
*their
wool is not yet processed so it remains intact
What
does Geronimo scream when he jumps out of a plane?
*this
never happened; Geronimo died in 1909 while the first official sky-diving attempt
was in 1918
Why
are there five syllables in the word "monosyllabic"?
*the
Greek prefix ‘mono’ means ‘singular’ and ‘syllabic’ refers to how many syllables
a word has
Why
isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?
*cats
were never thought to hunt mice for their taste, therefore other flavors were
tried first and had enough success to not require further development
When
two airplanes almost collide, why do they call it a near miss and not a near
hit?
*military
slang gave us this phrase because it originally referred to a bomb that did not
hit its target but got close enough to cause damage to it
If
the #2 pencil is the most popular, why is it still #2?
*there
are numbers 1 and 3 pencils that have softer and harder graphite (not lead),
respectively; #2 is considered the most practical for everyday needs
If
you try to fail and succeed, which have you done?
*succeeded
If
a funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their headlights off?
*no
If
a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear, does it make a sound?
*yes,
even if the person is deaf
If
a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked?
*he’d
be dead; turtles’ shells are parts of their anatomy and attached to their
bodies
If
someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered
a hostage situation?
*a
person with dissociative identity disorder would not threaten such a thing
If
corn oil comes from corn, where does baby oil come from?
*it’s
mostly made from petroleum, which soothes skin well
If
psychics know the winning lottery numbers, why are they all still working?
*a
person who claims to have psychic abilities reads from human interaction, not
random numbers out of a machine
Why
do they put Braille on the number pads of drive-through bank machines?
*it
is more cost-effective to make standard number pads for every ATM than to
individualize them based on where they get installed
When
a cow laughs, does milk come up its nose?
*that’s
not how cows work
If
nothing sticks to Teflon, how does Teflon stick to the pan?
*Teflon,
a brand-name product of polytetrafluoroethylene, contains pairs of carbon atoms
that become sticky and allow it to adhere to metal
If
it's tourist season, why can't we shoot them?
*homicide
is illegal
What's
another word for thesaurus?
*why
would one be needed?
Why
do they sterilize needles before lethal injections?
*all
needles are distributed sterile; the arms of condemned people are swabbed for
legal reasons in case a stay of execution or something else delaying the
procedure happens; a person is sentenced to die via lethal injection, not from
an infection
What
do they use to ship Styrofoam?
*Styrofoam
is a name brand owned by DuPont; if not produced locally, foam is sent in bulk
in cardboard boxes; foam is not recyclable but can be brought to foam drives
for re-purposing
Why
is "abbreviation" such a long word?
*the
Latin terms ‘ad’ means ‘to’ and ‘breviare’ means ‘shorten’
Why
is there an expiration date on a sour cream container?
*it
is a dairy product containing lactic acid; general consensus is that refrigerated
sour cream is still usable for up to three weeks past its expiry, assuming
there is no mold present
Why
did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
*they
wore leather flight caps to protect their heads while flying and in case the
mission had to be aborted; head-gear of any kind would not ensure survival of
an airplane crash
How
do you know when it's time to tune your bagpipes?
*the
same way musicians know when to tune any instrument
When
you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn?
*assuming
its blood is red, purple
Why
do they call it a TV set when you only get one?
*televisions
were originally quite big and consisted of multiple components
Do
radioactive cats have 18 half-lives?
*a
radioactive cat would have less than one actual life
What
was the best thing before sliced bread?
*the
expression does not refer to bread itself but rather the automation associated
with slicing it
What
happens if you get scared half to death twice?
*you
were scared twice; although very rare, it actually is possible to die from
fright
How
do you tell when you run out of invisible ink?
*before
the ink dries, it is visible, so knowing you’re running out and replacing the
cartridge is the same as with a regular pen; comedian Steven Wright may have
first asked this question
What
is the speed of dark?
*darkness
is the absence of light and therefore does not move at all; the speed of light
is approximately 186,000 miles per second
24
hours in a day ... 24 beers in a case ... Coincidence?
*yes;
when cases were first used, organizing the beverages 4 x 6 was the easiest
configuration to handle; some cases contain a different amount of beer
In
synchronized swimming, if the first drowns, do the rest follow?
*no,
but the team may get penalized if that swimmer touches the pool’s bottom
If
con is the opposite of pro, is Congress the opposite of progress?
*grammatically,
yes; but, like, no
If
love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?
*though
love may be involved, lingerie is commonly used in situations of lust
When
someone asks you, "A penny for your thoughts?" and you put your two
cents in, what happens to the other penny?
*1)
“A penny for your thoughts” is not a question; 2) these are only idiomatic
phrases, therefore no currency is exchanged
Shouldn't
a person who invests money be called something other than a broker?
*the
term derives from an Old French word meaning ‘small trader’ and was likely
related to wine
When
cheese gets its picture taken, what does it say?
*nothing,
as cheese in incapable of verbal expression
Why
is a person who plays the piano called a pianist, but a person who drives a
race car not called a racist?
*following
this logic, the person in question would be called a drive-ist
If
21 is pronounced twenty-one why isn't 11 pronounced onety-one?
*’eleven’
in English has been changed throughout the centuries from the Geman word for
the number, ‘elf’; also, using the question’s example, it would be
pronounced ten-one
*Holland
is a region of The Netherlands and not the entire country; Polish people refer
to themselves as Poles; only English-speakers use the word ‘Dutch’ but refer to
Deutsch as German
If
I play a blank tape with the volume turned up, will the mime next door go nuts?
*never-mime
who lives next door
Whatever
happened to Preparations A through G?
*the
H in the name brand Preparation H stands for ‘hemorrhoid’
After
eating, do amphibians need to wait an hour before getting out of the water?
*obviously
not; humans do not have to wait after a meal to go in a pool unless they are
doing so for exercise
Do
they have reserved parking for non-handicapped people at the Special Olympics?
*the
parking lot at the Special Olympics is no different than a typical one, since
the athletes have mental but not physical disabilities
Why
do you press harder on a remote-control when you know the battery is dead?
*the
same reason you speak louder when a person whose language is not English
doesn’t understand you
Why
are they called buildings when they're already finished? Shouldn't they be
called builts?
*in
Old English, adding ‘ing’ (and sometimes ‘ung’) to a word made it a noun; think
‘ceiling’
Since
Americans throw rice at weddings, do Asians throw hamburgers?
*they
do not; also, throwing rice to wish a newly-married couple luck is a tradition
begun by the ancient Romans; whoever wrote this question is racist and pretty
bad at being so
Why
are there handicapped parking places in front of skating rinks?
*spectators
Why
do you often see people ordering double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a Diet Coke?
