The recent death of the father of a friend has spurred me to write this posting.
Although I have written other postings to my Dad,
they seemed to be more me than him.
In the greater scheme of things, parents are meant to die before the children.
That being said, it is never easy to accept,
especially when that death was totally unexpected.
This is what I remember...
At 21h00 on the 5th of October, 2004 I got a call from my Mom.
This call was to let me know that my Dad had had a massive stroke
and that the prognosis did not look good.
My Mom is a nurse and I could tell from her voice that I should prepare for the worst.
As my parents were in Port Elizabeth and I was in Johannesburg,
getting there at that time of night was not an option.
My daughter, who was 19, was living with me at the time
had to be prepared for what seemed the inevitable outcome.
And I had to try to find my sister who was in Europe...
This was in the days before the internet connectivity we currently have.
No Facebook or What's App to turn to.
Just a land line and countless phone calls...
I waited for more news...and finally it came.
This is the email that I send as soon I had put down the phone...
Reading in now, it seems just as surreal as it did when I wrote it in 2004.
Hi Guys,
Just to let you know that my Dad(78) died at 01h00 this morning (06/10/2004)
He had suffered a massive stroke earlier in the evening
and he died in hospital without regaining consciousness.
From the way that my Mom described it he did fight, just a little,
towards the end and then he let go...
It is very strange for me to write this as it has not really sunk in yet.
Feeling that the call was all a dream or a mistake.
But I know that it was not.
Take care, love to you all.
My Dad has been gone for 14 years now, but the pain remains.
I don't think that we ACTUALLY appreciate our parents enough when they are alive.
What did my Dad teach me?
You certainly gave me a good grounding in a variety of life lessons.
Having spent 36 years with the same company,
you could not understand my reasons for me changing jobs every couple of years!
Having said that, he only enjoyed the first six...
the next thirty were just to keep a roof over our heads,
and food on the table.
I remember calling him the day after he retired and asking him how he felt
about handing back the keys and walking away...
He told me that it had been the best day of his life!
That aside, he was always supportive of what ever I undertook...
He believed that I should have a "proper" job to fall back on,
just in case my chosen life path did not work out.
Hence my doing an electrical apprenticeship,
which has stood me in good stead when times have been tough.
My Dad had wanted to be cremated, and although not traditionally condoned
by our Jewish faith, we respected his wishes.
My sister, daughter and I had flown down from Johannesburg to attend the ceremony,
however we were informed that the actual cremation would not take place for a while,
so we returned to our homes and I said that I would come back to collect the ashes
as my Mom did not feel the need to keep them.
When I flew back to Johannesburg I tried to get my Dad posthumously upgraded to business class.
The airline staff, when seeing the box containing the ashes,
were prepared to upgrade him, but not me!
So we both flew home in economy...
Some months after his death I asked my Mom if he had harboured any unfulfilled dreams.
She told me that he had always wanted to join a circus.
I have fond memories of watching Barnum and Baileys and Ringling Brothers Circus,
at Madison Square Gardens in NYC in 1978 with him.
It so happens that there was a circus in town.
I ha a chat to the ring master and the pill bottle containing the ashes,
formed part of the trapeze act in a matinee.
I have a signed certificate to the effect that he had performed posthumously.
A first for the circus, and a dream fulfilled for my Dad.
Better late than never.
It might seem that I am being disrespectful,
however, those who knew my Dad will agree that he would have loved it!
My Dad had wanted to be cremated, and although not traditionally condoned
by our Jewish faith, we respected his wishes.
My sister, daughter and I had flown down from Johannesburg to attend the ceremony,
however we were informed that the actual cremation would not take place for a while,
so we returned to our homes and I said that I would come back to collect the ashes
as my Mom did not feel the need to keep them.
When I flew back to Johannesburg I tried to get my Dad posthumously upgraded to business class.
The airline staff, when seeing the box containing the ashes,
were prepared to upgrade him, but not me!
