An End

We received the call on Friday morning, before either of us had left for work. Ian's Dad, John had peacefully passed away at home. We were able to be there with the majority of his family at the house for the day, saying good-byes and making plans for our next few days. We have spent a lot of time with family over the last few days and probably will continue to do so. It is so nice to be reminded how many people care about you in your time of need- thank you everyone. The wake was Sun and the funeral Mon, today was thank yous and tomorrow the final meeting with Daniel's. I was thoroughly impressed with them and their tact. What ridiculous amounts of money everything costs, but they were wonderful.
On a lighter note, little mister slept from 7pm to after 7:30am after the whole ordeal yesterday. Whoo-hoo!!! I really wanted him at the funeral in his little suit coat because all of the grand kids brought up roses and put them in a vase for Papa, but we got a little foretaste of his behavior at the wake and that was a no go. Emily Post (a renowned etiquette reference) states that children 5-6 or under need not be in attendance anyway. He did come to the meal and whipped around the cafeteria a few times- maybe that is all it takes? (for ample sleep that is) I don't know that I have ever posted on this topic before, but he had two whorls on the back of his head where your hair spins out in any direction?? Well, he was blessed with two perfectly placed on the upper rounds of his head in the back going in opposite directions causing a natural mohawk...kind of cute and cool for now, but poor guy. I am sure it will be much like naturally curly hair or red hair for that matter great for a while, but if it is your life? different story.
ANYWAY, as he was tearing around and I was following monitoring his head bonking a woman commented, "oh, look he has a mohawk..." What if people think I do that to my poor son? Ok, I am over it.
It was a beautiful service which included the bishop because John was a Deacon and a rememberance written by Ian's eldest and wisest sibling-lol jk All jokes aside it was well written and delivered without fa-fa-fa sniffles by him -impressive- only one time when he cracked and almost lost it and then pulled it out- I hope he doesn't mind if I share:

We are all very proud of our family. We often play together, sometimes work together, pray together, fight together and call each other nasty names around the bonfire together, but we are all very proud of our family. And we are most proud of our parents. But in talking about Dad, there is nothing I can tell you that you do not already know. The “real” Dad that we know, is the same man who was “the best co-worker I ever had,” the dedicated servant of the Church, teacher, the life of the party, the husband whose love for his wife was perhaps the most real thing in his life.

He was his father’s son. Whenever I met anyone who worked with Grandpa Al, I would invariably hear that “he was the best (or fairest) boss I ever had.” When I meet someone who worked with dad I hear, simply, “he was the best.” We have all heard countless stories of his dedication, the joy he brought to the department, or the awful coffee he made. I vividly recall Dr John Mahowald at Dad’s retirement party calling him “the ArchAngel of the Heart Center.”

Dad came later in life to the Diaconate. I still remember the excitement he felt when Mike came out to the Lake to tell him that he had been accepted into the Diaconate Program. By that time in his life, this awful disease that would ultimately kill him was already in an advanced state. As Deacon, Dad taught us acceptance of what God gives us. His gnarled and pain ridden hands welcomed new members of the Church and parishioners at St Peter’s through countless baptisms and his tireless work for the RCIA program.

But it wasn’t as Deacon that Dad taught us how to live, and how to pray, it was as our Father. The Prayer to the Guardian Angel, the Rosary, the Liturgy of the Hours. These he taught us, but it was in how Dad lived that he taught us most about prayer. Rheumatoid Arthritis is not the story of Dad’s life, and we all grew tired of explaining to people that RA is a terrible disease, not just joint discomfort. Dad did not ask for sympathy or attention, and not only because he was a strong man, but because he embraced his calling to share in the salvific suffering of Christ. But in this, until the end when he waited, sometimes in agony, for God to call him home, he demonstrated in the best possible way his strong Pro-Life beliefs.

At leisure, none excelled Dad. The same passion for work and prayer he demonstrated in play. Ice Runs begin at 1:00, any questions? There was swimming when he was still well enough (from tipping the kids off of tubes, to throwing his sisters in the pool on the 4th at Marilyn and Gene’s). Tennis and volleyball, bowling and poker. And of course fishing. As the Arthritis advanced, the “keepers” got smaller, and the time to fish less, but he fished until he absolutely couldn’t anymore.

As husband, Dad truly taught us how to love. The times we remember Dad most angry were when we did not treat Mom with respect: a word never heard from his mouth before or since directed at Brian, an arthritic trot up the stairs after Ian, the wall pinning Tony received, we experienced then the anger Jesus must have displayed to the money changers in the temple. But tenderness was far more in evidence. The Christmas shopping trips for Mom’s presents when he was barely mobile any more, the constant touches and caresses, just the time spent near each other (if only the hours Mom spent scratching Dad’s head while watching TV).

The man who would get up everyday at 5:00am to be first to work is the same man who would calculate the time it would take to cook a Labor Day turkey by the number of beers enjoyed in the interim.

The man who clambered down into a ditch late at night to check that Erin wasn’t in the car that crashed is the same man who would look forward to Mom’s Wednesday morning coffee time away from home so he could throw stuff away he didn’t want to see around the house anymore.

The man who instructed Meaghan to email a picture of him toward the end that looked like a drunk pocket gopher on oxygen is the same man who wants us to celebrate his life. His lessons will always be with us.

Patriarch, Healer, Minister, Teacher, Husband, our Father.

More info later. I am exhausted.