Dear loved ones,
My dear, precious, flawed father passed away at about 9:45 this evening.
His passing was so peaceful, and for that I am thankful. All afternoon, he sounded horrible, rattling and gurgling as he struggled for breath. But later this evening, maybe around 8:00, the gurgling and rattling stopped. A little after that, he tried to open his eyes just a bit. We immediately crowded around him and began talking to him, telling him how much we love him and that it was okay to give up the fight. I do not know if he heard us, but it was so comforting to see some tiny bit of consciousness.
A little after 9:30, we began to notice that his breaths were slowing and becoming more shallow. They became more and more infrequent until finally there were no more.
Daddy was surrounded by people who loved him dearly, and what better way to go? In addition to Mom, Laura, Eric, and me, there were Darrell and Teresa, Joyce Moser, Aunt Carolyn, Uncle H.L., and Bill Griffith. Tim and Doris got there almost immediately (within a minute) after he died, and bless his heart, Eric Widner showed up about twenty minutes later. He tried desperately to make it, and just couldn't get there in time.
There is so much more to write, and Iwill try to do so tomorrow, but for now, I am beyond exhausted. All of the emotional numbness of the past few weeks fell away this afternoon, and I have not stopped crying. It will be a miracle if I am able to open my eyes in the morning.
I am thankful that God took Daddy home and spared him further indignity and suffering. I would give anything to have seen his face as he saw the face of God for the first time. I am thankful for our amazing friends and family.
Right now, very tentative plans are to have visitation from 2-4 and from 6-9 on Monday, with the funeral on Tuesday. I will post the definite arrangements tomorrow when they are finalized.
Thank you for your love, for your thoughts, for your kind deeds, and for your prayers.
Much love to you,
Holly
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The fiery furnace
As many of you know (and some do not), I am a high school teacher. I teach in my school's "freshman academy," which is a fairly new concept in which we sort of sequester the freshmen from the rest of the student population so as to ease their transition into high school. We work in teams and have our own administrator in our building. This administrator, Mrs. Martha Frazier, is truly a blessing to work with. She is caring and understanding, and incredibly supportive. She is also a woman of God and has prayed mightily for our family through this entire process. Day before yesterday, we were talking about Dad's rapidly deteriorating condition, and I told her of my complete confidence that our God is absolutely capable of healing my father. There has never been a doubt in my mind that if it is His will, He can do so. The complication for many pepole comes in accepting that healing may not be His will. I can, however, accept it. This doesn't mean that I have loads more faith than anyone else; it's just something that I can easily accept. I don't know why.
At any rate, after I said this, she reminded me of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the book of Daniel. I think most children who have grown up in church know this story, if for no other reason than the fact that there is a cute little song about it (and to this day, you can't mention those three names without the song getting stuck in my head!). But for those of you who are not familiar, I will summarize it for you. In Daniel 3, King Nebuchadnezzar creates a golden idol and commands all of his people to bow to it, lest they be thrown into a fiery furnace. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refuse. When the King hears of this, he brings them in and asks them if what he has heard is true.
v. 16 Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, "King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. 17 If the God we serve is able to deliver us, then he will deliver us from the blazing furnace and from Your Majesty's hand. 18 But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."
Here, then, is the lesson: these three men know that their God is able to deliver them. But, friends, they also realize that he may choose not to do so. And yet, their faith is whole and complete.
For those of you who are wondering how the story ends, the King is enraged and orders the furnace made seven times hotter and the men tied up and thrown in. The furnace is, in fact, so hot that the guards who throw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego into the furnace are killed instantly. But to King Nebuchadnezzar's immense surprise, when he looks into the furnace, he sees the three men walking around, accompanied by a fourth figure. He orders them to come out of the furnace, which they do, and when they emerge, they are not burned, nor do they even smell of smoke. Nebuchadnezzar, needless to say, is then convinced of their God's superiority.
