winter pays for summer

Someone's in the backyard, banging on the door
Daddy's gone away, he's coming back no more
His baby's curled up on a stranger's floor
Mama's thinking family dinners weren't too much to ask for

Everybody here's got a story to tell
Everybody's been through their own hell
There's nothing too special about getting hurt
Getting over it, that takes the work

'Cause one way or another, we all need each other
Nothing's gonna turn out the way you thought it would
Friends and lovers, don't you duck and cover
'Cause everything comes out the way it should

Blessed are the humble, blessed are the weak
Blessed are the hungry, blessed are the meek
Blessed are the ones on the other side
Blessed are we for just being alive

One day I stopped wanting anything at all
And heaven opened up like a waterfall
No use in worrying 'bout when it ends
Just for now be thankful for what I get

Cause one way or another, a man's gonna suffer
Makes no difference the way you wanted it
Friends and lovers, don't you duck and cover
'Cause everything comes out the way it should in the end

It seems like life is a palindrome
Cry when you die, cry when you're born
In between it's all about the ups and downs
Add 'em all together, cancel each other out

'Cause one way or another
One way or another
You won't get what you wanted
You'll get enough, for sure
One way or another
Winter pays for the summer
Won't get what you wanted
What you got'll be good

Someone's in the back yard, banging on the door
Daddy's gone away, he's coming back no more
His baby's curled up on a stranger's floor
Mama's thinking happy endings weren't too much to ask for

- Glen Phillips, "Duck and Cover"

flowerparts

Tell me how do you make a superman?
With courage and a steady hand,
Conviction and a damn good attitude,
Spiritual and moral fortitude?

But don’t forget the flowerparts…
A soft touch and an open heart.
A rainbow and some empathy.
Compassion and sympathy.

Don’t forget the, ‘I love you’’s,
Oh, and, ‘I forgive you’’s too.
It’s the little things that separate
The good from the great.

So tell me how do you make a superman?
With honesty, and discipline,
Endurance and stamina,
An icy stare, a steely jaw?

But don’t forget the flowerparts…
A soft touch and a bleeding heart,
A rainbow and some empathy.
Compassion and sympathy.

Don’t forget the, ‘I love you’’s,
Oh, and, ‘I forgive you’’s too.
It’s the little things that separate
The good from the great.
The good from the great
The good from the great
The good from the great
It’s the little things…
It’s the little things…
Yeah, it’s the little things
That separate
The good from the great.

-Bob Schneider, "Flowerparts"

a eulogy for my dad, a.k.a. "my dad rules"

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word “tabernacle” variously as a sanctuary, a shelter, and a dwelling place of the Lord. The term appears 328 times in the Bible, and approximately 250 of those must be within the books of Exodus and Leviticus, which certainly contain the most detailed construction specifications I’ve ever seen in my 6 years as an engineer.

The word is a fitting description of the place where my Dad chose to raise his family. After an itinerant childhood spent at various Naval bases across the country, he chose to purchase land in Tabernacle, NJ because he knew it would be just that: a permanent shelter and sanctuary for the family he always dreamed of having. Upon meeting my mom (and wooing her for 5 years), those dreams became reality, and before long he became not only a husband, but a father to a daughter, a son, and a whole new set of dreams.

It sounds cliché, but words truly cannot describe the extent to which my dad was devoted to his wife and kids. To my mom, my dad was a partner in the truest sense of the word. They were the unique couple not only of one heart, but of one mind (unless you count my dad’s habit of leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor). Their partnership was borne not out of obedience, or fear, or complacency. Their partnership was instead borne out of shared goals, shared dreams, and most of all shared love. My dad would move mountains for my mom, even though she would never ask him to, and the opposite held true. I cannot once remember an instance where they even raised their voices at each other - not including the times where my mom chastised my dad for proclaiming certain physical attributes of hers in public. My mom and dad were like comets that revolved around each other. They met each and every challenge and joy together as a team, and provided my brother and me with the most perfect example of a loving friendship and marriage. I will spend the rest of my life in relentless pursuit of a love and partnership that remotely approximates what they shared and will continue to share.

