Books I Never Needed to Read

Tom Brokaw recently wrote a book called "The Greatest Generation". I never read it. Tim Russert wrote two books, one about his father, (Big Russ) and another about Fathers. Never read those either. In fact, I was loaned these books and told that they were good reads. I never cracked the covers.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm sure they're fine books by fine authors. Yet, I never felt the need to read them. Primarily because what they were offering was what I didn't need to know. I already knew it. The Brokaw book highlighted the WWII generation and hailed their sacrifices, courage, and values. Certainly this generation embodied all of those and more and subsequent generations fell short all too often. I didn't need to read that book because I already knew that this generation was great because my father and mother were a part of that golden generation and they not only embodied the characteristics of their time, but passed on their tales and tributes of the fine members through stories and friendships.

For example, my father was in college, attending, Ivy League, Cornell University, when he received his call of service. Without complaint he went and served in the Navy as a Medic. He was in San Diego preparing to go to war when the good news of the war's end came. He finished his enlistment and eventually returned to his calling and became a medical doctor. His country called, he answered, no questions asked. Movie stars, sports stars, people from all walks of life also answered their country's call without hesitation or complaint.

I suppose I could go on and on about my father and his generation's values. They weren't the perfect generation, but they sure seemed to have a good idea of the balance between family, country, religion, and just down right consideration for their fellow man.

I thought I could write a great essay on how we should go back to the ways of the Greatest Generation, but I know those days are gone. Yet, as we salute more and more of these great men and women, we should not merely salute. We should do as the books written about them aim to do. Reflect on their sacrifice and more important their many virtues. And perhaps once again carry the mantle of what they stood for.

Fallen

About 3 weeks ago my father fell for the 3rd time in one day. After a few days of radiation therapy he started becoming dizzy. His first few tumbles were mild. My mother with some neighborly assistance was able to get him back on his feet. His last fall was when he was sitting out on the back patio. Lately, he had often sat here so he could bathe in the sunlight to replenish his vitamin D and to look out on the expanse of his property. There are pictures of my father in his younger days taking a nap out on the lawn. He would just find a patch of grass and lay down on a hot summer day. There is a picture in my baby book of him laying on the grass with me resting my head on his legs and our black dachshund next to me. I remember that day despite being but 5 years old. He would do that from time to time when I was that young, and I always wondered why he did it. Yet looking at that picture its as if the those well groomed blades of grass where whispering to him, and he in his turn was dreaming of the labors that lawn had known. Once a thick forest, then a pasture for a milk cow, then a full blown garden with fruit trees and corn, and lastly a well manicured lawn. Whispering. Maybe my father was still listening to the lawn as he sat there for the last time. When he fell for the third time he couldn't get up, which reminded me of that awful commercial with the old lady who had "fallen and can't get up". No humor to this situation. My mother called me and I was out the door. He was laying on the cold patio stones with his head on the cushion that was used for the patio furniture. The ambulance came and I instantly knew this was a landmark that would be crossed for the last time.

Day 1-Finding out

The Hospice worker looked directly into my eyes and answered my question, "I think he has about 2 weeks. Yes, 14 days. How do you react? Disbelief? Crashing depression? Heartfelt tears? Bitter anger? Honestly, none of these. I have been numb. Numb because I don't care? Hardly, numb to survive, numb to keep my composure, numb to help my father, numb to help my wife and kids, numb to support my mother. Mostly numb so I don't break. Because once I break, I won't be able to help, won't be able to support, won't be able to stop crying. Numb.

Let me try to explain. My father has had esophageal cancer over the past year. He has endured numerous treatments, medications, hospital visits, 1st opinions, 2nd opinions, opinions wanted, opinions unwanted. Through it all he fought. Rarely complaining, doggedly doing what his doctors recommended. At his 80th birthday party, he was the picture of health. He was able to play golf with his friends, basking in the in their comradeship, take his loyal dog Nell for sunlit strolls and stick throwing beach escapades, and reading. Reading all the books that he was never able to in his life's committed work as a medical doctor.

We all felt redeemed. He made it. He must be turning the corner. He has beaten the odds. Survived this awful life's episode. So many of the people at his birthday party commented on how good he looked. 80 years old and doing just fine.

The decline came quickly. So it seemed. After a visit at the Cleveland Clinic they told him that the cancer had spread to his brain. The medication that he took so reluctantly to prevent this didn't work. The cancer stayed one step ahead. It had also spread in the esophagus. How could it be? He looked so good. He was playing golf every day. He was...

He was quickly being tackled. Like African Lions, patiently surrounding their prey and waiting for the weak. He left the golf course one day in the middle of the round. How many times had he done this as a doctor , hastily leaving to go help a patient. Not this time. He left because he was too tired. This was a ominous sign and we knew it. We knew it. When my mom told me, my stomach clenched. Like it is now, recalling. It was all too strong of a sign. Cancer was winning.

After that day it seemed that each day brought the loss of something. No more walks with the dog, no more hamburgers or hot dogs on the grill, no more meetings with the numerous civic organizations which he discreetly belonged, no more driving in his car. One of his first big defeats. His car was and is an object of pride. His cars were always maintained and treated with respect. As a child, I begrudgingly washed his cars. They were spotless, and left car salesmen clamoring to sell to my father knowing they would get a car in mint condition upon his trade in. The loss of driving meant taking away a level of freedom that is taken for granted. No longer.

I find myself blathering a bit here. So I will pause and hopefully write again another day with more clarity. If you read this please comment and tell me what you think. I'd appreciate any comments.