I say all of that to say this: the end, as it appears, is very near for my father. He has had nothing to eat or drink in days, and that in and of itself will do him in if it continues. But I do know that my God is capable of healing him, instantly, if He so desires. But I know that may not be His will and I accept it. Do I like it? No. Does my heart break? Yes. But to think that I, as a mere human, could ever second-guess God's will would be hubristic in the extreme.
So for those of you out there who are having difficulty grappling with this (and we all are), please be thankful for the time we have had with Daddy and be thankful that we serve a God who is willing and able to heal, but who sometimes has other plans that we can't quite understand yet. I trust that one day we will.
At any rate, after I said this, she reminded me of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the book of Daniel. I think most children who have grown up in church know this story, if for no other reason than the fact that there is a cute little song about it (and to this day, you can't mention those three names without the song getting stuck in my head!). But for those of you who are not familiar, I will summarize it for you. In Daniel 3, King Nebuchadnezzar creates a golden idol and commands all of his people to bow to it, lest they be thrown into a fiery furnace. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refuse. When the King hears of this, he brings them in and asks them if what he has heard is true.
v. 16 Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, "King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. 17 If the God we serve is able to deliver us, then he will deliver us from the blazing furnace and from Your Majesty's hand. 18 But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."
Here, then, is the lesson: these three men know that their God is able to deliver them. But, friends, they also realize that he may choose not to do so. And yet, their faith is whole and complete.
For those of you who are wondering how the story ends, the King is enraged and orders the furnace made seven times hotter and the men tied up and thrown in. The furnace is, in fact, so hot that the guards who throw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego into the furnace are killed instantly. But to King Nebuchadnezzar's immense surprise, when he looks into the furnace, he sees the three men walking around, accompanied by a fourth figure. He orders them to come out of the furnace, which they do, and when they emerge, they are not burned, nor do they even smell of smoke. Nebuchadnezzar, needless to say, is then convinced of their God's superiority.
I say all of that to say this: the end, as it appears, is very near for my father. He has had nothing to eat or drink in days, and that in and of itself will do him in if it continues. But I do know that my God is capable of healing him, instantly, if He so desires. But I know that may not be His will and I accept it. Do I like it? No. Does my heart break? Yes. But to think that I, as a mere human, could ever second-guess God's will would be hubristic in the extreme.
So for those of you out there who are having difficulty grappling with this (and we all are), please be thankful for the time we have had with Daddy and be thankful that we serve a God who is willing and able to heal, but who sometimes has other plans that we can't quite understand yet. I trust that one day we will.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Wednesday evening
We believe time is growing very short.
Dad is essentially sleeping 24 hours a day, waking for only seconds at a time, and in addition, he has begun making some horrible noises as he tries to cough something up--I don't know if it is just phlegm, or if his lungs have begun to fill with fluid, but it sounds terrible as he tries to dislodge whatever it is.
I know I don't have to say this, but it is truly, truly breathtakingly wrenching to see one's father in this condition, and so I think I speak for all of the immediate family when I say that if God is not going to heal him (and honestly, I can't possibly see how that is His plan, at this point), that we pray for the Lord to take our daddy as quickly as possible. I am so thankful that he seems to be very unaware, for the indignity of his situation strikes me anew every time I walk into Mom and Dad's house.
For now, although I am not a doctor, I will be bold enough to posit that we are looking at days. If you want my frank opinion, I'll be surprised if he makes it through the weekend, but please remember that we said that about my grandmother for three weeks. Truly, I have no idea what I'm talking about--it's just my humble opinion based on what I am seeing.
One last note--I have been so blessed by the emails I have gotten from so many of Dad's friends and family who read this blog. I honestly had no idea that there were so many. Thank you for your support, thoughts, prayers, and kind words. We are broken-hearted, but so blessed by those around us at this time.
Dad is essentially sleeping 24 hours a day, waking for only seconds at a time, and in addition, he has begun making some horrible noises as he tries to cough something up--I don't know if it is just phlegm, or if his lungs have begun to fill with fluid, but it sounds terrible as he tries to dislodge whatever it is.
