In memory of....
September 27, 1982. The day my father died. It was at night, actually. Just shortly after midnight, September 28. I was 7 months pregnant with Sam, my dad's first grandchild. I always assumed dad would be there to see his grandkids. His death was sudden, but not surprising.
My dad was born March 8, 1923 in a small town called Amery, Wisconsin. He was the fourth of eight kids. He had an older brother who died as an infant. My uncle Sylvester was killed April 11, 1945 at Okinawa during the war. His ship was attacked by kamikaze planes. They never found his body. My uncle Donald, who dad was extremely close to (they were very close in age) was killed in a flying accident. Both dad and uncle Donald were in the Army Air Corps. Dad wanted to be a pilot, but they Army said he would be better as a navigator. While dad was in school, my uncle Donald was in Florida earning his wings. When he got them (the fall of 1943) he got special permission to take my dad up on a flight. These two brothers were sharing their passion, together. Flying. Dad returned to his base, and the next day uncle Donald was doing a practice flight and his plane crashed, killing him instantly. Dad was devastated, and never really got over his death. Less then two years later, uncle Sylvie was killed. My grandmother wrote numerous letters to the Army requesting my dad be discharged and sent home, as he was now the oldest son, and she had already lost two, she didn't want to lose any more. My dad's other brother, Ray, was in the Army with the occupied forces at the time, also. The best the Army would do was keep dad in the states. But in order for him to do that he had to resign his commission, (he was a 1st lieutenant), go back to the rank of private, and drop out of flight school. He spent the rest of his active duty as a mechanic. My mother says he never got over that either, but he did it for his mother.
Growing up I never really knew my dad. I "know" him from a child's perspective, but never got the chance to really know who he was. He had a unique, dry sense of humor that always cracked us kids up but irritated my mom. My favorite "dad" story is the one he used to tell about running for senior class president in high school. Now, my dad literally went to a one-room school house growing up. He skipped one grade because he would have been the only kid in that grade, so they just bumped him up to the next highest grade. He skipped another grade because he was extremely intelligent. He wound up graduating from high school at the age of 15. Anyway, here he was, running for senior class president. There were a total of about 20 kids in the class at that time. Dad, being the gentleman that he was, went to his opponent and made an agreement with him that they would be good sports and vote for each other. Well, election day came, and dad won......20-0.
Mom and dad were married July 1, 1950. Mom had several miscarriages before my brother, Jim, was born. He hung a huge sign outside the house "It's a boy!" He was the proud papa, and did exactly what every new father did back then....dropped his wife off at the hospital then went to the local bar for a few while mom gave birth. Fourteen and a half months later, Scott was born. Again, the sign outside the house "It's a boy!" Dad wasn't a very domestic person, so didn't do the diaper thing. He also was scared to hold the boys as babies, thought he might drop them or hurt them. Dad also wasn't a very affectionate person, either. But somehow we knew he loved us.
Well, on June 30, 1960, I was born. I was late, and dad was a bit upset because he had planned a wonderful lobster dinner for their 10th anniversary. Guess I kind of spoiled that. Although dad did ask the doctor if he thought I would like lobster. I'd like to think I was a special anniversary gift. I think dad looked at it that way. The sign he now hung outside the house now said "Boy, it's a girl!" Mom says I was the only one of the four kids that dad held as a baby. When I was born, dad said I reminded him of a sumo wrestler he knew named Charlie. He called me that until I was 15 years old. I guess dad took a special liking to me. After all, I was his first girl, his 10th anniversary gift, and reminded him of his favorite sumo wrestler. What more could a dad ask for! My little sister was born 15 months later, and that completed our family. Four kids in four years. Mom was a trooper.
We moved around a lot growing up. People always ask me if dad was military. No, he wasn't. He would get transferred to another state, with a promotion. So we went from Pennsylvania (by the way, although my parents lived in Pennsylvania when we were all born, mom's OB/GYN was in Trenton, New Jersey. So we were born in Trenton, but lived in Pennsylvania. And we all crossed the Delaware river when we were less than a week old), to Chicago, back to Pennsylvania, California, Ohio (first Columbus, then Canton), Michigan, then finally North Carolina. All before I was 15. Dad's idea of being a good father and husband was to take care of his family and provide for them, which he did. He gave us just about anything we wanted.....except himself. His work ethic combined with his long smoking history and bad eating habits landed him in the hospital after suffering from a major stroke at the age of 52.
