Some random thoughts on the anniversary of my dad’s passing.
##Random thoughts
This is just some random ramblings that jumped into my head today. Don’t
try and understand it all. It’s more just for me to clear my head.
It’s now been two years since my father, [[Charles Francis Carney]], died. I
still hear him in my inner voice constantly.
##He was a golfer
My dad grew up helping out at his family’s lake resort and golf course. He
played golf all the time with his uncle John who ran the golf course. He
loved the game. He imparted that love to me. I had forgotten that until he
died.
As my own personal remembrance of him, I played golf at “The Shattuck” today
(see “Score — 5/15/98”). It was gorgeous. The weather cleared almost as
if I was meant to have a wonderful day. The only complaint I have on the
day is that I got eaten alive by bugs during the round. Oh well, some
things are worth a few bug bites. They let me go out as a single, which was
nice. It was just me, my thoughts, and the golf course for several hours.
I needed that time alone.
##Huh?
I don’t know why, but “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” kept popping
into my head for the last week or so. I haven’t read it since I did a
report on it in college. It’s a poem about missed opportunities, love, and
life. Maybe I need to take another look.
I wish I had had more opportunities to spend time with my father (but don’t
we all wish that after it’s too late?). Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get
Prufrock out of my head.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet-and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
##What happened that day
I remember vividly the moment of my father’s death. I was in his room in
the intensive care unit with my mother and brother. She was to my left
hovering over my father’s face on his right, and my brother was across from
her. We were all crying and saying our goodbye’s. Part of me felt like I
was watching an episode of “ER” or something. That part was detached from
what was going on and recording the events. I watch as his monitors went
flat line.
Not long after, my brother took my mother home. My wife wasn’t there yet,
but was on her way. I waited for her in my dad’s room, watching him, hoping
he’d blink or smile, or say something. He didn’t. I held his hand as it
became cool, still in shock. Here was my father, dead. We’d never play golf
again, never go wine tasting again, never laugh together again. He’d never
play with his grandchildren again, and they probably wouldn’t remember him.
That was the most tragic part of it all. I’d had the priviledge of knowing
this wonderful man for 30 years. His two granddaughters, although the knew
him and had fun with him, wouldn’t really remember him.
##Since then I’ve tried
Since then, I’ve tried hard to be someone he’d be proud of today
(hopefully, there’s a place where he can see what I’ve become and he is
proud). Am I as wonderful a father as he was? My children will have to let
me know someday.
CarneyWeb 