As children, we grow up in our parent's home experiencing their traditions which are likely to be born from those they remember from their own childhood, and enhanced by touches they have added. I know when I was very young, though my folks didn't have much money, they attempted to make Christmas special for me and my older brothers. As I awoke on Christmas morning, my eyes would be dazzled by the myriad presents I'd see under the tree - and, though there were some gifts for everyone, I, as the youngest in the family, seemed to have the most.
As I grew older and realized that Santa was not behind all the wonderful gifts, I nevertheless realized what magic Christmas held for all. Living with my folks until I was a man, our tradition changed. Instead of having our Christmas present opening on Christmas morning, we would, instead, do this major event on Christmas eve.
The Christmas eve event became more than just an opening of presents for our immediate family. It became a party beginning in mid-afternoon, attended by aunts, uncles, my brothers children, cousins, second cousins, and close friends of our family. There would be food and copious amounts of alcoholic beverages consumed. My father, in particular, reveled in this newly-formed tradition, and long after all but the immediate family had departed, dad would sit in his easy chair, listening to carols, full of Seagram's 7, teary-eyed and sentimental until sleep would finally proclaim enough.
When I married and had children of my own, my bride and I would continue the tradition on Christmas morning, usually after having spent a late evening constructing whatever toys or gifts Santa was bringing to our three young children. We'd wake bleary-eyed Christmas morning when one, or more, of our children would bound breathlessly into our bedroom screaming, "Santa's been here!" Though near exhaustion from too little sleep, we'd get caught up in the excitement of our kids discovery of the array of gifts piled under, and extending in front of the tree. The absolute glee in the faces of your children somehow erases any bit of fatigue you might have.
As our children found out about Santa, the gifts continued - as did the traditions.
Then, as inevitably it must, time changes everything. The kids become adults. They move away. For the first few years they continue to come home for Christmas and things are relatively the same. They bring their new-found loved ones with them. The more the merrier, I say. However, this too changes. The children have either moved too far away, or have obligations of their own and simply cannot come home for Christmas. They are already home.
So, the tradition transitions.
In my case, my bride and I have been blessed in that our first born, our daughter, lives not too far away, with her husband, who is a tolerant soul and generously welcomes his in-laws into his home. The absolute bonus is that our daughter and son in law have also blessed us with our only Grandchild - a boy, now 5 1/2, who is the light of his Grandma's and my life.
For the last several years, we have spent Christmas with my daughter, my son in law, and this remarkable little boy. We've seen our daughter and her hubby spent hours into the night putting together toys for our grandchild much as we did for our kids. But, more importantly, we have watched him experience the magic of Christmas morning, seeing those presents that Santa brought during the middle of the night while he was sleeping. The look on his face and in his eyes, I imagine, is much the same as it was in mine on those Christmas mornings long ago when I was a boy - or in the faces of his mother - my daughter, and his two uncles - my sons, when they all ran screaming into our bedroom to tell us "Santa was here" in a time that doesn't seem that long ago.
There really is nothing quite like that look. Everyone should experience it. It does the heart, mind, and soul good. It truly captures the Christmas spirit. The good news is I suspect that someday my grandson will experience this same look on the face, and in the eyes of his own children, and grandchildren on future Christmas mornings.
And the traditions will continue to transition. That is how it should be.
Old Fart Mike
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
"....the luckiest Man...."
Lou Gehrig, famed slugger from the New York Yankees, on the recognition day held for him in 1939 after it had been determined he had ALS, said, "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this Earth." Gehrig was to die two years later.
To borrow Mr. Gehrig's statement, "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this Earth." Some may ask why? Well, today, December 22, 2009, marks the tenth anniversary of the day I died - and, obviously, was brought back to life.
I was hosting my employee Christmas party on the eventful night shortly before the upcoming worrisome Y2K. The speeches had been made. Dinner had been consumed, and it was time for some fun for all - which consisted of approximately 200 people (employees and their significant others). That meant a DJ and dancing. As was my custom, I would hang around for about 30 to 45 minutes, dance with the gang, and then sneak out the back, allowing my staff to have a good time without the boss in attendance. My bride had just left to exchange a present before the store closed and I told her I'd meet her at home in a little while.
What I remember is walking out to the dance floor with two of my female staff. My next memory is waking up in intensive cardiac care sometime the next day with my very worried-looking wife and daughter standing next to me. Neither had had much sleep. I tried to speak, but the tubes in my throat prevented me from doing so. Finally, I asked for something to write with.
What I wrote was, "What Happened?"
While I kept drifting off, my bride had to explain to me - several times that I experienced "Sudden Cardiac Death". I was to learn later that my heart went into fibrillation and stopped. Two of my employees began CPR and kept the oxygen flowing which prevented brain damage until the paramedics arrived. I also learned the paramedics had to administer 6 shocks from the defibrillator paddles to start my heart and stabilize me.
I won't go into all the details of the story here but I spent the next 9 days in the hospital. I received an implanted cardiac defibrillator/pacemaker in my chest during the duration of my visit.
Attempting to return to work was a mistake. The long grueling hours and associated pressure were too much, and my doctors determined that I needed to stop working. I knew this in my heart, but it took my personal care physician - who happened to be a friend - to look me in the eye and ask me what he should tell my wife and kids when I did, in fact, die for good.
