Somebody Upstairs Has Claimed Him
He was, in his own words, “an operator,” which I understood as a reference to his street smarts. And he had the lingo to prove it. For my dad a beautiful woman was always “a hot tomato,” people who didn’t know what they were talking about were “blowing smoke,” “hatchi katchi” meant “fooling around,” and so did “hot to trot.” He wasn’t bigoted, except maybe against homely girls in favor of the pretty ones. And he never tried to hide the fact that the reason he tuned in to TV football was to watch the cheerleaders at half-time. ~ From “Let Me Clue You In About My Father.”
My father was born in Boston Massachusetts in 1924 on the first day of spring. When he died, on a recent rainy November evening, the wind was howling all the way from Boston to Virginia, where I live. The rain continued into the next morning, so much so that the creeks flooded over onto the roads, reminding me of the tears that were being shed by everyone that loved him.
For some reason my father had convinced me that he was indestructible. I might have gotten that impression from the wild stories he told of his past that usually ended with him shaking his head and saying, “I don’t know why I’m still here. I guess someone upstairs must like me.”
“There’s going to be some mad Irish wake stories going on for this man,” I said to my son over the phone after I broke the news to him that his grandfather had died. He was holding a page he had ripped out from his collage journal with a photo of his grandfather in Germany during WWII on it, he told me. “There will never be another “operator” quite like Grandpa,” he said.
“He was operating till the end,” I answered. No one could get into his hospital room without bringing a scratch ticket for him to play. He was winking at the nurses up until the end and holding the TV remote in his hand…”
But he had started to drift away long before the car accident that brought him to the hospital. I noticed a change when I visited him and my mother this past summer. At times he seemed withdrawn. Other times confused. On some days, it seemed that he was going through the motions of life and covering up his failings with his humor. But when the mood was just right, he still had a good story to tell:
“You’ve never heard this one before,” he said to me. “It will explain everything.” Even why he struggled with alcoholism for so long.
“Does Ma know?” I asked. My interest was piqued.
“Only me and the devil…and God know,” he answered.
It was a story of combat, one that I vaguely remember he might have told me before, one that would make a great movie but is too personal to re-tell here. I felt that he was purging himself and setting the record straight that day, and I got the sense that the process of leaving this world was beginning for my father.
I just didn’t think the end result of it would come this soon.
Post Notes: The photo is of one of the photo collage boards made by family members and displayed at the funeral home for my father. My son’s collage journal page, dedicated to his grandfather, is posted on the bottom of the board. The song that was played at the end of the funeral services was one that the Andrew Sisters sang in 1943, “I’ll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time,” a wonderful send off for our spring-born daddy who so loved the music of his era. My sister, Kathy, has also been writing about the experience of losing our dad at her blog. And here’s a link to one of my dad’s obituary. Click on “Robert Redman.”
December 5th, 2005 8:03 am
No matter how much advance notice we think we have, I don’t think we’re ever ready to lose a parent. My daddy has been gone for nearly three years and it still catches me unawares sometimes.
My heart goes out to you at this sad time.
December 5th, 2005 8:59 am
Colleen, we continue to have you in our thoughts and are checking your site often to see how you are doing. Please take care.
December 5th, 2005 9:20 am
Colleen, my dad has been gone 15 years and I still sometimes think I hear his voice – or I say to myself – you should call daddy today.
It sounds as if your dad was quite a nice character, and your shared memories will keep him alive for as long as you are around too. Take solace in your family.
December 5th, 2005 9:25 am
We’re making the return trip home to Virginia now. I’m typing this from a motel in Pennsyvania… and hoping not to hit too much snow. All the support here and at the funeral services for my dad has been very uplifting and our family love has shone bright throughout. Now comes the internal process and the missing… Thanks to everyone who has been stopping by and offering support.
December 5th, 2005 10:32 am
Please have a safe trip. All the schools are closed today and it’s a beautiful sight looking out my dining room windows! My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family (my family). As we had talked about before, we are lucky to have such a strong family connection. Use that strength when you are feeling weak! I’m always here if you need me. xoxo
December 5th, 2005 12:11 pm
I’m glad you can talk about him, tell his stories and relive the happy memories. Peace be with you.
December 5th, 2005 12:11 pm
You’re right – that was a perfect song choice as a loving sendoff to a great man from the era.
I know this is the hard part. The days following all the activities when time almost seems to stop at several parts of the day. I also know what a strong and resourceful woman you are and how gracefully you will handle these terribly sad days, weeks and months.
Just know that our thoughts are with you and your family and our virtual arms are outstretched to you for needed hugs at the click of an email switch.
Be safe.
December 5th, 2005 2:04 pm
I read your dad’s obituary. He sounds like such a remarkable man. I understand how much you must miss him. ((hugs))
December 5th, 2005 4:33 pm
I will continue to keep you in my prayers.
December 5th, 2005 6:38 pm
Still remembering you. A nice, thoughtful post.
December 5th, 2005 10:03 pm
I hope you made it home safely through the snow.
December 5th, 2005 10:32 pm
Wonderful memories of your father, who sounded like an interesting and fun man. May you find comfort in your memories and in the arms of those left behind.
December 5th, 2005 11:22 pm
A lovely post.
December 6th, 2005 8:28 am
You and your family I still pray for.
Thank you for sharing such wonderful little “tid-bits” about your dad.
Take care.
December 6th, 2005 1:50 pm
You have some wonderful memories of your father. You will always have those. Thank you for sharing them with us.
December 7th, 2005 1:42 am
This is a beautiful and poignant portrait. Thank you.