I remember that day. April 3, 1976. Dad had left early that morning to drive to Chicago. He was going to spend 3 months in Chicago running Chicago Nut & Bolt for 3 months. After that assignment he was going to get all the companies East of the Miss River that Whittaker Corp owned….. about 12 companies. He would have become one of 2 CEO’s for Whittaker. Mom wanted him to fly, but dad insisted he drive. It was a Saturday. I remember because I had a violin lesson that day, and my lessons were always on Saturday. But before my lesson a call came to the house, and my brother, Scott, answered. In his words: "I remember the call. The nurse was very sort of business like about it (probably so as not to alarm, which should have made me more concerned right off the bat). She did not give any details and it actually sounded like no big deal." Mom was shopping with my sister, Laurie, at a local mall, and Jim and Scott went there to try to find Mom. They weren't sure exactly what had happened, but apparently dad lost control of his car, careened off the side of a semi and slammed into the back end of van. Dad's chin hit the steering wheel so hard he broke it.....his chin AND the steering wheel. He had a gash on his chin that poured blood all down the front of his shirt. He had some other minor injuries, and luckily no one was seriously injured. So mom and my two brothers headed for Mt. Airy. I called my violin teacher and cancelled my lesson, and my sister and I just sat and waited to hear from mom.
By the time mom got to Mt. Airy, dad had suffered a TIA (mini-stroke). They determined that what caused the accident was dad had blacked out. Mom immediately had him transferred to Duke Hospital. They transported him by ambulance. Dad's car was totaled. Once at Duke, dad was "conversing" with my brothers and Mom by writing, as he could not talk. That night he had a massive stroke. The next day we were all in a waiting room (we still hadn't seen dad yet) and mom came in to talk to us. Ironically, we were all standing in birth order, oldest to youngest. Ages 18, 17, 15 and 14. Mom explained that dad had had a stroke, and would be spending a lot of time in the hospital. I really didn't understand exactly what a stroke was, but I knew it wasn't good. It would be days, perhaps weeks even, before I could get the courage to see my dad. He couldn't talk, mostly because of tubes but also because of the stroke. There were IV lines and tubes all over the place. I really didn't know what to say, but my mom was insisting I see him. I remember walking up to the side of his bed and just kind of stood there. I said hi. He looked at me. His right hand was next to me, and had a few IV lines in it, and was strapped to a board to keep his arm stable. He reached his fingers up and took my hand. I don't remember if any words were said. I just remember standing there holding my dad's hand, then the nurse telling me it was time to go. I never went back to see him. I couldn't. That wasn't my dad.
Dad finally improved and was moved to a rehab hospital. He was there three or four months. Then he finally came home. He never went back to work. He had almost total paralysis of his left side. His left arm was almost completely useless, and the only way he could move it was with his right hand. His left leg dragged behind him. He speech was slurred and mostly unintelligible. However, the doctors at Duke had told my mom that dad would never walk again. Being the stubborn hard-head dad was, he proved them wrong and walked out of the rehab center the day he came home. Dad walked with the use of a cane, but it was slow. It was an immense labor just to go up a flight of stairs. He never laughed again.
My brother, Jim, shared this story: "Once with me [he drove]. The new white Lincoln came in and dad REALLY wanted to drive again. So we both went out to Greensboro to pick up the car. I thought what could happen…. All he had to do is follow me. Well, as luck would have it, on 40 we ran up into stopped traffic. Accident with a flat bed and a car. I thought…. Dad stay close to me. Just follow me. As we approached the accident I looked in my mirror and dad was 100 feet behind me. At the time I did not know he got disoriented. I actually stopped my self to let him catch up but was directed by cops to keep moving, so I did. I passed through and as luck would have it, dad did not make it. He ran into the back on the flat bed truck. That killed me. After that I don’t remember why we did not stop but dad backed up several feet and put the car in drive and caught up to me. When we got home, I got dad inside and he started to cry. I knew how bad he loved to drive and I wanted to give him the opportunity. That was one of my saddest days in my life."