Most would say I was given a terrible situation with this malady. A bum ticker. Can't work. Never know when I could croak. But you know what? In many ways it was the best thing that could have happened to me. There is no doubt in my mind that continuing to work would have killed me. Having a type A personality can be a curse. It took a forced "retirement" for me to truly understand that I was driven. Don't know why, but I know that I was. Had I kept working, I would have worked myself to death.
The time I've had these last ten years has allowed me to stop and smell the roses a bit too. I am kinder, gentler. Ask my bride. And I know how blessed I am. I know God was behind all this, and I am thankful to Him.
The experiences I have been able to enjoy because of Him allowing me to stick around these extra years are way too numerous to list all of them, but there are a few highlights I have to mention some:
* So far I've been able to celebrate 10 more wedding anniversaries with the love of my life, my bride of 38+ years.
* I was able to spend one last Mother's Day with my mom, who passed away a few short months later.
* I was able to walk my beautiful daughter down the aisle at her marriage to a wonderful young man whom my wife and I adore.
* I attended the high school graduation of my youngest son - and attended the college graduation of BOTH my sons.
* I was there for the birth of my Grandson, child of my daughter. And have spent countless times with this remarkable boy.
* I've watched all three of my children grow into remarkable, successful adults - all with wonderful significant others.
* I've met new friends and strengthened ties and bonds with old friends.
* I've apologized to people I should have - which has, in turn, strengthened me.
* I've learned that I should tell people I love them more often - and I try to do that.
* I know my family loves me.
* I attended the 50th anniversary of my hero, and brother John and his incredible wife, Joanne.
Yes, I am the Luckiest.
To borrow Mr. Gehrig's statement, "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this Earth." Some may ask why? Well, today, December 22, 2009, marks the tenth anniversary of the day I died - and, obviously, was brought back to life.
I was hosting my employee Christmas party on the eventful night shortly before the upcoming worrisome Y2K. The speeches had been made. Dinner had been consumed, and it was time for some fun for all - which consisted of approximately 200 people (employees and their significant others). That meant a DJ and dancing. As was my custom, I would hang around for about 30 to 45 minutes, dance with the gang, and then sneak out the back, allowing my staff to have a good time without the boss in attendance. My bride had just left to exchange a present before the store closed and I told her I'd meet her at home in a little while.
What I remember is walking out to the dance floor with two of my female staff. My next memory is waking up in intensive cardiac care sometime the next day with my very worried-looking wife and daughter standing next to me. Neither had had much sleep. I tried to speak, but the tubes in my throat prevented me from doing so. Finally, I asked for something to write with.
What I wrote was, "What Happened?"
While I kept drifting off, my bride had to explain to me - several times that I experienced "Sudden Cardiac Death". I was to learn later that my heart went into fibrillation and stopped. Two of my employees began CPR and kept the oxygen flowing which prevented brain damage until the paramedics arrived. I also learned the paramedics had to administer 6 shocks from the defibrillator paddles to start my heart and stabilize me.
I won't go into all the details of the story here but I spent the next 9 days in the hospital. I received an implanted cardiac defibrillator/pacemaker in my chest during the duration of my visit.
Attempting to return to work was a mistake. The long grueling hours and associated pressure were too much, and my doctors determined that I needed to stop working. I knew this in my heart, but it took my personal care physician - who happened to be a friend - to look me in the eye and ask me what he should tell my wife and kids when I did, in fact, die for good.
Most would say I was given a terrible situation with this malady. A bum ticker. Can't work. Never know when I could croak. But you know what? In many ways it was the best thing that could have happened to me. There is no doubt in my mind that continuing to work would have killed me. Having a type A personality can be a curse. It took a forced "retirement" for me to truly understand that I was driven. Don't know why, but I know that I was. Had I kept working, I would have worked myself to death.
The time I've had these last ten years has allowed me to stop and smell the roses a bit too. I am kinder, gentler. Ask my bride. And I know how blessed I am. I know God was behind all this, and I am thankful to Him.
The experiences I have been able to enjoy because of Him allowing me to stick around these extra years are way too numerous to list all of them, but there are a few highlights I have to mention some:
* So far I've been able to celebrate 10 more wedding anniversaries with the love of my life, my bride of 38+ years.
* I was able to spend one last Mother's Day with my mom, who passed away a few short months later.
* I was able to walk my beautiful daughter down the aisle at her marriage to a wonderful young man whom my wife and I adore.
* I attended the high school graduation of my youngest son - and attended the college graduation of BOTH my sons.
* I was there for the birth of my Grandson, child of my daughter. And have spent countless times with this remarkable boy.
* I've watched all three of my children grow into remarkable, successful adults - all with wonderful significant others.
* I've met new friends and strengthened ties and bonds with old friends.
* I've apologized to people I should have - which has, in turn, strengthened me.
* I've learned that I should tell people I love them more often - and I try to do that.
* I know my family loves me.
* I attended the 50th anniversary of my hero, and brother John and his incredible wife, Joanne.
Yes, I am the Luckiest.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
30 years
Today marks 30 years since my father died. He was 69 years old at the time of his death, having suffered a final fatal heart attack right at home, in his own bed, exactly where he said he wanted to die.
