Things I wish I had said at my father's funeral:
I must backtrack a bit. Dad had metastatic CA of the prostate. He had been diagnosed a good 20 years previous. As with most progressive diseases this one took a little more from him over time. I remember one time when I was home visiting that he had commented about a recent bout of illness that his hands had actually shrunken a bit. His hands were no longer as strong as they used to be. I could tell that this grieved him more than anything else.
He was very philosophical about the end of his life. He had lived a good life and was determined to enjoy as much of it as possible.
That summer of 1995 most of the siblings had cycled home for a visit. I didn't make it down until that final phone call. I had not planned for this as well as I should have. I booked a ticket for the very next day and asked husband to catch up when he could. As a matter of fact, I neglected to pack extra underwear and had to borrow a pair of his shorts.
We all gathered up and went to visit him at the Boise Veteran's hospital. These buildings are magnificent old brick buildings built in the early 20th century. Dad obtained all of his health care and would not think of entertaining services elsewhere. All of my siblings and I have sat in the care for several days worth of clinic visits while dad was seen. We were never allowed out of the car. Oh those squirrels looked like so much fun. We would have chased them down. Now that I think of it, I begin to wonder what Mom did whenever we whined about going to the bathroom?
Dad had so many visitors and family that the nurses were a bit astounded. They very kindly put dad in a two bed unit and put a tag on the other bed that said it was out of service and needed maintenance. God Bless 'em.
I walked into the room that first day, he was laying there with his left hand gripping the raised up bed rail. I walked over, leaned over and kissed the back of his hand and sobbed, "I love you, Daddy." I am pretty sure that all of us kissed the back of his hand.
He did not rouse for a couple of days, the docs had been keeping him fairly well sedated. They cut back on his meds and he perked up enough to play a little pinochle with us. We had a good visit.
This went on for about a week. He did begin to decline and the decision was made to transfer him to VA Hospice. It was just another building but it was end of life care and the staff did a wonderful job.
He died late one evening and we began plans for the funeral. The service itself was to my mind, a bit unsatisfactory. One of members of the V.F.W. spoke about Brother Berglund's Army service. Gale read a touching piece and I sat there like a dumb ass, completely bereft of anything to share.
I could have talked about the things he told me that he and his brothers got up to as kids. The time he and a brother snuck a neighbors bull up on top of the farmer's barn. They had to avoid the Sheriff for a while after wards.
I could have related Dad's tale of when he went walk-about when he was thirteen years old. He rode his bicycle to Ontario, sold it for cash to buy a ticket on a train. He took the train to Minnesota and spent the summer working in hay fields.
After haying season was over he drifted south to New Orleans and was arrested for vagrancy. The judge kept him at his home for a while. After that I am a bit fuzzy about his further adventures. There may have been a freighter to Panama.
During the pre-war II years, Dad was very busy working and socializing. The socializing involved driving around with lots of friends and going to dances. There was even a Chickeree.
That is where the whole gang descended on one of the kids farm house, raided the hen house for five or six birds and had fried up some very fresh chicken.
I could have told about the time he went AWOL from the Army to go home to visit and do more socializing and dancing. He had the opportunity to do so when his whole company was transferred from Camp A to Camp B. Every soldier was responsible for handing over his transfer papers to the the next Sargent.
Well, this seemed like an ideal opportunity. Dad offered to pay so much cash to a buddy to shout "Here!" when they called role for Berglund. By God it worked. Grandpa B was getting a little suspicious about how long he had been home on leave and asked him when he had to go back. Dad told him he had until the end of the week.
He got himself to where he was supposed to be in Washington state. Paid his buddy the cash promised. He waited a few days letting the Sargent get to know his face then he said, "Sarge, I completely forgot to turn in my transfer papers.". Sarge looked him over and probably had his own suspicions. But the matter was smoothed over.
Or I could have told about the time he and Uncle Tater took a deer out of season at the Cow Camp. I am not sure to this day who shot the deer but they hung the carcass in the barn and brought in a large metal dish holding the heart and liver.
Tater told us kids that he had killed a porcupine and showed a lodge pole pine just studded with porcupine quills. It was very impressive. For years afterward until well into my teens, my show and tell at school was, "Do you know how big a porcupine liver is? It's almost as big as the whole porcupine, I saw it!" I can only imagine what the mystified teachers must have wondered about that Berglund girl.
There were other adventures that taken in the whole would have made a nice picture show to go see on Saturday night. "The Adventures of Shorty". Starring Mickey Rooney.
On retrospect, I have forgotten to mention a few other things that made him a very good man. He worked hard all of his life. I heard him say more than once that "A man can find work if he wants to." He always did.
He helped all of us kids as much as he could. He helped me move a couple of times. Made sure I got home to California the winter I drove home for Christmas and wrecked the Barracuda on black ice. Thanks, Dad.
I wish I had said that at the funeral but I was literally emotionally frozen at the time. But the memories are sweet. Love, me.
