The first day I saw him in the hospital after he got cancer, I brought a newspaper with me. I think it was the Los Angeles Times. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to talk to him and figured we could always discuss the articles. I quickly set the newspaper aside when I saw how dire the situation was. The cancer had advanced, and an experimental procedure had backfired. He tried hard that morning to talk. Maybe too hard. I worry he pushed himself too much to talk to me and to others when he should have been resting. He asked about the newspaper and I read a little bit to him, but he would fall asleep mid-sentence and wake with a jerk 15 minutes later. He was polite about it: "What was that you were saying? Please repeat." But we gave up eventually.
The next morning, a new edition of the L.A. Times was lying on a table by his bed. At one point I asked if he wanted to read it and he said he couldn't focus on it enough. I offered to read it to him but he said that wouldn't do because he couldn't concentrate. The papers piled up for the next two days, like so many unaddressed issues and emotions. I just stopped setting them by his bed.
I joined him for dinner in his hospital room. During the meal he suggested we watch the local television news, something totally unheard of in our past relationship. He hated local television news, even more than I do. But again, because of his health and the drugs, he kept falling asleep. Finally I turned it off. And it was the last time we watched television together.
I flashed back to the times we would watch television programs together. He would hold the L.A. Times in front of him as if he was reading it, but if there was something entertaining to him on the TV, he wouldn't let on he was viewing it. After about five minutes, one could conclude that the Peanuts cartoon in front of him was either pretty damn fascinating or else he was indeed watching the wacky show.
Article comments
1 - chancelucky
Scott,
I'm sorry to hear about your father's passing. It was very touching to hear about the way the newspaper served as a touchstone for communication in your relationship. I could see the pile of papers grow in the room as a measure of how he was slipping away.
My dad and I used to read the same things often and I didn't realize how much it meant to me until many years after he died.
2 - chantal stone
The death of a parent is never easy, at any age.
You're lucky, Scott, that you have those fond memories of your father, sharing the newspaper, discussing stories. Moments like those are immeasurable.
I'm very sorry for your loss.
3 - Jared
I'm mostly a lurker in this community, but I felt compelled to just say that this has been a piece of reading that has made my day a bit brighter. I'm glad you were able to form such memories with your father. It's just too bad they couldn't go on forever. I bet he's real proud of you, Scott, wherever he is now.
4 - Scott But
I had mostly negative memories and thoughts of dad until he died and then I realized it was hard to hate and rebel a void where he had been and found myself over time remembering the good times and leeting my complaints fall away.
Like he may not have been emotional but he did teach me good habits like reading and discussing hte news
5 - Scott Butki
I put at my fotolog site a photo of my dad reading newspapers - much as I do.
6 - Scott Butki
Just read this aloud at a open mike nite and it was well received.
It reminded me of a saying I heard once about writing: It's easy - you just put a needle in your veins and write about what comes out.
7 - Scott Butki
I'm reviving this as I'm writing a related piece.