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Tomorrow will be the second anniversary of my dad’s passing. He lived independently alone on his farm almost to the end, drove his own car on Friday, the 20th of November, 2020, but suffered a stroke in his home sometime the next afternoon, and then spent two weeks hospitalized or hospice-ized, cheerful and reasonably alert for most of those days, interacting with family members on the phone, until he died on Saturday, December 5. Granted exemptions from Covid quarantine rules, Carol and I were permitted to be with Dad in his hospital room on the last three days of his life.
I would say, and Dad essentially did say, in a conversation with me three months before he died, that he lived a good life. He was ninety-four-and-a-half years old at the time of that interview, when I filled out forms with his own words reflecting on his life and his wishes for his eventual obituary and memorial service.
In my interview, one of the questions I asked was “What advice would you like to give?” Dad thought awhile and then said, “Can’t think of any.” So I wrote down those four words.
But my dad did occasionally speak in aphorisms, and I will tell you three guiding principles that I associate with him.
The first is “It’s only money.” This seemed to be the equivalent of not crying over spilt milk. I can’t think of a specific example of when my parents said that, but they both had grown up poor and they remained cautious with their spending even after they began earning a comfortable income. Despite their frugality, they were generous when asked for help, and they knew what things in life are more valuable than gold.
The second quote I think of is “That’s water under the bridge,” which is also interchangeable, sometimes, with “No use crying over ...” I clearly remember one occasion, and only one occasion, when Dad said it, but I’ll tell you about that some other day. Ask me sometime about the last day I drove my 1960 Volkswagen and why I said goodbye to it in Piqua, Ohio.
Finally, the third aphorism is probably my favorite. I know I too infrequently follow it, but here it is: “Seldom will anyone ask about the storms along the way, but did you bring the ship to shore?”
Now, that is all I have for today. If you were acquainted with my father and remember something that I might not know about him, I hope you will let me hear it. Or, at least, I hope I hope that.
♦
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