I know I don't have to say this, but it is truly, truly breathtakingly wrenching to see one's father in this condition, and so I think I speak for all of the immediate family when I say that if God is not going to heal him (and honestly, I can't possibly see how that is His plan, at this point), that we pray for the Lord to take our daddy as quickly as possible. I am so thankful that he seems to be very unaware, for the indignity of his situation strikes me anew every time I walk into Mom and Dad's house.
For now, although I am not a doctor, I will be bold enough to posit that we are looking at days. If you want my frank opinion, I'll be surprised if he makes it through the weekend, but please remember that we said that about my grandmother for three weeks. Truly, I have no idea what I'm talking about--it's just my humble opinion based on what I am seeing.
One last note--I have been so blessed by the emails I have gotten from so many of Dad's friends and family who read this blog. I honestly had no idea that there were so many. Thank you for your support, thoughts, prayers, and kind words. We are broken-hearted, but so blessed by those around us at this time.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Tuesday update
Hello, friends and family.
Today has been a long day. Let me give everyone out there a little piece of advice: PRE-ARRANGE YOUR FUNERALS! My dear grandmother was kind enough to do this for us last year, and we were STILL at the funeral home for close to two hours this morning--not to mention going to the cemetery to sign THOSE papers. Can you imagine how long it all would have taken had she not done us the favor of pre-arranging? Oy.
It was nice, getting to spend time with Mom, though. After we left the funeral home, we drove over the cemetery (which is just stupendously beautiful, with mountain views like you wouldn't believe!) and took care of that, then she and I went to lunch, and then I went to shop for something to bury Mom-o in, which I stressed endlessly over because I was doing it all alone and with no one else to approve. It took me ten times longer than I thought it would. I ended up snapping a very fuzzy picture with my phone, sending it to Mom, and asking for her approval. She said she liked it, based on what she could see, and that made me feel a bit better. Then I had to run it BACK over to the funeral home and pray no one would be unhappy with my choice. Then back to Cleveland to pick up my kiddos, who my precious mother-in-law graciously looked after all day long (they didn't have school today).
In the midst of all this, Aunt Carolyn and Uncle H.L. were looking after Dad, who had fallen asleep sometime after 8 last night, and had still not woken up when Mom left. Dad slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, until my mother (who was still in Chattanooga) began to actually worry that he had fallen into a coma. All told, he slept for about 18 hours, woke up when the Hospice nurse came to bathe him, and immediately fell back asleep. According to the Hospice nurse, this is just part of "the process."
I think we are all reaching a point of emotional exhaustion and numbness. I haven't cried in days and days--not even when I got the news about Mom-o. In fact, the only time I even shed a tear or two is when Mom broke down at the nursing home when we went to see her. I think, given the awful condition she has been in, it is more of a relief than anything. We know that she can finally see again, she can hear perfectly again, she can walk without assistance, and more than anything, she is back with her beloved husband!
Funeral arrangements are as follows: Visitation will be held at Heritage Funeral Home on East Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga on Saturday from 10 am until noon, followed immediately by the funeral service. We will then have burial at Greenwood Cemetery.
Please keep praying for strength for Mom, for peace and comfort for Dad, and for blessings for all of his caretakers. Thank you for all the prayers for my grandmother. I'm glad her suffering did not drag on any longer than it did.
Today has been a long day. Let me give everyone out there a little piece of advice: PRE-ARRANGE YOUR FUNERALS! My dear grandmother was kind enough to do this for us last year, and we were STILL at the funeral home for close to two hours this morning--not to mention going to the cemetery to sign THOSE papers. Can you imagine how long it all would have taken had she not done us the favor of pre-arranging? Oy.