I, the youngest of his three sons, was living in Denver with my bride and, at the time, two children - both young. I had been out, making sales calls, and when I returned to my office in downtown Denver, my secretary had an odd look on her face. As I peered into my office, I saw my bride, wrapping up a telephone call. This was strange for 2 O'clock in the afternoon, so I approached her, and she shut the door behind me. Then, after ensuring I sat down first, she sprung the bad news on me.
Knowing I would be a mess, she had already arranged my flight to California for later that day. She would join me the next day - after she had arranged for someone to watch the kids. I don't remember much about the next few hours, except thinking to myself I was thankful I had done what my dad had asked for the last few months.
He had almost begged me to come visit, bringing my wife and children. We had a new child, a baby boy, only six months old, plus his one and only granddaughter, who was four. My father, who had heart problems for years, was simply too sick to travel. I had resisted visiting because, frankly, we were broke, and I had just begun a new job.
Fortunately, I threw logic and reason to the wind, and, instead relied on gut. Something inside told me to make the trip, and bring everyone, even though we couldn't afford it. So, some 12 days before his death, we visited. He was incredibly thankful, as was my mom. They both absolutely relished their time with my daughter and 6 month old baby boy, holding and playing with them every opportunity they could during the three day visit we had with them.
When the kids took naps, I spent time with my parents, and my dad looked into my eyes and told me that he probably wouldn't make it until Christmas. My response was typical of an offspring that doesn't want to face the truth, "Dad, you're being morbid, you're gonna be around a long time." He looked at me with his sad, rheumy eyes, gave that crooked smile he had always had, and said, "I don't know, but I'm sure glad you came."
AS the final day of our visit arrived, the kids gave their grandma and grandpa their hugs and kisses, and both my parents eyes welled up with tears. My bride, of course, also gave kisses and hugs, and then strapped the kids in the car. As she was doing this, I gave my mom a long hug and kiss, and turned to my dad. He was visibly crying by now. That, of course, made my eyes begin to leak too. When I kissed, and hugged him, he held me for the longest time, telling me he loved me. I repeated the same words to him. They would be the last words I would say to my father. I feel astoundingly blessed that they were.
As many children experience in their lifetimes, relationships with their parents are filled with ups and downs. There are good times and bad. There were times when I hated my dad. But, most of the time, I loved him deeply. He was an incredibly complicated man. Much like I am, I suppose.
Seeing him lying in the casket was an awful sight. I remembered the strongest man I had ever seen. But now, he was just lying there. Dead. Strength gone. Him gone. I cried so hard I was inconsolable. And, it took me a full six months to get over his death.
There are still times today, 30 years later, when I think of him and some of the things he used to say, the jokes he used to crack, or his absolute love of his family, and wish I could talk to him. About things I never did as a man. Because I was too proud to do so, making my way as a man of my own. It's easier when you're a kid to ask your dad questions. But when you're a grown-up, you've got something to prove. To your family. Your wife. Your own kids. Him. It's not until you're older that it finally registers.
Dad, I miss you. I Love you. I wish I would've been smarter about talking to you when I was a grown-up.
Mike
I, the youngest of his three sons, was living in Denver with my bride and, at the time, two children - both young. I had been out, making sales calls, and when I returned to my office in downtown Denver, my secretary had an odd look on her face. As I peered into my office, I saw my bride, wrapping up a telephone call. This was strange for 2 O'clock in the afternoon, so I approached her, and she shut the door behind me. Then, after ensuring I sat down first, she sprung the bad news on me.
Knowing I would be a mess, she had already arranged my flight to California for later that day. She would join me the next day - after she had arranged for someone to watch the kids. I don't remember much about the next few hours, except thinking to myself I was thankful I had done what my dad had asked for the last few months.
He had almost begged me to come visit, bringing my wife and children. We had a new child, a baby boy, only six months old, plus his one and only granddaughter, who was four. My father, who had heart problems for years, was simply too sick to travel. I had resisted visiting because, frankly, we were broke, and I had just begun a new job.
Fortunately, I threw logic and reason to the wind, and, instead relied on gut. Something inside told me to make the trip, and bring everyone, even though we couldn't afford it. So, some 12 days before his death, we visited. He was incredibly thankful, as was my mom. They both absolutely relished their time with my daughter and 6 month old baby boy, holding and playing with them every opportunity they could during the three day visit we had with them.
When the kids took naps, I spent time with my parents, and my dad looked into my eyes and told me that he probably wouldn't make it until Christmas. My response was typical of an offspring that doesn't want to face the truth, "Dad, you're being morbid, you're gonna be around a long time." He looked at me with his sad, rheumy eyes, gave that crooked smile he had always had, and said, "I don't know, but I'm sure glad you came."
AS the final day of our visit arrived, the kids gave their grandma and grandpa their hugs and kisses, and both my parents eyes welled up with tears. My bride, of course, also gave kisses and hugs, and then strapped the kids in the car. As she was doing this, I gave my mom a long hug and kiss, and turned to my dad. He was visibly crying by now. That, of course, made my eyes begin to leak too. When I kissed, and hugged him, he held me for the longest time, telling me he loved me. I repeated the same words to him. They would be the last words I would say to my father. I feel astoundingly blessed that they were.
As many children experience in their lifetimes, relationships with their parents are filled with ups and downs. There are good times and bad. There were times when I hated my dad. But, most of the time, I loved him deeply. He was an incredibly complicated man. Much like I am, I suppose.