As a father, my dad quite simply was “da bomb”. Pretty fitting, as “Bombs Toms” was his nickname in Vietnam (and not, as commonly assumed, a nickname for Mom’s physical attributes). If he and Mom were comets, Dave and I were the sun. We were never “spoiled” in the traditional sense, but my dad lived to indulge his kids. For Dave, my dad provided endless trips to Aberdeen Proving Ground, the National Air and Space Museum, and countless days fishing at Camp Ockinickon. When it came to me, Dad pretty much said “yes” to almost anything involving horses, birdwatching, or the phrase “National Wildlife Refuge”. He was strict, but eminently fair, and never once underestimated our capacities to live up to the standards that he and Mom established. He emphasized education, self-reliance, and responsibility, but above all things he encouraged compassion. He did this by setting an example in the way he treated others regardless of their status in society. Somehow, for a guy who was shy at his core, he made every attempt to remind everyone he met - from supermarket checkout girls to Navy admirals - of their eminent self-worth. At the same time, he despised hypocrites, and never suffered fools. In his son, my dad saw himself – a courageous, compassionate, dedicated young man destined to forge his own path through history.

Growing up, whenever I would give my brother a hard time (as big sisters are wont to do), Dad would immediately jump to his defense - so clearly did he see himself and his dreams in his son. In me, my dad witnessed the culmination of all the things he couldn’t have in his youth – primarily, a rigorous education and the freedom to go where my ambition would take me, even if that meant I would end up across the country in California. (Just like me, though, his affections will always lie with my adopted family at the University of Maryland.) Truly, all that ever mattered to my dad was that Dave and I were happy. He was wise enough to recognize that material possessions mean absolutely nothing if you’re not fulfilled and loved. I don’t have to tell any of you how proud he was of the two of us.

Over the past week, it’s been impossible to imagine a future without visceral contact with my dad. I will never stop missing the phone calls (always beginning with a “hey babe”), the trips to LBI, the afternoons spent watching the Eagles blow whatever lead they had. Good Lord, will I miss the way he always made us laugh. [Tell story about Mark, Andy, and the answering machine tape.] I am truly Daddy’s Little Girl. Dad understood me in a way few people ever did or ever will, and I know the same holds true for Dave. The amazing thing about this past month, though, is the comfort and hope we’ve found in the thoughts, prayers, and support of all the other people who have known and loved my dad. I know I’m not the only one who feels lost without him, but I also know that thanks to him, we will all help each other become the people he knew we all could be.

Dad’s heart was so big that it made it through cancer, cancer surgery, a car accident, the Phillies winning the World Series, and our country electing its first African-American president. In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, Paul states, “For we know that if our earthly house of [this] tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” Dad built a tabernacle in each of our hearts – an unending, eternal, permanent sanctuary for love, hope, and compassion. I look forward to the day when all of us here can be together in the tabernacle he helped build in the heavens. Thank you so much.

funeral details

Almost everything will be at Holy Eucharist Catholic Church in Tabernacle.

Thursday, November 13
Viewing: 9-11 AM
Funeral: 11 AM

Afterwards, we'll bury Dad next to Nanny Ceil in Oddfellows Cemetery in downtown Medford. After the burial, we'll go back to Holy Eucharist for a luncheon at Hoffman Hall.

In lieu of flowers, we ask that you please instead send donations to the Trauma ICU at Cooper Hospital in Camden.

Thanks again to everyone for their thoughts, prayers, and support. Today was better than yesterday - I think the 11 hours of sleep helped. Hopefully I can get a similar amount tonight. At the very least, it helps pass the time.

Dad passed away this morning.

Dave and I were with him. It's like he waited for us, and he didn't start to really seriously deteriorate until we told him that it was OK, he should take care of himself, that me and Dave and Mom were gonna take care of each other and that was going to be OK. Then his heart simply started to give out. He just wasn't responding anymore to all the medication; it was all just too much. The docs asked us what we wanted to do, and I asked them if there was any chance he could be brought back to normal. The docs said no, even if they brought him back he'd be a vegetable. I knew Dad wouldn't want that at all, so I told the docs to just let him go. We said goodbye, that we loved him, and then he left.

Then we had to go to Marlton Rehab Hospital and tell my mom what had happened. I don't know which was worse.

And so now my dad is gone. And I feel so lost. Everyone is being so supportive; I know we're going to make it through this, but right now there is just a gaping, huge, enormous hole in my heart. This was never, EVER supposed to happen. EVER. Not like this, not this soon. I love my Dad so, so much. He was my best friend; he understood me so well. I am a total Daddy's girl. And now he's not here. Dave and I have lost our father, and Mom has lost her husband, her best friend, her partner in everything about life. I just can't process it. I am going to miss him so, so profoundly. I know people get through this, but God, from this end, how?!?

