I grew up in Johnsonburg, Pennsylvania. Johnsonburg is an industrial hamlet tucked into the northwestern corner of the state. It's chief industry (some say it's only industry) is a paper mill which has been there for over one hundred years. Today, there is a declining population due to an aging demographic. Many young people leave the area and do not return. Of course, there are many who stay.
I have written about Johnsonburg previously--both in this blog and in personal essays. Though some of those essays were the result of assignments for various classes I was taking at various times, there were others I wrote to express myself. I shared some of these with select individuals, but not many. My circle of critics is deliberately (or used to be) few. With the advent of technology, and the blogosphere, I have been more sensitive when writing about my home because of the audience--or potential audience. I didn't wish to offend anyone who still lives in the town of my childhood.
My parents chose to settle in Johnsonburg. They were both from small towns--dad from Kane, Pennsylvania, roughly same size and composition of Johnsonburg. They both made serious moves after graduating high school--though they had not yet met each other. It was World War II. Can you even imagine what it was like graduating during this uncertain time? A world war is serious business. I would guess one would do all they could to live life to the fullest. Dad joined what was then the Air Corps, mom went to Chicago to work in a factory that assembled war planes. Though dad never saw combat (thank God, for I may not have existed), he travelled the U.S. as he trained to become a combat pilot. Mom gained enough experience and money that she could have easily pursued a higher education or another path. But it was family that compelled them both to send as much money as they could back home. It was also family that compelled them to return to Kane and Johnsonburg, respectively. Before this, mom had even lived for a few years in New York (Manhattan) and on Long Island. So, when I say they were compelled to do things because of family, it was because that feeling was so strong and there was a sense of responsibility that overrode their personal desires.
I had already been living in Texas for nearly twenty years when my father's health began to seriously decline. I had recently returned to school upon his advice. I was on disability after being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and forced to undergo a painful hip replacement. I remember the conversation we had over the phone very clearly.
"What do you think I should do, dad? Go back to work or go to finish my education?"
"Well, I think you ought to go back to school. Once you get that diploma, no one can ever take it away from you. I wish I would have finished school."
"I guess that's what I'll do. I'll let you know what happens. I've got a meeting with a counselor from the school tomorrow."
Returning to my second year of school, dad wasn't doing well. He had already suffered a heart attack and before long, he would suffer a major stroke. I seriously considered, since I was still drawing disability and working sporadically, that I could move closer to Johnsonburg and complete my schooling there. The thought frightened me. I had established a life in Texas. I hadn't made any money--with the illness having sidetracked my working for some time. I was comfortable with my medical team. There was some sense of security in Texas, though I sometimes longed to be elsewhere. I thought often about my aging parents--especially dad--and how I was in a unique position drawing disability to spend some time with them. I opted to finish school in Texas. I also had a succession of failed relationships during this time. I was constantly looking for someone to take care of me, I was drinking and drugging heavily, and I had shifted into a serious survival mode. Despite all this, I considered moving.
After dad had his stroke, he was never the same. Mom's life had evolved to one of a 24-hour caregiver to the man she had given her heart to in 1953. I had finished school and graduated, finally getting a bachelor's degree. They couldn't even attend my graduation. Travel for them was now out of the question. I debated once again whether or not I should move to be with them and help. God knows, they had helped me considerably through the years. Instead, on the well-meaning advice of someone I was then involved with, I interviewed for a job that I got (thanks to his influence--he helped to arrange the interview) and actually liked. It was the first job that I ever liked--honestly. Taking this job was a leap. Even though it wasn't full-time, I had high hopes that it would develop into full-time eventually. It gave me enough hours so that I would be forced to give up the security of my monthly disability payments. Once again, I opted to stay in Texas. I visited Pennsylvania frequently but my heart ached each time I saw dad's diminishing health.
Eventually, dad had to be placed into a nursing facility. None of us wanted it, but mom was killing herself taking care of him. It was getting dangerous for both of them. The whole situation seemed an accident waiting to happen. Trips to Johnsonburg became ominous. We all knew dad was never going home. I considered going home for an extended time to help mom but it didn't materialize beyond staying with her for a couple of weeks. Then I got the dreaded call...or should I say the one I didn't expect. Dad was still with us, but he wasn't expected to last much longer. I made it in a day before we lost him.
I looked at family and Johnsonburg much differently after I returned to Texas, the funeral behind us. I started to think about sacrifice and love. I began to think of how much I'd really changed six months into sobriety. There was something far less selfish about me. It was dad...and mom that came to my mind over and over. Family--done right--is an awesome responsibility. They did it right. They weren't selfish.
A few nights after we lost him, the family gathered in our living room on Elk Avenue and watched videos that dad had filmed before his health declined. They were old VHS tapes. One of them was filmed after mom and dad had returned from a trip to Texas, where we all took an extended trip to Las Vegas. Dad, for some reason, didn't have his video camera along on the trip. So he took photographs that I had sent him after they returned and filmed the photographs one at a time and narrated them as though he were narrating a slide show. I began to cry because there were photos of a day we spent together--just he and I--touring Hoover Dam. It was the best day I ever spent with my father. I'd never seen this video before. While he narrated, it was as though he were talking directly to me. It was as though he were telling me to live. It was as though he were telling me that what I did--finishing school, not moving from Texas, enjoying lovers and life--that they were all ok. But now, I needed to consider the rest of my life. I needed to consider the people who will never leave me. I needed to be home.