Seeing him lying in the casket was an awful sight. I remembered the strongest man I had ever seen. But now, he was just lying there. Dead. Strength gone. Him gone. I cried so hard I was inconsolable. And, it took me a full six months to get over his death.
There are still times today, 30 years later, when I think of him and some of the things he used to say, the jokes he used to crack, or his absolute love of his family, and wish I could talk to him. About things I never did as a man. Because I was too proud to do so, making my way as a man of my own. It's easier when you're a kid to ask your dad questions. But when you're a grown-up, you've got something to prove. To your family. Your wife. Your own kids. Him. It's not until you're older that it finally registers.
Dad, I miss you. I Love you. I wish I would've been smarter about talking to you when I was a grown-up.
Mike
Saturday, December 12, 2009
No more Joe DiMaggios
With the continuing story of Tiger Woods' infidelities still emerging, I find myself a bit sad that yet another sports hero has disappointed so many. When I was a kid, stories of sports heroes going astray did not ever reach me - or, perhaps, I was just oblivious.
But that was back in the innocent 1950's and early '60's, long before Ted Turner pioneered our 24/7 news cycle, before Watergate, steroids, or recreational drugs made it into the mainstream of American culture.
As a child, my heroes were people like Duke Snider, Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale - baseball players for the newly relocated Los Angeles Dodgers. I can't remember any transgressions of theirs back in the day. Some ballplayers did, however, like to imbibe in a few drinks occasionally. In fact, most major league games were sponsored in part by one or another Beer company, who also provided plenty of their product in the clubhouse after the game.
When these players left the clubhouse, they were at times, already, as we used to say, "Three sheets to the wind". However, as far as the world knew, this was the worst of their transgressions, and, for the most part, was viewed as harmless fun by the general public and the media they sometimes drank with.
As time rolled on and the media began to report mistakes made by so-called sports stars, very few "Super Stars" have remained clear of problems in their personal lives. Tiger Woods, who may be the best-ever golfer, appeared to be squeaky clean, above reproach, until the last few days. And that was good. For the game of golf. For sports in general. And, more importantly for children everywhere.
Though identifying a personal hero in sports is always dangerous, it is something that most kids do. Tiger let down his beautiful wife of some five years, his two children, his thousands of fans, and children throughout the world that looked up to him.
As Simon & Garfunkle said in song, "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio, A nation turns its lonely eyes to you, What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson, Joltin' Joe has left and gone away."
Unfortunately, there are no more Joe DiMaggios, and that is a pity.
Old Fart Mike
But that was back in the innocent 1950's and early '60's, long before Ted Turner pioneered our 24/7 news cycle, before Watergate, steroids, or recreational drugs made it into the mainstream of American culture.
As a child, my heroes were people like Duke Snider, Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale - baseball players for the newly relocated Los Angeles Dodgers. I can't remember any transgressions of theirs back in the day. Some ballplayers did, however, like to imbibe in a few drinks occasionally. In fact, most major league games were sponsored in part by one or another Beer company, who also provided plenty of their product in the clubhouse after the game.
When these players left the clubhouse, they were at times, already, as we used to say, "Three sheets to the wind". However, as far as the world knew, this was the worst of their transgressions, and, for the most part, was viewed as harmless fun by the general public and the media they sometimes drank with.
As time rolled on and the media began to report mistakes made by so-called sports stars, very few "Super Stars" have remained clear of problems in their personal lives. Tiger Woods, who may be the best-ever golfer, appeared to be squeaky clean, above reproach, until the last few days. And that was good. For the game of golf. For sports in general. And, more importantly for children everywhere.
Though identifying a personal hero in sports is always dangerous, it is something that most kids do. Tiger let down his beautiful wife of some five years, his two children, his thousands of fans, and children throughout the world that looked up to him.
As Simon & Garfunkle said in song, "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio, A nation turns its lonely eyes to you, What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson, Joltin' Joe has left and gone away."
Unfortunately, there are no more Joe DiMaggios, and that is a pity.
Old Fart Mike
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Birthday Girl
Today is my daughter's birthday. Sometimes it is difficult to believe how many years have gone by since my bride rushed into my office, shut the door, and told me, "We're pregnant!" My wife of nearly 3 years was so excited, she received a speeding ticket on the drive over to tell me the magnificent news. I got up from behind my desk, went to my bride, hugged and kissed her, told her how much I loved her, and how thrilled I was.
That was the beginning of my new love affair. Unlike most contemporary parents in those days, we didn't want to know the gender of our new baby, preferring to be surprised when the newborn made it's arrival. So, as the nine months achingly dragged by, we thought up names for both boys and girls.
After a false start by one day, caused by phantom contractions, we arrived at the hospital on December 8th, 1974, both sleep-deprived and excited beyond belief. After a few hours of employing our well-practiced La Maze class breathing techniques, the doctor interrupted this by advising us, saying, "She (My beautiful bride) is simply too tired, we're going to give her some help." At that point, I was escorted out of the birthing room, left to my own fears, and quickly began to chain-smoke cigarettes.
It seemed like hours later, though really less than 30 minutes, when a nurse advised me that I was a father. She directed me to an area where I would be able to see my first child, and, again, I patiently waited for my baby's arrival. Soon, the nurse appeared holding this impossibly small human, swaddled in a blanket, eyes shut, with a cap on it's head. All I could see was it's tiny facial features. I know I finally shouted to her through the glass, "What is it?", probably too loud. The nurse peeled back the blanket, showing me my lovely infant daughter. I melted into tears at that moment.
