by Marshall R. Goldberg
There
is a beginning and there is an end.
To
all things.
To
us and all we love.
There
is a first breath and a last.
Just yesterday, we were talking to an amazing vet who is
founding a web based community of vets in order to help them keep current with
information, improve their networking, and help them with the business aspects
of their practices. He was showing us a video about how to do a caesarean
section on a goat. Ah yes, it was bloody and all that. But fortunately, such
things do not the disturb the Olde
Soldier. I watched in fascination. When the little goat was brought
outside its mother’s uterus, the attending vet wipes off the birth fluids, and,
as if by magic, the beast takes the first breath of its life. The vet described
his awe at this first breath, and it took me back once again to that moment of
my father’s last. Once again, affirming the role all us play in the cycle of
life.
For, alas, after a long decline as the result of congestive
heart failure, the Old Soldier’s father took his last breath on April 27th.
I am a lucky person.
As I often tell people, I have to apologize as I come from
a fully functional family. We all get along. Sure, we have the usual sibling
rivalries of a three child family. But nothing more bothersome than be cured by
a quick laugh. My mother and father always seemed to get along through thick
and thin, with an occasional bout of moodiness. But all in all, we are a peaceful bunch, not prone to any sort of
physical or verbal violence.
I am a lucky person.
Lucky to have known my father the way I did. Even more
lucky to have him as a father. His advise and example to me and all of us is
timeless.
My father never resented paying taxes even when it was
tough and burdensome. “This is the price of living in a civilized society.”
Quoting the words of whatever famous historical person first spouted the
utterance. (Jefferson?)
Honest without a gray area. No lies. No half true. No exceptions. He worked as a consulting structural engineer. In the years he had his business, I remember him coming home to relate the stories of the various “bagmen” the politicians would send to extort him in order to land contracts. He paid a price for refusing them and got something back for that price that remains of the highest value.
My father didn’t have a tinge of greediness. At age 66, he
said to my mother, “Lil, we have enough. I can work longer for more money, but
our needs are simple.” After retiring,
he didn’t put his skills on the shelf. He continued consulting as a checker for
other engineers and served with distinction as an arbitrator for the American
Arbitration Association well into his late 70s. When luck struck me at
Microsoft, he was quick to council – “Don’t be greedy.” Having seen so much
greed in my getting longer life, it wasn’t that hard to build a nice set-aside
and improve the quality of my sleep. Thanks Dad.
The end
We knew the end was coming. Slowly but surely, the heart
attack he had in his fifties due to his cigarette smoking, was taking its toll.
Congestive heart failure had set in pretty badly. Thanks to the miracle of
modern medicine and new treatments for the condition, he led a remarkably good
quality of life in spite of it.
Finally, in the middle of last year, the condition worsened
to the point of forcing him to give up driving and resort to a walker. The
doctors said there wasn’t anything more they could do and told us they didn’t
know how much time he had left. My father always wanted to live to the year
2000. We worried he wouldn’t make it. But the old fellow hung in. A cerebral
incident and terrible anemia took him to the hospital several times, but
somehow he continued hanging on. Two week before he died, he took a terrible
fall. My father called the rescue squad. They came and feverishly revived him.
In retrospect, my mother would have preferred they let him go at that moment.
Problem is without clear instructions either posted or worn on a wristband,
rescue squads do what they are trained to do – rescue.
From what my mother said when he went to the hospital that
last time, it was pretty clear he wasn’t ever coming home. I had two business
meetings coming up, one on 4/26 in Toronto, and another on 4/27 in Armonk.
Decided to leave the Thursday before the meetings giving me plenty of time to
visit.
Over the weekend, it was obvious from his condition that
death was close at hand. My poor mother was having her own health troubles as
well. After being with her for a couple of days, I understood. The situation
was draining beyond description. When we both left the hospital on the Tuesday
before he died, we could barely talk.
My meeting on Wednesday, the 26th got cancelled
due to the illness of one of our key people. On the afternoon of the 26th,
I started to drive toward the airport for the meeting on Thursday. Half way to
the airport, I had a premonition that it was the wrong thing to do and turned
back for the hospital. Called my sister. She flew up from New York on the
Shuttle to join us later that night.
When we got to the hospital the next morning, he was no
longer able to communicate and was extremely restless. Having been with my wife
as she was dying, I recognized these as “death throes.” My brother Paul and his
granddaughter Nili joined us as well. After we shuffled ourselves in and out of the
room for lunch, we all gathered round. He was much quieter now and his
breathing was deep and labored. The nurse said his kidneys had finally failed.
I looked at my mother and we both knew the end was very, very close. At 1:30,
with my mother and I at his head holding his hands and petting him, his
breathing got more and more labored and then quietly stopped.
Being there was a gift. Not so much for me or for him, but to
help my mother in the transition to her new life. My mother knew my father
since they were 6 years old, were a couple for 72, and married for 67.
My he rest in peace and his spirit continue to serve as an inspiration to those of us that knew him and loved him.