It was difficult to have a conversation with him because most of the time he didn't understand what we were saying. The doctors said he had a certain amount of brain damage due to the stroke. I found out years later that while dad was still in the hospital, he developed pneumonia and the doctors didn't think he was going to recover. My mom sat in the cafeteria of the hospital with my dad's brother and sister and planned his funeral. This was why mom insisted I see him. She didn't want dad to die without me seeing him.
Dad lived another 6 1/2 years. He never really improved. He was never the same. Our lives went on as best as we could. Mom took over the bill paying, and even started her own business. Us kids struggled through our teen years, getting into trouble as teens do. All of us just trying to escape the fact that the dad we knew was dead, we were just waiting for the body to join him. It was just a matter of time.
September 27, 1982. It was late at night, about 11:00. Dad was in bed. Mom was down stairs watching late night TV, when she heard my dad call out to her. Dad had not been able to speak clearly for 6 1/2 years. This night, he was calling clear as day. Mom immediately knew something was wrong. She ran upstairs and when she went into the bedroom dad was sitting up and reaching out to her......with his left hand. Dad had not been able to sit upright unsupported for 6 1/2 years, and had not moved his left hand/arm on it's own since his stroke. But there he was, speaking clearly, holding his left arm outstretched reaching for my mom. He told her "I can't breathe." My little sister was still living at home, and mom told her to call 911. Mom knew. Dad fell back on the bed and kept telling mom to turn the light off, it was hurting his eyes. The lights in the room were off. The only light was coming from the hallway. This is my sister's account of that painful night: "I will remember that day until the day I die. I will also remember dad's last night until the day I die and when he peeked his head into the family room at 9:00 to say goodnight to me - mom wasn't home from work yet. It was just he and I at that time. I remember running out on the front proch to try and get the ambulance to the house. I could hear sirens in the distnance, they drove right by the house the first time. Finally the first responders got there and I remember how my heart raced as I was hoping they would hurry up and get inside to help dad. I remember hearing dad moan with every breath and hearing one of the paramedics tell him to try and not make that noise anymore so they could try and help him. I remember seeing them surrounding dad on the bed to try and move him to the floor. Mrs. Trout {a friend of our mother's} came over to keep me in my room. I remember finally convincing her to let me come out of my room only to watch them take dad down the stairs on a backboard with one of them breathing for him through the ambu bag, and start CPR again at the bottom of the stairs. I remember wishing I had asked him if he was ok when he went to bed earlier than he usually did."
By the time the paramedics got there, dad was gone. They still did everything they could do to revive him, even though mom told them not to, to just let him go. They took him to the hospital, continued to try to revive him, but finally pronounced him. It was after midnight, September 28th. When the doctors came out to tell my mom he had died, she said she already knew.
Mom and dad had been married for 32 years. I was seven months pregnant with his first grandchild, and he knew it. I had been to the house the day before he died, and didn't even speak to him. Dad was a devout Catholic. We flew him up to Wisconsin to bury him with his mother, father, baby brother and Donald. We sat around the night before his funeral, none of us could sleep, and talked about dad, sharing our memories. The subject of "is dad in Heaven" came up. No one knew for sure, but we all agreed we thought he was. It's taken me years to really face the fact that I don't know. Mom said he believed, so I get some peace from that. It took me years, however, to understand what had happened to my dad the night he died. God healed him. Minutes before he left us, God wanted my mom to know he was healed. And based on that, I believe I will see my dad when I'm called home.
My dad was a good man, a strong man. A man with a sense of humor. He wasn't comfortable sharing his feelings, but somehow we all knew he loved us. I feel especially close to him, as I was the only one of the kids he had a nick name for, the only one he held as a baby, was born the day before his 10th anniversary. Dad was faithful, honest, intelligent (his I.Q. was in the 160s), and in his own way loving. We knew dad loved us. I just hope he knew how much we loved him.