*it’s their feeble attempt at being healthy, which diet soda is not
anyway, but there may be medical reasons for doing so
What
would the speed of lightning be if it didn't zigzag?
*the
light we see (traveling at 186,000 miles per second) is caused by electricity
discharging from clouds; this question is impossible to answer because of
certain oxygen molecules that always appear with lightning and make it take the
shape
What
hair color do they put on the driver's licenses of bald men?
*“none” or that
person’s natural hair color, depending where the document was issued
Do
Lipton employees take coffee breaks?
*while
federal law does not mandate short breaks, most employers offer them; what the
workers do with that time is up to them
Why
do we say something is out of whack?
*a
19th-century slang phrase that is no longer used was ‘in fine whack’
Why
do "slow down" and "slow up" mean the same thing?
*it
is not known how but these do mean the same thing; the only real
difference lies in how a person says each phrase, depending on the local usage
Why
do "fat chance" and "slim chance" mean the same thing?
*’fat
chance’ originally meant the odds were good that a thing would happen, then
around 1900 it got used sarcastically and has meant ‘no chance’ ever since
Why
do we sing "Take me out to the ball game" when we're already there?
*because
everything at a baseball game is boring and repetitive
Why
are they called "stands" when they are made for sitting?
*when
spectator sports began getting popular, viewers would stand in designated
places since there were no seats; the word ‘bleachers’ is sometimes used
because the Sun tends to lighten the color of, or ‘bleach’, wooden stands
Why
is it called "after dark" when it really is "after light"?
*it
is a shortened version of ‘after darkness comes’
Why
doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?
*liquid
glue needs air to become sticky and the bottle’s cap limits the amount that
gets in
When
blondes have more fun, do they know it?
*if
this question is insinuating that blondes are dumb, even stupid people
recognize fun
If
quitters never win and winners never quit, who came up with, "Quit while
you're ahead"?
*it
has been credited to 17th-century Spanish philosopher Baltasar
Gracián
If
the cops arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
*legally,
they would have to
How
much deeper would the ocean be if all the sponges didn't live there?
*not
at all; ocean sponges do not absorb water but filter it in order to eat; even
if they did absorb water, it would all still be in the ocean
Why
does the sun darken our skin but lighten our hair?
*skin
darkens because sunlight causes it to produce more melanin (brown pigment); with
hair, sunlight breaks down dead cells, causing less coloration
Why
is a carrot more orange than an orange?
*it
contains beta-carotene, which gets converted into vitamin A; other foods with
beta-carotene include sweet potatoes and cantaloupe
Why
is it that when a door is open it's ajar, but when a jar is open it's not
adoor?
*because
‘adoor’ is not a word
Why
does water that has trickled down mountains for centuries have an expiration
date?
*by
law, it must; also, the expiration is for the bottle containing the water,
indicating the point when some chemicals from it may seep into the liquid
Why
are softballs not soft?
*the
first softball was actually a boxing glove; the game grew in popularity and
took on its name to oppose baseball, which was called ‘hardball’
Who
do you save when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?
*neither; both must be destroyed
Why
is the sky blue?
*photons
of light from the Sun scatter upon reaching Earth’s atmosphere and blue travels
in shorter waves than the other colors
What’s
a Google?
*Before the internet, the term 'googol' was introduced by the nine-year-old
nephew of the mathematician Edward Kasner. A googol is the number one followed
by one hundred zeroes, or 10100, or
10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
The number serves no real purpose but its misspelling led to the very large
company we all know today. It's even been adapted into a verb. Hard to believe?
Google it.
Thanks to these websites for helping me
look things up
Google.com, Federal Highway Administration, Pencils.com, MentalFloss, Scientific American, Live Science, Department Of Labor, newspire.net,
Popular Science
Attitude With
A Side Of Grr
by Rob Cottignies
In January, I posted a picture of myself sitting on
the floor. It represented down-time, the un-glamorous side of travel.
I thought the point was well made but am presenting
another important yet fairly opposite one now.
While looking back at this past year of vagabonding,
there are some pretty neat things I saw and places I went. I’ve met a few
people along the way and still talk to exactly none of them. (Read that as ‘I’ve
made no friends’.)
I would like to highlight some good stuff while
ignoring the "other" side. Though it might be more interesting, I'd
rather not describe all the times I felt unproductive or just plain
uncomfortable. And there were a lot of them.
Instead, a list of positive experiences...
*taking my visited national parks total to 19
*touring 10 state capitol buildings, which has led to a goal of going to all 50
*getting two tattoos
*my first WWOOFing experience (Worldwide Work On Organic Farms)
*the Idaho Potato Drop
*a not-very-successful stand-up comedy set at an open mic
*Vollis Simpson Whirligig Park in North Carolina
*going to my favorite beer bar twice (Kickbacks in Jacksonville, Florida)
*70,000 Tons Of Metal
*many comedy and music shows
*volunteering at farms, an animal shelter, a library, a food bank, litter
clean-ups, MusikFest
*finally getting LASIK
*figuring out how to see familiar faces
*my Easter video
*an online argument with comedian Hari Kondabalu
*driving from New Jersey to California for the second time
There were, of course, other things as well. But much
more has to happen in the next year and beyond. Too much time was spent feeling
awful and that’s not acceptable.
My future is uncertain, which is both exciting and
terrifying.
Like I’ve said many times before, we’ll see what
happens. Cheers!
March Of
The Pigs by Nine Inch Nails
ALBUM
The Downward Spiral, 1994 (second release)
BAND MEMBER AT THE TIME
Trent
Reznor
FUN FACT
The
Downward Spiral was recorded in the mansion where actress Sharon Tate and
others were murdered by Charles Manson and his “family” in 1969.
ABOUT THE SONG
The
band’s shortest hit song clocks in at 2:54.
LYRICS
Step
right up
March
Push
Crawl right up on your knees
Please
Greed
Feed
(No time to hesitate)
I want a little bit
I want a piece of it
I think he’s losing it
I want to watch it come down
Don’t like the look of it
Don’t like the taste of it
Don’t like the smell of it
I want to watch it come down
All the pigs are all lined up
I give you all that you want
Take the skin and peel it back
Now doesn’t it make you feel better?
Shove it up inside
Surprise
Lies
Stains like blood on your teeth
Bite
Chew
Suck
(Away the tender parts)
I want to break it up
I want to smash it up
I want to fuck it up
I want to watch it come down
May be afraid of it
Let’s discredit it
Let’s pick away at it
I want to watch it come down
All the pigs are all lined up
I give you all that you want
Take the skin and peel it back
Now doesn’t it make you feel better?
