Vignettes

(1993) Illness, Crises, & Loss Vol.3

Vignettes IN THE TIME IT TAKES TO SIT ON A PORCH SWING: Reflections on the Death of My Father Jon K. Reid, Ph.D. Southeastern Oklahoma State University Durant, Oklahoma

A few summers ago, I took a class during my doctoral program entitled “The Family of Origin.” The format of this class is described in Anderson (1987) and was taught by the author of that article. The class was highly experiential in that we were to evaluate our family of origin according to several family of origin theories and write letters to our parents about various topics, such as the family’s messages about sexuality and values. We were not required to mail the letters, but were expected just to begin to think about, and perhaps talk to our parents about, that intergenerational relationship. One of the assignments was entitled “How I am planning for the Death of my Parents.” We were to write a paper on this topic after reading a section in Bloomfield (1983) entitled “Dealing with Parental Aging, Dying, and Death.” In completing that assignment, I addressed my father’s heart problems. I acknowledged my awareness that at any time I could receive a phone call from my mother informing me that my father had died of a heart attack. At the time of that letter, it had been eight years since his heart attack, and his death did not seem imminent. I also wrote about relationship tensions between my father and me during adolescent and college years and the beginnings of the repairing and strengthening of that relationship. In addition, I discussed how my childhood view of parental omnipotence and omniscience had begun to subside, and how I had begun to see my parents as people, human beings with problems and shortcomings, but who were still my parents nonetheless, and still people for whom I cared deeply. Increasingly, at an unspoken level, I “gave them permission” to be human and fallible and was able to do the same for myself. I could view myself the same way I had begun to view them, with the perspective that “All we do with our life is the best that anybody can do!” Therefore, I was able to be more forgiving of my parents and myself, and I was able to just accept them, without feeling obligated to chance them. I became more comfortable with parental visits and freer to be myself and to let them be themselves.


In the family of origin class, we discussed family conversation about death. Prior to that class discussion, I had been wither unconcerned with the topic, having an attitude that this topic is of little importance at this time of life, or uncomfortable if the topic was made personal. I would thus dismiss the topic, and would not have wanted to listen if my parents brought up their own death. I might have said, “Oh that’s a long time from now,” or “We don’t need to talk about that now.” Since the classroom experience, the topic of parental death has been brought up a number of times. I have been more at peace with inevitable nature of death and have freely discussed the arrangements that would accompany parental death. Though a degree of threat about death remained, the topic became less threatening to me, and I feel that my response did not discourage my parents from bringing it up, which gave us all the opportunity to feel more relaxed in knowing that certain details had been taken care of in advance. At the time of this writing, it is 1991 and I have received that phone call. I was not expecting it when it came and it still does not seem real. I still tell myself that “I can’t believe he’s gone!” And it still hurts some. But, as I reflect back on my relationship with my father, in spite of some regrets over acts of commission and omission, I take comfort in knowing that I did some specific things to let my father know I valued him as my father, that I valued who he was to me, and valued what he did for me. Grief is eased in knowing that I attempted to let him know that I loved him. In the fall of 1987, after taking the aforementioned class, my father mentioned to me that a family reunion was to take place on a particular weekend. Since becoming acquainted with the value of strengthening one’s family of origin relationships and of “putting together the story” of where one came from, I realized that I needed to attend this event. My wife and I were able to find time in our schedules to attend. Along with attending, my father and I videotaped informal interviews with some of his extended family who told stories about my parental grandfather, whom I never knew, and about early life experiences of my father. It was truly an interesting experience. I could tell that my father was enjoying himself, and later, my mother informed me how much it really meant to my father for my wife and me to attend. It was a serendipitous way of affirming and validation him by getting to know his extended family better, plus it was additional time spent together. Perhaps, the most significant part of this family origin work for me was in the simple willingness To hear my father’s story, to see what had made him into the man he was, both positively and negatively. Becoming a seeker of his story assisted me in getting past some of my anxiety over what I should or should not be and whether I was similar or different from my father. Instead of resisting the real or imagined wishes of my parents, I could just become interested in them as people, and thus remove any persistent pressure I might have been inclined to feel about being a good boy (even as an adult). In the two years prior to my father’s death, my parents had been working on their “wills” and informing my sister and me that a certain item would go to this person and another item to that person. I usually was able to listen and say, “OK, I agree,” or “That’s a good decision,” or something of that nature. Informally, my father told me to be sure and let him know sometime what possessions of his I wanted after he died. I promptly responded with an answer that there were a number of his possessions that I would want. I had been “caught off guard” by his statement to me and was not prepared to tell him which of his valued possessions were also of value to me. I also sensed the opportunity to validate him in valuing his possessions, though I wish I could have been more specific.