So we both flew home in economy...
Some months after his death I asked my Mom if he had harboured any unfulfilled dreams.
She told me that he had always wanted to join a circus.
I have fond memories of watching Barnum and Baileys and Ringling Brothers Circus,
at Madison Square Gardens in NYC in 1978 with him.
It so happens that there was a circus in town.
I ha a chat to the ring master and the pill bottle containing the ashes,
formed part of the trapeze act in a matinee.
I have a signed certificate to the effect that he had performed posthumously.
A first for the circus, and a dream fulfilled for my Dad.
Better late than never.
It might seem that I am being disrespectful,
however, those who knew my Dad will agree that he would have loved it!
I did not want to give my sister all of the remains, so I kept some in a sealed pill bottle.
This bottle went with me to the top of Kilimanjaro in 2006.
I did not scatter the ashes there as the mountain meant nothing to my Dad.
But it made me feel as though he was guiding my feet and keeping me safe.
This is my Dad's wedding ring that I have worn every day since his death.
I am grateful that he got to meet my wife(then girlfriend) before his death.
We all had lunch in June of 2004, he died in October
His ring has become mine, and I suppose part of him is with me on a daily basis
It was in this handmade pot that my wife made that I finally scattered the ashes.
Two years after he died I heard a voice say "Now"...
and I got up, unsealed the bottle and said my final goodbyes.
This Hybrid succulent in the pot was planted in his honour.
It usually flowers every year on the anniversary of his death.
There was a period of two years where it did not flower,
and I took that to be a message that he had moved on.
A so should I...
There was a period of two years where it did not flower,
and I took that to be a message that he had moved on.
A so should I...
Last year the flowers returned...in the biggest display in 12 years.
I was hoping that would last until his birthday,31/12,
but the last one disappeared just before Christmas.
This is the cover of the story of my Dad that I am currently writing.
Will I ever finish it? I am uncertain.
Does it really need to be completed? Possibly not.
At present it is merely a vehicle for some of what I felt about his life,
and his death.
For me, the part of his passing that hurt me the most occurred 4 days before he died.
As I usually did, I had called my folks on the Saturday and towards the end of
the conversation I asked my Mom where my Dad was.
"He is at Art in the Park" she told me.
This was a monthly market at a local park within walking distance of their apartment.
"Tell Dad I say Hi", was my response.
"I will talk to him next Saturday"...
But that never happened, he died in the early hours of Wednesday morning.
This phrase was to haunt me for more than a year.
Why did I not say "Tell him I send love"?
To this day I have no answer.
It was not that we were always close,
but we had come to the realization in the preceding 5 years or so
that to actually say "I love you" or for that matter to hug and kiss was acceptable.
But the transition from handshake to close physical contact had not been an easy one.
It came to a head when my folks were returning to Port Elizabeth by train.
At the station, before they were about to board,
my Dad, in his usual fashion, put out his hand to shake mine.
"Enough" I said, and gave him an unexpected hug.
"That is how we will do it from now on"...
Let on that fateful Saturday I merely said
"Tell him I say Hi"...
This was read at his memorial service.
DEATH IS NOTHING AT ALL.
by Canon Henry Scott Holland
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room.
I am I, and you are you,
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way you always used.
Put no difference into your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as you always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me…
Pray for me.
Let my name be the household name it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect,
Without a trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant,
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of your mind, because I am out of your sight?
I am but waiting for you for an interval,
Somewhere very near…
Just around the corner.
All is well!
My Dad gave me my love of the performing arts.
Hence this tribute tattoo symbolizing the happy and sad theatre masks.
I don't necessarily think about my Dad every day,
and I am OK with that... now.
But often I will feel the need to call him to "share".
Or tears and sadness will fall over me like a cloak.
These moments do not last long,
but they are a reminder that although he has been gone for a long time
I still wish he was here to enjoy his grand daughter and her achievements...
