While my father was living he used to have a way of joking with you. Any time you did anything for him he’d say “that’ll cost you .50 cents”. His wife and I would tell him you’ve got that backwards. You should be paying us to do things for you instead of you trying to charge us for the services rendered. He’d never argue or debate he’d just smile as if he knew something or had an inside joke he wasn’t sharing.
My father’s personal physician convinced him that he was a heart attack looking for a time to happen. He scared him saying it might be two years, two months, two weeks, two days or two hours, but unless you have a double bypass surgery you’re going to die. The local hospital here, River Region, has a well earned reputation as being an assisted suicide center rather than a health center. On the streets it’s nicknamed “Killer Region”.
We tried to talk my dad into going over to Jackson to have the surgery done, but he wouldn’t have it saying it would be too much of a chore for his wife and I come see after him. I told him I didn’t mind the drive and if it was too much for his wife I’d see she get there when she wanted to be there as well. He still said he wanted to do it here and went ahead.
The first thing they said he had blockages in his carotid arteries and he underwent surgery to clear those blockages. A couple of days later they did the open heart procedure. The surgery seemed successful and my dad was doing great as long as he was in the ICU. It was after they turned him over to the regular hospital that things turned badly.
I spent about four months working in Puerto Rico and I couldn’t speak Spanish well enough to tell a barber how I wanted my hair cut. I finally just said screw it, bought a set of clippers and started cutting it myself. Dad said while he was in the hospital that he wished he had hair cut then he asked me if I’d cut his hair and give him a shave. I said no problem and the next time I went to take my turn with him I brought my clippers and cut his hair. He said it was as good as any barber had ever given him. Before he could say it, I reached in my pocket and pull out two quarters and laid it on his night stand. He just smiled and nodded.
Dad’s wife and I took turns spending the night with him. One of the drugs they gave him to reduce the inflammation made him urinate on himself a lot. With his chest cracked open he just couldn’t get up out of bed and make it to bathroom unassisted. I remember one night having to clean him up five different times in one night. They no longer have orderlies at the hospital and leave it all on the nurses to handle unaided. My father was a physically large man and I was the only one that could lift him and turn him without it hurting him. I can’t prove it, but seriously think they didn’t give him the proper medicine so his wife wouldn’t bug the hell out of them demanding that they come in to change him.
That next morning when I showed up to take my turn my father wasn’t doing too good. I asked what was wrong, he couldn’t say or put it into words other than he had a feeling like he never had before. The hospital was trying to discharge him and send him home and we had an argument because his case nurse was saying he had to go while I said no he’s not right something else needs to be checked and done before he leaves.
They gave us a complete run around saying they couldn’t check him any further than they had. Only his personal physician could order more tests or the heart surgeon, fine call them. The surgeon was at a conference in Arkansas and his physician couldn’t be located until 10:00. The physician arrived took one look at my dad and said he didn’t have to leave, he could tell something wasn’t right and that they’d order more test. 10:30 my father was dead, he died from fluid buildup around the heart, which was one of the things they told us to be on the watch out for once we got him home by changes in his weight showing he was retaining fluid.
I didn’t make the connection at first, but the watch I was wearing at that time literally died at 10:30. I don’t know why they waited so long to let us know, but they didn’t notify us until 4:30 that he was dead. My father’s wife’s minister knew before we did and came to offer comfort. One of the nurses asked if I’d like to see him and I told her yes I would. He looked so at peace as if he was sleeping having beautiful dreams. I made the comment to him that I was sorry I didn’t get the change to shave him and the same nurse told me that I still could. I really didn’t want to do it at that point, but I gave him my word and I promised him that he would never be thrown away while I lived and I wanted him to look good.
I’ve had to do lots of hard things over the course of my life, shaving my father after he had passed has to rank up there at the top. I really wanted to be left alone with him but that silly nurse wouldn’t leave. I’m guessing she was getting some kind of voyeuristic thrill watching me cope. I kept it together through my pain until the razor slipped a little and I nicked him and he started bleeding. I couldn’t help saying “I’m so sorry”. The nurse probably thought she was being helpful, said “don’t worry he can’t feel it”. I finished shaving him through a vail of tears.
Later they gave me my father’s personal affects. I dug through his things until I found the two quarters I gave him. I put them up on my high boy dresser to remember him by. The next couple of days the electronics around my house started going haywire. Lamps stopped working, digital clocks started giving screwy displays, my computer started glitching, lights started flickering, a wise friend told me to acknowledge my father and tell him it’s okay I got the message that he crossed over okay. I did so and the weirdness stopped, with one exception.
In life my dad was a hardcore Chevy truck fan. I was always a hardcore Ford fan. We’d argue back and forth endlessly about the merits of picks and demerits of our dislike. I thought about the things my dad always wanted in life, but really didn’t get to enjoy. He always liked fishing and bought a nice bass boat that he only got to fish out of a couple of years before he passed. I finished paying off that boat and it’s in my yard now (I’ve got to get it worked on to put it back into service).
I borrowed against my retirement to help bury my father (didn’t know he had some life insurance to cover it) and to buy myself a new truck. I had always wanted a full sized 4x4 extended cab truck and knowing one thing about life is that if we wait for the perfect time to do things we’ll never get anything done I decided to get that truck where I could enjoy it before my time to cross over come. I went online to Edmunds and was looking at the truck I wanted.
It was funny as all get out, but every time I started looking at the Ford trucks the page would drop down to the Chevy trucks. This repeated about four different times. It never went to Toyota, Dodge or Nissan, but straight to Chevy. I smiled thinking it was like Dad and I having that one last Ford vs. Chevy debate. I said okay and printed out the pricing information for the Chevy and the Ford trucks.
The next day I walked into the Ford dealership, laid the paperwork on the salesman’s desk he took one look at it and laughed saying “You can’t buy a Ford for that”. I didn’t argue, try to debate or hesitate. I scooped up my paperwork, thanked him for his time and drove next door to the Chevy place. It was a surprise for me to find one of my acquaintances working there as a salesman. I took the same approach. I laid the paperwork on his desk and said “I want to buy this truck; I will pay this amount for it and not one dollar more”. He just kind of nodded and started writing. I said “I repeat I will not pay one dime more”. When he finally finished writing he stopped by the front desk and got some keys and asked me to come out to the lot with him.
He showed me a truck exactly like I wanted with all the features I wanted. He asked me if I liked it. I said, yes, but I’m not going to pay extra above what I said I’m going to pay. He showed me the paper work and the offer on the truck was $2,000 less than what I was willing to pay and what Edmunds said would be a good price to offer. I gave them the check paid in full and drove my new truck past the Ford place and that truck is sitting in my driveway now.
I have some foundation problems at my home, part of that caused my driveway to crack where the hill needed stabilization work. I had that partially taken care of, the real fix I can’t afford. It required that the brick half wall of my carport was taken down. The bricks were stacked under my carport. My old compact truck could fit with the bricks, but the new truck couldn’t, so I decided to move the bricks. As I was moving the bricks I found a quarter and thought it was quite odd to find a quarter in such a place. I moved a few more bricks and found another quarter.
The thought hit me “hey, .50 cents, then my dad’s joking words came to mind “that’ll cost you .50 cents” and I got ill with grief all over again. My mother was the first to tell me that my dad would have loved my truck and loved me having it and would probably had to ride out a tank of gas showing it off to his friends. When the grief of his passing seemed too much to bear at time I’d get in my truck and just ride thinking about my dad. Now that you know, that’ll cost you .50 cents. ;-)
No comments:
Post a Comment