My parents chose to settle in Johnsonburg. They were both from small towns--dad from Kane, Pennsylvania, roughly same size and composition of Johnsonburg. They both made serious moves after graduating high school--though they had not yet met each other. It was World War II. Can you even imagine what it was like graduating during this uncertain time? A world war is serious business. I would guess one would do all they could to live life to the fullest. Dad joined what was then the Air Corps, mom went to Chicago to work in a factory that assembled war planes. Though dad never saw combat (thank God, for I may not have existed), he travelled the U.S. as he trained to become a combat pilot. Mom gained enough experience and money that she could have easily pursued a higher education or another path. But it was family that compelled them both to send as much money as they could back home. It was also family that compelled them to return to Kane and Johnsonburg, respectively. Before this, mom had even lived for a few years in New York (Manhattan) and on Long Island. So, when I say they were compelled to do things because of family, it was because that feeling was so strong and there was a sense of responsibility that overrode their personal desires.
I had already been living in Texas for nearly twenty years when my father's health began to seriously decline. I had recently returned to school upon his advice. I was on disability after being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and forced to undergo a painful hip replacement. I remember the conversation we had over the phone very clearly.
"What do you think I should do, dad? Go back to work or go to finish my education?"
"Well, I think you ought to go back to school. Once you get that diploma, no one can ever take it away from you. I wish I would have finished school."
"I guess that's what I'll do. I'll let you know what happens. I've got a meeting with a counselor from the school tomorrow."
Returning to my second year of school, dad wasn't doing well. He had already suffered a heart attack and before long, he would suffer a major stroke. I seriously considered, since I was still drawing disability and working sporadically, that I could move closer to Johnsonburg and complete my schooling there. The thought frightened me. I had established a life in Texas. I hadn't made any money--with the illness having sidetracked my working for some time. I was comfortable with my medical team. There was some sense of security in Texas, though I sometimes longed to be elsewhere. I thought often about my aging parents--especially dad--and how I was in a unique position drawing disability to spend some time with them. I opted to finish school in Texas. I also had a succession of failed relationships during this time. I was constantly looking for someone to take care of me, I was drinking and drugging heavily, and I had shifted into a serious survival mode. Despite all this, I considered moving.
After dad had his stroke, he was never the same. Mom's life had evolved to one of a 24-hour caregiver to the man she had given her heart to in 1953. I had finished school and graduated, finally getting a bachelor's degree. They couldn't even attend my graduation. Travel for them was now out of the question. I debated once again whether or not I should move to be with them and help. God knows, they had helped me considerably through the years. Instead, on the well-meaning advice of someone I was then involved with, I interviewed for a job that I got (thanks to his influence--he helped to arrange the interview) and actually liked. It was the first job that I ever liked--honestly. Taking this job was a leap. Even though it wasn't full-time, I had high hopes that it would develop into full-time eventually. It gave me enough hours so that I would be forced to give up the security of my monthly disability payments. Once again, I opted to stay in Texas. I visited Pennsylvania frequently but my heart ached each time I saw dad's diminishing health.
Eventually, dad had to be placed into a nursing facility. None of us wanted it, but mom was killing herself taking care of him. It was getting dangerous for both of them. The whole situation seemed an accident waiting to happen. Trips to Johnsonburg became ominous. We all knew dad was never going home. I considered going home for an extended time to help mom but it didn't materialize beyond staying with her for a couple of weeks. Then I got the dreaded call...or should I say the one I didn't expect. Dad was still with us, but he wasn't expected to last much longer. I made it in a day before we lost him.
I looked at family and Johnsonburg much differently after I returned to Texas, the funeral behind us. I started to think about sacrifice and love. I began to think of how much I'd really changed six months into sobriety. There was something far less selfish about me. It was dad...and mom that came to my mind over and over. Family--done right--is an awesome responsibility. They did it right. They weren't selfish.
A few nights after we lost him, the family gathered in our living room on Elk Avenue and watched videos that dad had filmed before his health declined. They were old VHS tapes. One of them was filmed after mom and dad had returned from a trip to Texas, where we all took an extended trip to Las Vegas. Dad, for some reason, didn't have his video camera along on the trip. So he took photographs that I had sent him after they returned and filmed the photographs one at a time and narrated them as though he were narrating a slide show. I began to cry because there were photos of a day we spent together--just he and I--touring Hoover Dam. It was the best day I ever spent with my father. I'd never seen this video before. While he narrated, it was as though he were talking directly to me. It was as though he were telling me to live. It was as though he were telling me that what I did--finishing school, not moving from Texas, enjoying lovers and life--that they were all ok. But now, I needed to consider the rest of my life. I needed to consider the people who will never leave me. I needed to be home.
I believe the love your father (and mother and family) have for you have taught you a powerful lesson: loving yourself is not selfish. It is a necessary step toward authentic living. I have heard conversations between your mom and dad about you as they discerned the most loving way to help you. It was certainly an opportunity for them to grow together in faith as life-partners and parents.
ReplyDeleteYou will recognize him again one day, Thomas. He will know you and you will know him - in some divine manner promised, the two of you will make a connection.
I'm not sure how our loved ones who have passed on stay with us until we fulfill that connection.... I pray about that often. But I'm open to mystery and discovery and less fearful the more I believe that no one really dies.
Keep your dad alive by living the way he taught you to live.
Deliver it to any who are in need.
I love the honesty with which you recover and heal and speak of life.
Peace.
Kelly