Playing 'your hand."

Two weeks ago, I met with Springfield Clinic Nurse, Jill who is my Wellness Coordinator. She is the medical facilitator who assembles all my various Doctors' visit summaries, test results information and then explains interpretations, answers questions and updates a personal portfolio, which I take with me on trips.

Nurse Jill reviewed my family history, which I am sure is a head-scratcher for most people. My mother's people, siblings etc., all lived well into their late eighties and nineties some pushing the century mark. On the other hand, my father's clan found journey finish lines in the late sixties to mid-seventies...DNA is indeed nature's crap-shoot game, eh?

My mother died at age 93 and one of her sisters lived to age 99. I recall both making comments in respective latter-years how they were 'ready to meet the Lord.' Selfishly, I wanted them to be around forever. Today as years pass and I say goodbyes to family and friends I've come to understand my Mother and Aunt's loneliness on earth.

My Father was much different in his life participation view. He was always looking forward to the next family gathering or event. Understand, this man grew up poor in Washington Park (East St. Louis).
He served in General Patton's 3rd Army and returned to work his way into the business world and become one of those self-made successes...realizing that American 'dream.'
At age 54, he suffered a massive heart attack and nearly died as he spent thirty days in Barnes Jewish Hospital. Cutting edge medicine of the day and his absolute faith in his God and Doctors kept him going for 21 more years. It was periodic heart failures that eventually eroded the ability of his heart to sustain life. When I take note of my brother, Tom's LVAD heart pump surgery, I think how our Dad would have jumped on that option had it been available back in the day as did his son.

I could blabber on with Dad stories in some attempt to suggest my Dad was the best but I'll close with a story regarding his final day. In late May, when he entered Barnes Hostipal for the last time with another heart failure episode. This time their would be no shock treatment to stabilize 'rhythm' and there was no more 'wonder drugs' to do magic. As they broke that news to my Father with family gathered around, he commented, " I must play the hand dealt to me." And , Oh, how he played it! In a show of professional care and concern for a cardiac patient well-known, several Doctors and Nurses stood outside my Father's hospital room that moment as an orderly guided his gurney through the open door on the way to the third floor where he would be made comfortable embracing death. These medical people shook Dad's hand and expressed their sorrow that no more could be done. The 75-year old warrior consoled THEM as he smiled and thanked each for their "wonderful care." On May 27, 1994 my Father left his earthly journey and also his final act of class and dignity.