The pigs have won tonight
Now they can all sleep soundly
And everything is all right
VIDEO (recording live
in the studio)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHPkJkBS1vE
Head Like
A Hole by Nine Inch Nails
ALBUM
Pretty Hate Machine, 1989 (debut release)
BAND MEMBER AT THE TIME
Trent
Reznor
FUN FACT
Though
it’s been rumored that the band’s name refers to Jesus’s crucifixion, Reznor
has said it has no meaning and was simply the only of his choices that stuck.
Also, it abbreviated easily.
ABOUT THE SONG
The
album’s opening track was added late in recording (as a throw-away track) to
give it an aggressive sound.
LYRICS
God
money- I’ll do anything for you
God money- just tell me what you want me to
God money- nail me up against the wall
God money- don’t want everything, he wants it all
No, you can’t take it
No, you can’t take it
No, you can’t take that away from me
Head like a hole
Black as your soul
I’d rather die than give you control
Bow down before the one you serve
You’re going to get what you deserve
God money’s not looking for the cure
God money’s not concerned about the sick among the pure
God money- let’s go dancing on the backs of the bruised
God money’s not one to choose
VIDEO (produced for the
song’s “Clay” remix)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao-Sahfy7Hg
Forty-six
& 2 by Tool
ALBUM
Ænima, 1996 (second release)
BAND MEMBERS AT THE TIME
Danny
Carey, Justin Chancellor, Adam Jones, Maynard James Keenan
FUN FACT
The
band’s name supposedly means that it is a tool to raise awareness of and
understand lachrymology, the study of crying. A religion has stemmed from the
belief and claims that only people who express sorrow can reach enlightenment.
ABOUT THE SONG
It
is about the evolution of humans, who currently have 46 chromosomes.
LYRICS
My
shadow’s shedding skin
I’ve been picking scabs again
I’m down
Digging through my old muscles, looking for a clue
I’ve been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could have been
I’ve been wallowing in my own confused and insecure delusions
For a piece cross me over
Or a word to guide me in
I want to feel the changes coming down
I want to know what I’ve been hiding
In my shadow, my shadow
Change is coming though my shadow
My shadow
Shedding skin
I’ve been picking my scabs again
I’ve been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could have been
I’ve been wallowing in my own chaotic, insecure delusions
I want to feel the change consume me
Feel the outside turning in
I want to feel the metamorphosis and cleansing I’ve endured
In my shadow, my shadow
Change is coming
Now is my time
Listen to my muscle memory
Contemplate what I’ve been clinging to
Forty-six and two ahead of me
I choose to live and to grow
Take and give and to move
Learn and love and to cry
Kill and die and to be paranoid and lie
Hate and fear and to do what it takes to move through
I choose to live and to lie
Kill and give and to die
Learn and love and to do what it takes to step through
See my shadow changing
Stretching up and over me
Soften this old armor
Hoping I can clear the way by stepping through my shadow
Coming out the other side
Step into the shadow
Forty-six and two are just ahead of me
VIDEO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIuZUCpm9hc
Black Hole
Sun by Soundgarden
ALBUM
Superunknown, 1994 (fourth release)
BAND MEMBERS AT THE TIME
Matt
Cameron, Chris Cornell, Ben Shepherd, Kim Thayil
FUN FACT
The
band named itself after a piece of art in Seattle.
ABOUT THE SONG
The
original version of it was written in 15 minutes based on an audio
misunderstanding.
LYRICS
In
my eyes
Indisposed
In disguises no one knows
Hides the face
Lies the snake
And the Sun in my disgrace
Boiling heat
Summer stench
‘Neath the black the sky looks dead
Call my name
Through the cream
And I’ll hear you scream again
Black hole sun
Won’t you come and wash away the rain?
Black hole sun
Won’t you come?
Won’t you come?
Won’t you come?
Stuttering
Cold and damp
Steal the warm wind, tired friend
Times are gone
For honest men
Sometimes far too long for snakes
In my shoes
Walking sleep
In my youth I pray to keep
Heaven send
Hell away
No one sings like you anymore
[chorus]
Hang my head
Drown my fear
‘Til you all just disappear
VIDEO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mbBbFH9fAg
Into
The Unknown
by Rob Cottignies
As I prepare to leave the house I grew up in, I am mostly
numb to the idea.
I do, however, have a few notable emotions:
Regret, because this should have happened years ago.
Relief, as this house can no longer hold me back. Or,
more accurately, I can no longer use the house as an excuse to hold myself back.
Mild excitement at the idea of actually living my own
life.
Regret again, because laziness kept me from taking
advantage of my situation.
And nervousness, since I have no idea where this path
will take me.
For clarification, I am selling my mortgage-free house
to live like a vagabond for an uncertain amount of time.
[Note: a vagabond travels without a
destination or objective. A nomad settles in various places to use all the
resources before moving on.]
While putting things that should mean more to me than they do into boxes, I
stopped to remember what brought me to this position…
After quite a trying period of time, my father
succumbed to Pneumonia (which was brought on by Parkinson’s Disease) in January
of 2008.
The month prior, the job I hated let me go.
Suddenly, I had no urgent need to find work, worrying
about my father was over, and I was the sole inheritor of not a great amount of
money but more than I had ever controlled. I was 26 years old, solely owned a
house, and had no “real” reason to do anything. I also had nobody telling me about
the dangers of the situation.
One of my favorite things was telling people that I
was retired. I was unaware of what that actually meant.
My friend Kevin warned me against getting too
comfortable and lazy.
In January of 2016, my mother killed herself.
I inherited even more money because of her recent divorce. (I always thought that was unfair but did I offer to return
it? Not quite.)
I was 34, once more solely owned the same house, and
still had no “real” reason to do anything.
I had grown too comfortable and lazy.
(Also, my birthday is in January, between their
deaths. What a month!)
I am now 40 and feel like I have accomplished very
little. I have no practical skills and sorely wish I had done much more with
the past 14+ years. Since getting a proper job was not necessary, I certainly
had the opportunity to travel the world, learn languages, attain a black belt,
master a musical instrument. Heck, I would even settle for knowing how to carve
a turkey or grow plants in my backyard.
I could have done all those things and more but
instead dragged myself through most days, largely being unproductive. (Yes, Depression
was a factor.)
And I am ashamed of that. But I cannot change the
past.
For quite a while, my mentality was that I could not
leave my house until a plan was set as far as where to go and what to do once
there.
That did not work so I reversed things, which is why I
will leave THEN figure out the where and what.
I am selling my house to a cash-for-homes company
because I did not care about putting the work into fixing it up. I
researched it a lot and could not find the “catch” I assumed would be waiting for
me.
As many people have kindly but annoyingly pointed
out, I could have upgraded the house and hired a realtor to gain a greater
amount of money for it but my realization that I *needed* to get out was so
strong that option was barely considered.
