Condolences
My parents separated and eventually divorced in the early 70s and my dad became a “weekend” dad, but he was always there. Until I was a teenager, he dedicated every weekend to my sister and me. He taught us to fish, shoot guns, hunt… he took us camping, to Kansas to visit family, and country music. I remember waiting for him to get to my neighborhood when he was my mailman and join him on his route. Weekends changed to dinners when I became a teenager. Like most teens, I was more interested in spending weekends with my friends, but my father would still drive an hour each way, regardless of the weather, to have dinner with me. My friends always knew I would join them after I spent time with him. He was always there and never late.
I called him “Pops.”
When I learned of Pop’s cancer diagnosis, I was devastated. I always knew I would have to say goodbye to him one day, but I thought he would be out on one of his ten-mile walks through the woods and his heart would finally give way. I never thought he would be ravaged by cancer. I knew the prognosis with lung cancer was not good; that his time would be limited. I had seen what cancer had done to others I loved and because of this, I made the decision that I didn’t want my last memories of him to be in a hospital bed, so with the support of my husband I took seven weeks off last fall to spend with him.
During that time, I learned more about the man I knew all my life. We began having conversations I never thought we’d have. Pops shared that the worst day of his life was when he said goodbye to his mother in the hospital; he was fifteen.
Then he shared the saddest day of his life; when he lost his younger sister, three years and two days before him. He never stopped grieving her.
After Pops was diagnosed, the one thing he told me he wanted to do was to “go home.” So, between chemo treatments and with approval of his doctor, I brought him back to Kansas last October. While we were here, we went for drives and he told me more about what his life was like growing up. He showed me a field where one of the houses he had lived use to be. He told me how he would get up and walk for hours, and miles, down the railroad track to hunt or fish. That may be when he first started enjoying walks. He said they had good times, but there were many hard times.
I learned he dropped out of high school for a year; it was his aunt Helen and a neighbor who convinced him to return. He told me he didn’t want to be a farmer and that’s why he eventually left Kansas.
Pops loved music. I mentioned how as a child he took my sister and me to see the likes of Lorretta Lynn and Conway Twitty. He would walk around ten miles a day, and in 2018, he had walked over 4000 miles that year. He took up golfing when he retired and that became one of his greatest loves.
In the last few months, Pops let me know the happiest days of his life were when my sister and I were born. He told me he was most proud of the fact that we were “educated.” Growing up, Pops wasn’t overly demonstrative and didn’t say “I love you” except when saying goodbyes, but I never doubted he loved me. I have a better understanding now; Pops told me that his father never told him that he loved him, but he said he knew he did.
Pops was stubborn and determined. He fought hard against the cancer, but it was a fight he would not win. He wanted me to tell everyone he had a good life and that you should listen to more music.
I now know what the hardest day of my life was. It was when Pops decided to stop fighting and we said goodbye. My father’s last words to me were “I love you” and mine to him.
My father was so much more than I can put into words. He was always there for his girls. If something occurred in our lives, even living so far away, he would get in his car and be at our door soon. He was active and his mind was always thinking of things to do, projects, walking, golfing, travel. I find that I have many habits from him, and I think he set a good example for what a parent does for their children. In this past year, I was fortunate enough to spend time with him while he was in hospice. Truly, Marilyn is his hero...she took care of him so he could die with dignity at home with those who love him. I will end this with a poem I read to my father at the beginning of his illness, my sister and I both love this poem by Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I am so proud of you Pops, now and always I LOVE YOU, Saoirse
Marilyn, Sheri and families:
Bob was such a kind and honorable man. He was such a staple at the post office
I'm sure he garnished many friends during his many years of service and will be
missed greatly. You are all in my thoughts and prayers during this difficult time.
Bonnie (Winger) L'huillier
Pops, there are no words to describe my sad feelings right now. I love you and know you are now in paradise for eternity.
Phone: (814) 827-2631
Fax: (814) 827-3418
303 North Washington St. | Titusville, PA 16354 | Phone: 814-827-2631