It was nice, getting to spend time with Mom, though. After we left the funeral home, we drove over the cemetery (which is just stupendously beautiful, with mountain views like you wouldn't believe!) and took care of that, then she and I went to lunch, and then I went to shop for something to bury Mom-o in, which I stressed endlessly over because I was doing it all alone and with no one else to approve. It took me ten times longer than I thought it would. I ended up snapping a very fuzzy picture with my phone, sending it to Mom, and asking for her approval. She said she liked it, based on what she could see, and that made me feel a bit better. Then I had to run it BACK over to the funeral home and pray no one would be unhappy with my choice. Then back to Cleveland to pick up my kiddos, who my precious mother-in-law graciously looked after all day long (they didn't have school today).
In the midst of all this, Aunt Carolyn and Uncle H.L. were looking after Dad, who had fallen asleep sometime after 8 last night, and had still not woken up when Mom left. Dad slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, until my mother (who was still in Chattanooga) began to actually worry that he had fallen into a coma. All told, he slept for about 18 hours, woke up when the Hospice nurse came to bathe him, and immediately fell back asleep. According to the Hospice nurse, this is just part of "the process."
I think we are all reaching a point of emotional exhaustion and numbness. I haven't cried in days and days--not even when I got the news about Mom-o. In fact, the only time I even shed a tear or two is when Mom broke down at the nursing home when we went to see her. I think, given the awful condition she has been in, it is more of a relief than anything. We know that she can finally see again, she can hear perfectly again, she can walk without assistance, and more than anything, she is back with her beloved husband!
Funeral arrangements are as follows: Visitation will be held at Heritage Funeral Home on East Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga on Saturday from 10 am until noon, followed immediately by the funeral service. We will then have burial at Greenwood Cemetery.
Please keep praying for strength for Mom, for peace and comfort for Dad, and for blessings for all of his caretakers. Thank you for all the prayers for my grandmother. I'm glad her suffering did not drag on any longer than it did.
Monday, February 2, 2009
My apologies...
To those who rely on this blog for updates (I really had no idea how many of you there are!), I apologize that I have not updated in the past five days. I have really been in a funk these last few days and have just not had the mental energy to do so.
First of all, my dear, sweet grandmother passed away today. Thankfully, I was at Mom and Dad's house when the call came, and since Mom was busy with Dad, I took the call. I then broke the news to Mom, which I am sure I did badly, since I've never had to break that kind of news to anyone before. But Mom handled it with grace and she and Laura and I went to the nursing home to be with her and say goodbye before the gentleman from the funeral home got there.
While we were gone, Tim, Joyce Masoner, and the precious hospice nurse, Freda, were with Dad. According to Freda, Dad is "moving through the stages." I'm not sure exactly how quickly he is doing so, but she gives me the feeling that she thinks he might be moving at a quick pace. I really don't know. Things are much the same, though--Dad has some lucid moments, and some that are not so lucid. He is very difficult to understand, and incredibly weak.
Another note: many friends and family have expressed to me that they are grappling with whether or not to call to check up on Mom and Dad. They don't want to be a nuisance; neither do they want to seem unconcerned. Thank you for asking about this! Let me throw this out there--Mom is SO incredibly appreciative of how much everyone cares, but yes, the phone IS ringing off the hook! And of course it is emotionally draining for her to have to recount Dad's condition over and over again. So if you are a regular caregiver or someone who has been in and out, by all means, call. If you are just wanting to check in and see what's needed, please, call Laura or me. Laura can be reached at 423-559-1944 or 423-718-8990. I can be reached at 423-479-4839 or 423-650-5443. We will let you know if anything is needed and we will relay any messages on to Mom. You can also email me at holly@kesley.com. I only check my email about ten million times a day, so it will take me at most, oh, 30 seconds to get back to you. I REALLY hope that this doesn't sound harsh, but I'm just trying to keep Mom's stress levels as low as possible and the phone really does ring nonstop, which is hard when someone is trying to sleep.
