‘Til We Meet Again
July 11, 2011
Written by Janet Fullenwider Warren
I watched my father die last Tuesday. Actually, I went out in the hall as I was giving my sister a progress report on the phone. When I came back in the room, I knew immediately he was gone. It was an agonizingly slow process, but the last hour was filled with peace. He was in pain, heavily medicated, breathing rapidly. It was a difficult thing to watch—until the last hour. Then it became surprisingly sweet and peaceful. The caregiver came in to give him his last dose of medicine. “Do you feel the change in the room?” she asked. It went from anxiously waiting to a feeling of heaven being near. He started to breathe very slowly, sometimes stopping altogether, only to resume with a small gasp. And then one time he didn’t start breathing again.
I was chosen by my family to write my dad’s obituary. You know me, I get long-winded sometimes. I kept the obituary to a little over 500 words (my columns are usually 1,000 words). When you’re paying by the line, however, 500 words can add up to $511. Can you imagine? (Check out Reno Gazette Journal, rgj.com/obituaries). But 500 words wasn’t enough to tell people what I wanted to tell them about my dad. Lucky for me, I have a captive audience in my hometown, so I will tell you some of the stories about my dad that I didn’t put in his obituary. For example, the time in high school when my 110 instamatic camera didn’t work. My dad could fix anything and I figured he could fix the camera too. “Well, I can try, but don’t be upset if I break it.” He unscrewed it and springs went flying all around the kitchen. My father uttered a very rare sentence in our home—“I think it would be cheaper to buy a new one.”
Frugal was my father’s middle name; in fact, he would die again if he knew how much we spent on his obituary. Yet when it came to helping his family he was very generous. When Dad lived in Spokane, Washington, my sister Diane lived in Reno, Nevada. Diane had just gone through a divorce (you might think this is a common theme in our family, but Diane and I are the only ones who were ever divorced. My parents were married for 68 years). She was feeling overwhelmed with taking care of herself and her young son. My dad called her up and said, “Diane, I have a couple of airline tickets from Reno to Spokane sitting around with your name on it. Would you and Jeffrey like to come for a visit?”
My father was very handsome. Diane remembers when she was 11 years old, dad took her on a daddy-daughter date at our church. My mom made Diane a corsage and my dad a boutonniere. Diane remembers looking up at my father and thinking he was the most handsome man in the world. She was so proud to be with him that night.
My sister Sara remembers riding in the hills of Sparks, Nevada with my father on motorbikes. I tried once, but I didn’t like it. Sara was also the only daughter Dad ever let drive his motorhome.
For many years, my father was the only man in my life I could trust. After my divorce, he was a rock for me. I knew he loved me when I felt my life was falling apart. Because of my father’s example of loyalty, truthfulness, and integrity, I didn’t lose faith in marrying again. I knew there were men like my father out there and I was able to recognize those traits in Mike when I met him. I really did marry my father in some ways. My sorrow is that Mike and my dad didn’t have thirty years together. Both my dad and Mike think work is fun—they would have had so much fun together!
My nephew, Jeff Neuweiler spoke at my father’s funeral. Jeff is the oldest grandchild, and he had a very special relationship with my father. I had held it together pretty well up to this point, but Jeff’s words about his grandpa touched me deeply. When Jeff moved away from home, my father told him that in any given situation if he would “do the right thing” he couldn’t go wrong. Four words changed my nephew’s life. This was the same advice dad gave to all of us and it is my father’s legacy. My dad always tried to do the right thing.
My dad sang a song over the generations to us and to our children. Two months before his death, trying to get a reaction out of my uncommunicative father, Diane and I sang this song to him. He began to wave his arms to lead us. The day before dad’s funeral my niece Jill found herself singing his song all day. Before my father’s casket was closed for the final time, the family and some close friends had some private time. I asked my brother and sisters to join me in singing dad’s song. My sisters knew I was going to do this, but my brother, Dave, was surprised. But you know, he remembered all the words and he was the best at doing the hand motions.
Up in the air, Junior Birdman,
Up in the air, upside down.
Up in the air Junior Birdman,
Keep your nose right to the ground.
If you hear the great commandment
That the planes are made of tin
Then you’ll know that Junior Birdman
Has turned his boxtops in.
Over and out Junior Birdman. You will always be my hero.