A few minutes later, I was allowed back to spend some time with my bride. The love of my life, who had produced this wonderful addition to our lives. She was exhausted and still reeling from the drugs that had been administered to her. Of course, I held her again, told her how beautiful our daughter was, how much I loved her, and she fell quietly asleep.
It was then that a nurse came into the room with this incredible little girl, asking if we'd like to spend some time with her. As my wife was mostly knocked out, I had the extreme pleasure of holding her first. It is something I will never, ever forget. As I looked her over once again, I remember Thanking God for His gift to us and silently promising Him, my bride, and my little girl, that I would do my best to take care of her.
When I left the hospital a few hours later, I first stopped at church to again Thank Him. I know the priest who happened by must have thought something must be terribly wrong as I was again crying. The emotions just came forth as I thanked God for His wonderfulness in giving us this beautiful little angel and for allowing my beautiful bride to come through the ordeal of childbirth unscathed.
The years, of course, went by. As a toddler, she was incredibly cute. People would often stop us and tell us how precious she was. Like we didn't know it. Only one time I can remember that I actually got mad at her during the toddler years. We, my daughter and I, were going somewhere, and I stopped to get gas. I got out of the car to pump the gas and left the keys in the car. Big mistake. She pushed down the lock. So I was completely locked out of the car. In Denver. In the winter. As I implored her to open the lock, she kept smiling at me and waving, thinking we were playing. Of course, daddy - freezing And thinking this is NOT so cute - is trying to coax his angel to open the lock. It took probably 15 minutes or so before she finally did.
As a young girl, I have too many memories of her to state here, but she was ALWAYS a joy to her mom and I. One memory that jumps to mind was when we took her to a restaurant. She was so social. She simply would not finish her food, and as it was a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, her mom and I de4cided to wait her out until she ate all of the food on her plate, thinking that this is one of the things as parents we must teach her to do. We did, in fact teach her this lesson. FOUR hours later.
I remember taking her to the first Father/daughter dance. I felt so privileged to do so. And to her first rock concert. Huey Lewis and the News. We came out of that with our ears ringing and laughing about it. In later years, for my birthday, she and her fiance (now husband) took me to see The Rolling Stones - one of my favorite groups.
My daughter was an incredible swimmer in high school. My wife and I attempted to make it to every swim meet there was. She qualified for, and placed in, State finals in both Texas and Oklahoma. And, at the swim team banquet after her junior year in Houston, she was elected captain of the women's team. I danced with her at that banquet knowing I had to give her some bad news, but I couldn't tell her then. I couldn't ruin her moment. We were moving. Before her senior year in high school.
It was awful. For a time, we thought we'd have to leave our beautiful daughter behind in Texas when we moved to Oklahoma. Frankly, we finally prepared for this, contacting parents of one of her best friends from high school, and arranging for her to live the year with them. We were all heartbroken about this.
Then, our little girl reached the final stages of womanhood. She announced to us that her place was with us. She would be moving to Oklahoma with us. The relief our family felt - her brothers too - was immense. Though the first few weeks of her high school career were a bit rocky, she eventually thrived, and did extremely well. Her GPA flourished. She did well on the swim team. She met a boy.
Soon it was time to check out colleges, and she selected the University of Oklahoma. Because our girl was so smart, she was able to test out of some classes and enter as a second semester Freshman. Just like her, if you were to ask her parents. Always a step ahead of the rest of her contemporaries. ALWAYS making her parents proud. She decided to go into the Greek system - and had a perfect rush - getting chosen by the sorority she wanted from the beginning, and one of the top ones on Campus.
As 4 years of college flew by, she was, of course, on top of her game, excelling in virtually everything. Just as we knew she would. Going to her college graduation was such a thrill for my bride and I, as neither of us had experienced the thrill personally. But, our girl did! That day we also met the man she would later marry.
As her career began and flourished, our pride in our daughter continued. She achieved more than we ever could have expected that morning in Florida when we first laid eyes on her. We also watched her fall in love with a wonderful young man, whom we also grew to love. When he called me and asked me if I could spend some time with him as he wanted to talk to me, I thrust my arm into the air, thinking "YES!!!" We knew he was "The one" almost from the time we first saw him.
Seeing my little girl moments before walking her down the aisle, dressed so beautifully in her wedding gown, was similar to the scene in "Father of the Bride" where Steve Martin looks at his daughter at the dinner table as she is announcing her intent to wed, and he flashes back on all the memorable times of his daughter and he. I, of course, being the sentimental old Irishman that I am, teared up and almost lost it.
Going forward a few years, we were visiting my princess and her husband, and as only she could do, she said she had a present for us. She handed a wrapped gift to my wife, who opened it at my urging. As my wife screamed, ran to my angel, embraced her, kissed her, I, of course sat there clueless as a typical sit-com father. After a few seconds, my wife handed me the present. It was a simple picture frame, around the edges "I love Grandpa and Grandma", inserted inside the frame, "picture coming, May 4th". Obviously, I jumped up, held my daughter, my wife, my son in law, and, of course, started crying again.
