When I was 3, my father was babysitting me upon his return from Vietnam. He was a Marine and had 17 years of service under his belt.
He had a stroke that night. Ended up with the run of the mill outcomes...paralysis of his right side...difficulty with speech.
My brother and sister were 6 and 8 years older than me so they remembered him both ways. I only have memories of him as a stroke victim. Growing up was difficult. A lot of the father/son activities were not present due to his stroke. Luckily, he was left handed and the stroke effected his right side so he was still able to do quite a bit. It's funny how people think stroke victims have lost their abilty to think. It is not the mind that is effected...it is a matter of gettiing the words out of the mouth. This man could balance a checkbook and tell you any date of an occurance from decades prior.
Coupled with the stroke, add the training from the Marines and you end up with a very anal person. A person where everything has to be in it's right spot, every single bit of garbage has to be out of the house on garbage night, and it's "his way or the highway." I remember many a night where I wondered if I could take it anymore.
Flash forward a couple of dozen years and all of the sudden I found myself doing things that he would do...things that used to bother my so much. I came to the realization that I was turning into my father.
4 years ago, we got a call that he was in the hospital with a heart problem. Heather and I left for Pennsylvania, where I grew up. I visited him in the hospital that night...he was unable to talk due to the tube down his throat. I told him everything was going to be alright.
The next morning they decided to life flight him to Pittsburgh. As they brought him out of the room, the family members went up to him to tell him how much they loved him. I stood back and our minister told me I needed to go say something. I refused. Not sure if it was because I thought he would be ok or I just wasn't accepting the situation.
Heather and I went to my mom's to get clothes while the rest of the family went to the hospital...since we figured we would all be staying in a hotel in Pittsburgh that night. By the time we got there, we were informed that he passed away on the helicopter.
I missed my final chance to tell the man that used to get on my nerves so much...the man that I turned into...how much I loved him.
As you can probably tell from this post, it has bothered me that I missed that chance.
I started teaching a lesson (the last couple of years) on the last day of school to my fifth graders revolving around the content of what I have said in this thread. Telling them how important it is to tell someone how much they love them...how that chance slipped through my fingers when it would have been so easy to walk 15 feet and say it.
He had a stroke that night. Ended up with the run of the mill outcomes...paralysis of his right side...difficulty with speech.
My brother and sister were 6 and 8 years older than me so they remembered him both ways. I only have memories of him as a stroke victim. Growing up was difficult. A lot of the father/son activities were not present due to his stroke. Luckily, he was left handed and the stroke effected his right side so he was still able to do quite a bit. It's funny how people think stroke victims have lost their abilty to think. It is not the mind that is effected...it is a matter of gettiing the words out of the mouth. This man could balance a checkbook and tell you any date of an occurance from decades prior.
Coupled with the stroke, add the training from the Marines and you end up with a very anal person. A person where everything has to be in it's right spot, every single bit of garbage has to be out of the house on garbage night, and it's "his way or the highway." I remember many a night where I wondered if I could take it anymore.
Flash forward a couple of dozen years and all of the sudden I found myself doing things that he would do...things that used to bother my so much. I came to the realization that I was turning into my father.
4 years ago, we got a call that he was in the hospital with a heart problem. Heather and I left for Pennsylvania, where I grew up. I visited him in the hospital that night...he was unable to talk due to the tube down his throat. I told him everything was going to be alright.
The next morning they decided to life flight him to Pittsburgh. As they brought him out of the room, the family members went up to him to tell him how much they loved him. I stood back and our minister told me I needed to go say something. I refused. Not sure if it was because I thought he would be ok or I just wasn't accepting the situation.
Heather and I went to my mom's to get clothes while the rest of the family went to the hospital...since we figured we would all be staying in a hotel in Pittsburgh that night. By the time we got there, we were informed that he passed away on the helicopter.
I missed my final chance to tell the man that used to get on my nerves so much...the man that I turned into...how much I loved him.
As you can probably tell from this post, it has bothered me that I missed that chance.
I started teaching a lesson (the last couple of years) on the last day of school to my fifth graders revolving around the content of what I have said in this thread. Telling them how important it is to tell someone how much they love them...how that chance slipped through my fingers when it would have been so easy to walk 15 feet and say it.