My son, Matthew, was baptized September 28, 2002.
In memory of Neal James Hansen.
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My dad was born March 8, 1923 in a small town called Amery, Wisconsin. He was the fourth of eight kids. He had an older brother who died as an infant. My uncle Sylvester was killed April 11, 1945 at Okinawa during the war. His ship was attacked by kamikaze planes. They never found his body. My uncle Donald, who dad was extremely close to (they were very close in age) was killed in a flying accident. Both dad and uncle Donald were in the Army Air Corps. Dad wanted to be a pilot, but they Army said he would be better as a navigator. While dad was in school, my uncle Donald was in Florida earning his wings. When he got them (the fall of 1943) he got special permission to take my dad up on a flight. These two brothers were sharing their passion, together. Flying. Dad returned to his base, and the next day uncle Donald was doing a practice flight and his plane crashed, killing him instantly. Dad was devastated, and never really got over his death. Less then two years later, uncle Sylvie was killed. My grandmother wrote numerous letters to the Army requesting my dad be discharged and sent home, as he was now the oldest son, and she had already lost two, she didn't want to lose any more. My dad's other brother, Ray, was in the Army with the occupied forces at the time, also. The best the Army would do was keep dad in the states. But in order for him to do that he had to resign his commission, (he was a 1st lieutenant), go back to the rank of private, and drop out of flight school. He spent the rest of his active duty as a mechanic. My mother says he never got over that either, but he did it for his mother.
Growing up I never really knew my dad. I "know" him from a child's perspective, but never got the chance to really know who he was. He had a unique, dry sense of humor that always cracked us kids up but irritated my mom. My favorite "dad" story is the one he used to tell about running for senior class president in high school. Now, my dad literally went to a one-room school house growing up. He skipped one grade because he would have been the only kid in that grade, so they just bumped him up to the next highest grade. He skipped another grade because he was extremely intelligent. He wound up graduating from high school at the age of 15. Anyway, here he was, running for senior class president. There were a total of about 20 kids in the class at that time. Dad, being the gentleman that he was, went to his opponent and made an agreement with him that they would be good sports and vote for each other. Well, election day came, and dad won......20-0.
Mom and dad were married July 1, 1950. Mom had several miscarriages before my brother, Jim, was born. He hung a huge sign outside the house "It's a boy!" He was the proud papa, and did exactly what every new father did back then....dropped his wife off at the hospital then went to the local bar for a few while mom gave birth. Fourteen and a half months later, Scott was born. Again, the sign outside the house "It's a boy!" Dad wasn't a very domestic person, so didn't do the diaper thing. He also was scared to hold the boys as babies, thought he might drop them or hurt them. Dad also wasn't a very affectionate person, either. But somehow we knew he loved us.
Well, on June 30, 1960, I was born. I was late, and dad was a bit upset because he had planned a wonderful lobster dinner for their 10th anniversary. Guess I kind of spoiled that. Although dad did ask the doctor if he thought I would like lobster. I'd like to think I was a special anniversary gift. I think dad looked at it that way. The sign he now hung outside the house now said "Boy, it's a girl!" Mom says I was the only one of the four kids that dad held as a baby. When I was born, dad said I reminded him of a sumo wrestler he knew named Charlie. He called me that until I was 15 years old. I guess dad took a special liking to me. After all, I was his first girl, his 10th anniversary gift, and reminded him of his favorite sumo wrestler. What more could a dad ask for! My little sister was born 15 months later, and that completed our family. Four kids in four years. Mom was a trooper.
We moved around a lot growing up. People always ask me if dad was military. No, he wasn't. He would get transferred to another state, with a promotion. So we went from Pennsylvania (by the way, although my parents lived in Pennsylvania when we were all born, mom's OB/GYN was in Trenton, New Jersey. So we were born in Trenton, but lived in Pennsylvania. And we all crossed the Delaware river when we were less than a week old), to Chicago, back to Pennsylvania, California, Ohio (first Columbus, then Canton), Michigan, then finally North Carolina. All before I was 15. Dad's idea of being a good father and husband was to take care of his family and provide for them, which he did. He gave us just about anything we wanted.....except himself. His work ethic combined with his long smoking history and bad eating habits landed him in the hospital after suffering from a major stroke at the age of 52.
