December

The month of December is filled with incredible highs and lows - at least for me. I've written twice already this month about two of the most wonderful experiences I've had during this month - the birth of two of my children, my eldest and my youngest.

Unfortunately, today marks the anniversary of one of the worst lows I've had too - the death of my father, John Hughes, who passed on this day 31 years ago. The good news was I had, with my bride and two children in tow, just visited my parents less than two weeks before his death. My dad had literally begged me to come visit him and mom so he could see his only granddaughter and the newest of his grandsons, my boy who had been born in July of that year.

I had resisted the visit because we were broke and I didn't want to incur any more charges to credit cards. However, for whatever reason, I finally gave in to my dad's requests to come visit and arranged the trip, going into further debt. The weather was beautiful in Southern California while we were there and we spent most of our time simply visiting with my parents.

My dad, on several occasions, said things like, "This will probably be my last Christmas" and "It will likely be the last time I'll see you". As a 33 year-old man, unaccustomed to discussing death, I kept telling my dad to "Quit being so morbid". I have to confess that he did look weak and tired, but I didn't want to face the facts that my old man, who had had several heart attacks over the years and had undergone open heart surgery, might be as sick as he said.

This, after all, was the toughest person I had ever known - and still, to this day, have ever known.

When the day came for us to return home, he hugged me longer than usual and kissed me, then telling me how much he loved me and how proud I had always made him. We were both choked up as I, and my family, left. There were things that I should have said that day that I didn't. I will always regret that I didn't have the courage to do so. That day was December 9th, 1979. 10 days later my father died.

I was out on sales calls on December 19th, 1979. I had finished a lunch appointment with a client and instead of returning to my office, I decided to make some cold calls on clients in the nearby area. It was a clear, beautiful day in Denver. So, after making a couple of calls, I finally returned to my office in downtown Denver.

When I walked in, I knew something was wrong almost immediately. My secretary had a strange look on her face when I said hello, and as I glanced into my office, my wife was in there, speaking on the telephone. I was puzzled. My bride quickly hung up the phone and when I walked in, she closed the door behind me. She then came to me, hugged me and said, "Your Dad died this morning."

Like the trooper she always was, my wife had already started the wheel in motion. She had made plane reservations for me for later in the early evening, and had arranged for her parents to babysit our children, so she could join me later.

The next several days were awful. My mother and brothers were waiting for me, and arrangements had already been made. My mom, of course, was in state of shock as she told me the events of the day.

My dad had not been feeling well so had told my mom he was going to lie down. A few minutes later, my mom heard a sound come from the bedroom. She went into the bedroom and called, "John...John..." several times. There was no response. As we determined later, the sound she heard was his last breath. My dad had suffered his final and fatal heart attack.

I don't know that I have ever cried as much as I did over the next few days. Though we all knew my father wasn't in the best of shape, none of us expected him to die so suddenly. Compounding my general sadness over the loss of my father was the fact that I simply didn't take the time to tell him all the things I should have when I visited only a few days before.

It is now 31 years later and it is still one of the biggest regrets of my life. I miss him almost every day and wish he were here so that I could tell him those things. Knowing I am 64 and my life is in it's December, I know I'll be seeing him sooner rather than later is also knowing I'll have that opportunity again.

Old Fart Mike