- Jun 5, 2020
- 1,412
- 653
- Country
- United States
- Faith
- Christian
- Marital Status
- Married
Do you remember the song “In the Living Years”? It's a song about a young man wishing he thought to tell his father how much he meant to him before he died. He thought he had time but life often laughs at that thinking. This is probably the deepest, most painful regret that any of us might ever face, and one my sister almost did, had not a miracle set everything right again.
To explain, I come from a highly stubborn Catholic family where explosive arguments were as common as the rosary. So it was no coincidence that my sister had one with my dad the same week he ended up in intensive care in a comma. It is also no surprise she was too angry even after that fight to talk to him so she never asked forgiveness until it was too late. After all, she had time—right?
Strangely, this need is likely why the Lord did this great miracle in the first place.
But I get ahead of myself, for first I must explain that as a child I barely remember my Grandma and Grandpa Wood. My grandma died when I was four, my grandfather a year after that. All I do remember is going up over a huge hill to the cemetery and the scary guns that cried out so loudly as I held my hands over my ears. I remember the flag my dad got, mostly because my parents hung it out off the porch. It was so big it covered the entire side of that side of that porch. For a kid, that was huge indeed.
This is all I would remember of my grandfather except for a story I heard during the funeral, adults whispering that after grandma died he was “never the same.” Tried to kill my dad, I heard to my surprise. Chased my uncle off the farm with his pitchfork, was another tale. These stories also stayed with me, buried away until my dad grew old.
I was busy with children when I heard for the first time that my mom was considering a divorce. I can't remember who reminded her of my grandpa's violence or maybe she remembered herself, because before she went to the lawyer she demanded that my father see a doctor, and he agreed because he feared losing her. A MRI later showed my father had a swelling on the brain.
Suddenly my grandfather's craziness took on a different color. He didn't go insane; he had a brain swelling up that caused that violence and eventually his death. Had my mom divorced my dad this too would have been my father's fate. However, modern technology changed this.
They scheduled an operation to place a shunt in my dad's head. By the time they operated, my dad's condition had worsened and when he came out he was mostly a invalid. It took months to bring him back to what he was before. After he fully recovered he spent the next few months recovering his fractured marriage.
It was three months later and a with great marriage returning that my mother and father went to see long-time friend and politician, John La False. He was giving a speech in the basement of a hotel. My mom dropped my dad off to park the car and as she left told him to wait for her.
My dad was a stubborn man and though asked to wait so she could help him (since he was still not fully steady after his ordeal) he instead started inside. The stairway was concrete, as were even the walls. And because he was still unsteady three months later, he stumbled, going down and striking his head on the concrete wall.
Now before I go on, I should explain exactly how stubborn my dad is. Years before this he had a stroke while on a ladder, and fell from it and broke his arm. Did he call family? or a neighbor? or even a ambulance? No, he drove himself into the hospital and couldn't understand why this upset not only his family but also startled the hospital staff.
So this was the very same man who, after falling into a wall and getting what would be a mortal wound, got back up and walked into the hall and sat down to wait for my mom. When she came she immediately saw he'd been injured. She asked him what happened in a worried voice.
“I just had a little fall,” he replied. She wanted him to go to the hospital but, stubborn as he was, he firmly refused.
He might have died there had John not seen there was trouble and come over. Having heard everything, he took my father's hand and said, “Jim, I know you really want to hear me speak, and I am glad to see you. Still, I would be more comfortable if you went to the hospital. Please let me call you an ambulance.”
My father listened to John, thank the Lord, and when he reached the hospital he was rushed into a surgery that he would never awaken from. They put him into critical care and on machines for breathing, and the doctors declared him brain dead. Then, when no improvement came, my mother had the machines removed—all but the those monitoring his condition. She thought he'd die at once.
Hours passed and he did not die, so he was moved to the hospice room and, in time, all of us were allowed to go up to his room. Now, enter my sister who had stewed and worried as the day unfolded, probably hearing “it's too late, when we die, to admit we don't see eye to eye.”
