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 one. His body slowly began to shut down as his family,
huddled together, remembered what a 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.
Some of you that read this never knew him, so please allow
me to tell you a story about my Dad.
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 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.”
I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Then 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.”
I didn’t know what to think or what to say. I glanced at the
clock on the wall, it was 4:55. Then my Dad said 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.
I didn’t realize how much I was like my father until after
he was gone. It took me more than 27 years to tell my father, “I love you too.”
I hope he heard me.
Since my father’s death 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 united, 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 Irish!
