His hair had turned silver. He had lost a great deal of weight, and like most
male patients, he considered hospital food all diet food! But he cooperated,
treated the nurses with great respect and kindness. He only showed his
disillusionment when a member of our family came into his hospital room. His
bubbly personality had become quiet and pensive, his anxiety, obvious . Within
weeks his strong beliefs would change. ("Never,' he had always told me, 'have
surgery unless you have had at least three medical opinions, possibly four.") I
search for the reason, still, although I accept the Father's Will.
My father was a dedicated, loving, and protective. He worked extended hours most
of my high school years, often going with very little sleep to ensure my college
fund, home, piano and dance lessons, were the best he could provide. He was
always involved in my studies, and he ensured that I kept my grades up. He
rewarded me yearly with Parker or Shaeffer pen sets and leather notebooks with a
zipper to keep all my home-work intact. I assumed all fathers did this . When
Mother died, he connected to me even more, as did I. We would have long dinners
in his favorite restaurants where the management knew him , well. We could speak
privately without being interrupted for hours. Invariably, he would bring up my
mother. It appeared as though we reversed roles when he embraced his grief
filled with regrets, as though it had just occurred, yesterday. I would sit
silently waiting for him to shift to another subject, telling me funny stories
to dispel his sadness.
Our dinners were always special, because we shared such special moments. His
sense of humor, and generosity made our families on all sides truly love and
enjoy having him at familial affairs. They respected his business expertise, his
advice, his humility.
I recall vividly sitting down to dinner with my husband and children, three days
before receiving the shocking news, throwing me into a double crisis, when we
heard a knock at the door. Darkness has descended upon us, which was unusual for
that time of day. Nonetheless, I rose from the table, to answer. There was. No
one. I returned to my place at the dinner table. Moments later, another knock.
My husband and children looked at each other, then at me, wondering if some
neighborhood child was playing pranks. Our son answered this time, but only the
chilling darkness met him at the door. He returned to his place. By the third
knock, my husband got up a bit perturbed, but as he opened the door only the
howling of cold desert wind greeted him.
I, suddenly, recalled a folklore our grandmothers had told us, as children:
"When there are three knocks at your door, and you find no one there, God is
sending angels to prepare you for the loss of a loved one." I tried dispelling
this notion from my mind, preferring to resume our now, cold dinner, making
light of our "disruptive visitors." I said nothing of the old folklore, fearing
our children would become upset. Three days later, the folklore would touch
reveal its accuracy..
It was Good Friday, and our son's birthday. I had stayed consciously busy to
keep from thinking anything but good would happen to Dad, since I would be
returning to Texas before his surgery was scheduled. Little did I know the world
I once knew would be turned upside down for decades. In turn my children would
suffer from my reaction to my tremendous sense of loss and guilt. When our son
came into my bedroom, motionless, staring at me, I began telling him of all the
plans his grand- father and I had made. He would be visiting us in Europe, where
we would be living, once he recovered from his heart problem. He stood, waiting
for me to give him an indication that he could resume his message. My mind
drifted. A sophisticated and meticulous dresser, Dad and I would discuss daily
in his hospital his new wardrobe - suit colors, ties, shoes, hats complementing
his attire, and beautiful hand carved embellished with silver and ivory canes,
because they would be fashionable in Europe, and the pains in his legs would be
gone, with his new canes to help him walk as he so loved to do.
I had been with Dad three weeks. It was imperative I return to California on
business that could no longer wait. When I told him, there was no response from
him. Knowing how he loved his large yard with magnolia trees, and exotic plants
surrounding the gardens, I ordered a plant for him, he loved from the flower
shop, nearby. But he would still not give me his blessing to leave. His sad eyes
told me he wasn't ready to say goodbye for now. His best friend, Coffman,
confirmed this to me in private.
As much as I preferred staying with him, his family doctor was at a convention,
and I was privy to a conversation Dad had with the two attending doctors, which
led me to believe there was still plenty of time before the surgery. I knew my
time was short before boarding for California, and devised another plan, hoping
it would be less distressing for him.
Buying gifts for dad on his birthday, Christmas and Father's Day made me very
happy throughout the years. So, I decided to go buy him a new silk robe,
matching new silk blue pajamas and slippers. When he unwrapped his package, his
face lit up, and he immediately had his shower, subsequent to a haircut. We had
someone come in to cut his gorgeous silver hair, surrounding his handsome,
unlined skin, and was he ever elated! I recalled as a child how I used to buy
him ties from my allowance every Father's Day, and how he still kept them
despite the years, along with every gift I had ever bought, especially for him.
