The passing of a great man

My father was born April 18, 1943, to a poor family in St. Albans, West Virginia. At age 14, he met a girl who would nine years later become my mother. They dated through high school, and married soon after. Dad worked his way through college, determined to provide a better life for his family. As the years passed, I was born, then my brother, and two sisters. Despite his hard work, Dad always found time to support his kids. He was a scout master, a coach of basketball, and baseball, and always an active athletic booster and band supporter. He attended sports games, band concerts, my sister's dance recitals. He passed up promotions if they meant more time away from family. His devotion to us eventually took him away from West Virginia into Maryland, seeking a better life as opportunities in West Virginia became more and more dismal. He made sure all four of his children received college educations, and saw each of us get married. He got to bounce four grandchildren on his knee, and loved spoiling them at Christmas. His final years were beset by obscure physical ailments which the doctors could not pinpoint, though they tried to provide relief for the symptoms. Diabetes, neuropathy, anemia, renal failure, cataracts, and finally cancer were diagnosed, and each could have been treated individually, but the combination was too much, and proved untreatable. Two months ago he went to the hospital with severe dehydration and hyperglycemia, and though he returned home two weeks later, he was not quite the same. Finally, on Thursday, December 20, he re-entered the hospital, where we initially thought he was again dehydrated. But it soon became apparent that he was suffering renal failure and other problems. The end was near, and even if we put him on various machines, we knew he'd not return to us. The decision was surprisingly easy to make, but was exceedingly painful none-the-less. On Friday afternoon, all medication except morphine was halted, and a terrible yet cathartic vigil began. The family gathered to say goodbye, to be there with him until the end. As a couple of hours became a day, then two, Dad's breathing became more labored, his extremities became cold and unresponsive. During this ordeal, Mom sat by his side, holding his hand, talking to him. Though the rest of us took breaks to get food, take showers, or get a couple hours of sleep, Mom never left his side, and only napped when she could keep her eyes open no longer. It was sometime between 3 and 4 am on Monday morning, December 24th, Christmas Eve, that found each of us exhausted, succumbed to sleep, and Dad, perhaps knowing that we weren't watching, passed from this world.

We've spent the time since making arrangements, contacting family and friends, weeping, remembering, sharing. And tomorrow's viewing will be followed by Friday's funeral, as we say goodbye to a great man, a great father.