Lynnrockets would like to thank all of you once again for your sympathy and kind words of support during my recent time of loss. Loving words go a long way towards healing a wounded soul. I never would have guessed when I started this blog a little over a year ago that I would attract very many readers, let alone the sizable group of wonderful folks that have become not only an important part of this little community, but who also now hold a very dear spot in my heart. I will continue to hold you close and hopefully repay my debt to all of you with a few cogent comments and a lot of laughs.
I have decided to return to the blogosphere more quickly than I had originally anticipated. Please bear with me (or bare with me if you don’t like wearing clothes) during the next few weeks if I wax philosophically or seem a bit maudlin. My intention is not to bore you or seem overly dramatic about my recent losses, but rather it is to help me work through a most difficult time while simultaneously revealing a bit more about myself to you terrific folks. Please indulge me for a while.
As most of you have probably already figured out, I am a 40-something person that is a product of Irish parents. I live in the smallest town in Massachusetts which just happens to be located on an island (more accurately known as a “tombolo”) just about ten miles northeast of Boston with a wonderful view of the Beantown skyline. I am one of only two children (I have the best older sister in the world), married (to my very best friend) with no children and one great two year old dog (my second best friend). I attended public elementary schools and junior high school, a Catholic parochial high school, a Small Ivy college and a Boston law school. Since childhood I have played and have a passion for hockey (“ice hockey” to you warm climate dwellers). I am a fan of the Boston Bruins (NHL), the Boston Red Sox (MLB) and the Boston Celtics (NBA). Neverthelss, my favorite franchise of all has always been the Green Bay Packers (NFL). I am a lifelong liberal Democrat. If this were a dating site, this is the point where I would say something like “I enjoy long walks on the beach and candlelight dinners”.
The most important influences in my life were my loving parents, my great aunt Gertrude, Bobby Orr and Jack Kennedy in that order. The most important people in my life are my spouse, my sister and her husband, my one nephew and his wife and my grandnephew. In my opinion, a better family could not be had. I will remind them of that every day for the rest of my life. I would advise all of you to do the same with your loved ones because we can never predict when we will lose them.
My mom and dad met as schoolchildren in the 1930’s and were inseparable thereafter. They were childhood sweethearts. They were married in 1949 and for the next 61 years they spent less than a handful of nights apart. My mom became ill about 6 years ago and her condition deteriorated quickly to the point where at first she was housebound and then bed-ridden. My dad promised her that he would do everything possible to prevent her from hospitalization or nursing home care as she loved her home. He kept his promise. With the help of visiting nurses, health aides and family, my father spent every single one of those days with his wife. He single-handedly got my mother out of bed every morning, fed her breakfast, washed her, dressed her, took her to the bathroom and cleaned her before putting her to bed at night. As ill as my mother was, my father was the picture of health. He often told my sister and I that he only wished he could gift some of his health to my mom.
In February of this year my mom passed away in her sleep at home. All of my family experienced the pain of sorrow but none so much as my dad. Outwardly he was the strong man that everyone knew but he now suffered from a malady that had nothing to do with the human body. He made all the right gestures such as continuing to work and since he was no longer called upon to be my mom’s constant care-giving companion, he even began to socialize outside the home with family and friends much more frequently. We moved in with him to keep him company and the last five months allowed me to rekindle the love and comaraderie that I had shared with my best pal during all those years I lived with him as a child. We were true buddies.
At about six or seven o’clock each evening he would sit down to watch The Golden Girls reruns on tv. I do not recall him ever watching that show when it was originally aired but he told me that my mom loved to watch it, so now he would do the same. It grew on him and me too. It became a ritual for the two of us and I must admit it was a great show. It seemed that every couple of nights he would ask me, “How many times was that Rue McClanahan married?” I never had the answer for him until early this month. I remember saying, Hey dad, Rue McClanahan was married six times.” He said, “How do you know?” and I answered that she had died that morning and I read the obituary. (side note: Bostonians refer to the obituaries as “The Irish Sports Page”).
My dad and my two dogs also became fast friends during the last five months. At first I thought they annoyed him with their exuberant greetings after work and a steady supply of barking at everything. After not too long however, I spied him petting their behinds while watching tv and feeding them those prohibited table scraps. My sister, who worked with my dad every day in the family business, even told me that he would often say to customers, “You’ll never guess what my dog did today!” This too however was short lived as my eldest dog, a Dalmatian named McKenzie, passed away at the ripe old dog age of fifteen in April. We were all crushed at another loss. I did what I could to save that pooch, even going so far as to have her euthanized on Good Friday in the hope that there would be a miracle and she would rise again three days later on Easter Sunday. Alas, such was not the case.
My dad, my spouse and my other dog, Marley the two year old Weimaraner carried on. My dad, who loved and anticipated the warm summer sun had all the yard furniture arranged out on the upper patio by late March (remember, this is Boston and it still tends to snow sometimes in March). He simply could not wait to get out there and sun bathe. The Irish octogenarian boasted a tan that my spouse and I felt would be a sure ticket to skin cancer on a younger person. My dad however, was a unique man. He was never sick and was only hospitalized once in his life back in the seventies for knee surgery. Recently we believed that he suffered from at least one torn rotator cuff and possible knee ligament damage from all the wear and tear of carrying my mother for so long. We were wrong. It only proved to be a mild case of arthritis. He was a virtual Superman.
Well, Fathers’ Day rolled along a few weeks ago and we had a special day. Not only was my entire extended family at the old homestead for a cook out, but my spouse’s parents, siblings and children were also all in attendance. It was a glorious day. My father was at his best being the proud host. He joked, hugged, kissed and cajoled everyone. He was truly holding court. One of my brothers-in-law commented that he looked like a movie star with his tanned upper torso, sunglasses and full long wavy mane of pure white hair. The day lasted well into the evening before the last guest left. I remember my father (always one with a joke) telling one to the last guest as he departed.
After all the guests had left, my dad sat with us and the dog on the couch and thanked us for a wonderful day. He said he was tired and going to bed. He told us he loved us. He kissed us, petted Marley, went to his room and left us to be with my mother forevermore. Until I meet him again, I will miss him every day that I live.
I love you dad.
Anyone interested in that last joke?
Well, there was this old timer (let’s call him Jack) that went to his doctor for the annual check up. The doctor said, “Well Jack, everything looks pretty good. You’re a fit and healthy 80 year old. What do you have to say for yourself?” Jack responded by inquiring if the doctor could test his sperm count. The doctor exclaimed that he was puzzled as to why an 80 year old would care about his sperm count but Jack told him that he was just curious and if it were in good standing, he would feel even better about himself. The doctor acquiesced, handed Jack a specimen bottle and instructed him to return in the morning with the specimen.
The next morning Jack returned to the doctor’s office. The doctor asked if he had the sperm specimen. A dejected Jack said, “No”. Jack explained that when he left the office the day before, he went straight to his room to provide the specimen. He said, “I sat on my bed and tried for half an hour with my right hand, but nothing. I then tried for half an hour with my left hand, but nothing. Next I tried with both hands for about twenty minutes before I was exhausted and fell asleep without success.”
Jack explained, “When I awoke the next morning I tried again first with my right hand then my left hand and then with both hands and still no results. My wife, God bless her, saw my frustration and said she would help. She tried with her right hand, but nothing. She tried with her left hand, but nothing. She tried with both hands, but nothing. Finally, she even removed her dentures, put it in her mouth and tried for ten minutes, but she still could not get the cap off of that damn specimen bottle!”
Who knows, maybe there is a book to be written about my lovable quirky family!