Flash forward almost 9 months. Phone rings. "Dad, the doctor is gonna induce labor. Do you think you & mom can come down today?" If this hadn't been my Poopsie, I would have answered with something sarcastic,like, "Uh, Gee, I don't know, there's a movie on TV I was thinking of maybe watching." Instead, I said, "Let me call mom, we'll be there as soon as possible." We made the 2 hour drive in less than an hour and 15 minutes. This was MY DAUGHTER. About to give birth.
So, then, our first Grandchild. Jacob. God, we love that boy. HE is, like his mother, beautiful. Smart. Personality plus. Just an incredible kid. He is 5 1/2 now. And HIS mother, my daughter, is an incredible mother. No real surprise there. She has been incredible in everything she has ever done. Her husband is pretty incredible too, spending time with their son teaching him in some ways I never thought of. I guess it's just another way she proved herself. She chose the right guy.
Forest Gump probably said it best, "Momma used to say, 'Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get'".
In our case, when we opened our box of chocolates, we were lucky enough to get the best, the sweetest. Our daughter.
So, to my daughter - Happy Birthday! You will ALWAYS be my little girl - even though you've grown up to be the strongest, most self assured, independent woman we know. You are kind, yet firm. A gentle, loving mother. A beautiful woman - inside and out.
I am so proud of you - and I love you more than you'll ever know.
Dad
That was the beginning of my new love affair. Unlike most contemporary parents in those days, we didn't want to know the gender of our new baby, preferring to be surprised when the newborn made it's arrival. So, as the nine months achingly dragged by, we thought up names for both boys and girls.
After a false start by one day, caused by phantom contractions, we arrived at the hospital on December 8th, 1974, both sleep-deprived and excited beyond belief. After a few hours of employing our well-practiced La Maze class breathing techniques, the doctor interrupted this by advising us, saying, "She (My beautiful bride) is simply too tired, we're going to give her some help." At that point, I was escorted out of the birthing room, left to my own fears, and quickly began to chain-smoke cigarettes.
It seemed like hours later, though really less than 30 minutes, when a nurse advised me that I was a father. She directed me to an area where I would be able to see my first child, and, again, I patiently waited for my baby's arrival. Soon, the nurse appeared holding this impossibly small human, swaddled in a blanket, eyes shut, with a cap on it's head. All I could see was it's tiny facial features. I know I finally shouted to her through the glass, "What is it?", probably too loud. The nurse peeled back the blanket, showing me my lovely infant daughter. I melted into tears at that moment.
A few minutes later, I was allowed back to spend some time with my bride. The love of my life, who had produced this wonderful addition to our lives. She was exhausted and still reeling from the drugs that had been administered to her. Of course, I held her again, told her how beautiful our daughter was, how much I loved her, and she fell quietly asleep.
It was then that a nurse came into the room with this incredible little girl, asking if we'd like to spend some time with her. As my wife was mostly knocked out, I had the extreme pleasure of holding her first. It is something I will never, ever forget. As I looked her over once again, I remember Thanking God for His gift to us and silently promising Him, my bride, and my little girl, that I would do my best to take care of her.
When I left the hospital a few hours later, I first stopped at church to again Thank Him. I know the priest who happened by must have thought something must be terribly wrong as I was again crying. The emotions just came forth as I thanked God for His wonderfulness in giving us this beautiful little angel and for allowing my beautiful bride to come through the ordeal of childbirth unscathed.
The years, of course, went by. As a toddler, she was incredibly cute. People would often stop us and tell us how precious she was. Like we didn't know it. Only one time I can remember that I actually got mad at her during the toddler years. We, my daughter and I, were going somewhere, and I stopped to get gas. I got out of the car to pump the gas and left the keys in the car. Big mistake. She pushed down the lock. So I was completely locked out of the car. In Denver. In the winter. As I implored her to open the lock, she kept smiling at me and waving, thinking we were playing. Of course, daddy - freezing And thinking this is NOT so cute - is trying to coax his angel to open the lock. It took probably 15 minutes or so before she finally did.
As a young girl, I have too many memories of her to state here, but she was ALWAYS a joy to her mom and I. One memory that jumps to mind was when we took her to a restaurant. She was so social. She simply would not finish her food, and as it was a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, her mom and I de4cided to wait her out until she ate all of the food on her plate, thinking that this is one of the things as parents we must teach her to do. We did, in fact teach her this lesson. FOUR hours later.
I remember taking her to the first Father/daughter dance. I felt so privileged to do so. And to her first rock concert. Huey Lewis and the News. We came out of that with our ears ringing and laughing about it. In later years, for my birthday, she and her fiance (now husband) took me to see The Rolling Stones - one of my favorite groups.
My daughter was an incredible swimmer in high school. My wife and I attempted to make it to every swim meet there was. She qualified for, and placed in, State finals in both Texas and Oklahoma. And, at the swim team banquet after her junior year in Houston, she was elected captain of the women's team. I danced with her at that banquet knowing I had to give her some bad news, but I couldn't tell her then. I couldn't ruin her moment. We were moving. Before her senior year in high school.
It was awful. For a time, we thought we'd have to leave our beautiful daughter behind in Texas when we moved to Oklahoma. Frankly, we finally prepared for this, contacting parents of one of her best friends from high school, and arranging for her to live the year with them. We were all heartbroken about this.
Then, our little girl reached the final stages of womanhood. She announced to us that her place was with us. She would be moving to Oklahoma with us. The relief our family felt - her brothers too - was immense. Though the first few weeks of her high school career were a bit rocky, she eventually thrived, and did extremely well. Her GPA flourished. She did well on the swim team. She met a boy.