I will post more about funeral arrangements for Mom-o tomorrow, when they are complete. We are looking at Saturday for the funeral, but we are still undecided on a visitation time. I can tell you that the visitation and funeral will take place at Heritage Funeral Home on East Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga. More to come.
First of all, my dear, sweet grandmother passed away today. Thankfully, I was at Mom and Dad's house when the call came, and since Mom was busy with Dad, I took the call. I then broke the news to Mom, which I am sure I did badly, since I've never had to break that kind of news to anyone before. But Mom handled it with grace and she and Laura and I went to the nursing home to be with her and say goodbye before the gentleman from the funeral home got there.
While we were gone, Tim, Joyce Masoner, and the precious hospice nurse, Freda, were with Dad. According to Freda, Dad is "moving through the stages." I'm not sure exactly how quickly he is doing so, but she gives me the feeling that she thinks he might be moving at a quick pace. I really don't know. Things are much the same, though--Dad has some lucid moments, and some that are not so lucid. He is very difficult to understand, and incredibly weak.
Another note: many friends and family have expressed to me that they are grappling with whether or not to call to check up on Mom and Dad. They don't want to be a nuisance; neither do they want to seem unconcerned. Thank you for asking about this! Let me throw this out there--Mom is SO incredibly appreciative of how much everyone cares, but yes, the phone IS ringing off the hook! And of course it is emotionally draining for her to have to recount Dad's condition over and over again. So if you are a regular caregiver or someone who has been in and out, by all means, call. If you are just wanting to check in and see what's needed, please, call Laura or me. Laura can be reached at 423-559-1944 or 423-718-8990. I can be reached at 423-479-4839 or 423-650-5443. We will let you know if anything is needed and we will relay any messages on to Mom. You can also email me at holly@kesley.com. I only check my email about ten million times a day, so it will take me at most, oh, 30 seconds to get back to you. I REALLY hope that this doesn't sound harsh, but I'm just trying to keep Mom's stress levels as low as possible and the phone really does ring nonstop, which is hard when someone is trying to sleep.
I will post more about funeral arrangements for Mom-o tomorrow, when they are complete. We are looking at Saturday for the funeral, but we are still undecided on a visitation time. I can tell you that the visitation and funeral will take place at Heritage Funeral Home on East Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga. More to come.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Who is my father?
At 1206 Cookdale Trail, there is a man in a hospital bed. This man is bald, with an overgrown mustache that needs trimming. His face is gaunt, his cheeks sunken in. His arms are little more than bone and sinew with loose skin covering them. His belly is swollen, distended from the fluids building up in his abdomen. His strength has waned as the insidious disease called cancer has ravaged his body and he is now essentially confined to his bed, a catheter sapping his remaining dignity, little by little.
This man is not my father.
My father is Doug Williams. He is a deeply imperfect man, but I would like to share with you more about him, imperfections and all.
My father is an avid sportsman. He enjoys hunting, but his greatest passion is fishing. The man lives to fish--river, lake, ocean--you name it. He loves all of his brothers, but his brother Wyatt is the closest to him. One of his greatest enjoyments in life is his trips to Louisiana to go deep-sea fishing with Uncle Wyatt on his boat--first the Great Escape, then the Great Escape II. When I am faced with the sight of my father in his weakened state, barely able to lift his cup of water to his lips, it gives me comfort to remember my strong father on Uncle Wyatt's boat, fighting to bring in fish that weigh hundreds of pounds.
My father is strong.
My father taught me gun safety, and then he taught me to shoot. He took immense pride when he discovered that I could shoot very well, glowing as he called me "Holly Oakley" and bragging to others that I was a great shot.
