I missed a few journal entries lately and my apologies for that. Given recent circumstances I wanted my next entry to be a bit meaningful and entries related to training seemed a bit inconsequential. My father died on March 3.

I turn 47 in less than a month, an age where the loss of a parent is common and sometimes expected. Such was the case with my father. He was 82 and had been in declining health for a while. He suffered from several medical issues associated with smoking. Metastatic lung cancer was the formal cause of death. (To those young people who are considering smoking, it takes a terrible toll and can lead to a very unpleasant death.)

I want to share a few things about my father.

What I remember most about Bill Baker is that he was a quiet and peaceful man. Because he managed a John Deere dealership, he worked long hours and generally worked at least a half a day on Saturday. He was also on call during planting and harvest seasons to help farmers get parts for their equipment. Needless to say, he did not have lot of free time.

Now that I am his age when I was a boy, I understand the exhaustion and need for rest that he had during his time off. Nevertheless, if he was not working he did his best to set aside Saturday afternoons for me. We enjoyed quiet drives in the country and target practice sessions. We did not talk much but we didn't have to. Dad was quiet. Exceptionally quiet. I never heard him speak ill of any other person. In fact, I never heard him say much at all other than "work hard and make yourself indispensable".

Dad had a hard life. His father died young and his mom was illiterate. She had 9 kids. Dad and his little sister were the youngest and were malnourished. They were sent to live with an older sister in Mississippi when he was 5 or 6. In 10th grade he returned home to a harsh family environment. He ran away at 17 to join the Air Force to get away. He was accepted but when they found out how old he was he was sent home. Dad never spoke of why he left his sister's house. He never spoke of his mother. Until his funeral I did not know my fraternal grandmother's name. It just never came up in conversation.

Much of dad's life will always be a mystery to me.

Although my father did not communicate well he found his own communication substitute: time. He spent as much time with me as he could and for a child that is all you can really ask for.

The dying days of a parent is a sad time. However, it can also be a very peaceful, almost pleasant time.

I was blessed to be with my father during his last days. I was especially blessed in that the circumstances of surrounding his death gave me a very special opportunity to bond with my father.

My father was admitted to the hospital on a Tuesday. I arrived on Wednesday. Family sickness and a snow/ice storm conspired to make me my father's primary caregiver during his last few of days of lucidity. That was a special time.

My father was in a lot of pain and was unable to hold a knife and fork. Feeding another human being, especially a parent, is an enlightening experience that brings forth a complete range of emotions. I hope you never have to do it, but it you do, embrace it for all that it can teach you.

Feeding him was an expression of love. It was an expression of gratitude for all he had done for me. It was an expression of frustration, both for him being unable to feed himself and for me in that I knew he did not want his child caring for him. It was an expression of anger at how he just could not quit smoking no matter how many times I asked him to. It was an expression of acceptance of the circle of life.

As I mentioned, my father did not talk all that much. As they increased his pain medication his ability to converse declined. I tried several times to ask him questions that I should have asked long ago. "Why did you leave your sister's house?" "What made you run away to join the Air Force?" Each time he began to answer a nurse would walk in and he would lose his train of thought and fall asleep. Talk to your loved ones now. Ask them questions about their history. Ask them why they did things a certain way. Bond with them now because you may not get a second chance. I lost my chance to learn a great many things about my father. I hope you do not lose your chance.

Soon I was making arrangements for hospice care over the phone with my brother and mother. The hospice doctor came in to talk to me and my dad. Dad was able to engage in that conversation. There is nothing more personal that a human being can share with you than their desire to just pass on. I am so thankful that I was there to hear it. When the doctor left, I just held dad and said "I love you dad". He managed to look up and say "I love you too son." Those were the last words he spoke to me.

A couple of days later we moved him to hospice. I left him and my mother to go home. The doctors told us it would probably be 2 weeks to 2 months. He lasted 31 hours and he was very peaceful.

I am so glad that I got to participate in my father's death the way I did. I was an active participant. From being his primary caregiver to helping make funeral arrangements and taking care of my mom, I was in on every decision. Being the youngest son, that was a new experience for me and I enjoyed being able to really help the family in a time of need.

As luck would have it, a second snow storm delayed the funeral. Although that was quite irritating at the time, it did allow me to spend even more time with my family and bond in a way I had not done before.

Death is inevitable but there is great variability in how we approach it. In retrospect, I could not have asked for a more heartfelt experience. I will always be thankful that I got to share a last few meaningful moments with my dad.