Soon it was time to check out colleges, and she selected the University of Oklahoma. Because our girl was so smart, she was able to test out of some classes and enter as a second semester Freshman. Just like her, if you were to ask her parents. Always a step ahead of the rest of her contemporaries. ALWAYS making her parents proud. She decided to go into the Greek system - and had a perfect rush - getting chosen by the sorority she wanted from the beginning, and one of the top ones on Campus.
As 4 years of college flew by, she was, of course, on top of her game, excelling in virtually everything. Just as we knew she would. Going to her college graduation was such a thrill for my bride and I, as neither of us had experienced the thrill personally. But, our girl did! That day we also met the man she would later marry.
As her career began and flourished, our pride in our daughter continued. She achieved more than we ever could have expected that morning in Florida when we first laid eyes on her. We also watched her fall in love with a wonderful young man, whom we also grew to love. When he called me and asked me if I could spend some time with him as he wanted to talk to me, I thrust my arm into the air, thinking "YES!!!" We knew he was "The one" almost from the time we first saw him.
Seeing my little girl moments before walking her down the aisle, dressed so beautifully in her wedding gown, was similar to the scene in "Father of the Bride" where Steve Martin looks at his daughter at the dinner table as she is announcing her intent to wed, and he flashes back on all the memorable times of his daughter and he. I, of course, being the sentimental old Irishman that I am, teared up and almost lost it.
Going forward a few years, we were visiting my princess and her husband, and as only she could do, she said she had a present for us. She handed a wrapped gift to my wife, who opened it at my urging. As my wife screamed, ran to my angel, embraced her, kissed her, I, of course sat there clueless as a typical sit-com father. After a few seconds, my wife handed me the present. It was a simple picture frame, around the edges "I love Grandpa and Grandma", inserted inside the frame, "picture coming, May 4th". Obviously, I jumped up, held my daughter, my wife, my son in law, and, of course, started crying again.
Flash forward almost 9 months. Phone rings. "Dad, the doctor is gonna induce labor. Do you think you & mom can come down today?" If this hadn't been my Poopsie, I would have answered with something sarcastic,like, "Uh, Gee, I don't know, there's a movie on TV I was thinking of maybe watching." Instead, I said, "Let me call mom, we'll be there as soon as possible." We made the 2 hour drive in less than an hour and 15 minutes. This was MY DAUGHTER. About to give birth.
So, then, our first Grandchild. Jacob. God, we love that boy. HE is, like his mother, beautiful. Smart. Personality plus. Just an incredible kid. He is 5 1/2 now. And HIS mother, my daughter, is an incredible mother. No real surprise there. She has been incredible in everything she has ever done. Her husband is pretty incredible too, spending time with their son teaching him in some ways I never thought of. I guess it's just another way she proved herself. She chose the right guy.
Forest Gump probably said it best, "Momma used to say, 'Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get'".
In our case, when we opened our box of chocolates, we were lucky enough to get the best, the sweetest. Our daughter.
So, to my daughter - Happy Birthday! You will ALWAYS be my little girl - even though you've grown up to be the strongest, most self assured, independent woman we know. You are kind, yet firm. A gentle, loving mother. A beautiful woman - inside and out.
I am so proud of you - and I love you more than you'll ever know.
Dad
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Last of the Golden Girls
She hadn't been the same since her twin brother died last Thanksgiving day. Frankly, his death, coming so suddenly and unexpectedly, had affected the entire family. He was always the stronger of the two of them. A big burly one, whereas she was smaller and slighter. He hadn't been sick until the last couple of days prior to his passing, while she had been diagnosed with a cancerous mass on her spleen about a year and a half before he departed this life. The entire family felt she would pass on before he did, but, as is often the case, fate surprises us.
Her grieving for her brother began immediately after leaving him at the hospital. While I and my wife cried, she was unable to express her grief in this manner. She just moped around. For more than a month. And, as I referenced above, she has not been the same since he died. Until his death, they had never been separated, and his departure took a physical toll on her that was visible to all. She lost almost a third of her weight in the year since he passed and grew significantly grayer.
"She" is Lexus, our last remaining Golden Retriever. "He" was Beemer, her brother and, of course, litter mate, whom we had to put to sleep last Thanksgiving day.
Today, Lexus, our last Golden girl was put to sleep while my bride and I held her and petted her. We cried so hard that our vet, Dr. Barbara Miller, cried with us as we all said goodbye to our beloved family member.
Lexus finally lost the will to live. She stopped eating on Sunday. She couldn't poop anymore, and she couldn't even get into the car this morning to go to the vet. We had to lift her up and in to the back seat. While she did manage to look out the window, she didn't even poke her nose out the lowered window. We knew last night after cooking her her own hamburger, which she turned her nose up at, and attempting to give her milk bones, which she usually wolfed down looking for more, that today would probably be it for our girl. But we hoped maybe she would rebound, or the vet would diagnose something and be able to prescribe a medicine to make her feel better.
We knew better though, and after explaining what was going on with Lexus to Dr. Miller, who has cared for Lexus for almost 11 years, I asked her what she thought. She teared up a bit, and confirmed what we already knew by saying: "It's time." As my bride and I couldn't hold back our tears anymore, Dr. Miller, took the Kleenex box, grabbed one herself, and handed it to us. Dr. Miller left the room to get some Valium to give to Lexus.