My father is a hard worker. When I was two years old, my parents moved from Chattanooga to Cleveland because my father had been transferred from Sequoyah Nuclear Power Plant to Watts Bar. From the time I was two until he retired in 2002, my father made the two-hour round trip from Cleveland to Watts Bar every single day. He usually didn't make it to my after-school activities--cheerleading, recitals, pageants, choir concerts--because he was exhausted from the drive and the long workday. Outages were even worse--twelve-hour workdays, seven days a week, on top of the drive. But he did it. For us. When I needed braces, I got them. When I wanted to join my school's Model UN team and go to Chicago, then Washington, then back to Chicago, checks magically appeared in my hand. When I needed a new cheerleading uniform, I got it. When I turned sixteen, I got a car--not a new one, and not even a somewhat new one, but it was mine and I loved it. All those silly pageants--the clothes and dresses and the voice lessons--my daddy. When I gave up my college scholarship to come home because I missed my family and East Tennessee, Dad paid my tuition. When I had been married four years and needed a root canal and couldn't pay for it because I had medical insurance but not dental, he took care of it.
My dad is an amazing cook. He's not a "follow the recipe" kind of cook--he's a "dig around in the fridge, pull a bunch of crap out, throw it in the pot and come up with a masterpiece" kind of cook. Knowing that I have eaten his homemade biscuits and gravy for the last time is enough to bring me to tears. Christmas morning will never be the same without his huge breakfast feast after opening presents. Gumbo, fish, jambalaya, shrimp, hush puppies, homemade chicken noodle soup--these are some of his specialties. I wonder who will make me fish tails now. Dad always complained that it was such a pain to cut off the tails and fry them up, but he knew I loved them, so he did it--just for me. The last time he made me fish tails was this year in Destin. They were delicious, as always.
Many people don't know this, but my father has a wonderful singing voice. Listening to him sing Hank Williams' "Jambalaya" was always a pleasure. He loves old country music and listening to him belt out classics is wonderful.
My father can be an impatient and short-tempered man, and it has amused all five of us children to see how he has mellowed with age. Transgressions by the grandchildren that would have gotten us a whipping with the belt are met with a smile and a laugh by Papa. Yes, he was often too hard on us and he made many mistakes, but what parent hasn't? I've only been a mom for a little over three years and I've already made roughly 3.7 million mistakes in my tenure. Dad was not and is not a perfect parent--not by a mile--but he loves us deeply and that's what counts.
My dad is set in his ways. He has his own way of doing things and will not be swayed. For him, TV is the ultimate lazy pasttime, and old Westerns are a staple. There is nothing better, in his eyes, than a buffet-style restaurant, and he loves to eat at Ryan's. He has a "uniform," a certain way of eating (he eats late and never drinks anything with his meal), and a morning routine. He rarely sees fit to try new foods or drinks. He likes what he likes and that is that. He seems a bit naked without a ball cap on his head, and he has a massive collection of them (most of them having something to do with TVA). He knows our section of the Tennessee River like the back of his hand, and he relishes in the search for "Ol' Tobe," the biggest catfish in the river. People have even paid him, on occasion, to serve as a fishing guide and to teach them some of his tricks. He has had a mustache his entire adult life and looks awful without one (we know this because he messed up trimming it once and ended up having to shave it off. My sister freaked and wouldn't believe it was her daddy. We were so glad when it grew back--especially my mother, who said he had no upper lip and never wanted to kiss him like that again). He is the owner of the "Williams eyes," passed down to four of his five children. He is tall, and skinny, and has always had to wear a belt because he doesn't have enough of a butt to hold his pants up.
My dad hates cats with a passion and never wanted one, but he acquiesced to our wishes and then cried when he accidentally ran over my kitten.
My father was born near the end of World War II, while his father was still away fighting in the South Pacific, he was named for General MacArthur, and he was nearly a year old before my grandfather ever laid eyes on him.
My father is smart, funny, sarcastic, kind, and generous.
I write all of these things because I want you to know him, and I want my children to know him. But in the end, in order to know my daddy...you have to know my daddy.
I hate that my children will never truly know who their Papa is. It will be up to us to keep him alive for them. On the one hand, I am devastated that I have had only 29 years with him. But on the other hand...I had 29 years with him! How lucky am I, compared to those who never know their fathers?