So I knew these items would soon be added to his collection, or hoped they
would. So treasured were my gifts to him, that it wasn't unusual for him to pull
out a pair of new slippers, a new bottle of cologne, or even new cuff links
wearing them when I was home in Texas, delicately wrapped in a special drawer he
kept just for them, for the gifts I had given to him in preceding years. So,
when he mentioned he would "save then" for when he "returns home", I insisted he
wear them, then. I got no argument from him, this time!
With the pressure mounting for my return on all sides, I could no longer buy
time, so this time I requested twelve yellow, long stemmed roses. He loved
gardens, plants, and flowers.
His comment should have given me a clue, but I was too excited about returning
to him, so I overlooked it. He said:" These roses are beautiful, Honey. But I
really liked the potted plant, because flowers die." He took one rose and gave
it to me. We shared our goodbyes and I left, holding back my tears until I was
out of the hospital, leaving him my big smile , warm hug and kiss to remember.
Upon my arrival from Texas, I began repacking as I took clothing out of my
suitcase I had taken with me since my business affairs were nearing completion.
I was free to leave California to return to my father's side! . .My husband was
having trouble swallowing that next morning. He returned from his office, pale
and distraught. I asked what had happened. He answered:" I can't even swallow
water." I encouraged him to go to the hospital, immediately. Planning to follow
him, I went inside the house to retrieve my purse, (The hospital was only five
minutes away.) As he sped away from our driveway.
As I entered the house, our phone rang. Our son answered it.( Suddenly, I am
back to listening to what he had to say, returning to consciousness.) He came
into my room, and looked at me with sad eyes. I kept talking, fearing what he
was about to say. Something told me in the pit of my stomach, it was bad news.
"Mom, he said, 'Grandpa is gone!"
(I reverted to my last call to Dad). I recalled my last conversation with Dad
before I left the airport. We couldn't bear to be apart, so I knew I had to
express all those emotions that I had kept locked in my heart, reassuring him,
supporting him, strengthening him for the days ahead I would be away, present
for his crises, as I had always been. He was pleased, quietly taking everything
in. Then, I reiterated "I'll return in three weeks. Don't have the bi-pass
surgery until I return, ok? I want to be here." He said, quietly, "Ok, Honey. I
love you."
We faced two crises the day our son gave me the news of Dad's passing: Numb and
in shock, I shifted my attention knowing I had to ensure Bob was ok. As I
arrived at the hospital, we were told the surgeon was on vacation for a week. As
we started to leave after filling out paperwork and having x-rays done of Bob's
throat and chest,, suddenly a man in civilian clothing appeared, asking
jokingly" "Well, what's been going on? It was the surgeon we needed! When he
read Bob's medical report the nurse had documented, he immediately traded his
civilian clothing for his hospital gown, stating Bob was in serious trouble. (It
was later discovered there was a sliver from a chicken bone, needing to be
removed, immediately.) Lodged in his throat, it was constricting his breathing,
the reason for his inability to swallow.
Only an angel could've intervened in the physician reappearing at the hospital
that very moment Bob was in imperiled. As God was calling my father's spirit, he
was sending me an angel to spare my husband's life. The knocks, all preceding
these two major events in my life had preceded my father's death by three days.
Bob's life had been saved, subsequent to Dad's passing.
I believe that from the moment of conception, God determines our time on earth.
My father didn't have to have the surgery before my return to Texas, because he
had the option of waiting, not indefinitely, but a month would not have been too
long, because his regular doctor was at an out-of-state convention, and his
assistants were to wait for his return. I had not planned my return,
haphazardly. I had paid close attention to timing and detail before leaving him
in his hospital bed.: "Never have surgery without the independent opinion of
three, four if possible, physicians" kept reeling in my mind As much as he loved
life, and with all the plans we had, his decision has left me unsettled. And, to
this day, his surgery and subsequent death, never to see him, hold him, haunt me
from time to time. It remains shrouded a mystery that I know someday will reveal
the truths. . Does God prepare us for our losses of loved one? If He can send
angels to our aid, why not to knock at our doors, reminding us that we are about
to grieve, since our most beloved one is about to leave our world?, Why not one
in a physician's garb, while he was not to return to his office for another
week. His whereabouts were totally unknown, because he had left instructions as
such to be followed.
A panacea. But one difficult to simply dismiss as a "coincidence." There are no
coincidences, only Providence.
Rose BELIEVEIM@webtv.net Copyright Dec
23, 2001
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