I remember that day. April 3, 1976. Dad had left early that morning to drive to Chicago. He was going to spend 3 months in Chicago running Chicago Nut & Bolt for 3 months. After that assignment he was going to get all the companies East of the Miss River that Whittaker Corp owned….. about 12 companies. He would have become one of 2 CEO’s for Whittaker. Mom wanted him to fly, but dad insisted he drive. It was a Saturday. I remember because I had a violin lesson that day, and my lessons were always on Saturday. But before my lesson a call came to the house, and my brother, Scott, answered. In his words: "I remember the call. The nurse was very sort of business like about it (probably so as not to alarm, which should have made me more concerned right off the bat). She did not give any details and it actually sounded like no big deal." Mom was shopping with my sister, Laurie, at a local mall, and Jim and Scott went there to try to find Mom. They weren't sure exactly what had happened, but apparently dad lost control of his car, careened off the side of a semi and slammed into the back end of van. Dad's chin hit the steering wheel so hard he broke it.....his chin AND the steering wheel. He had a gash on his chin that poured blood all down the front of his shirt. He had some other minor injuries, and luckily no one was seriously injured. So mom and my two brothers headed for Mt. Airy. I called my violin teacher and cancelled my lesson, and my sister and I just sat and waited to hear from mom.
By the time mom got to Mt. Airy, dad had suffered a TIA (mini-stroke). They determined that what caused the accident was dad had blacked out. Mom immediately had him transferred to Duke Hospital. They transported him by ambulance. Dad's car was totaled. Once at Duke, dad was "conversing" with my brothers and Mom by writing, as he could not talk. That night he had a massive stroke. The next day we were all in a waiting room (we still hadn't seen dad yet) and mom came in to talk to us. Ironically, we were all standing in birth order, oldest to youngest. Ages 18, 17, 15 and 14. Mom explained that dad had had a stroke, and would be spending a lot of time in the hospital. I really didn't understand exactly what a stroke was, but I knew it wasn't good. It would be days, perhaps weeks even, before I could get the courage to see my dad. He couldn't talk, mostly because of tubes but also because of the stroke. There were IV lines and tubes all over the place. I really didn't know what to say, but my mom was insisting I see him. I remember walking up to the side of his bed and just kind of stood there. I said hi. He looked at me. His right hand was next to me, and had a few IV lines in it, and was strapped to a board to keep his arm stable. He reached his fingers up and took my hand. I don't remember if any words were said. I just remember standing there holding my dad's hand, then the nurse telling me it was time to go. I never went back to see him. I couldn't. That wasn't my dad.
Dad finally improved and was moved to a rehab hospital. He was there three or four months. Then he finally came home. He never went back to work. He had almost total paralysis of his left side. His left arm was almost completely useless, and the only way he could move it was with his right hand. His left leg dragged behind him. He speech was slurred and mostly unintelligible. However, the doctors at Duke had told my mom that dad would never walk again. Being the stubborn hard-head dad was, he proved them wrong and walked out of the rehab center the day he came home. Dad walked with the use of a cane, but it was slow. It was an immense labor just to go up a flight of stairs. He never laughed again.
My brother, Jim, shared this story: "Once with me [he drove]. The new white Lincoln came in and dad REALLY wanted to drive again. So we both went out to Greensboro to pick up the car. I thought what could happen…. All he had to do is follow me. Well, as luck would have it, on 40 we ran up into stopped traffic. Accident with a flat bed and a car. I thought…. Dad stay close to me. Just follow me. As we approached the accident I looked in my mirror and dad was 100 feet behind me. At the time I did not know he got disoriented. I actually stopped my self to let him catch up but was directed by cops to keep moving, so I did. I passed through and as luck would have it, dad did not make it. He ran into the back on the flat bed truck. That killed me. After that I don’t remember why we did not stop but dad backed up several feet and put the car in drive and caught up to me. When we got home, I got dad inside and he started to cry. I knew how bad he loved to drive and I wanted to give him the opportunity. That was one of my saddest days in my life."