Daddy, I love you, and I'm glad you were mine.
This man is not my father.
My father is Doug Williams. He is a deeply imperfect man, but I would like to share with you more about him, imperfections and all.
My father is an avid sportsman. He enjoys hunting, but his greatest passion is fishing. The man lives to fish--river, lake, ocean--you name it. He loves all of his brothers, but his brother Wyatt is the closest to him. One of his greatest enjoyments in life is his trips to Louisiana to go deep-sea fishing with Uncle Wyatt on his boat--first the Great Escape, then the Great Escape II. When I am faced with the sight of my father in his weakened state, barely able to lift his cup of water to his lips, it gives me comfort to remember my strong father on Uncle Wyatt's boat, fighting to bring in fish that weigh hundreds of pounds.
My father is strong.
My father taught me gun safety, and then he taught me to shoot. He took immense pride when he discovered that I could shoot very well, glowing as he called me "Holly Oakley" and bragging to others that I was a great shot.
My father is a hard worker. When I was two years old, my parents moved from Chattanooga to Cleveland because my father had been transferred from Sequoyah Nuclear Power Plant to Watts Bar. From the time I was two until he retired in 2002, my father made the two-hour round trip from Cleveland to Watts Bar every single day. He usually didn't make it to my after-school activities--cheerleading, recitals, pageants, choir concerts--because he was exhausted from the drive and the long workday. Outages were even worse--twelve-hour workdays, seven days a week, on top of the drive. But he did it. For us. When I needed braces, I got them. When I wanted to join my school's Model UN team and go to Chicago, then Washington, then back to Chicago, checks magically appeared in my hand. When I needed a new cheerleading uniform, I got it. When I turned sixteen, I got a car--not a new one, and not even a somewhat new one, but it was mine and I loved it. All those silly pageants--the clothes and dresses and the voice lessons--my daddy. When I gave up my college scholarship to come home because I missed my family and East Tennessee, Dad paid my tuition. When I had been married four years and needed a root canal and couldn't pay for it because I had medical insurance but not dental, he took care of it.
My dad is an amazing cook. He's not a "follow the recipe" kind of cook--he's a "dig around in the fridge, pull a bunch of crap out, throw it in the pot and come up with a masterpiece" kind of cook. Knowing that I have eaten his homemade biscuits and gravy for the last time is enough to bring me to tears. Christmas morning will never be the same without his huge breakfast feast after opening presents. Gumbo, fish, jambalaya, shrimp, hush puppies, homemade chicken noodle soup--these are some of his specialties. I wonder who will make me fish tails now. Dad always complained that it was such a pain to cut off the tails and fry them up, but he knew I loved them, so he did it--just for me. The last time he made me fish tails was this year in Destin. They were delicious, as always.
Many people don't know this, but my father has a wonderful singing voice. Listening to him sing Hank Williams' "Jambalaya" was always a pleasure. He loves old country music and listening to him belt out classics is wonderful.
My father can be an impatient and short-tempered man, and it has amused all five of us children to see how he has mellowed with age. Transgressions by the grandchildren that would have gotten us a whipping with the belt are met with a smile and a laugh by Papa. Yes, he was often too hard on us and he made many mistakes, but what parent hasn't? I've only been a mom for a little over three years and I've already made roughly 3.7 million mistakes in my tenure. Dad was not and is not a perfect parent--not by a mile--but he loves us deeply and that's what counts.
