Nancy,
I enjoyed reading this and feel the same way about my Daddy. I miss him every day. I also feel his presence here with me, and even sometimes I hear/feel something and turn around quickly thinking someone is there... of course there never is, but in my heart I know it's him, his spirit, or whatever there is after death.

I love the computer story. When Daddy and Mother were both sick, I moved in with them for a while. My company set up a computer in their home and allowed me to work out of there. It was great. Mother/Daddy said they wanted to learn so I began teaching them. Mother caught on pretty quick, but Daddy didn't. Remember he was in the early to mid stages of dementia. He sat down one day and said, "oh yeah, I know how to do this" and he started just banging on the keyboard! Over and over before I could stop him. I almost swallowed my tongue!

I reached for his fists and said gently and slowly, "Boy Daddy, they just can't make a machine you can't conquer, can they?" And he smiled and said, "Nope, I'm too smart." And with that he got up and left the room never to touch it again. Thank you Lord. LOL!

JJ

JJ...it's so nice for me to talk to you girls who understand and empathize because you have journeyed the same road as me with regards to our parents...how very wise of you to appeal to your daddy's still intact male ego with regard to the
"machine"...he probably felt so smart (even through his dementia) I'll bet he even had a bit of a swagger when he walked out of the room...
Thanks so much for sharing that.. (((HUGS)))

You all reminded me of my Daddy. We miss him so much at this time of year. For thirty years, we celebrated Daddy's 'last Christmas.'

Every year he used all kinds of devious methods to make sure we all showed up for Christmas, but sickness and near death were his favorites.
Right after Thanksgiving he would get Mama busy cooking while he developed symptoms. All of his body parts would suddenly age. He would develop an ‘old’ heart, ‘old kidneys.‘ and an ’old belly.’ If he got really desperate, it might spread to his ‘old bowels.’
Sometimes he would add a few years or even a decade to his age. He would be a young sixty-two or a spry seventy right up until Thanksgiving then all of a sudden he would age eight or ten years. In his early sixties, he would begin with, “Now girls, you know anything can go wrong when a fella’ gets seventy years old...” or when he was in his seventies “Now girls you know when you’re eighty years old any little old thing can kill ya‘....“ If we tried to correct his age, he would say, “At my age, them numbers don’t mean nothing.” then he would punctuate it with “Now girls, you know I ain’t got long.“ I’m telling you, this could be my last Christmas.”
Around the first of December, he would call us long distance and start the conversation with, “You know girls, I’ve been having this awful pain in my 'old' heart and my 'old' belly just ain't what it used to be and I think my 'old' kidneys are about to fail."
If anyone said, “Look Daddy, the doctor said you have the heart of an eighteen year old” or “Well Daddy if you’re really sick, you need to see the doctor,” he would immediately begin to wheeze into the phone. Gasping for breath, he would add forlornly, “You girls just don’t know how bad my old heart is. I’m telling you, this may be my last Christmas.”
He would go into elaborate descriptions of various aches and pains, palpitations, and other symptoms he had seen on TV. And he loved to tattle on Mama. He would say, “Your Mama just doesn’t care about my ‘old’ heart, kidneys, belly, etc. I’m nearly dead and your Mama doesn’t even care. You better get home and take care of me.” Eventually he would declare, “I’m telling you girls, this could be my last Christmas.”
When Daddy had sufficiently consumed us with guilt and terrified us that he might drop dead, he would put Mama on the phone to corroborate his near death experience. But Mama would rat on him. She would say, “Your Daddy’s just wearing me out. He expects me to wait on him hand and foot. And there’s not a darned thing wrong with him either. He’s just trying to drive us all crazy.” Then she would weaken and add, "But we are expecting you all home. You know this could be your Daddy's last Christmas."
Daddy really got into the spirit of giving, but he did it all by proxy--He sent Mama shopping. She chose the gifts, and the Levis Daddy always ordered for the son-in-laws. They had have button flies and he had to personally inspect every pair . He would check the sizes and measure the seams to make sure they were exactly right and if they had any dangling threads or crooked seams, he sent Mama right back to the store to exchange them. Sometimes Mama would return those jeans three or four times before Daddy got exactly what he wanted. And if the jeans didn't fit exactly right, he was not above telling one of the son in laws that his butt was a lot bigger than what he claimed.
The whole time Mama would be cooking herself into a frenzy. Daddy would see things in the paper and say, “Why don’t you try some of that stuff?” or if he saw something on TV, he might yell at her in the kitchen, “Mama! You better watch this. This woman is cooking something good. You ought to cook some of it for Christmas.” If she objected, he would remind her, "You know this could be my last Christmas."
As soon as Mama had cooked a ton of food, got Levis that met Daddy's approval, and wrapped all the gifts, she would begin to decorate. Daddy helped her put up the artificial white tree in the living room and he put on the lights. Then he sat back and watched as Mama put on all the old ornaments and a few new ones if she found them on sale.
Daddy would bring in the other decorations and watch Mama put them up while they waited for us all to arrive. Absolutely no amount of discomfort could deter Daddy’s plans for a big family Christmas. Year after year we traveled with screaming kids on crowded planes and over ice coated highways just to get home for Daddy’s last Christmas.
When we were finally all there, Mama would have decorated every inch of the house with Santas and snowmen and in its special place on the coffee table would be the creche she painted in porcelain class. The dining table always had a color scheme that included matching plastic plates, napkins, and dinnerware and Christmas lights were everywhere.
The table overflowed with food, and several other tables would be consumed with deserts. Pies and cakes and fudge and every sweet thing known to man would be piled on every level surface.
Mama always refused to cook breakfast on Christmas day so by afternoon, we would all be starving. Daddy would be complaining about how his ‘old belly’ was absolutely rusting out and how Mama was starving him plum to death, but Mama never let us eat until everything was just perfect.
When she had everything exactly right, we would all circle the table and hold hands while she said the blessing. Daddy was a Christian by Proxy. He sent Mama to church and told her what to pray about.
As soon as the blessing was over, we would gobble up the food like the starving Chinamen Mama always reminded us of if we didn’t eat everything on our plates.
When we had eaten ourselves into a near coma and cleaned the table, we would all collapse in the living room for a little rest. That's when Daddy would launch into a tirade about the funerals he had attended during the year. He loved funerals and as he aged, he attended more and more of them. After a huge dinner loaded with tryptophan and dozens of deserts, we would all fight unconsciousness as he sermonized about the importance of what he called ‘a decent burial’.
If he noticed anyone losing Consciousness, he would launch into descriptions of his own funeral. He preferred a red white and blue color scheme and he thought anything on a casket involving wood was tacky. He said wooden caskets were for guys trying to be cowboys. He wanted a well padded casket that would support his ‘old back.’ And he wanted strong metal handles because at some funeral he saw a handle come off the casket and fall onto the floor. He said it would be plum pitiful for something to fall off in the middle of the service. Eventually even Daddy would wind down and we would all nap to the tune of his snoring.