I have a lot of regret for the past while. I should
have joined the Peace Corps. I should have met my friend in Glacier
National Park. I should have finished the screen-play I have been “working on” for
over a decade.
But my therapist has said thinking about “should
haves” is unhealthy.
(And now you know I talk to a therapist. It has really
helped. If you have not done so, find one. If you do not think you need to do
so, *definitely* find one.)
On that note, I have never really had guidance. Many
people (including my parents) have cared about me through the years but nobody
told me nor even hinted at what to do with my life and general lack of
initiative got the best of me.
Now, here I am. 40 years old. [Not ‘years young’.
What an obnoxious phrase.] I have learned to nourish myself but do not know
how to cook a proper meal. I have never hosted a holiday celebration. I have
many interests but no real hobbies. I moved out twice (and obviously came back)
but only have minimal ‘stupid landlord’ stories.
While getting a tattoo, the artist was talking to his co-worker about one-night stands with Latinas like it was a thing everyone can relate to. (Can they? I really do not know.) It somehow made me realize how little I have experienced. Not that I crave a one-night stand with a Latina but being completely ignorant to their discussion was a real shocker.
And for the
record, I never had a one-night stand with anyone.
Will leaving the area I grew up in to drive around
aimlessly solve my issues? Of course not. (Well, probably not.) But I must try
it out. This is something I have been thinking about doing for years and is finally
happening, though certainly not gracefully nor in the best of circumstances.
Maybe it will be incredible and lead to a life of exploration.
Maybe it will be terrible and I will quickly find
somewhere new to settle.
Maybe I will meet someone along the journey who can
guide me on a good path.
But that is exactly the point- I have no idea what
will come of this, which brings an odd sense of confidence.
Is this the entire story? Of course not. But it is a
good start. And a new start, which is exactly what I need.
Should you feel like checking in, one of my favorite questions
to be asked is, ‘So where are you right now?’
Talk to you from the unknown…
~Rob
It Is What It Is: Struggling Through My Father’s Affliction
by Rob Cottignies
FOREWORD (written before 2016)
What follows, overall, is not happy. It is a series of raw emotions that should not be a pleasure to read. However, I feel the story must be told accurately, with no sugar-coating.
Upon reviewing this, I found a good deal of the writing to be petty complaining. Whining, almost. But everything reflects what I was going through at the time and perhaps some of what I am still trying to deal with. I have done very little editing to ensure the narrative unfolds as it happened.
Writing these memoirs gave me much relief during what I hope will be the hardest situation I will ever experience. My intent was to give a bit more clarity on the events as his condition progressed from bad to worse.
I truly hope you are able to take something positive away from it.
This journal-like “essay” was written between the beginning of Summer 2007 until late Winter 2008. It has since been edited for wording and pacing but not content. The chronology is how it was written and the thoughts were mine at the time.
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What do you wear when looking at nursing homes for your father?
I am 25 years old and had to think about that.
A week before moving into my first apartment, I should have been thrilled. Instead, I was following an ambulance to an emergency room. While I should have been enjoying that apartment, I was answering phone calls from my dad's friends who had not heard from him in months. They were wondering what was up with him. So was I. At a time when I should have been preparing my assets for the future, I had to do just that for him.
Am I whining about this? No. Am I looking for pity? Maybe, a little. Am I resentful? Absolutely.
About three years ago at the time of this writing, my father noticed something off about his golf swing, specifically with his left hand. A little while later, he began repeating questions. Simple things, like how my day was. He could no longer remember what I was doing for the coming weekend. I was concerned; he shrugged it off.
Along with short-term memory, his speech was diminishing.
Everybody stutters at times but he could barely get a full sentence out.
Again, I was concerned. Again, he shrugged it off.
As the problems worsened, more people began to notice. His hand would shake uncontrollably when he tried to grab something or sometimes for no reason at all. His gait, his steps, became short and quick, like he was always in a rush. His voice went from a deep boom to a cowardly whimper. He sounded scared. He should have been.
Stubborn as he is, he continued ignoring suggestions. People who cared about him, trying to help, being shunned aside. I signed him up for a trial Yoga class and gave him the pamphlet. I said the class would help his mobility and mindset, and that I would go with him. An hour later, the pamphlet was in the garbage. He did not even bury it, as if proving to me he had given up.
"Go see a neurologist." "Go see a therapist." "Go see someone, anyone." "For your sake and mine, get out of the fucking house."
"Oh, I'll think about it." He probably did, for a matter of seconds.
He would not see anyone- a doctor, the mailman, a life-long friend. He shut himself out from the world, which is what I believe shut him down. Going to a restaurant would mean strangers might give him funny looks if he dropped a fork. His new hobby was canceling on friends who wanted to come over for a chat. He would agree in the morning then work himself up to the point of a near-breakdown so he could tell them not to come. People who had known him since childhood- who would never mock or judge- wanted to understand the situation. They wanted to help. I wanted to help. But helping someone who has given up is difficult.
By this time, it had been determined that my dad had a Parkinsonism called Cortical Basal Ganglionic Degeneration, which is basically Parkinson’s with some added symptoms, such as memory loss.
This sent him into an understandable depression. Trying to cope with bad news is not easy, however in some situations, the time for “woe is me” is very short. If you want to get better, you must do things yourself and ask others for help along the way, not just depend solely on them.
Of course, that is if you want to get better.
Did he? I think so, but through no effort of his own.
Sure, he was no longer able to play golf or cook himself dinner but watching golf on television and heating frozen meals were easy enough.
He just sat back like the prince he wanted to be and got waited on- by me. Only me. I went from pitching in my share to doing everything except paying the bills, which I eventually also did. I was cleaning the house, food shopping, cooking. Menial tasks, I know. But I am not a caregiver nor was I prepared for this.
I was babysitting my own father.
…
One morning, I woke up at
I ran upstairs to find him naked on the floor with a bloody knee. Rug burn.
I propped him up, put some shorts on him, and applied peroxide to his boo-boo. I told him it was going to sting and realized we had reversed roles from the days when I would fall off my bike.
…
“Every day, I can't wait for dinner to be done with. Then I can just relax. But at night I lay in bed, dreading the next day. When I wake up, I say 'Oh shit, another day. What's gonna happen?’”
I must have heard that in some form hundreds of times. He was cursing a lot more than he used to. So was I.
The depression became my biggest issue with him. Our house had never exactly been a haven of happiness but it was content most of the time. At this point, I could feel the sulky attitude as soon as I opened the front door. The same way he dreaded the next day, I dreaded coming home. "What will happen this time?" I would ask myself, half mocking him and half wondering.