About a month and a half before his death, in the summer of 1991, as my father, along with my young son, and I were sitting on the porch swing, Dad stated that he wanted to be sure that his grandsons received some of his tools when he passed away. These were some of his most prized possessions as he had been a mechanic and teacher of engine repair for most of his adult life. I said, of course, that I would be sure of that, and that I knew that his grandsons would treasure them as he did. I thought to myself, “Is Dad needing me to say that I, too, value his tools?” I didn’t respond that way, perhaps in part thinking that surely he knows that I would want some of these tools, but possibly my lack of response was out of not wanting to sound greedy, which would have violated a family value. In both of these instances there was a window of opportunity to talk to my father about his death, an opportunity to say again, “I love you, you’ve been a good father, and I’ll miss you.” At the time, there was an unspoken rule which I didn’t violate, a taboo it might be called, to avoid the topic of death and thus avoid the awkward feelings which might ensue, a taboo mirrored in the larger society. My father had broached the subject, but I did not pursue it. Kubler-Ross (1969) has written of the desire of those who sense they are dying to talk about their impending death. Since there was no such diagnosis for my father, I did not know what he must certainly have felt, which was that his time to die was near and that he wanted to know that all was in order as he departed this earth. I wish I had responded in a different way to let my father know again that I valued these possessions of his and especially that I valued him as my father. I can only hope before he died that he knew that to be the case. Within a few days after my father’s funeral, while holding my son in my arms, I thought back to what it might have been like for my father, holding me in his arms, when I was eight months of age, when his father died from a heart attack. What thoughts crossed his mind as he held me? Did he see his father in me? Did he see me as one to carry on the spirit of my grandfather? Until recently I was unaware of what a good sense of humor my grandfather had (it seems we didn’t talk about him often). My father generally was regarded to be rather serious about life, but I am often described as one with a sense of humor. How did that sense of humor come about? That is unclear to me, but I can imagine my father holding meat eight months of age, feeling pain over the loss of one of the foundations of his life, and realizing that he had to go on to take care of the next generation, that he did have a purpose and that he was needed by his family. How I wish I had asked him about that. I previously stated that I have few regrets, and that is true, but I still have some regrets and I don’t think it’s possible not to have any regrets with regard to this kind of loss, for our humanity assures us that there will be mistakes and omissions in life. I wish I would have asked how he faced the future at that point, and how he decided what deserved his attention. A few months now after my father’s death, I know that with a career, a spouse and a child, there is little time to spend on deciding what to do, but rather a pressing need to attend to what is calling me at the moment-undoubtedly, an experience I have in common with my father. What I feel is a call to affirm life and to affirm connections to those people I care about. MacMurray (1957:15) stated that “All meaningful knowledge is for the sake of action, and all meaningful action is for the sake of friendship.” Theory should, then, result in action which then benefits human relationships. I began an academic journey which became a personal journey so that in the midst of sadness, there is less regret and some peace as I reflect on specific actions shared with my father that brought more happiness to that relationship.


References Anderson, W. An academic course in family-of-origin issues. In A.J. Hovestadt and M. Fine, eds., Family of Origin Therapy. Rockville, MD: Aspen, 1987. Bloomfield, H. Making Peace with Your Parents: The Key to Enriching Your Life And All You’re Relationships. New York: Ballantine Books, 1983. Kubler-Ross, E. On Death and Dying. New York: Macmillan, 1969. MacMurray, J. The Self as Agent. London: Faber & Faber, 1957.