I must backtrack a bit. Dad had metastatic CA of the prostate. He had been diagnosed a good 20 years previous. As with most progressive diseases this one took a little more from him over time. I remember one time when I was home visiting that he had commented about a recent bout of illness that his hands had actually shrunken a bit. His hands were no longer as strong as they used to be. I could tell that this grieved him more than anything else.
He was very philosophical about the end of his life. He had lived a good life and was determined to enjoy as much of it as possible.
That summer of 1995 most of the siblings had cycled home for a visit. I didn't make it down until that final phone call. I had not planned for this as well as I should have. I booked a ticket for the very next day and asked husband to catch up when he could. As a matter of fact, I neglected to pack extra underwear and had to borrow a pair of his shorts.
We all gathered up and went to visit him at the Boise Veteran's hospital. These buildings are magnificent old brick buildings built in the early 20th century. Dad obtained all of his health care and would not think of entertaining services elsewhere. All of my siblings and I have sat in the care for several days worth of clinic visits while dad was seen. We were never allowed out of the car. Oh those squirrels looked like so much fun. We would have chased them down. Now that I think of it, I begin to wonder what Mom did whenever we whined about going to the bathroom?
Dad had so many visitors and family that the nurses were a bit astounded. They very kindly put dad in a two bed unit and put a tag on the other bed that said it was out of service and needed maintenance. God Bless 'em.
I walked into the room that first day, he was laying there with his left hand gripping the raised up bed rail. I walked over, leaned over and kissed the back of his hand and sobbed, "I love you, Daddy." I am pretty sure that all of us kissed the back of his hand.
He did not rouse for a couple of days, the docs had been keeping him fairly well sedated. They cut back on his meds and he perked up enough to play a little pinochle with us. We had a good visit.
This went on for about a week. He did begin to decline and the decision was made to transfer him to VA Hospice. It was just another building but it was end of life care and the staff did a wonderful job.
He died late one evening and we began plans for the funeral. The service itself was to my mind, a bit unsatisfactory. One of members of the V.F.W. spoke about Brother Berglund's Army service. Gale read a touching piece and I sat there like a dumb ass, completely bereft of anything to share.
I could have talked about the things he told me that he and his brothers got up to as kids. The time he and a brother snuck a neighbors bull up on top of the farmer's barn. They had to avoid the Sheriff for a while after wards.
I could have related Dad's tale of when he went walk-about when he was thirteen years old. He rode his bicycle to Ontario, sold it for cash to buy a ticket on a train. He took the train to Minnesota and spent the summer working in hay fields.
After haying season was over he drifted south to New Orleans and was arrested for vagrancy. The judge kept him at his home for a while. After that I am a bit fuzzy about his further adventures. There may have been a freighter to Panama.
During the pre-war II years, Dad was very busy working and socializing. The socializing involved driving around with lots of friends and going to dances. There was even a Chickeree.
That is where the whole gang descended on one of the kids farm house, raided the hen house for five or six birds and had fried up some very fresh chicken.
I could have told about the time he went AWOL from the Army to go home to visit and do more socializing and dancing. He had the opportunity to do so when his whole company was transferred from Camp A to Camp B. Every soldier was responsible for handing over his transfer papers to the the next Sargent.
Well, this seemed like an ideal opportunity. Dad offered to pay so much cash to a buddy to shout "Here!" when they called role for Berglund. By God it worked. Grandpa B was getting a little suspicious about how long he had been home on leave and asked him when he had to go back. Dad told him he had until the end of the week.
He got himself to where he was supposed to be in Washington state. Paid his buddy the cash promised. He waited a few days letting the Sargent get to know his face then he said, "Sarge, I completely forgot to turn in my transfer papers.". Sarge looked him over and probably had his own suspicions. But the matter was smoothed over.
Or I could have told about the time he and Uncle Tater took a deer out of season at the Cow Camp. I am not sure to this day who shot the deer but they hung the carcass in the barn and brought in a large metal dish holding the heart and liver.
Tater told us kids that he had killed a porcupine and showed a lodge pole pine just studded with porcupine quills. It was very impressive. For years afterward until well into my teens, my show and tell at school was, "Do you know how big a porcupine liver is? It's almost as big as the whole porcupine, I saw it!" I can only imagine what the mystified teachers must have wondered about that Berglund girl.
There were other adventures that taken in the whole would have made a nice picture show to go see on Saturday night. "The Adventures of Shorty". Starring Mickey Rooney.
On retrospect, I have forgotten to mention a few other things that made him a very good man. He worked hard all of his life. I heard him say more than once that "A man can find work if he wants to." He always did.
He helped all of us kids as much as he could. He helped me move a couple of times. Made sure I got home to California the winter I drove home for Christmas and wrecked the Barracuda on black ice. Thanks, Dad.
I wish I had said that at the funeral but I was literally emotionally frozen at the time. But the memories are sweet. Love, me.
No comments:
Post a Comment