After working a full day then cooking or bringing dinner home, I wanted to relax. I would chat with my dad about sports, weather, etc., but he would always boomerang everything back to how horrible he felt.
I got sick of it really fast.
I told him his attitude was draining me, on top of everything else. He thought only people with problems see therapists, so that was out of the question. By this time, I was thinking about going to see one. Someone had to.
(One of my biggest regrets is not talking to someone during this time.)
…
The Saturday before I sent him to the hospital, I stayed home the entire day because he was unable or unwilling to move. To this day, I am still not sure which.
I made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This was, of course, after being awakened early by a falling spree.
I used to sleep late on the weekends. I used to sleep, period.
At
Without exaggeration, he called me upstairs nine times within 45 minutes. He needed help getting to the bathroom, he wanted more water, whatever the reason. One time was to ask if I could make sure his bed was made. You know, so it would not look sloppy in front of all the visitors he had over.
I hated screaming at him but sometimes it had to happen. He left me alone after that.
I stayed home that night because I had a feeling I would be getting up bright and early.
Unfortunately, I was right.
…
A little before 5am, I heard, "Rob! Rob! Rob, are you there!?"
He was the one laying in bed, unable to move, and I had never felt so helpless.
I must admit to thinking about leaving him there until I was ready to get up. 'Good,' I thought. 'This is what you get for ignoring everyone.'
After a few more thoughts and shouts, I went upstairs.
He was sideways on his bed, covered with urine. The situation had grown beyond my ability to help, so I called 911. I did not know exactly what to tell them, but I knew we needed their aid. An ambulance came and took him away.
Nine hours later, I came home from the hospital.
I was alone in the house for the first time in over a year. In a dementedly bittersweet way, it was nice. The next morning, I woke up to silence. No thuds, no shouts- nothing. Once more, it was rather nice.
And then it all sank in.
…
By the time I got to the hospital that next day, it had been determined my father stopped taking his medication about six weeks prior. The medication that helped control the tremors. The medication that made him able and sometimes even willing to function. The medication that let me sleep late on days off.
I never asked why he stopped taking it. Whatever the answer, it would have been ridiculous and I would have just grown angrier.
Anger- the one consistent emotion I have had throughout this entire ordeal.
Because of his stubbornness and selfishness, I had to grow up fast. I am handling things most people twice my age do not have to deal with. There are the politics of the whole situation, legal issues, assets, and whatever else I cannot think of.
And now, similarly to home, I have no idea what to expect when I visit him.
Occasionally, he can have a five-minute conversation without soiling his diaper. But most of the time he ends up making a gun with his hand and pointing it at his head. Nice to see you, too.
For obvious reasons, my visits have gotten shorter and shorter.
…
One of the more annoying parts of this situation is the constant questioning.
When I go home to get the mail, the neighbors flock around me. I get at least a few calls per week from my dad's friends, asking for an update. Granted, I am in charge of everything going on and I do appreciate their concern, but I wish they would back off. When I go to the house, grab the mail, and run inside, that means you should not ring the doorbell.
The repetition wears me out. But maybe it also keeps things fresh.
I have never liked our neighbor Jay. He is a grumpy old man and for some reason never sat well with me. I have usually been pretty good at avoiding him but things are different now. His pattern has been to come over, ask a brief question about my dad, then tell me how poorly he feels or how his friend who had a heart attack recently is doing. Call me heartless, but I do not care. I have enough on my plate. Spare me the side dishes of everyone else’s problems, especially people I barely or do not even know.
One time, Jay came by and said something I will never forget.
We were talking about how quickly this affliction has taken my dad down, when he said- and I quote- "I keep telling my wife that she should place bets on who's gonna go first- me or your father."
Every once in a rare while, you hear something that leaves you speechless.
I have not spoken to him since and hope he knows why.
…
The really difficult underlying part of all this is the fact that my father and I never had a wonderful relationship. He was always there for me and never hit me or anything. It was just a very vacant, quiet, sad house we lived in.
Many movies show how a character discovers hidden, interesting things about a loved one during or after a tragedy. I guess I am still waiting for that.
My uncle has been helping, which is nice. Not in the actually-visiting-his-only-brother-in-the-hospital way, but checking in on me and doing favors.
Sadly, I have been warned by many people that he is terrible with money. As of now, his name is second on the power-of-attorney sheets, under mine. That will change but for now I would rather stay out of a sibling rivalry. If he finds out, he will probably sever ties with my father and me. I would not be entirely crushed because at some point I am expecting him to ask for money, since I control my dad's assets.
He broke communication with my aunt's family over money, so why would this be different?
…
My father is moving into a nursing home tomorrow morning.
I went there today to sign papers that basically throw his life into their hands. His assets are going to run dry unless I can figure something out. Honestly, I am so fed up at this point that I do not really care. Take it.
What bothers me about it is everything he has saved or invested through the years is going to this. Everything. His house, car, bank accounts, stocks. My inheritance.
Maybe I should not say this but his condition is not improving and things would be a lot simpler if he just died.
I hate myself for saying that but I love myself for being realistic.
…
My father has always been a complicated man, which is strange since he led such a simple, effortless life. He enjoyed the industry he worked in, but wished he took a different path. He played golf and had all his favorite TV shows memorized.
He talked me out of going to the college of my choice. I think he was afraid of being alone. It was four hours away. The one I went to- twenty minutes. Granted it was my decision and ultimately was a good one, but his selfish pleading certainly swayed me.
When we would meet every few weeks for dinner, we would do our usual fishing for conversation. Our interests varied greatly, mostly because I had some. He was polite but was also the type of person to complain when a store would not let him use an expired coupon. Very stubborn, as we already know. Some people have used the word 'proud' instead of 'stubborn’. I have not.
He once took me to a seafood restaurant, fully aware that I dislike seafood. I drowned some kind of fish in lemon juice and ate maybe a quarter of it. That bothered him.
He went through my journal one summer because he thought I was depressed. Some psychologists might call that ‘Projection’.
I think about these things while paying his bills. Whenever a friend of his calls, I always want to ask, 'Did my dad ever show signs of life?' He talked about dating but never did. (As far as I know.) The same way he sat back waiting for someone to come to the door with the Parkinson's miracle cure, he expected a woman to show up with a set of golf clubs and say, 'I do not want kids.’
I always wondered what exactly he was saving his money for. He saved or invested a great deal, but I never could figure out what it was going toward.
I still do not know his reasons, but I do know what the answer has become.
…
We made the move to my dad’s new "home" today. It will never be that, I know.
He forgot about the move but claimed to remember when I mentioned it.
The nurses where he was said they would miss him. The ones I met were all excellent, one in particular. I know it is her job but she was definitely an “above-and-beyond” type of person.
