I started the night at the Nook, a gourmet Beer Restaurant, which really is the best description for it, with my friend Lee. we were waiting on Meghan to get off of work. Meghan does not like beer but I do. So we were there and mom called and said she had to take dad to the emergency room, but, as far as she knew, everything was fine. I had started that night with plans to have a good beer, and then go to a dollar movie.
I believe that Dad mostly just wanted to be one of the boys. Jacob's "more creative" friends would file into our house one by one hailing him as "Judson." He used to pretend it annoyed him, but I really believe that it made him feel like he was one of the boys.
In high school he wanted to be a hippie, whether it was fashion sense, or ideals, he grew his hair long, grew a grew a beard, and listened to Rock and Roll when it was still Rock and Roll. You know, good Rock and Roll. Jimi Hendrix, Allmand brothers ACDC. He saw Lynard Skynard before the plane crash. Yet, he also played football, running back to be exact. 140 pounds of pure fear. He said the only reason he ever ran so fast is not because he wanted to score, but because he didn't want to be tackled. playing football confused his hippie friends, and being a hippie confused his jock friends. Whether he knew it or not, already at a young age he was breaking boundaries. This, I believe, has been instilled in me, and for that I am thank full.
Which leads me to a story. He loved to tell stories, except that his repertoire of stories was rather limited to a small amount, yet he did not stop in telling them over and over anyway. The night of high school graduation, I dyed my hair green, as if raising my fist against the "system" because dyed hair always received a huge "wagging of the finger" at my high school. I don't know if mom and dad ever knew this, but I got sent home a total of three times my senior year for dying my hair funny colors. About two weeks later I shaved it to a mohawk because mom and dad were going out of town for something. I showed up to youth night at church; Conley was in disbelief. Couldn't believe I had done it. Said I was probably going to get in big trouble. The next morning I woke up a little too early, unsure if mom and dad had left yet. Without thinking it through I put a hat on and walked into the kitchen, feigning morning grogginess. I was actually really scared they would ask. And for all of dad's attention to detail and meticulousness, he of course asked why I was wearing a hat. "Ummm, my head is cold..." I stammered. "Take off the hat." dad said. I did. They freaked. It was funny.
Thats the thing about dad though. He was lenient in places in which he knew that ultimately didn't matter. He let me go through my phase where i thought i was punk rock. He rolled his eyes at but dealt with the baggy pants and loud music. I've never really considered how much that affected me, for the good. Dad trusted me, and trusted my friends. He knew that I wasn't out getting into trouble, doing drugs and wasting my life and my future. He recognized the importance of the important things, and I wish I could have seen that in him then like i do now.
Mom, Meghan, Aunt Kelly and I were sitting out in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit lobby when a doctor with whom we had had no previous acquaintance came up to us to deliver the news. Jacob had not arrived yet. He presented the information in a straight forward, but not heartless way, which we needed. The infection had been caused by a perforated bowel, a side effect of liver disease. Essentially a part of the bowel tears exposing its fluid to the outside of the bowel. My father had five large spots of dead tissue in his lower intestine. The only way to treat perforated bowel is to cut the stomach open and remove the dead tissue, and simply wait, while monitoring the patients status. The surgery is brutal on the body of the patient. and most do not live even if they are healthy. The best thing we could do is try and make him comfortable.
Whether it be social norms I was struggling at fitting into, or a ridiculous self-consciousness that creeps up on me from time to time, I regret those times when I refused to let my father be one of the boys. But I will never forget the night before my wedding. Jacob, dad and I were standing in our hotel room and Dad, who by this time had trouble controlling his flatulence because of the disease, released a rather noisy outburst. There was a short pause, and then laughter filled the mass produced decor of the hotel room. Dad laughed so hard he cried, and we laughed so hard we cried.
Later, my groomsmen, Dad, me, Jacob, and Uncle Mark had beers in the lobby, (dad had O'douls cause he couldn't have alcohol) and we joked a lot. We iced each other. we talked about college stories. and in some assembly-line-esque hotel in front of some baseball game he was truly one of the boys.
