Not Knowing...

After my fathers funeral I went over to talk to my oldest brother who was outside of the church where many of us had gathered. He was holding the folded American flag that had draped my father's casket (my father had been a World War II vet). The flag was originally presented to my mother after the ceremony, but later she chose to give it to my brother for reasons only she knows. I said to my brother "Every string in that flag represents each time our dad paced through the living room and screamed at the television during the siege".

I had to explain this to him because apparently no one had ever told him the story. I was very young, about six, and though I remember it quite well, I can't really say I understood what was going on at the time. It was during the Vietnam War when my eldest brother was a Marine stationed at the base in Khe Sahn. The base had been surrounded and for many days the Marines were trapped in this very dangerous place, often fighting hand to hand. During that war, freedom of the press meant that every night during the evening news the terrible pictures of war were flooded straight into the homes of Americans all across the country. Every night my father would come home and pace back and forth through the living room ranting at the television "why can't we get those boys out of there!" The truth... why they couldn't get my brother out of there. A type of insanity had taken over my father, so worried he was for his son. Yes though I was very young I remember the ranting, and raving, and pacing very well, and I remember my father asking me questions, not that he expected any kind of an answer from a six year old, but just because he needed someone to ask, these questions that had no answer, and I just happened to be there.

My brother seemed very happy to hear this story, though I was surprised that no one had ever told him it before. During the siege there were no letters, so, no story was ever relayed, and by the time he came home, most people just wanted to forget about the war. I think it was a good time to tell him the story, certainly better than had we been able to tell him during the siege, because simply put, sometimes you are better off not knowing, no matter how much you desperately want to know.

My father certainly would have been better off not knowing the perils that surrounded his son. It certainly would have saved a lot of wear and tear on my father's nerves not to mention to carpet in the living room. It may have even saved my father's and mother's marriage, though doubtful, that ended shortly after that. This madness surely served no purpose, and benefited no one, and if it in some way made my father feel better, had he not known the particulars of my brothers situation, there would have been nothing for him to have to feel better about.

My brother didn't need to know about the state our father and the family was in at that time. He was busy dealing with the situation that surrounded him and the last thing he needed was to be distracted from the job he was doing by news of his fathers "mental deterioration" (for lack of a better word). I believe he was better off thinking that everything was just fine at home.

Yes, I think that quite often one is better off not knowing, or at least there may come a better time to find out what you really didn't want to know about in the first place...


"Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise."

-Thomas Gray


PS: If you have a poor opinion of the war, the men and women that served in it, or the things they had to do to get through it, by all means, when in my presence, feel free to keep your comments to yourself. Because in that case, I'm much better off not know what you think...

Still Standing...

This is not the post I wanted to write about him but sometimes life leaves us little choice in the matter.

A while back I wrote a post about my mother and I always said I would get around to writing a post about my father, but that has always been me, that I get around to doing things in my own time. We always seem to think that we have more time than we really do... but sometimes we don't...

The first thing you must understand about my father is he was not a perfect person or by any means a perfect father, but he did give us everything we needed. No, we are not talking in a financial sense, but much more important things. He gave us qualities of heart and soul that made us the people we are today. He gave us laughter, intelligence, strength and an openness of mind necessary to ferret out the truth. I see in my brothers, of whom I have three, the kind of people I want to be like, and there are no other people I would rather be around. It is very clear they get these qualities from him.

When we gathered at my one brothers house on Thursday and the reverend came over, he wanted to hear stories of my father, as he had never met him before, none of us held anything back. I'm sure my brother's reverend had done this many times, but I doubt he had encountered a family quite like this. We wondered, near the end of the evening, if he maybe thought we were a little bit wacked, but if he expected weeping and sadness and boasting of what a great man my father was, he was in for quite a shock, when he received honesty, and laughter, and maybe some stories that most families would have left unsaid to a man of the cloth. I'm sorry but my father didn't raise us that way. The reverend did know my one brother well, so hopefully that was enough warning of what he was about to encounter so that we weren't too much of a shock to him, or maybe he was surprised to find out that my brother wasn't unique and there were actually more people like him out there on this planet, either way I think the reverend handled it well. No, we are not saints and you will find that out very quickly after being around us a short time, but we are also very proud of who we are, the type of men our father made us to be.

The last ten years or so had been very rough on my father. It was about that time that his diabetes had gotten so bad that one day while out driving, his sugar dropped to such a low level that he passed out behind the wheel and hit a tree, breaking his hip and shattering his elbow on his right side. It was about then that he had to start taking insulin injections and could no longer try to hide his illness from the rest of us. A few years later we had to take his license away and shortly after that he had his first bad heart attack, the doctors said very little of his heart was still working and he must have had other small heart attacks before then. Since then, the diabetes had taken its toll on his body and especially his legs. We knew he was going down hill, and the family had plenty of warning to prepare themselves, but some people don't give up easily or go down quickly. If I have learned anything from my family, and especially from my father, it's that you are tougher than you think you are, and life is going to knock you down again and again and again, and damn it, you get yourself back up and face it until you have nothing left to face it with! Oh, and a good belly laugh in the face of all that adversity will certainly help you get through.

Three weeks ago my eldest brother went over to my dads place and found him collapsed on the floor. He was taken to the hospital where it was determined that he had had a stroke and another heart attack, and could no longer see or use his left side. After about a week they determined that little could be done for him and moved him into a home, where after ten days, he finally had nothing left to face it with.

This last Tuesday I finally got the call, my father, my very best friend and my one and only hero, who was almost 80, had passed on. This weekend the clan gathered to pay homage to a very strong man, maybe not a perfect man, but a very strong man none the less, a man who made all that knew him stronger. Yes there were tears, but they were all tears of laughter because life is going to knock you down and it may hurt you, but you never give it the satisfaction of knowing it did, and always get back up, until you absolutely cannot get back up one more time and after you get up, laugh in its face. You are much stronger than you can possibly ever imagine...

Oh, by the way, have you heard the one about?...

It takes courage to live—courage and strength and hope and humor. And courage and strength and hope and humor have to be bought and paid for with pain and work and prayers and tears.

-Jerome P. Fleishman