While they were preparing my dad to leave, he lost it. Just started sobbing, genuinely. Then the nurses began crying. I left the room and shot toward the end of the hallway. He never taught me this but I have always felt it better for me not to cry. And if it does happen, no one should see it.
The EMT who moved him was very standard- saying the right things, going about his job, etc. When he left, my dad and I were alone in his new room with a man on the verge of something very bad. He sat in a wheelchair, drifting in and out of consciousness, clearing his throat loudly every few minutes.
When dealing with a crummy situation, people always say 'Hey, things could be worse.' That normally does not help, but when you witness exactly how, feeling a little better is unpreventable.
If your neighbor's house gets destroyed by a fire but yours is fine, you are allowed one sigh of relief.
My dad complained his pants were too tight, so I changed them. The new ones were too rough. I said, “Too bad”. Whenever I start feeling like a babysitter instead of a son, I clam up and snap back.
…
It has come to the point that I might "have to" move back into the house. I can do nothing with it for at least another nine months and instead of going there once a week for the mail and trying to keep the house stable through the winter, signs point to me moving back in.
I feel defeated. I tried so hard for so long to get out of there and finally did, only to go back a few months later. Granted it will be different since my dad will not be there, so I can basically do as I please with the place. But this is not what I want. I really did not think his illness could affect me more than it already has. Much like when I gave him that Yoga pamphlet thinking he would make an effort to get better, I was wrong.
Am I resentful? Absolutely- now more than ever.
The fact that he did NOTHING to better himself or the situation makes me ill. Had he tried his best but was overcome by the disease, I would be less hesitant and far less harsh about it. But no, he just gave up.
I now see the huge difference between pride and idiotic stubbornness.
He does not want people to see him in his condition. Embarrassment- that has to do with pride. Being told he has an affliction that is not curable but he can still live his life fully with some slight adjustments and doing nothing about it is idiotic stubbornness. Letting an illness consume him and depending on his son for everything is selfishness in its purest form.
And how is he doing? Not well. He is not going to get better. He does not want to get better. He can barely move a muscle without some assistance. His mind is mush. He is no longer my father. Our roles have reversed.
I tell him things, but nothing serious. Even if it he is not utterly confused, he will forget within minutes. He has no idea what is going on with me, the house, or even himself most of the time. He is merely a shell of the person he was not too long ago.
There are those who say that some good comes out of every situation. If you meet one of those precious optimists, tell them to call me.
…
I cannot do this anymore. Well, I have to and will, so I guess quitting is not really an option, but you know what I mean.
I went for my dad’s quarterly review this morning and had a your child is doing fine at summer camp feeling. The meeting went well and things seem to be in order but whenever someone from the events department talks to me about getting him involved with activities and making friends, I feel empty.
The whole damn thing makes me feel so helpless, like I have not done enough and can never do so. People say I have done my best and I know that is true, but the hopelessness of the situation makes me feel like everything I do is pointless.
And, of course, there is the fact that he did nothing while he was able to help himself, so why should I put forth effort in the first place?
I sound like such a jerk sometimes.
I have also decided to move back into the house. It will never be what I want but there are many factors.
Getting rid of his things will be challenging mentally. I have tried to explain this to some people but could never find the right words. Throwing away his possessions, even menial things like work papers, gives me the sense that I am giving up too, like saying, ‘He will never use this again because he is not going to get better’.
I understand the disease and circumstances but would rather not give up the iota of hope that one day the health center will call me to say he is doing cartwheels down the hallway and is fully able to return home.
However, he gave in to the disease, and it looks like part of me has to as well.
…
Things are somewhat 'together' at this point, but it all leaves me with a difficult and unanswerable question: How long?
Probably the most heartbreaking thing about my dad's situation is his age- just turned 53. Is this going to be it for the next 20, 30, 40 years? My father, wearing a diaper and restraints so he does not fall out of bed. My father, unable to retain any recent happenings.
Will there come a day when he no longer recognizes me?
I also dread the feeling of abandonment when the day comes
that I leave my home area. I know moving on with my life is important but there
is no way he would fully grasp what was happening.
I would call but he would never answer the phone. I would send letters but he would probably get frustrated from not being able to read them. And when would I visit? Say I move across the country, what then?
But what is the alternative?
…
I keep recalling the point when I pretty much gave up on him.
We were still living at the house. I came home and asked how he was feeling. Repeating actions from the previous however many days, he made his hand into a gun and put it to his head.
Try to comprehend that if you can. My father, supposed guide and role model, saying "I wish I was dead" in Sign Language.
Normally I told him to stop or said a sarcastic ‘Great’ and walked away but this time I just stared at him. Looking intensely into my father's eyes, realizing he wished the hand next to his head was an actual gun, I could only think 'Do it. If you have truly given up, despite my and everyone else's efforts, make both of our lives easier.'
What if he asked me to get him a real gun? What if he asked me to pull the trigger?
These are the thoughts running around in my head. No wonder I cannot remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep.
…
My visits with him keep getting shorter.
I always mention things that are going on with me, ask if he wants or needs anything, and tell him certain people send their regards, even if I have not spoken to them. But lately he seems to grow very bored or frustrated and says he wants to sleep. I have no reason to doubt him since I cannot imagine being awake is thrilling, but part of me feels that he holds resentment toward me. About what, I have no idea.
I have been thinking about that a lot recently and every time come back to the conclusion that if anything, I should be entirely resentful toward him. He has no idea how much I have altered my life because of him, even before his illness.
I keep remembering a conversation I had with him, maybe a few days before calling the ambulance.
I told him how disappointed I was with how he had done nothing to even try to get better. His reply was something along the lines of 'There is no cure, so I can't get better.'
He had to know that was bogus. And I was fed up, so I let it all out.
I told him that although there is no cure, he could be doing much better than he was if only he had tried. I asked why he ignored everyone's suggestions and got no answer. And then I told him if he wanted to give up on life, fine, but to think of me for a second, and how much my life had already changed and would continue to do so because of his giving up.
But he continued doing nothing and here we are.
I took this very, very personally. I told my father that a large part of my life would become absolute Hell because of him and he did not care.
As an only child, I have many selfish tendencies, but I think his actions- or lack thereof- have completely redefined that idea. To sit there and have your son tell you part of his life has become utterly miserable because of your pride or whatever it may have been and continue to do nothing about it is simply inexcusable.
I have not and at this point would never let any of this out on him. But if you want to talk about resentment, I think I have just redefined something myself.
…
The past holidays have each been their own little nightmare.
His birthday was in October and he was not doing horribly at that point. During my visits before the day, I told him I was going to bring in a nice meal and that the rest of the family would be there. He smiled every time I mentioned it, because to him, each time was his first hearing about it.