Dad talked all the time about his rocking horse and his six shooters he used to play with while watching Roy Rodgers when he was younger. Thats how he came into this world, and he always said thats how he wanted to leave this world. Even when he got progressively sick and lost his job, his will still shone through like the early morning sun. Despite being constantly weary and sore, he re-tiled both of the bathrooms in their house, built a custom fountain, landscaped one entire side of the house, and even learned how to weld. I don't know how he did it. His will to live, not simply be alive, but try and enjoy life, to suck the juices from it, that shone through when he was healthy, and especially when he was sick.
Dad wasn't dad by the time Meghan and I got to the hospital. At times the only sounds we could hear were the machine pumping air into my father's lungs, and he himself gasping as his chest heaved. he slowly rocked his from left to right across his pillow, eyes rolled back, trying to pull at the cords that infiltrated his body. they had to tie his hands down, and despite the breathing machine, he was trying to breathe on his own. Stubborn to the end. He had always said he wanted to go out guns a blazin', like his childhood hero Roy Rodgers. Well, he waited until 7:51 a.m. Jan 22, when the sun was fully up shining in all its glory, to let go of his body.
His body. By this time, his body was merely a prison to him. Both the infection and the pain medication had caused his mind to go somewhere. His hands were cold and his eyes looked like marbles. It my have been the way the tube was in his mouth, but I swear when he finally passed and the nurses cleaned him up, it was as if he was smirking; too far up on his pillow; proud.
After the initial shock of his death, our family talked about how it was the little things that are the hardest to get over. I will always remember my dad as the dad behind the camera. the dad who loved alabama football. the dad who was a meticulous planner. He was the dad who danced in the car when i was 13 cause he knew it would embarrass me so bad I would duck as not to be seen. (By the way, i dance in the car now with my wife.) the dad who learned and loved soccer because his youngest did. The dad who would, at most times, lavish stories about his kids and his wife, more than likely embellishing on details. the dad who absolutely, more than anyone i have ever met, loved Christmas. The dad who taught me how to handle a gun, throw a baseball, ride a bike, shoot a basketball, use a ratchet, and countless other small things i could never remember to credit him with. He was the dad who got baptized with mom and wore tube socks with yellow stripes at the top. He was the dad who loved his family and believed in providing for them.
Before he was moved to Surgical Intensive Care Unit, the last words I heard him say were "I'm going, I'm going." Mom thought he had to use the bathroom but he didn't, and I believe that he knew. He was about to go, go somewhere else. I truly believe that it is a place we call heaven, and I believe that it is a real, tangible place. Dad has a new body there.
1 Corinthians 15:55 says
"Oh Death, where is your sting? Grave, where is your victory?"
Mom will tell you that Dad didn't fear death. He had his moments, but overall, he had accepted that he was going to die a little sooner than he wanted. it was the pain before that he feared. He knew that oftentimes with liver disease one can experience a lot of pain prior to dying, and the pain is what he feared above all.
At the hospital, the doctors reassured us that he could not feel anything. In fact, of the patients that undergo perforated bowel surgery, those few that actually live never remember anything. I believe that Dad was gone even before Meghan and I got to the hospital. This, my friends, is mercy.
What really makes a wedding great for those getting married is the people with whom you share the joy of your love and dedication. What makes a death tolerable is those with whom you can celebrate the life of the one who is deceased. As the shock of my father passes i realize that all of the texts, visits, food, facebook messages, and phone calls were the only way that I stayed and will keep staying sane. You all have proved your love for us and we could not have asked for anything more. In a community, when one person grieves, everyone grieves, and in that way, the weight and the reality of the situation is shared by all, and those who are grieving are relieved of pressure and pain. I could not begin to imagine doing this without friends and family.
O Death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory?
One day when i was younger dad asked Jesus to rescue him. Jesus did that, as he promised he would.
As my dad's life exemplified a belief in Christ Jesus, so should his death. Not that I would give you a worn out prescription of systematic theology, but a completed example, a life worth lived. A life that lived full and brimming, a life that was beyond measure. My dad learned what it was to truly live through Christ, and I am so proud of him. May we honor him today, and learn to do the same.
