How did your Labor Day go?
And for those who celebrate, how was the first night of Rosh Hashanah for you?
I hope everything went well.
My family and I really didn’t do too much over the past few days.
As I mentioned in a previous Rant, today, September 7, is the one-year anniversary of my father’s passing, so today is kind of a sad day in my family.
My father lived a productive, resourceful, and very successful life.
He was devoted to his family, devoted to my mother, and he really enjoyed his nearly 89 years of life.
He used to call whatever he was doing related to his family “The Good Life,” and he did live what he believed in.
His final year was an up and down one.
He was sick, he was well, he was sick and then well again.
Heck, he was actually driving a car up until a month before his passing.
And for those who celebrate, how was the first night of Rosh Hashanah for you?
I hope everything went well.
My family and I really didn’t do too much over the past few days.
As I mentioned in a previous Rant, today, September 7, is the one-year anniversary of my father’s passing, so today is kind of a sad day in my family.
My father lived a productive, resourceful, and very successful life.
He was devoted to his family, devoted to my mother, and he really enjoyed his nearly 89 years of life.
He used to call whatever he was doing related to his family “The Good Life,” and he did live what he believed in.
His final year was an up and down one.
He was sick, he was well, he was sick and then well again.
Heck, he was actually driving a car up until a month before his passing.
(That is his final driver's license photo at the top of this Rant.)
He had lost a couple of steps in his gait, and his mind was not as sharp as it had been, but day in and day out, he read his newspaper and looked forward to whatever life brought him.
I remember the last time I had a conversation with him. My brother-in-law and I brought him to the hospital in the middle of the night because he simply was not able to stay at home.
So we brought him to the hospital, and I stayed with him until he was able to be tended to fully by the doctors and nurses there.
He knocked me for bringing him to the hospital, called me every name in the book—and then some—and he clearly was not of his right mind, but through all the harangues that he fired at me, I knew what he really meant to say, but simply couldn’t because again, his mind was pretty much shot at that point.
After several hours of watching him, I finally got him to calm down, and he was looked at and put into a room.
He fought to the end—I know that because the doctors told me that he did.
I saw him one last time in the hospital when he knew I was there. His mouth was dry, and he pointed to the cup of ice that was on his table.
I filled his cup with the ice, he seemed calm, and I left him.
The day before he died, when he was in hospice, I visited him one last time.
He was breathing pretty heavily, but he seemed to be content.
I believe he knew that I was there, and I told him everything that I wanted to say to him.
I said he was the best father a guy could ever have, and I meant every word of it.
I gave him a kiss on his forehead, and I left him.
The next morning, a year ago today, he left us.
The year leading up to his death was a troubling one, as he was not well, and the world joined him when the coronavirus struck us all.
He persevered, but finally, the old Marine could not withstand more sickness.
That was an extremely; difficult period of time for our family, and in particular for my son, who like me, was out of work and thus, saw his grandfather disintegrate before his eyes.
He visited him once in the hospital, and I honestly don’t know how he got through it.
And then, after my father left us, just several weeks later, my wife’s father—another old Marine—succumbed to COVID.
So my son lost his two grandfathers in a span of less than 100 days.
2020 was a cruel year for us all, but for my family, it could not even be characterized as “difficult.”
It was more like "excruciating."
We had my father’s unveiling a few weeks back, and the occasion was marked by a lot of tears, but also a lot of laughter. My father would have enjoyed the laughter.
We have my father-in-law’s unveiling coming up, so the tears and laughter will be there once again.
The past year has seen a rebound by my family and I.
My mom, at age 90, has fared very well, and she still has more pep and vim and vigor than people one-third her age.
My son and I are working—me with a remote writing job and my son with part-time work--and my wife is contemplating her own retirement, joining me on the sidelines.
To this moment, I feel that my father is looking down at us. He seems to be here with us even though we know he is in heaven, but I get the sense that he is here with us right now, in some sense.
He had lost a couple of steps in his gait, and his mind was not as sharp as it had been, but day in and day out, he read his newspaper and looked forward to whatever life brought him.
I remember the last time I had a conversation with him. My brother-in-law and I brought him to the hospital in the middle of the night because he simply was not able to stay at home.
So we brought him to the hospital, and I stayed with him until he was able to be tended to fully by the doctors and nurses there.
He knocked me for bringing him to the hospital, called me every name in the book—and then some—and he clearly was not of his right mind, but through all the harangues that he fired at me, I knew what he really meant to say, but simply couldn’t because again, his mind was pretty much shot at that point.
After several hours of watching him, I finally got him to calm down, and he was looked at and put into a room.
He fought to the end—I know that because the doctors told me that he did.
I saw him one last time in the hospital when he knew I was there. His mouth was dry, and he pointed to the cup of ice that was on his table.
I filled his cup with the ice, he seemed calm, and I left him.
The day before he died, when he was in hospice, I visited him one last time.
He was breathing pretty heavily, but he seemed to be content.
I believe he knew that I was there, and I told him everything that I wanted to say to him.
I said he was the best father a guy could ever have, and I meant every word of it.
I gave him a kiss on his forehead, and I left him.
The next morning, a year ago today, he left us.
The year leading up to his death was a troubling one, as he was not well, and the world joined him when the coronavirus struck us all.
He persevered, but finally, the old Marine could not withstand more sickness.
That was an extremely; difficult period of time for our family, and in particular for my son, who like me, was out of work and thus, saw his grandfather disintegrate before his eyes.
He visited him once in the hospital, and I honestly don’t know how he got through it.
And then, after my father left us, just several weeks later, my wife’s father—another old Marine—succumbed to COVID.
So my son lost his two grandfathers in a span of less than 100 days.
2020 was a cruel year for us all, but for my family, it could not even be characterized as “difficult.”
It was more like "excruciating."
We had my father’s unveiling a few weeks back, and the occasion was marked by a lot of tears, but also a lot of laughter. My father would have enjoyed the laughter.
We have my father-in-law’s unveiling coming up, so the tears and laughter will be there once again.
The past year has seen a rebound by my family and I.
My mom, at age 90, has fared very well, and she still has more pep and vim and vigor than people one-third her age.
My son and I are working—me with a remote writing job and my son with part-time work--and my wife is contemplating her own retirement, joining me on the sidelines.
To this moment, I feel that my father is looking down at us. He seems to be here with us even though we know he is in heaven, but I get the sense that he is here with us right now, in some sense.
He is my personal angel on my shoulder.
And right now, I think he has a broad grin on his face, because he is happy that we are happy.
I miss my father greatly, but I do feel his presence, and that takes some of the bite out of the whole thing.
So this weekend and during the Jewish High Holy Days and today in particular, I don’t look at any of these days as joyous or happy, but heck, I do truly believe that my father is driving a cab in heaven right now, and that he is picking up like minded people, people who were good and righteous …
And those that lived “The Good Life” like my dad certainly did.
And right now, I think he has a broad grin on his face, because he is happy that we are happy.
I miss my father greatly, but I do feel his presence, and that takes some of the bite out of the whole thing.
So this weekend and during the Jewish High Holy Days and today in particular, I don’t look at any of these days as joyous or happy, but heck, I do truly believe that my father is driving a cab in heaven right now, and that he is picking up like minded people, people who were good and righteous …
And those that lived “The Good Life” like my dad certainly did.
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