The day finally came and so did my only complaint with the nursing home. After waiting in the room he was supposed to be in for some twenty minutes, I went to his room to find him being fed dinner. Of course, he had no idea about the birthday dinner (I doubt he even knew it was his birthday), but nobody told the staff about it. Like I said, this is my only dissatisfaction with the home, and at this point is worth mentioning simply as an add-in.
My uncle, grandfather, and two cousins came to celebrate with us. My dad seemed delighted when we sang Happy Birthday but quickly began to panic. After many attempts at coaxing him through it, I wheeled him back to his room. He always said he hated the bed, the room, and being at the home, yet when he was moved from any of those, anxiety would take over.
After an uncomfortable but peaceful dinner without him, everyone went back to my dad’s room, where he was surprised to see all of us. As with any mental disease, it is always harder on the victim’s family since the person has little or no idea about the situation.
…
I picked up some food on the way to visit him for Thanksgiving. He refused to eat, smell, or even look at it. I was thankful that I chose not to put a bunch of effort into cooking a meal.
I wondered what, at this point, he was thankful for.
I turned on a football game and as I was trying to eat, he kept calling me over. The bed was too high, too low, not straight enough, not upright enough. Each time I would adjust it and swallow no more than two bites before he changed his mind. I finished my meal and said I was going to stay and watch the game with him. He seemed to like the idea but still could not get comfortable.
(Part of me hoped he was just messing with me.)
He was tired, so I told him to catch a nap and we would hang out when he woke up. The time it took me for another bite of food was how long he tried to fall asleep. I could tell he was very nervous. I continued to help in any way that I could until I realized my being there was causing this anxiety.
I left and, presumably, he fell asleep, which I guess was what we both needed.
…
My visits up to Christmas were usually short. He barely even smiled when I showed up. My dad was very uneasy and talking to him was pointless. But Christmas is about family, so I brought my grandfather along to see him. He got my dad a card and I bought him a nice blanket.
He really seemed to not care, not just about the gifts, but that we were even there. Holidays used to bring him such joy.
As we left, my grandfather called it a ‘lovely visit’. I disagreed fully but was not about to spoil his good memory.
I just wish there was some way of knowing that would be their last encounter.
…
In Loving Memory Of Robert Cottignies, Sr.
January
28, 2008
Fill not your hearts with pain and sorrow
but remember me in every tomorrow
Remember the joy, the laughter, the smiles
I’ve only gone to rest for a little while
Although my leaving causes pain and grief
my going has eased my hurt and given me relief
Dry your eyes and remember me
not as I am now, but as I used to be
Because I will remember you all
and look on with a smile
Understand, in your hearts
I’ve only gone to rest a little while
As long as I have the love of each of you
I can live my life in the hearts of all of you
…
It has been almost two weeks since he died and it always feels like yesterday.
I have been flooded with what I believe is every emotion known to humans. Sadness, relief, anger, confusion, and in some strange way, hope.
To be selfish for a minute, I am free now, in many ways. Though I still firmly believe his lack of action had an enormous part in the way things turned out, I am not mad at him anymore. Through this whole ordeal, I have been saving myself with the mantra "It is what it is". And if I really want to follow that, I must do it across the board.
At this point, I can pretty much do what I want, after all the paperwork, of course. I can continue with my life, which I feel has been on hold for the past however long. I can move. I can get a job that actually makes me happy. I can experience things that were only a daydream before. I can do what I truly believe my dad would want me to do- live life.
I do feel a sense of guilt, as much as people tell me I should not and as much as I know they are right. Could I have done more? I thought I was being a pain by trying to push him on certain things, so I backed off. Had I insisted, where would things be now?
As I have said, I know I did as much as possible in the situation, but that feeling still lingers. And ultimately it comes back to his various decisions to not help himself.
Maybe I am still a little mad about that, but would you blame me?
Although the future looks somewhat bright, there are times I know will be rough. Father's Day. His birthday. The late-year holidays, which may not have always been enjoyable but at least were spent together. And the eventual one-year anniversary of his passing, thus starting a new cycle.
Seeing my friends with both of their parents has always been somewhat uncomfortable for me, but now seeing them specifically with their fathers might choke me up a bit more. It will be sad going to the park and watching people in their seventies jog around the same paths my father used to take. And, possibly most disturbing, the fact that both of my grandfathers are still alive and doing rather well. Not that they should not be, but comparatively speaking, it is not how things are “supposed” to be.
From here, I am not sure what to do or where to go.
I do not know what happens to a person after death but I would not be surprised if he is somehow making sure I am on the right path, like always.
My father was a good person who was nothing if he was not making sure his loved ones were all right. Though we rarely saw eye to eye, I know deep down he always had my best interests in mind.
What is done is done. It is what it is. And now I can move forward, knowing he will be checking in once in a while.
My father and I are both free, and possibly for the first time ever, in total agreement.
…
I was going to end there, however I cannot shake those horrible few days when and after he died. Telling that part of the story might help clarify things for somebody- maybe myself, maybe whoever reads this, maybe both.
It was a Sunday morning when I got a phone call from my uncle saying my dad's breathing was erratic. I called the nursing home and they recommended not moving him to the hospital but wanted my input. To me, if the professionals did not think it was that serious, why should I? The nurse said they would keep an eye on him and I told myself to visit the next day.
A few hours later at a friend's apartment (actually, the one I recently moved out of), I received another call from the home, saying basically the same thing, and asking what I wanted to do.
The woman said something like ‘We can move him to the hospital or do everything we can to make him comfortable here’. I demanded to know if there was something hiding behind her statement, to which she said very little, but I understood. She thought it might be my father's last night alive.
After arriving at the emergency room, I found out he had not gotten there yet, though he definitely should have. Whatever the case was, he showed up in the ambulance and looked terribly distraught.
There were no rooms available so I held his hand in the hallway as he drifted in and out of consciousness, though for the most part he was out. When he came-to for a brief moment, I told him where he was and that they were going to take care of him. His breathing was very fast and he could not speak, just form sounds that possibly meant something. I would say "Relax" as calmly as possible and he would drift back off.
Confused by lack of answers to my questions, I began to panic. After taking him into a room for some tests, the doctor came out to ask me if my father had left instructions to not resuscitate him if it came to that, which I knew was his wish. But from all the talk about things that did not seem life-threatening, my confusion increased.
My aunt and uncle arrived as my father was behind a curtain, making bizarre noises related to whatever they were doing to him. Doing for him, I should say.
I called my mother and simply broke down while the nurse whose phone I borrowed stared at me, waiting for me to return it. I was crying to my mother while my father was suffering in the next room and her concern was that I might make another long-distance phone call.
The details you remember from helpless situations are strange.
