Commentary: Words for Dad 14 years after his passing

By Jim Carnett

Aug. 18, 2020 12:11 PM PT

My father — our family’s patriarch of claw and sinew — is no longer with us.

He completed his life’s race … his threescore and 10. Mom recently passed at 96. Both indomitable.

All is silence without them.

Dad left our broken corner of the universe as his matchless flame guttered. His gentle pronouncements and considerable sufferings were complete.

The things Dad did to occupy his hours, days and years have long since been forgotten. What he shared with this world is remembered only by a select few, hiding in the shadows. While here he didn’t resuscitate a single heartbeat, write a symphony or have a building named in his honor.

What did he leave behind?

When my children depart this realm, all memory of Dad will be gone. But his covenants with God are not forgotten in the precincts of Heaven. Through his unselfish toil, Dad preserved his family and kept it close.

I have another Father whose existence supersedes time and space. That Father will not abandon me, either. He’s the guarantor of my next breath.

I lost my “Father of This World” to Parkinson’s disease 14 years ago. But, at 75, I remain his son.

Dad and I were close, though not smotheringly so. I accompanied him to the South Pacific for five weeks when he retired. Our trip was his lifelong dream. Over the years, we attended dozens of classical music concerts together. We talked arts and politics. I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior in my early 30s, and Dad smiled.

He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1996. I had not an inkling of what that meant.

Parkinson’s took Dad after 10 years of steady decline, bodily freezings, tremoring, physical contortions and, at last, shutting down. His face no longer conveyed appreciation or mirth. His mind was befuddled. I felt continuing sadness as words and thoughts eluded him.

In his final days, I dreaded visiting him. It was tough to see him in that condition. Yet, at the end, as he slipped in and out of consciousness, he spoke my name. Dad — a World War II vet and my hero — faded before my eyes. What was going on in his brain?

I now have some idea.

I watched him stoically face his future. I took him on short walks and held his hand, as though a child. I talked to him when he couldn’t respond. My brother, sister and his much-loved caregiver — Camarena — did the same. One day he wanted to talk to me about Jesus. His words, though faltering, were earnest.

No one deserves Parkinson’s, certainly not my father. I now appreciate what he went through on his journey.

I was diagnosed 15 years ago and am doing reasonably well. I hope to handle the remainder of my journey as Dad did. Every day, there are challenges and setbacks.

I was diagnosed months before Dad died, but I never told him. I didn’t want to burden him. I’m not certain he’d have understood, anyway.

But, I wish we could talk.

We have much to discuss … more than when he lay dying. Since then, I’ve learned a great deal about him and myself. I’m a different person. I yearn to sit with him and listen to Mozart, nurse a summer lager and discuss the meaning of life.

Dad’s already met Jesus face to face. That’s good for about a million conversations. I have much to discuss with him that I didn’t have 14 years ago. Daily, I exhibit the same behaviors Dad exhibited.

Were I permitted a 10-minute confab what would I say? I’d tell him something I didn’t tell him in our 61 years together: “I love you.” Those words always stuck in my throat.

Now, from the rooftops … Pops!

I’d tell him I’ve missed him and that I began to appreciate him much too late. That should have never happened.

Dad and I could never deal with “mushy” stuff. When the Army sent me to Korea in 1965, I felt him suppress a sob as we hugged before I boarded a troopship. I’ve never forgotten that.

We loved each other but didn’t express it.

I’m 75. It’s time.

I love you, Dad.

The writer is former columnist for the Daily Pilot.

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Commentary: Words for Dad 14 years after his passing

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