My dad is set in his ways. He has his own way of doing things and will not be swayed. For him, TV is the ultimate lazy pasttime, and old Westerns are a staple. There is nothing better, in his eyes, than a buffet-style restaurant, and he loves to eat at Ryan's. He has a "uniform," a certain way of eating (he eats late and never drinks anything with his meal), and a morning routine. He rarely sees fit to try new foods or drinks. He likes what he likes and that is that. He seems a bit naked without a ball cap on his head, and he has a massive collection of them (most of them having something to do with TVA). He knows our section of the Tennessee River like the back of his hand, and he relishes in the search for "Ol' Tobe," the biggest catfish in the river. People have even paid him, on occasion, to serve as a fishing guide and to teach them some of his tricks. He has had a mustache his entire adult life and looks awful without one (we know this because he messed up trimming it once and ended up having to shave it off. My sister freaked and wouldn't believe it was her daddy. We were so glad when it grew back--especially my mother, who said he had no upper lip and never wanted to kiss him like that again). He is the owner of the "Williams eyes," passed down to four of his five children. He is tall, and skinny, and has always had to wear a belt because he doesn't have enough of a butt to hold his pants up.
My dad hates cats with a passion and never wanted one, but he acquiesced to our wishes and then cried when he accidentally ran over my kitten.
My father was born near the end of World War II, while his father was still away fighting in the South Pacific, he was named for General MacArthur, and he was nearly a year old before my grandfather ever laid eyes on him.
My father is smart, funny, sarcastic, kind, and generous.
I write all of these things because I want you to know him, and I want my children to know him. But in the end, in order to know my daddy...you have to know my daddy.
I hate that my children will never truly know who their Papa is. It will be up to us to keep him alive for them. On the one hand, I am devastated that I have had only 29 years with him. But on the other hand...I had 29 years with him! How lucky am I, compared to those who never know their fathers?
Daddy, I love you, and I'm glad you were mine.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Tuesday update (as you can tell, my Snappy Title Generator is broken)
Today was better in some ways, worse in others. It was better in that Dad rested very well and wasn't quite so insistent on getting out of bed. It was better in that Mom actually managed to get a little bit of sleep because our dear, precious friend Teresa was there to pick up the slack and help where Dad was concerned. But it was worse in that Dad slept more and we realize that this is probably going to be the case from here on out. Things just went from bad to stupendously bad faster than we could ever imagine. I haven't written him my letter yet, and now I don't know if I should even bother, since I'm not sure he will be aware enough to comprehend it. We haven't gotten him to tell us who he wants his various guns to go to, and we know that is something about which he had very specific plans. We don't know if he will be lucid enough at any point to tell us. It's not that he is still out of his mind or hallucinating or anything like that. It's just that he is so weak that when he is awake, it's difficult to get him to talk in a way that we can understand.
On the one hand, all of this is utterly heartbreaking. But on the other hand, it is encouraging to know that if it has gone so quickly thus far, perhaps it will go quickly the rest of the way, and our precious daddy will not have to linger long in this condition. I only wish that I could be there to see his face when he sees Jesus for the first time. What an incredible blessing. And how lucky we are that he is saved. This would all be so much different were that not the case.
Your prayers are still coveted. We hunger for them. I ask for you to lift up not only my father (and his continued comfort--blessedly, he is still in no pain that we are aware of), but his caregivers--my mother, my sister Laura, our dear friend Teresa, and Dad's precious best friend (and neighbor) Tim, who has been called on so many times (often in the middle of the night) to help get Dad up when he has fallen, or to watch over him when the rest of us are gone.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for praying.
On the one hand, all of this is utterly heartbreaking. But on the other hand, it is encouraging to know that if it has gone so quickly thus far, perhaps it will go quickly the rest of the way, and our precious daddy will not have to linger long in this condition. I only wish that I could be there to see his face when he sees Jesus for the first time. What an incredible blessing. And how lucky we are that he is saved. This would all be so much different were that not the case.
Your prayers are still coveted. We hunger for them. I ask for you to lift up not only my father (and his continued comfort--blessedly, he is still in no pain that we are aware of), but his caregivers--my mother, my sister Laura, our dear friend Teresa, and Dad's precious best friend (and neighbor) Tim, who has been called on so many times (often in the middle of the night) to help get Dad up when he has fallen, or to watch over him when the rest of us are gone.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for praying.
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