We are going to hold the viewing and funeral right after the other so Mom only has to be transported from the rehab hospital once. It'll be at Holy Eucharist either this Wednesday or Thursday. I'll post details as soon as they're confirmed.

In the meantime, if everyone could please continue to pray for us, I'd really appreciate it. We need the strength. Thanks to everyone for their love and support. I know we'll get through this. As Dad always said, "one day at a time"...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little further away from me
Away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself

'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said
that "Love is watching someone die"

So who's gonna watch you die?
So who's gonna watch you die?
So who's gonna watch you die?
So who's gonna watch you die?

-Death Cab for Cutie, "What Sarah Said"

hope in many forms

Friday night, my dad went into severe septic shock at Cooper hospital. I'll spare everyone the gory details, but his condition was poor enough to mean I had to buy a one-way ticket back to NJ over the weekend. Despite his very critical condition, he has made slow, incremental, but steady steps towards recovery. Mom has recovered from her injuries enough to be transferred to a rehabilitation hospital where she'll work on regaining her mobility.

I've struggled over the past few days with how to process everything that's happened. The entire sequence of events (cancer! surgery! car accident! septic shock!) seems like a plotline from a bad episode of "ER". Whenever I let myself consider what life would be like without my dad, I would immediately fall apart. When I stayed positive, or did something that distracted me from everything going on (like watching a movie, or laughing with friends), I felt guilty that I wasn't sharing the burden of my dad's suffering. I thought of the old saying, "hope for the best, but prepare for the worst." How the heck do you do these two things at the same time?!?

I said as much to Brian the night before I came home. His response was so obviously right that I had to kick myself. "I don't think your dad would want you to be negative and miserable. He'd want you to be positive; he'd want you to have hope!" And so that is what I've done. I've focused on the postive, not the negative. I've focused on everything going right with Dad's recovery, instead of everything that could go wrong (and I've tried as hard as I can to help my mom and brother do the same). I've watched hilarious things on TV with my brother and had friends over for gossip and dessert (thanks Amy!).

And tonight, I'm watching my country elect a man who my dad thought never had a chance at the Presidency. My dad has told me on multiple occasions that he thought Barack Obama would make a fantastic president, but he just didn't think this country was progressive enough to elect an African-American to the nation's highest office. He feared that the ignorance and fear that are so persistent in this country's culture would simply prove too difficult and insidious for the brilliant young senator from Illinois to overcome.

Dad and I both hoped he would be proved wrong, and tonight, that hope turned into reality. I am so proud of my country right now, and I know that when Dad wakes up, he'll share in that pride. HOPE. May it carry us all through tonight, this week, and beyond.

car crash (not of the Matt Nathanson variety)

While traveling back home from an appointment with Dad's surgeon at Virtua-Voorhees Hospital today (Dad's been having a challenging time recovering from his cancer surgery), my mom and dad were broadsided by a driver at the Tuckerton-Oakshade intersection who blew through the 4-way stop. They were airlifted to Cooper Hospital in Camden where until this evening they were in the excellent trauma center there. They're both in normal hospital rooms now. Dad's beat up but otherwise OK (well, aside from the whole recovering-from-cancer thing). Mom has a fractured pelvis (severity not yet clear) and rib and lost a lot of blood from head lacerations but they're both in stable condition now. They'll be OK but it will be a challenge figuring out how to get care for them both since for the past month my mom has been my dad's caregiver 24-7. I don't know if/when I'm going home yet again; I imagine these things will crystallize over the next few days.

Yeah, I know, I thought it was a joke too when Dave called to tell me what had happened. He's on top of things, and so are our neighbors and family. Please keep those prayers and thoughts coming yet again; as with Dad's cancer at least we can taking comfort in knowing how lucky we are, that it could have been a lot worse. Many, many thanks to everyone for their support.

Oh yeah, and to whoever hit my parents: YOU FAIL. EPIC FUCKING FAIL. YOU HIT A CANCER PATIENT AND HIS WIFE, YOU BLIND PIECE OF SHIT!!! May karma shit on your lawn and eat your kittens.