The last words my father said to me were "shut up." That was as I was leaving on Sunday, January 2 -- a week before he died. He had not been awake much that day, and he had not been able to speak well, but those two words were clear as a bell. 

Shut up is not something I associate with my father or mother, it's not a phrase either barked at me as a kid. Somehow, it always had a tinge of vulgarity about it and they didn't like us saying it. 

On Black Friday 2020, I bought my father an Echo Dot so he could operate lights and play music. Because of his aphasia, it was a struggle to get Echo to consistently understand him. I created routines, after asking him what words he wanted to use. Through trial and error, he settled on "shut up" for turning off the Willie Nelson channel on satellite radio. It was something he could remember, say clearly, and because of articulating those two words every day, often multiple times, they stayed with him until the end. 

He said "shut up" to me on January 2 because I was reminding him to drink whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was dehydrated, and so I told him one more time before I left. He did not say shut up as if annoyed, but instead in his usual half-joking way, so it was funny and I laughed. But I knew he was serious -- he did not want to drink.

I had a few ideas for what I wanted to write about, but instead I wrote the prior post about the tie pin and eighth grade. I wanted to jot down here two things that my friend told me. First, when I initially told her that my father died, she emailed "there are not many words for timeless sadness." Later, in a sympathy card, she wrote, "the sadness will fade 'a little' but will be there. The memories will be there."

This enamel tie pin was in a small metal box with other old trinkets in my father's closet. I made it for him when I was in 8th grade. He was selling cars at the time.He was always meticulous about his appearance (or you could say vain), and had more fashionable tie clips, but I remember he did occasionally wear it. He was proud of our last name and his initials. In fact, if you bought one of our family's houses, it's quite possible you had to sandblast the fireplace to remove the letter "G."

I copied the above from my Facebook post, but a school memory has been triggered. In 8th grade I was "accelerated" in math and art. I'm not sure why those two subjects, and I don't know who decided. I like both, and I was good at math, but English strikes me as my "subject," especially at that time. My math experience was horrible. The teacher was an abomination. Today, he would be arrested, convicted and jailed. He'd be forever disgraced. I had him for both 8th and 9th grades and was assigned to his class again in 10th, but I told my guidance counselor I'd drop math entirely unless I was transferred out of his class. She was mostly inept, but she'd refused my request the year before, and she knew I was serious so she put me in a class with a competent teacher.

Donna was "accelerated" in art. I think that year we took the same two classes, enamel jewelry making and pottery. I don't remember there being any other students in enameling. I think it wasn't the teacher's passion - that was his photography class. Still, with few students, we were able to make a lot of jewelry. 

In pottery, the teacher freaked out after a couple of weeks, and was replaced by a young woman who was rigid. There were a lot of students in the class, because the teacher who freaked out was beloved, and basically allowed students to do, or not do, whatever they wanted. The class was bedlam after the new teacher took over; kids continued to do whatever they wanted, but now there was a teacher looming over the room, yelling constantly. This triggered Donna to act out, by becoming a vandal to the room and the other kids' projects when no one was looking (except me).

When I was a teenager the question of life after death really captured my attention. At that time, I read a lot on the subject: Elisabeth Kubler-Ross books (On Death and Dying), and some popular works, for instance Life After Life and The Evidence for Life After Death. I found a lot of comfort in that reading.

Mimmie and I talked a great deal about the topic. She promised she would let me know someday, as it was likely I would outlive her. The summer after she died, I felt the world was different; somehow less colorful. Oh, the grass was green and the sky was blue, but it wasn't the same shade or brightness or something. Then one night I had a dream. She was sitting there, as always, at the little table in her kitchen, but her mobile home had been transported to a stunning hillside, surrounded by hay and Christmas-tree sized spruce trees. We had tea. She was OK. I felt better afterwards, though I still think of her, and miss her, a lot.

Quite a few years ago, a friend gave me a book called Embraced by the Light. I was impressed by the book at the time, and even shared it with a friend’s father, when he was grieving the loss of his wife. I re-read it recently, and even though I still liked it, I was not as taken with it as I was the first time I read it. I am reading Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife and so far, I’m enjoying it. After I bought it, I learned he taught at Harvard and worked at MGH. How about that!

Due to the magic of the Internet archives, I discovered this story, Compost Pile:

So now it has been four weeks since my father died. Today I canceled the insurance on the van we bought him because the receipt for shredding the plates finally came. It made me sad. I remember he cried when he saw it drive in the first time, because he was so touched by what Bob & I did for him. He spent days thinking about getting a sign for it and what it should say, landing on "private ambulance." I teased him about wanting a big "G" for the door. Sometimes thinking about him being gone makes it hard to breathe.

On a totally different subject, the governor decided to pander to cretins, and announced she is lifting the indoor mask mandate tomorrow. She kept schools in place for now, but it is clear by her defensiveness that she will lift it in March. I guess she figures she needs every vote she can get, including the ignorant. Yesterday I was so annoyed by an email I received from my State senator urging me to sign an anti-mask petition that I dashed off a heartfelt note ripping her a new one. Not that it matters. Despite the CDC cautioning that it is too soon to lift restrictions, about eight governors did it anyway.