I think Lexus suspected what was going on, but didn't care. As she walked over to us to be petted, she did so slowly, but her tail never wagged. She had a look in her eyes that almost said, "It's okay, I'm sick, and I know it's time." At least I'm telling myself that now, as I continue to cry, missing my dog, Lexus.
After Lexus received the shot of Valium from Dr. Miller (who then left us alone to say our goodbyes)it took awhile to kick in, but finally our girl lay down, and was resting. Her tongue came out of her mouth and she kept trying to lick her nose, as she was falling asleep. All the while, my bride and I kept petting and kissing her telling her how much we loved her and what a good girl she was. She never moved.
When Dr. Miller came back in to the room with another needle, we knew it would be over soon. My wife and I told Lexus again what a good girl she was, how much we loved her, and held her as the Dr. administered the shot that would ease her pain and take her life.
She went silently, unlike how she entered our lives. Lexus was the runt of the litter, and when we first got her she was hyperactive. So much so that we decided to get her brother, Beemer at the same time because he was so laid back and calmed her down a bit. At first, I couldn't stand Lexus. In fact, at times during the first few months, I was ready to get rid of her because she was so wild. Fortunately, my better half ignored my rantings.
As the months and years went by, she became such a joy to me. She, like her brother Beemer, followed me everywhere. Lexus would chase a tennis ball with me throwing it until she would nearly drop. One of the main reasons I got surgery on my right shoulder this past summer is because I couldn't throw the ball anymore without it hurting. And, as recently as last week, she kept chasing a ball until I stopped throwing it for fear she'd have a heart attack.
As anyone who has ever had a pet knows, losing one is awful. They are not JUST pets - or dogs. They are family members.
My Golden Girl is gone. And I feel terrible. Now I have to let the rest of my family members know. It won't be easy. I'll probably cry with each one of them.
Her grieving for her brother began immediately after leaving him at the hospital. While I and my wife cried, she was unable to express her grief in this manner. She just moped around. For more than a month. And, as I referenced above, she has not been the same since he died. Until his death, they had never been separated, and his departure took a physical toll on her that was visible to all. She lost almost a third of her weight in the year since he passed and grew significantly grayer.
"She" is Lexus, our last remaining Golden Retriever. "He" was Beemer, her brother and, of course, litter mate, whom we had to put to sleep last Thanksgiving day.
Today, Lexus, our last Golden girl was put to sleep while my bride and I held her and petted her. We cried so hard that our vet, Dr. Barbara Miller, cried with us as we all said goodbye to our beloved family member.
Lexus finally lost the will to live. She stopped eating on Sunday. She couldn't poop anymore, and she couldn't even get into the car this morning to go to the vet. We had to lift her up and in to the back seat. While she did manage to look out the window, she didn't even poke her nose out the lowered window. We knew last night after cooking her her own hamburger, which she turned her nose up at, and attempting to give her milk bones, which she usually wolfed down looking for more, that today would probably be it for our girl. But we hoped maybe she would rebound, or the vet would diagnose something and be able to prescribe a medicine to make her feel better.
We knew better though, and after explaining what was going on with Lexus to Dr. Miller, who has cared for Lexus for almost 11 years, I asked her what she thought. She teared up a bit, and confirmed what we already knew by saying: "It's time." As my bride and I couldn't hold back our tears anymore, Dr. Miller, took the Kleenex box, grabbed one herself, and handed it to us. Dr. Miller left the room to get some Valium to give to Lexus.
I think Lexus suspected what was going on, but didn't care. As she walked over to us to be petted, she did so slowly, but her tail never wagged. She had a look in her eyes that almost said, "It's okay, I'm sick, and I know it's time." At least I'm telling myself that now, as I continue to cry, missing my dog, Lexus.
After Lexus received the shot of Valium from Dr. Miller (who then left us alone to say our goodbyes)it took awhile to kick in, but finally our girl lay down, and was resting. Her tongue came out of her mouth and she kept trying to lick her nose, as she was falling asleep. All the while, my bride and I kept petting and kissing her telling her how much we loved her and what a good girl she was. She never moved.
When Dr. Miller came back in to the room with another needle, we knew it would be over soon. My wife and I told Lexus again what a good girl she was, how much we loved her, and held her as the Dr. administered the shot that would ease her pain and take her life.
She went silently, unlike how she entered our lives. Lexus was the runt of the litter, and when we first got her she was hyperactive. So much so that we decided to get her brother, Beemer at the same time because he was so laid back and calmed her down a bit. At first, I couldn't stand Lexus. In fact, at times during the first few months, I was ready to get rid of her because she was so wild. Fortunately, my better half ignored my rantings.
As the months and years went by, she became such a joy to me. She, like her brother Beemer, followed me everywhere. Lexus would chase a tennis ball with me throwing it until she would nearly drop. One of the main reasons I got surgery on my right shoulder this past summer is because I couldn't throw the ball anymore without it hurting. And, as recently as last week, she kept chasing a ball until I stopped throwing it for fear she'd have a heart attack.
As anyone who has ever had a pet knows, losing one is awful. They are not JUST pets - or dogs. They are family members.
My Golden Girl is gone. And I feel terrible. Now I have to let the rest of my family members know. It won't be easy. I'll probably cry with each one of them.
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