So the first chance she had to go up to his room with her husband, she sat beside his bed, took his hand, and apologized. My father, in turn, squeezed her hand. Elated, she told the nurse what happened, but the cold doctor overheard and announced authoritatively that it was just an “involuntary action, nothing more.”
So we later returned in force at about late afternoon, turning to evening. We discussed the past and found ourselves laughing at things that happened back then. Hospice came in and, seeing this, said they were not needed, and we agreed.
Around 5:30 though, my mom started acting strangely. “Turn on the News,” she said.
David, Sue's husband turned on channel two and it played until we were almost to six o'clock. As we neared six, my mom's anxiety grew but no one knew why. “Turn to channel four,” she exclaimed suddenly, “it has to be four!”
My husband, Corey, recognized that her agitation would not end until we did so. He scrambled to find that channel and turned just as the commercial was ending and the jingle started for Channel Four News...
My father heart monitor trembled...then became erratic as the first sound of that jingle came in. Everyone raced to the side of his bed. His heart then slowed little by little as the music played as we watched and waited, to that fateful moment when it would stop altogether. Then the anchor came on saying “Good evening,” and his heart stopped—my father died.
This should be the end of this story but for the strange timing of his death. At the wake, we were still discussing this with each other - my two sisters, myself, and our collective husbands - when Rich Newburg, a friend and former colleague of my father came over to us.
“When did Jimmy die?” he asked. We explained exactly what happened and were surprised to hear him cry out, “He went home, don't you see; he is with our Lord!”
We didn't understand, so he explained. “You see, your dad was supposed to work the evening News shift, which ends at six-thirty. However what few people not attached to the News may not know is most of the News is preprogrammed. Oh, the anchors are not, but cutting to the commercials and what commercial is to play, that is. So the technicians really do nothing more than flip one switch, and then the program does the rest.”
So my dad, every night for as long as he worked at Channel Four, would flip that switch, and then say, “Time to go home” and leave to go home. This way he was always home for supper by 5:30. “So, don't you see,” Rich stated with enthusiasm, “he went HOME to his eternal home, with the Father!”
After he left us I turned and saw tears of joy filling my sister's face as she whispered to her husband, “Like hell he was brain dead. He forgave me!” And I smiled.
To explain, I come from a highly stubborn Catholic family where explosive arguments were as common as the rosary. So it was no coincidence that my sister had one with my dad the same week he ended up in intensive care in a comma. It is also no surprise she was too angry even after that fight to talk to him so she never asked forgiveness until it was too late. After all, she had time—right?
Strangely, this need is likely why the Lord did this great miracle in the first place.
But I get ahead of myself, for first I must explain that as a child I barely remember my Grandma and Grandpa Wood. My grandma died when I was four, my grandfather a year after that. All I do remember is going up over a huge hill to the cemetery and the scary guns that cried out so loudly as I held my hands over my ears. I remember the flag my dad got, mostly because my parents hung it out off the porch. It was so big it covered the entire side of that side of that porch. For a kid, that was huge indeed.
This is all I would remember of my grandfather except for a story I heard during the funeral, adults whispering that after grandma died he was “never the same.” Tried to kill my dad, I heard to my surprise. Chased my uncle off the farm with his pitchfork, was another tale. These stories also stayed with me, buried away until my dad grew old.
I was busy with children when I heard for the first time that my mom was considering a divorce. I can't remember who reminded her of my grandpa's violence or maybe she remembered herself, because before she went to the lawyer she demanded that my father see a doctor, and he agreed because he feared losing her. A MRI later showed my father had a swelling on the brain.
Suddenly my grandfather's craziness took on a different color. He didn't go insane; he had a brain swelling up that caused that violence and eventually his death. Had my mom divorced my dad this too would have been my father's fate. However, modern technology changed this.
They scheduled an operation to place a shunt in my dad's head. By the time they operated, my dad's condition had worsened and when he came out he was mostly a invalid. It took months to bring him back to what he was before. After he fully recovered he spent the next few months recovering his fractured marriage.
