Rest in peace, Dad

 

My mom and dad, young, in love and pregnant with me in 1955.

My father just passed away at age 93. I'm home now from LA, where I gathered around him with family as he rested unresponsive in the hospital for four days after falling at home. He passed peacefully on April 25, as the spring flowers in his beloved Palos Verdes Peninsula neighborhood were in full bloom.

The day he died, we bought a beautiful sparkling hummingbird from the hospital gift shop to give to our mother when we broke the news to her. It's hanging where she can see it all day from the chair where she has her coffee, reads the paper and does her crossword puzzles.

I can't tell his story without including my mom. They were in love for 70 years, meeting at a Pittsburgh dance hall while in college and marrying soon after they graduated. They had me, the first of their five children (one died as an infant) while he was stationed in Germany with the Air Force.

Our family in the LA  back yard 30-some years ago, when we were all trim, taut and tanned -- and much younger. 

After earning his pension from Bettis Westinghouse in Pittsburgh, he finally moved to San Diego, which was his dream because of the climate. A few years later, his new job having been downsized, he took another job in Los Angeles and my parents settled in to their final home to enjoy the sunshine, Mediterranean climate, ocean sunsets and flowers. Quite a change from where they grew up in Pittsburgh!

At the International Quilt Festival -- Long Beach,

where they went to see one of my quilts on exhibit.

He was always the life of the party and loved being a jokester. He also loved wine and was quite the gourmet cook. He and my mom played tennis regularly in LA until a back injury sidelined him. 

I remember them taking nightly walks after dinner, holding hands, for many years. In recent years, they sat together on their couch every night after dinner, his arm around her shoulders, watching the stars, moon and passing airplane lights while listening to music.

Here he is above, opening the nightly dinner wines with my son, Keith. Below he's with my daughter, Julia. He was the grandpa who spun tall tales for bedtime stories when they were young rather than reading from a book. I remember him reading me bedtime stories when I was little, with "Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox" and "Winken, Blinken and Nod" being our favorites.

He majored in journalism, loved to write, hoped to be a sports writer but decided he would be  better able to support a growing family with the Westinghouse job. He was in charge of procuring parts for our country's first atomic submarines. I remember visiting his workplace once for family day, but because of the sensitive nature of the work almost everything was covered with big tarps.

When my mother was recuperating in a nursing home after suffering a seizure many years ago, he was frantic to make the long drive to visit her two times a day and to be there to say good night until his sweetie came home. She recovered and they had many more good years. She's still going strong at 93.

He never got to meet my little granddaughter, Juniper. We had been planning a family reunion there this summer, but he didn't quite make it. My daughter chalked this message on their sidewalk from Juniper.

It was a true love story.

Rest in peace, Dad