My father and I did not get along as well as we might have liked. I'm going to try an focus on other things.
My father was born in 1938 to second generation Lithuanian (father) and Polish (mother) parents. My great-grandfather's immugration record says "Russian" however, he emigrated in 1917 so that would be politically correct if enthically incorrect.
My father grew up poor. His father worked in a furniture factory his entire working life, except when economic conditions didn't allow for it, and when WWII took him to Europe.
My paternal family was dirt ass poor and uneducated. Despite this, my father not only graduated from high school and earned a college degree, he went on to earn a Ph.D in marine biology from the University of Washington and worked as an fisheries and environment scientist during his career.
He was an emotionally distant man. I often wondered if he had the same thoughts I did that led him to distance. I'll never know.
Dad was an avid fisherman and hunter. He gave up hunting when he turned 60 and blue water fishing a decade later. Despite growing up in grim tones he did very well for himself, better than any in his line.
We weren't close. We were alike in more ways I would either count or recount here.
Six weeks ago yesterday we learned he had fallen. Later we learned he had a traumatic brain injury. He would never be able to return home. I had this nagging intuition about his fate. He was at the facility he was currently living in, the family was at his home, readying it for sale to pay for his care.
As my wife, son and I were leaving we got a call from his nurse. He was not well, we started the drive home to get to him.
Less than an hour later, I got a call from my sister. He was found unresponsive in cardiac arrest.
He was ready to go. I only wish we had taken him back home to die.
My father was born in 1938 to second generation Lithuanian (father) and Polish (mother) parents. My great-grandfather's immugration record says "Russian" however, he emigrated in 1917 so that would be politically correct if enthically incorrect.
My father grew up poor. His father worked in a furniture factory his entire working life, except when economic conditions didn't allow for it, and when WWII took him to Europe.
My paternal family was dirt ass poor and uneducated. Despite this, my father not only graduated from high school and earned a college degree, he went on to earn a Ph.D in marine biology from the University of Washington and worked as an fisheries and environment scientist during his career.
He was an emotionally distant man. I often wondered if he had the same thoughts I did that led him to distance. I'll never know.
Dad was an avid fisherman and hunter. He gave up hunting when he turned 60 and blue water fishing a decade later. Despite growing up in grim tones he did very well for himself, better than any in his line.
We weren't close. We were alike in more ways I would either count or recount here.
Six weeks ago yesterday we learned he had fallen. Later we learned he had a traumatic brain injury. He would never be able to return home. I had this nagging intuition about his fate. He was at the facility he was currently living in, the family was at his home, readying it for sale to pay for his care.
As my wife, son and I were leaving we got a call from his nurse. He was not well, we started the drive home to get to him.
Less than an hour later, I got a call from my sister. He was found unresponsive in cardiac arrest.
He was ready to go. I only wish we had taken him back home to die.