After some time, my dad was moved into a "regular" hospital room to remain overnight. He had an oxygen mask on and was still very out of it. The staff had all but said he would be fine and that we could visit as early as we wanted the next day.
My aunt and uncle said good night and I went in to say a few words to my dad, which will remain private in my mind. I gave him a hug, told him I loved him, and left the room after a tiring night.
Had I known that was the last time I would see my father alive, well, I cannot really say what I would have done or said differently, if anything.
…
The hospital called at
Had the doctor spoken better English, I would not have had to mask my anger with more tears. After saying I would be at the hospital shortly, I had the loneliest few minutes I can remember. I called my uncle, then threw some clothes on.
Like the beginning of this writing, I had to figure out what to wear. What do you wear to the hospital on the morning of your father's death? This time did not matter as much.
I arrived and asked a nurse how this happened. Whatever her answer was immediately drifted into some dark realm at the back of my mind.
She asked if I wanted to go in to see him, which I certainly did not want to do but obviously had to.
…
His eyes were open.
I felt vacant upon seeing him and backed against the wall, breathing heavily. All I could do was stare, but not for long.
I left and wandered the hallways of the quiet hospital before sitting in a room outside the elevators, waiting for what seemed like years for my uncle to arrive. I led him to the room, which he entered and came out of almost as quickly as I had.
After talking to a nurse for a short while, my uncle and I discussed what had to be done. Keeping busy can be best at times of sorrow.
Back at what was now solely my house, we decided to tackle the most difficult part first- phone calls. We made a list of people and picked names.
The first person I spoke to was my father's best friend, also named Bob. He knew right away. That was the hardest call of the morning because he began crying immediately. The purity of it all nearly made me collapse.
After some more tough conversations, my uncle and I went to work.
Our first stop was the nursing home that had been so good to my father. They greeted us, smiling as always, asking when he would return. They had no idea. Apparently the hospital had not made that call.
I was doing relatively all right until a nurse gave me two pictures. To the home, they were periodic shots taken to update a resident's file. But they were more than that- the last pictures ever taken of my father.
Looking at either one, you would have no idea of the situation. But I could see the concentrated struggle in his smiles. It was then that I broke the hardest, probably because I was trying to hide it so much. I calmed down, went to his room, and quickly put his belongings into boxes.
While busy with that, a nurse said “George is here. Would you like to see him?” My father's roommate. I knew him the least out of everyone I saw that week yet his crying face made my heart stop. All I could do was thank him- for inspiring my dad when he was hesitant, for listening to his stories over and over, for simply feeling as empty as I was.
…
After a heart-felt goodbye to the center, our next stop the funeral home. As the owner asked questions, my uncle and I took turns answering, as neither of us could respond to more than a couple without having to look away and wipe our faces.
One thing that made us smile oddly came from the book of prayers for the backs of funeral cards. We each took a side of pages and at one point said simultaneously, "You have to read this one". The same poem had been printed twice. It was perfect. It summed up all that needed to be said- that the suffering was over and the good memories should be kept always.
Our awkward smiles were swiftly removed upon being led into the casket room. How do you pick the right one? Is there such a thing? After much thought, we kept it simple, yet tasteful- two words I feel describe my father quite accurately.
We returned to my house to call the same people, this time with the arrangement details.
My uncle left, yet I did not feel totally alone. I am not a believer in spirits or souls, but I do think my father somehow had returned to the house for a final visit of sorts.
After making phone calls to my friends, I ordered my dad's favorite dish from our usual take-out place and went to bed, somehow, with a clear mind.
…
The viewing was two days later.
After my family’s private time, the first person to arrive was our former neighbor, who was always very nice and helpful. Though not much of a comfort to me, he said that his wife was now taking good care of my father, in Heaven.
The next few hours were filled mostly with my dad's former co-workers expressing their sorrow and sharing at least a few funny stories from years past.
After leaving for dinner and a much-needed beer, it was time for the night viewing, which I knew would be especially tough, because my dad's and my close friends would all be there.
I was absolutely right, but it did help me realize something. I had always seen wakes and funerals as ways to make money from sadness. I still believe that but now know going to one may be depressing or uncomfortable but having one for a family member does help tremendously. I always knew my family and friends were there for me but seeing a good number of them all in one place really made me appreciate it.
By the end of the second viewing, I was exhausted. Plus, I had to somehow prepare myself for the funeral less than twelve hours away.
…
A priest came in to say some prayers and we were off to the cemetery, where my grandmother, who was also taken too young, is buried. The cemetery is right next to a golf course, which my father always said he wanted to be as close to as possible upon his death. I kept his wishes and could practically see him teeing up right then.
After the "final" farewells, my eyes were on the casket until it was out of sight.
Most of the group joined us at a restaurant to celebrate my father's life. It really was nice, and at the risk of sounding predictable, it was exactly what my dad would have wanted.
…
It has been over a month now and my head is still spinning, but truthfully, things are easier and will continue to be so. This is sort of a rebirth for me, as I now have freedom to do practically what I wish. My dad always led me along a good path, and I am going to do all I can to keep following it.
To end on something of a light note: My father once received a beautiful gold clock from his company for being their salesman of the year. He dropped it one day, knocking the face off and denting the top so it would not slide back in correctly.
One afternoon before visiting him at the home, I looked at the clock and realized I could fix it easily with some pliers. I did just that and brought it to show him. I have never seen him nor anybody else so happy. He wore a beaming smile while staring at it the whole time, constantly thanking me.
It was one of the best feelings I have ever had.
The only problem with the clock was that it kept randomly stopping. I would wind it but the hands would always stop again.
The morning of the viewings, I decided to display it among the pictures and other things.
I wound it once more and it has not stopped since.
Again, I am not much for spirits or anything like that, but there is something in me that does believe part of my dad is living on through that clock, which meant so much to him.
I know the motor will stop eventually but every time I look at it, I will smile because I am who I am today greatly because my father always guided me to be my best.
I love you, Dad. Thank you for giving me so much. And I know, wherever you are, that you have finally hit your hole-in-one...
…
AFTERWORD 1/19/2022
This was tough for me to read again, especially the last bit. It took me over an hour to edit the final few pages because I stopped often to take a deep breath and/or wipe my eyes.
It read as if it was fiction. I kept thinking, ‘That poor guy’, then stepping back to remember the poor guy was me.
I still do not believe in spirits, especially because if they do exist, my father would have come back to kick my ass years ago for being a lazy bum.
But I am glad I re-experienced this with the intention of showing it to anyone who is willing to read. Writing this was extremely helpful at the time and my hope is sharing it will inspire people to let their emotions run, especially in bad situations.
If you have a story like this of your own, I would be honored to read it.
Cheers.