19 “You know the nearer your destination, the more you’re slip, slidin’ away.”

Day 19 - February 7

“God only knows.
God makes his plan.
The information’s unavailable to the mortal man.
We work our jobs,
collect our pay,
believe we’re glidin’ down the highway,
when in fact we’re slip slidin’ away.”
--Paul Simon

One summer between years in college, father and his sister, Anne, waited on tables in the Pocono Mountains. He tells of getting to know the resort clientele while they vacationed for one or two weeks at a time, as their regular waiter. The servers memorized menus and never worked with a pad and pencil. He once spilled boiled potatoes down the front of an elderly woman--a moment he remembers with a tinge of embarrassment, and pleasure in the drama of the story. Amos, an African-American chef, loved Cuban cigars but was not allowed to enter the local cigar shop. Father regularly bought cigars for Amos, and in turn was met with much favor in the kitchen.

Enlisting in the Army Air Corps right out of high school, father became a gunner and radio operator flying a B25 over Italy in World War II. He told of the whiskey shots handed out to each soldier when they landed after completing a mission. He didn’t drink, but happily gave his to a fellow gunner to calm his nerves. In his later years, father began to tell harrowing stories of young men following orders, depending on each other, exploring military demands at such an early age. He showed me the symbols and engravings on the back of tombstones indicating a veteran’s plot, “Cher, be sure to get that for my stone, and also, a holder for the miniature flag on Memorial Day.”

Father was assigned to an Army base in Yuma, Arizona before he was shipped overseas. Lined up in the 110 degree heat, his sergeant walked down the line pointing, “You, you, you and you, fall out and report for duty.” His 120-pound body struggled in the intense heat, loading trucks hour after hour. He began to sing about God’s promise to carry all our burdens. Father credits those songs with getting him through the day.

This Thursday Dottie arrives to help with morning routines. An independent man, I am concerned he might resist her assistance. I listen from the living room as Dottie works with father in the back. They exchange pleasantries, he asks her questions about her job and her family. She inquires, and he begins to tell her about his days of traveling and living abroad. Relieved, I know he has decided to accept Dottie into his personal space. He is grateful.

Later in the morning we call Dr. Smith for advice. Father remains uncertain about dialysis. Dr. Smith assures him it is okay to end his treatments. Father hears him say the decision is his to make. I hear him say dialysis or not, father does not have long to live.

Friends visit and listen throughout the day and evening. Brian and Ruth bring a jar of father's favorite home-canned hot peppers. At dinner, Harold, Bobby and I watch in awe as father relishes the spicy condiment. Melinda arrives to hug grandpa. Harold and Bobby walk father to the bathroom, hold him up and help with his pajamas. Melinda and I sleep in David and Marie’s guest room next door, leaving Harold to tend to father all night long.

What was the name of the pastry chef in the Pocono’s who treated father to her pie every day?

And the story about one of father’s missions when the squadron was returning and barely had enough fuel to make it back to the base, how did that go?

What was the name of the song he sang in Yuma’s desert heat?

All the stories I heard but do not remember, all the details I never wrote down, are sliding away.