It was three months later and a with great marriage returning that my mother and father went to see long-time friend and politician, John La False. He was giving a speech in the basement of a hotel. My mom dropped my dad off to park the car and as she left told him to wait for her.
My dad was a stubborn man and though asked to wait so she could help him (since he was still not fully steady after his ordeal) he instead started inside. The stairway was concrete, as were even the walls. And because he was still unsteady three months later, he stumbled, going down and striking his head on the concrete wall.
Now before I go on, I should explain exactly how stubborn my dad is. Years before this he had a stroke while on a ladder, and fell from it and broke his arm. Did he call family? or a neighbor? or even a ambulance? No, he drove himself into the hospital and couldn't understand why this upset not only his family but also startled the hospital staff.
So this was the very same man who, after falling into a wall and getting what would be a mortal wound, got back up and walked into the hall and sat down to wait for my mom. When she came she immediately saw he'd been injured. She asked him what happened in a worried voice.
“I just had a little fall,” he replied. She wanted him to go to the hospital but, stubborn as he was, he firmly refused.
He might have died there had John not seen there was trouble and come over. Having heard everything, he took my father's hand and said, “Jim, I know you really want to hear me speak, and I am glad to see you. Still, I would be more comfortable if you went to the hospital. Please let me call you an ambulance.”
My father listened to John, thank the Lord, and when he reached the hospital he was rushed into a surgery that he would never awaken from. They put him into critical care and on machines for breathing, and the doctors declared him brain dead. Then, when no improvement came, my mother had the machines removed—all but the those monitoring his condition. She thought he'd die at once.
Hours passed and he did not die, so he was moved to the hospice room and, in time, all of us were allowed to go up to his room. Now, enter my sister who had stewed and worried as the day unfolded, probably hearing “it's too late, when we die, to admit we don't see eye to eye.”
So the first chance she had to go up to his room with her husband, she sat beside his bed, took his hand, and apologized. My father, in turn, squeezed her hand. Elated, she told the nurse what happened, but the cold doctor overheard and announced authoritatively that it was just an “involuntary action, nothing more.”
So we later returned in force at about late afternoon, turning to evening. We discussed the past and found ourselves laughing at things that happened back then. Hospice came in and, seeing this, said they were not needed, and we agreed.
Around 5:30 though, my mom started acting strangely. “Turn on the News,” she said.
David, Sue's husband turned on channel two and it played until we were almost to six o'clock. As we neared six, my mom's anxiety grew but no one knew why. “Turn to channel four,” she exclaimed suddenly, “it has to be four!”
My husband, Corey, recognized that her agitation would not end until we did so. He scrambled to find that channel and turned just as the commercial was ending and the jingle started for Channel Four News...
My father heart monitor trembled...then became erratic as the first sound of that jingle came in. Everyone raced to the side of his bed. His heart then slowed little by little as the music played as we watched and waited, to that fateful moment when it would stop altogether. Then the anchor came on saying “Good evening,” and his heart stopped—my father died.
This should be the end of this story but for the strange timing of his death. At the wake, we were still discussing this with each other - my two sisters, myself, and our collective husbands - when Rich Newburg, a friend and former colleague of my father came over to us.
“When did Jimmy die?” he asked. We explained exactly what happened and were surprised to hear him cry out, “He went home, don't you see; he is with our Lord!”
We didn't understand, so he explained. “You see, your dad was supposed to work the evening News shift, which ends at six-thirty. However what few people not attached to the News may not know is most of the News is preprogrammed. Oh, the anchors are not, but cutting to the commercials and what commercial is to play, that is. So the technicians really do nothing more than flip one switch, and then the program does the rest.”
So my dad, every night for as long as he worked at Channel Four, would flip that switch, and then say, “Time to go home” and leave to go home. This way he was always home for supper by 5:30. “So, don't you see,” Rich stated with enthusiasm, “he went HOME to his eternal home, with the Father!”
After he left us I turned and saw tears of joy filling my sister's face as she whispered to her husband, “Like hell he was brain dead. He forgave me!” And I smiled.
