Sunday, January 7, 2018

My Dad

Eight years ago, we stood around my father’s hospital bed. We were there to say good-bye. My dad fought many battles in his life, but he would lose this last fight. His body slowly began to shut down as his family, huddled together, remembered what life with our father meant.

Dad had six children with my Mom. For fifty years he was the center of our life. I couldn’t say that until now, because I couldn’t see this undeniable truth until now.

Many of you that read this never knew my father, so please allow me to tell you a story about him.

In 1977 I was preparing to enter the United States Marine Corps. On the morning of October 10, the Marine recruiter was scheduled to come to my home, pick me up and whisk me away to boot camp in San Diego. As customary with the Marine Corps the day would start very early, the recruiter was scheduled to arrive at my home at 5 AM.

The night before I had spent with my school buddies, sitting in the Recovery Room Bar drinking and telling lies. As night turned into early morning I went to breakfast with the gal I was dating. We went to Jim’s Coffee Shop and just talked. At 4 AM I decided it was time to say goodnight and steal one last kiss. I got home at about 4:40 AM, twenty minutes before the Marine recruiter was scheduled to pick me up.

Dad was sitting at the table drinking coffee when I walked in. Dad was career military and spent most of his life waking before dawn, even after it was no longer necessary for him to do so. I remember the conversation I had with my Dad as if it was yesterday. He told me that he didn’t think I was going to make it home.
“I was saying good-bye.” I replied.
My father surprised me with his response, “I was hoping you wouldn’t make it.”
I looked at my father, stunned by his comment. He went on to tell me, “Go to your room. When the recruiter gets here I will tell him that you changed your mind, that I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
At a loss for words (and thoughts) I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Finally, I told Dad that I had to go, I had made a commitment.
“I don’t want you to go. I’ll miss you too damn much.” He said, sipping his coffee.
Once again, I didn’t know what to think or what to say. I glanced at the clock on the wall, it was 4:55. Dad broke the silence, saying something that I only heard him say a few times in my life,
“I am proud of you son, and I love you.”

Before I could say anything there was a knock on the front door. The Marine, squared away in dress blues walked into our home and shook my father’s hand. They exchanged a few words before I was escorted out the door.

That was a long time ago. I didn’t realize how much I was like my father until after he was gone. It took me more than 27 years for me to tell my father, “I love you too.” I hope he heard me.

Since my father’s passing his family has continued to grow. I didn’t count but I believe on Christmas morning there were more than thirty people gathered in the small home of my mother. This by the way would have driven my father to madness! Many of them are too young to remember Dad, some weren’t even born yet. But Dad would have loved every one of them with a love that is immeasurable, even in its silence.

I try to remember to tell my own children that I love them. I don’t do it enough.

It is important to me that I tell them and all the others that make up this Hirtle Clan about my Dad. The good, the bad, the funny, and about the love he had for his family. I want them to know him, because one day we will be reunited, of this I am certain. I want them to run to him and say “Hi grandpa!” I want to hear him say, “Welcome home. I love you.”

It’s my turn to miss you Dad.
I love you too. Go Patriots!

January 7, 2018
The story above was written five years ago. It is hard to believe that now thirteen years have come and gone since Dad went home to be with our Lord. We gathered as a family again today, the numbers lessened by time. Today, we were at his graveside instead of his bedside. Thousands of tombstones still decorated with Christmas wreaths stand in formation at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery; it is a moving sight to behold. We took a few moments to share memories before thanking God for the life my dad, Jim Hirtle Sr. lived and clarity of memory for those gathered this morning.

Before we left, my niece pointed out a penny placed by someone laying atop the granite headstone of my father. Looking around, we noticed many headstones also had the copper coin placed upon their crown. I had never seen anything like it. My brother-in-law, curious as I, used his smart phone to discover the answer to this penny mystery. It seems a penny indicates a “visitor” had been there.

I will never know who this penny bearer/bearers was or were. As we walked through the grounds of the National resting place of warriors I counted hundreds and hundreds of pennies. Dad would have thought this magnificent.

So do I. Thank you and God Bless you Penny Bearer.

Random Thoughts

Hold My Hand

If you were to ask any of my children what colloquial truisms they recall their father uttering as they passed from toddler to young ad...