For thirty years we celebrated Daddy’s last Christmas. And we still do.

(Sorry for the long post-just lots to say I suppose)

smile

[ December 13, 2005, 04:02 PM: Message edited by: smilinize ]

Oh Smiles... I can't thank you enjoy for allowing us to share 30 years of Christmas with you and your family, by proxy. Too long? Not at all. How could anyone put a length on cherished memories?

I really felt like I was there. I've never met you or seen a picture of your Daddy, but I have this image in my mind of him. A sweet, lovable, man who adored his family. They were everything to him. Priceless.

JJ

JJ said it all. I felt like I was there listenming to his storys and watching his eyes twinkling with all the attention he was getting. Thank you for sharing, he had to be a special man after all he produced YOU!

Smile...I also felt like a part of your family.
It's so nice to visit with some one else's family, especially durning Christmas.
Thanks...for allowing me to visit.

I bet he smiled a lot...

Thanks girls for allowing my memories. As I'm sure many of us do, I miss my Dad so much during the holidays .

My Dad looked just like Santa without the beard. He was very 'round' and about seventy, he suddenly got snow white hair and he laughed a lot. He loved being teased when his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly too.

At Thanksgiving Mom, my sister, and I along with all Mom and Dad's grandkids and great grandkids were together. As we always do, we told funny stories about Dad and when someone said he should have been there, one of the grandkids who is now a man with kids of his own said, "Gramps is here." And he was.

smile

[ December 14, 2005, 02:22 PM: Message edited by: smilinize ]

Sweet, Smile,

And have you heard that pretty song about having someone near for Christmas who has gone? I hate to be maudlin, but it applies............

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And again,

I just read your story about your dad. You are talented. But besides that, how great was your dad? I can just know him by your words about him. Wish I could have known him............What a cutie - belly aches and all...Got what he needed tho' didn't he? Smart fella......It shows in you.

And Avalon, JJ,

(I'm obviously reading backwards) How poignant your thoughts. I just wish I could know them all...What sweet memories you have. Thanx for sharing them. It helps me to know that the memories are still alive. We just loved these people, didn't we? And they loved us. What more can be said? Nothing.

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