ptownson@eecs.nwu.edu (Patrick Townson) (04/21/91)
Because of my father's serious illness, most of you know I went out of town last Monday to be with my family for a few days. We (my brother, his wife, their 15-month old child and myself) left at 9 PM Monday, and drove 750 miles -- a sixteen hour trip by automobile including food, gas and bathroom stops -- to Independence, Kansas, arriving Tuesday afternoon. On Wednesday, April 17, we went to visit dad in the VA Hospital in Wichita, Kansas, -- 140 miles each way from Independence -- where he had been in the intensive care unit for a few days. He had had two heart attacks while in the hospital, and considerable intestinal bleeding in another concurrent illness. Because he had earlier been in considerable pain, the hospital had, with the concurrence of the family, medicated him to the extent required that he felt no further pain. Family members living in the area had been there several times; but dad was apparently 'holding out' to see the children. We visited in groups of two for five minute intervals throughout the day and evening. 'Visiting' really consisted of simply holding his hand and speaking quietly to him; he could only respond with facial motions and occassional single words of speech. Of particular pleasure to him, judging from his reactions, was the opportunity to see the 15-month old boy. He had seen the child, (his grandson and my nephew) only once before, nearly a year earlier. At 1:30 AM Thursday, April 18, he was sleeping, and the nursing staff found his vital signs to be consistent with earlier examinations. On their examination seven minutes later, at 1:37 AM, they could detect no heatbeat or pulse. The supervising physician at that hour of the morning examined him about fifteen minutes later to confirm the findings of the staff, and the official pronouncement was given at 2:00 AM, April 18. After a busy day Thursday arranging for the disposition of dad's remains, and signing off on numerous insurance and other documents, we drove to Tulsa, Oklahama -- about sixty miles each way -- to pick up my sister, who flew in from Orlando, Florida at 11:30 PM. I fell into bed at 3:00 Friday morning, only to be up and at Potts Memorial Chapel at 8:00 AM, as the family's representative at visitation prior to a memorial service at 11:00 AM. At the conclusion of the service, my mother's request was that the immediate family linger at the front of the assembly room to individually greet those who wished to speak with us. I extended my hand perhaps 200 times to people in the receiving line whose names I would not know but who apparently knew my father quite well. Then on to a private luncheon for the family given by close friends of my father and mother. After lunch, others took my mother back to her home while my brother, sister and I returned to the chapel to meet with employees there for the final process ... then it was a trip to the aiport in Tulsa to get my sister on her flight back (she had left a sick child of her own at home); and back to Independence. Because the town is so small, and 'everyone knows everyone else', it took only a few minutes for me to speak with her banker, her best friend and a local attorney who will continue to check her well-being. Finally about 6 PM last night it occurred to *me* what had happened: I sat in my room at mother's house and cried. One of dad's favorite composers was Johann Sebastian Bach; and of Bach's many works, dad particularly liked 'Come Sweet Death; Come Bless'd Repose' and now I understand why: Here was a man who lived his life in such a way that he could look his Maker squarely in the face and without a second's hesitation say "Lord, why don't you take me right now?" ... dad wasn't afraid or concerned at all ... and I think he looked forward to being released. After all, would *you* want to lay there with tubes stuck down your nose, and needles in your arms delivering intravenous nourishment to you? As my brother and I stood there beside him the night before, each holding his hand and letting him communicate as best he could, his last words to us were "now that you boys are here, I can go." The grief that has overwhelmed us the past few days has started a process of healing in our family ... a therapy rooted in grief. And although I'll miss dad terribly, his passing will heal our family in many ways, by bringing us together in love which has been conspicuously absent for many years. My brother, his wife, the baby and I left about 7 PM and returned to Chicago, 'driving straight through' on the same 750 mile, sixteen hour trip. Tonight I am very tired -- exhausted, really. I returned to find many, many notes of concern from telecom readers and other friends 'on the net' ... to each of you, my sincerest thanks. I hope you'll excuse this diversion today from the usual topics of the TELECOM Digest ... but I just had to talk about it. Patrick Townson