I am no fan of the month of August.
I am no fan of the month of August. For years, it meant the sudden demise of my summer fun, as teachers were heading back to prepare for another school year. In later years, school was actually starting. Then, in 2008, my mother passed away on the second day of school. Three years later, on August 18th, may father passed away on the Thursday before school started. Now, thanks to the modern age of social media, I get to relive my father's passing every year through Facebook memories and the Timehop app. It can be a rough time leading up to the 18th. I find myself reflecting a lot on Dad's final days, and what was going on around me at that time.
In August of 2011, I was to start my first of four years as a CIT split between Carson and Braun Station. I was already nervous about making that major change to my working routine. On the day my dad died, I went to Carson early in the morning to get my computer lab set up and ready for school to start the following Monday. I planned to go later in the day to do the same thing at Braun Station. My Carson principal, Vickie Tschirhart, ordered me to leave the school and go be by my father's side. She said that the computer lab could wait. I explained to her that I needed to keep busy, but she, an amazingly wise and loving boss, knew that I needed to be with my dad and would regret it later had I not been. My Braun Station principal, Jack Funkhouser, had also been a CIT for many years. He completely took over my job and got everything up and running for me at his school. I will be eternally grateful to both of them for the support they gave me during that hard time in my life.
My dad and I went through some rough times in my teenage and young adult years. We butted heads about almost everything. It wasn't until I had children of my own that it became easier for us to deal with each other. He was an amazing grandfather to my boys. I was always surprised by how much tenderness he showed towards them, and how much effort he put in to showing them a good time. Sometimes, I was even a little jealous that they got to experience such a warm and gentle man.
When mom died, dad was nearly invalid. He needed total support, as his heart condition and cancer had weakened him and nearly knocked the life out of him. He went into remission the day after she died and enjoyed another three years. I spent more time with him during those three years than I had during the twenty years leading up to them. Our relationship changed. Somehow, I became his equal at times. Some times, I took the parent role in the relationship. I drove him to appointments. I drove him to meals. I worked to find activities that he could enjoy. We went horse back riding. We went to rodeos. We went to high school sporting events. It was a wonderful three years.
I took my dad to visit Martha and Hudson Long in Llano right before he passed. He loved going to the Long Ranch. So did Mom. In fact, both of their ashes were spread there. On that last visit, Dad was really getting winded easily, but he still participated in whatever was going on. We went to feed the cows out in a pasture. I will never forget the sight of him sitting on the gate of Martha's pickup truck throwing feed as she drove through the pasture. With every bump, he let out squeals of laughter. He was in paradise.
The day we got back to San Antonio, Dad insisted that I cut his hair. I shaved his head. He looked like a ghoul. Little did I know that it would be his last haircut. Within a few days, his condition took a sudden turn for the worse. I took him to Wilford Hall. They sent him by ambulance to BAMC. The doctor's there told us it was the end. A few days later he was transferred to the hospice wing of the nursing home right next to the HEB on Mystic Park. The next day he was gone.
