I remember my dad yelling, angrily, demanding that we kids shut up so he could get some "peace and quiet!"
"Damn it!" he screamed, "Just give me a moment's peace!"
The threatening tone of his voice and likelihood of imminent violence usually did shut us up--at least for a few moments.
Of course, kids will be kids. There were times, that I just couldn't keep my mouth shut -- and the threat became a reality.
I ache now with the memory of his anguish and his anger -- and my own fear and pain. I wish I knew then what I know now. Having practiced meditation for decades, if I could pilot a time machine back through the decades, I'd
gladly give him that moment's peace. This time it would be done out of
compassion not fear. I could have sat in silence with him for a long, long time. Perhaps, I would have been able to give him the peace he yearned for.
Gone Fishing...
Dad loved to fish.
I remember the day I looked out the front window of our apartment and
saw him silhouetted against the sun sparkles of the small lake we lived
on. Surrounded by sun sparkles and blue sky, Dad sat there in his beloved rowboat, fishing pole in hand, a couple of hundred feet offshore. He could sit like that, motionless, surrounded by the stillness of that
lake for a long time, just peering at the red and white bobber. He seemed at peace in those moments.
He'd often return to shore afterwards, seemingly in a good mood. He appeared to be calmer,
quieter, more content.
Now, fifty years after his death, it is one of my strongest visual memories of him.
Yet, unfortunately those moments were not all that
common. My dad worked hard at the factory all day, and then, a single
parent, he would prepare dinner before we kids would take over to do the
dishes. Beyond that, he was often in motion, keeping himself busy with other activities as
well. As well as parenting the three (sometimes four) of us, he was a union officer, an avid ham radio operator, an active member of the Loyal Order of Moose, and a boy scout
council commissioner.
Unfortunately, Dad suffered from hypertension, atherosclerosis, and cardiac disease. Longevity wasn't his genetic strong suit. His mother, Vera, had died at age 42. His
father, Harold, had died of heart disease at age 57. To make matters worse, Dad was also a
longtime smoker. And, as we saw above, stress management wasn't his
forte. Driven by his own demons, he lived "with gusto." He worked hard, played hard, and was often uptight. All too often -- especially if he saw "defiance" in our actions -- his violent temper would erupt into his words and actions.
Perhaps predictably, Dad's health began to degrade in his 50's. Finally, after a heart attack, two strokes, and uncontrollable high blood pressure, our family doctor advised dad to finally retire and "just go fishing." At age 59, he did just that. He bought himself a camper and a trailer, and for much of final year and a half of his life, he traveled and fished from coast to coast.
My heart glows with images of the moments of peace he may have experienced as he approached journey's end.
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