So FD is here, and Jeff prevailed upon me to begin the day in religious observance. I fetched him at 815 and we headed to the temporary Chabad HQ, and we put on tefillin and observed the weekday prayers, led by His Holines Rabbi Yossi. Afterwards, we decamped to our local Starbucks for some coffee and egg white bites which were not very good. But the catching up and conversation was.
Jeff is leaving this week for the entire Summer in New Haven. He and Lili bought a townhouse there, to be close to their eldest and her husband and baby girl. Their middle girl Sam, who lives at home, is going as well, so there'll be a quiet house down the street until after Labor Day.
And my thoughts go to the final FD I spent with my Dad. It would have been June of 1982, and I wish terribly I recalled it, but I don't.
I was working that Summer as a sales clerk at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall -- full time -- minimum wage. Dad and Mom lived in Kings Point in Delray, arguably the ugliest condo complex in history -- essentially concrete blocks of two story buildings surrounded by parking lots. Dad used to meet neighbors and ask "What cell block do you live in?" Mom made him stop -- for many Unit ownas, as they were called in New Yorkese, it was the first home they ever owned, after a lifetime of renting in Brooklyn or Queens or The Bronx.
If I had to speculate, we probably went out for lunch, or dinner if I was working -- probably one of the go-to delis, like Three Gs. If it was fancier, we might have gone to Gentleman Jim's in Boynton, with its salad bar that Mom loved.
Probably my sisters called, from Long Island and California. But I had zero idea it would be our final FD, and paid little attention. Honestly, I was more interested in my female co-workers that Summer.
South Palm Beach County in the early 80s was still a very seasonal place, and there were many more girls my age than boys. The dating pool was deep for a rising college senior like me.
Shortly after FD, Dad had a serious heart attack. They called me at work, and I raced home and then to Bethesda Hospital in Boynton. We weren't sure he would survive, but he did, and seemed on the road to recovery.
A week after his discharge, he had an appointment with his GP, a portly fellow named Dr. Heller, on Atlantic Avenue. I had plans that day, July 14, to attend a beach party with some of my Jordan Marsh co-workers, as I was off from work. Dad asked me to please go with him and Mom to the doctor's visit -- and I was annoyed. He was fine, after all, and I had devoted the past weeks to him -- couldn't I have this day for some young people stuff after weeks in the hospital with him?
He must have had an ominous sense, since he said "Well, if the doc says I'm not ok, he may put me back in the hospital, and I'd rather Mom not have to deal with that alone."
I never refused him, and so called my friends to cancel, and then off to Dr. Heller's office.
Heller listened to his heart, said all sounded fine, and said maybe it was time my Dad eat more fish and less of his beloved meat and potatoes. I probably rolled my eyes -- I KNEW I wasn't needed, and I imagined all the drinking and carousing going on without me on the beach.
We went for lunch at Morrison's Cafeteria. Sure enough, Dad got the fish -- I'm sure I got the roast beef. With sodas, we toasted his recovery. And then we left, but Dad asked if we could stop for a haircut -- he was feeling shaggy after his time in the hospital
I drove his '75 forest green Olds '98 Regency to the Oriole Plaza, where there was a barber shop, as well as a Publix. Mom ran into the Publix for a few things. There was a young haircutter, a girl about my age, with purple hair and piercings. As she cut Dad's hair, I sat behind and read a magazine, until I heard her say in a scream "Sir? Sir?" Dad had slumped over in the chair.
I told her to call 911 and started CPR, but I knew he was gone. She helped me, and the Delray paramedics were there in minutes. They took over, and put Dad in a "thumper," which did the chest compressions. Mom walked in to the worst scene of her life. I hugged her and lied that all was fine.
We followed the rescue truck back to Bethesda -- these were the days before Delray Community was built. Mom was crying in shock. I had the awful immediate sense that my immature college boy self was dead along with my Dad in the vehicle in front of us -- it was time to become the man of the family. Strange I recall that detail so clearly.
At the hospital, we went to a waiting room. A few minutes later, a young ER doc came out. He wouldn't answer my question about Dad -- the protocol was, I inferred, a social worker had to be present when news of death was to be shared. We patiently waited, and finally I had enough. I stood up, approached the fellow, and said "My Dad's dead, right?" He nodded, as the late arriving social worker entered the room.
Even in that saddest moment of my life, I was annoyed by the stupid protocols of health care. Neither Mom nor I wanted to see Dad's body -- he had made clear his wishes for cremation, and I signed papers authorizing that.
And that, as they say, was that.
So I learned my lesson, about NEVER taking a celebration for granted. In a few hours, we're leaving for D2 and Jonathan's house, to be joined by D1 and her men, which includes a new, furry one.
The other day, the Ds drove up to Loxahatchee and adopted a new dog for D1 and family -- a year old Cavalier Spaniel -- same color as departed, beloved Madeleine.
He's a very shy fellow, and D1 named him Lemon, as he probably has rescue dog stuff wrong with him. Little Man calls him the Spanish Limon, and the family is already in love. Lemon seems to favor enormous Betsy over humans so far -- that will change.
I plan to savor each moment of togetherness with my precious family. The Big Man taught me 42 years ago that no one here gets out alive. While we ARE here, we must treat the moments as more precious than diamonds. I do.
So I still miss Hy terribly. I would give all to have him meet Wifey and the family we have created together -- amazing daughters, wonderful sons in law, and precious grandsons, with, hopefully, more to come.
I guess the best I can do to honor my wonderful father is to be a wonderful father as well. And though I am often self deprecating about most of my life, when it comes to my identity as a father, well, I shout that from the rooftops.
So today there ought to be a lot of shouting laughter -- dogs and all.
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