Dad - territory covered

Raymond (universally known as PETE) Lewis Lockhart

Mom & Dad had a glorious trip to England in 1972 - as soon as they were home, both were thick into plans for a return trip the next year. Then, her sisters' health started to decline & both knew they'd have to head west to California, where Dot & Betty lived, rather than back across The Pond.  

Although he apparently hadn't mentioned it to anyone else in the family, Dad confided to me on New Year's how much he was looking forward to a vacation because he felt worn out.  He chalked it up to Mike (who had worked with him) & Kerry's move to her native Australia.  They'd supported the young couple's decision, but it had a cost, both at the lumberyard & in our hearts.

It was around the middle of February that I saw them off on their way to San Francisco.  

They had a marvelous visit with Aunt Betty & Uncle Paul at their ranch in Newcastle, a great time with Aunt Dot in Sacramento (still remember Mom sharing with me on the phone a dinner they'd all enjoyed at The Fire House).  Mom was so happy to have that special time with her two sisters, since she felt like either of them might leave us in the near future.  Never, not in her wildest nightmares, could she have imagined that it would be Dad who'd be gone in six weeks.

Even now, that seems unimaginable.  

The two of them were about to board their flight home, were approaching the flight attendant waiting to take their tickets before they took the short walk to the aircraft.  Inexplicably, Dad dropped what he was caring.  When Mom looked at him, just as he was about to collapse, it was clear he was having a seizure.  He would have died right there & then, choked to death on his own tongue, if a U of P doctor hadn't happened to be right at hand.  "Get me a spoon," he barked at the attendant.  "We need to wait for our doctor," she answered.  "Damn it, woman," he yelled at her, "If you don't get me a spoon right now, this man will die right here."  Spoon in hand, he pressed down to keep Dad's tongue in place.

They took him to Penisula Hospital, an 5-star hospital with 5-star staff who took good care of Mom as well as Dad.  Because it happened where it did, the airline stepped up & took care of all of the hotel arrangements & made sure Mom had whatever she needed.  Bay-area New Church men & women gathered her under their sheltering wing.  As heart-breaking as it all was, at least it happened in the best possible place for Mom to get maximum support.

It turned out that Dad had a brain tumor deep inside his brain, inoperable from the instant the first lethal cell formed.  (Nicknamed "Carpenter's Cancer" because it often strikes wood workers, result of cutting treated lumber.)  He was given six months, maybe up to a year.

He was gone in six weeks.  

Remember his first & last day back at him lumber & millwork shop - the call to Mom that he was coming home because he couldn't do figures.  And when he had to resign from being a church usher, a big part of this life.  The effect of seeing his response as bits & pieces of his life vanished.  He went downhill fast.  

Back in 1973, there wasn't any hospice or even the sort of compassionate hospital support that we take for granted these days.  Six weeks to the day he collapsed, Dad died alone in a Richboro nursing home, because back then all visitors had to leave at 8:00 p.m.   I contrast that with what I experienced when Mom was in her final hospitalizations & hospice.  Hospice - it was unheard of back then.  What a comfort it would have been to Mom & Dad for him to be at home.

Other than picking the minister, planning the memorial service fell primarily to me, which was wonderful as I could make the music selections - picked in consultation with Mim & approved by Mom - our last gift to Dad.  Bishop Pendleton did a fine job of capturing my father, closing with "Well done, thou good & faithful servant."