Remembering Daddy Joe

Today is my father's birthday. He would have been ninety years old.

My Dad was a gentle man. He rarely raised his voice, never raised his hand. Instead, when he was angry, his words became quiet.and you just knew you were in trouble.

In his younger days he would lift me in the air, hold his arm out straight and hold me up with that one arm, We would run ahead of Mom and Grandma sometimes, then stop to rest and, when they caught up with us, run ahead again, giggling all the way.

I remember his Jeep, circa 1950. Oh, how I loved to ride in that Jeep! We would go to Grandpa Hess' camp in the mountains most weekends. I always got a ride in the Jeep. Mountain roads? Not Dad. He was far more likely to take a short-cut over saplings in the woods. One day we spotted a bear on the roadside.  

"Look, Daddy! A bear!" I cried out. Dad only hesitated a second, then off into the woods we went after that bear. Nope, we didn't even get close. Boy, could that bear run.

I remember taking rides on Sunday afternoons in his Pontiac Silver Chief (turquoise and white, for you classic car buffs). Mom and Dad, neither of them the most talented of crooners, would sing old songs--Dad and his Army hits (cleaned up for little ears) and Mom with her Tex Ritter. We would stop to have dinner someplace, Dad with his hot roast beef and mashed potatoes, Mom with her grilled cheese, me being just like Dad. Those were the days....

His ever-present pack of filterless Camels would lay in his pocket everywhere he went, his coffee handy by his side. Smoke didn't bother me much back then, and I would sit by his side with my Popsicle as he cheerfully puffed away.

Dad spent a good portion of his youth on a farm, and while his father lived they gardened the spare lot by our homes. After Grandpa died, Dad cultivated a garden of his own, smaller in size, but with robust plants that would feed an army.

I wouldn't have the time or the space to share all of my memories of Dad. I remember his pride when I graduated, his tears the day I got married, his sadness when his mother passed away. I remember his laughter when my children were around and his tenderness with our pets. I remember his last words to me.

Dad had various ailments as he aged--diabetes, heart problems, cataracts. One thing at a time, his doctors said. The diabetes was brought under control easily for Dad. He quit smoking cold turkey when his breathing became labored. He had bypass surgery--not the seventeen centimeter incision like mine, but an autopsy-like cut that ran from stem to stern. He survived all those.

In his last days, he had a defibrillator implanted. The doctors were sending him to Pittsburgh for cataract surgery. All seemed well. A simple cataract surgery. He would be home the next evening.

"Stay with your mother tonight," he said. 

He had never asked me to do that before.

He missed his ride home. He had to spend the night of the eye operation in a guest room at the VA hospital.

I was with Mom when the call came at two the next morning.

I miss my Dad to this day

The other night I dreamed that we were at a dance. I can never remember Dad dancing, but there he was with Mom, doing the Twist! Then they began spinning so fast they were a blur. I don't often dream of my Dad, but when I do, he is always happy and energetic. I know he is at peace with Mom by his side.

Today I will celebrate his birthday quietly in my heart. I will go to the cemetery, maybe shed a tear or two, and remember.

Rest in peace, Daddy Joe.