Epilogue - A Tribute to My Dad

In many of the cards my parents would give me on my birthday, my
father would often write the chapter of life I was entering. On my
Facebook post on his past birthday in January, I wrote, “Happy Birthday,
Old Man…here’s to Chapter 86!” I feared it might be the last … and it
was. Hence, the title of this blog.

Years ago, my father asked me to write his obituary. No doubt we were
fighting at the time, so I retorted strongly, “You don’t want me to
write your obituary!” He smugly asked, “Why?” “Because I would tell the
whole truth, and you’re not gonna like that.” And off we went into
another argument.

Well, today, I’m gonna tell the truth, but not the whole truth…so,
please help me…God. I am going to use some of his own words to sum up
the man.

When I was little, I looked up to him….literally. I felt safe when he
was home. I felt he could solve all our problems. I thought he was the
smartest man I knew. Then I became a teenager…and my parents didn’t seem
to know that much. It would be decades before I realized how much they
did know, how much they suffered, how much they sacrificed….

I loved my father, I loved him when I hated him. For years, he was my
rock. I knew he loved me unconditionally, despite his inability to
express it. In my fifties, I came to realize my father was just a man, a
man fraught with all the weaknesses of being human and then some.
Weaknesses I share with him. Did I love him less? No, in fact, my heart
grew to love him more, even when I knew he would never change, even when
things were very difficult. I can thank God’s grace for that.

I used to look askance at the Serenity Prayer, thinking it was kinda
trite….well, in the nine years I lived with my parents, I came to cling
to the words, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change…” God did indeed grant me his wonderful serenity. A serenity that
enabled me to help in his final, difficult months, help with some
compassionate patience (not all the time, mind you) and provided me with
a wonderful, gracious final moment with him. “Until we meet again,
Dad….”

The past couple years have been brutal. My father’s descent into
dementia was exacerbated by his worsening COPD. The COPD is what did him
in, but the dementia is where we lost him. One moment he was his
rascally self, the next he was sickened with paranoia and anxiety…just
wanting to go home. All of us in a rousing, frustrated chorus for over a
year tried to reassure him, “You are home.” In his mind, though, he was
not.

There’s only one story I’d like to tell. In the summer of 1983, I
went to Belgium with a summer missionary group. As we all know…my father
was not “a nice, quiet, peace-loving man” like John Wayne in “The Quiet
Man”, a movie he loved. He was robust, loud, gregarious, pugnacious and
often worried a great deal. Every family member can tell a story in
which he helicoptered them, sometimes calling authorities to make sure
they arrived at a destination and were all right. So, now, here I’m off
to Europe. Pretty far away. I know he was a little nervous. So I wrote
out a scripture verse for him with strict instructions to read it
everyday, especially when he got worried.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” –Philippians 4:6-7

I had a great time in Belgium even though the first month I received
no letters from home. I wrote home expressing my homesickness….and the
following card – a card which I treasure now, a card that I copied and
gave to my dad on one of his recent birthdays – sums up the man, sums up
the things he loved. A card that could almost be a self-written
obituary, if you will. This is the Dad I miss even today.

7/14/83 – Thursday – 7:07 p.m. Dear Donna: I just got home from work and your letter dated 6/31/83 arrived today in the mail. I know how you feel, I was overseas for almost two years & you always look forward to mail from home. I was homesick the whole time I was overseas. I even sneaked home Christmas of 1952 for a few days. You will also learn that San Francisco is the most beautiful city in the world, the Russian River Area & the land of the Redwoods is the most beautiful countryside in the world. (proof on the reverse side of this card.) And always remember “There’s No Place Like Home.” We all miss you, especially your Dad, please let us know about your travel schedule, i.e. dates, time & destinations. In other words, when are you coming home? Your city, your block, your house, your room, your bed keep echoing the refrain “When is the Jibser coming home?” I keep telling them, she ate someone’s big toe & then she split. (ha ha!!) The weather here has been gorgeous, quite hot at the River, 100° plus & 80° right here on the Coast. I’m looking at the Pacific Ocean right now, right outside our window, its almost sunset here now. It’s going to be a lovely sunset. Joe Hurley’s father-in-law, George McKeever, passed away Sunday, he went all thru College (St. Mary’s of course) with my Dad, they were very close friends. I went to the Funeral Mass yesterday morning. During the Offertory, the choir sang “Danny Boy” & at the conclusion of the Mass when they carried the casket to the outside of the church, the choir sang “The Bells of St. Mary’s”, very, very moving, even though old George was 93, he was the last of the “Old Gaels”. Well, anyway, that’s about all for now, I will write soon again, everyone says hello & all miss you very much. Hurry home. Love, Your Dad P.S. I read the card every night!

You’re really home now, Dad. But, your city, your football field,
your river, your wife, your kids, your grandkids, your great-grandkids
and the many, many friends you’ve left behind all miss you, but with a
sad gratitude, we know you have finally gone home. May you rest in that
peace that transcends all understanding. We’ll be along soon.

Thank you, Dad, for all you gave me and my children. You’ve built a
legacy which includes being Irish, a San Franciscan, a river rat, a Gael
and a Moore as well as the rich construction legacy you inherited from
your father that I now enjoy. I hope your legacy and your parents’
legacy will be carried on by my kids and my grandkids. Aloha…

Free Pizza* recorded a song in my dad’s memory:

“Goin’ Home”.

https://donnafentanes.files.wordpress.com/2018/11/goin-home1.mp3

*(John Moore, Eugene Fentanes and Audrey Maloney)