It was difficult to have a conversation with him because most of the time he didn't understand what we were saying. The doctors said he had a certain amount of brain damage due to the stroke. I found out years later that while dad was still in the hospital, he developed pneumonia and the doctors didn't think he was going to recover. My mom sat in the cafeteria of the hospital with my dad's brother and sister and planned his funeral. This was why mom insisted I see him. She didn't want dad to die without me seeing him.
Dad lived another 6 1/2 years. He never really improved. He was never the same. Our lives went on as best as we could. Mom took over the bill paying, and even started her own business. Us kids struggled through our teen years, getting into trouble as teens do. All of us just trying to escape the fact that the dad we knew was dead, we were just waiting for the body to join him. It was just a matter of time.
September 27, 1982. It was late at night, about 11:00. Dad was in bed. Mom was down stairs watching late night TV, when she heard my dad call out to her. Dad had not been able to speak clearly for 6 1/2 years. This night, he was calling clear as day. Mom immediately knew something was wrong. She ran upstairs and when she went into the bedroom dad was sitting up and reaching out to her......with his left hand. Dad had not been able to sit upright unsupported for 6 1/2 years, and had not moved his left hand/arm on it's own since his stroke. But there he was, speaking clearly, holding his left arm outstretched reaching for my mom. He told her "I can't breathe." My little sister was still living at home, and mom told her to call 911. Mom knew. Dad fell back on the bed and kept telling mom to turn the light off, it was hurting his eyes. The lights in the room were off. The only light was coming from the hallway. This is my sister's account of that painful night: "I will remember that day until the day I die. I will also remember dad's last night until the day I die and when he peeked his head into the family room at 9:00 to say goodnight to me - mom wasn't home from work yet. It was just he and I at that time. I remember running out on the front proch to try and get the ambulance to the house. I could hear sirens in the distnance, they drove right by the house the first time. Finally the first responders got there and I remember how my heart raced as I was hoping they would hurry up and get inside to help dad. I remember hearing dad moan with every breath and hearing one of the paramedics tell him to try and not make that noise anymore so they could try and help him. I remember seeing them surrounding dad on the bed to try and move him to the floor. Mrs. Trout {a friend of our mother's} came over to keep me in my room. I remember finally convincing her to let me come out of my room only to watch them take dad down the stairs on a backboard with one of them breathing for him through the ambu bag, and start CPR again at the bottom of the stairs. I remember wishing I had asked him if he was ok when he went to bed earlier than he usually did."
By the time the paramedics got there, dad was gone. They still did everything they could do to revive him, even though mom told them not to, to just let him go. They took him to the hospital, continued to try to revive him, but finally pronounced him. It was after midnight, September 28th. When the doctors came out to tell my mom he had died, she said she already knew.
Mom and dad had been married for 32 years. I was seven months pregnant with his first grandchild, and he knew it. I had been to the house the day before he died, and didn't even speak to him. Dad was a devout Catholic. We flew him up to Wisconsin to bury him with his mother, father, baby brother and Donald. We sat around the night before his funeral, none of us could sleep, and talked about dad, sharing our memories. The subject of "is dad in Heaven" came up. No one knew for sure, but we all agreed we thought he was. It's taken me years to really face the fact that I don't know. Mom said he believed, so I get some peace from that. It took me years, however, to understand what had happened to my dad the night he died. God healed him. Minutes before he left us, God wanted my mom to know he was healed. And based on that, I believe I will see my dad when I'm called home.
My dad was a good man, a strong man. A man with a sense of humor. He wasn't comfortable sharing his feelings, but somehow we all knew he loved us. I feel especially close to him, as I was the only one of the kids he had a nick name for, the only one he held as a baby, was born the day before his 10th anniversary. Dad was faithful, honest, intelligent (his I.Q. was in the 160s), and in his own way loving. We knew dad loved us. I just hope he knew how much we loved him.
My son, Matthew, was baptized September 28, 2002.
In memory of Neal James Hansen.
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posted by Cheryl @ 10:17 AM
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