I suppose I should clarify, in case anyone hearing the news should stumble upon this via "the Internets," that all my thoughts here are out of sincerity and love. I can sound flippant in much of my writing, but it is generally in the spirit of embracing human frailties and -- with relation to my father -- the spirit of marveling, understanding, and processing the inimitable experience of growing up under his complex shadow. You either laugh at our foibles, or drown in the sorrow. (For drifting visitors, another post about him that others seemed to enjoy can be found here. But as several have teased, you could argue that he is the main topic of this blog.) "Families are messy," a college English professor once said as she discussed a book. That sentiment has rarely been far from my mind.
As I was getting into the shower this morning, the phone rang, with AT&T's ever-helpful caller ID reading "Out of Area." Accustomed to a flood of political polling calls lately, I thought nothing of it. Until...
... Until it dawned on me that it was an odd hour even by telespammers' standards. And wait, did I hear someone leaving a message on the machine downstairs? Disrobed and already wet, I tracked water across the floor and dialed in from the upstairs receiver to learn that, sure enough, there was a message from a woman in a thick Czech accent. Uh-oh.
In the message, I heard "urgent" and a phone number that I knew would take several listens to decipher.
So I did what I always tend to do in these circumstances: I went about my usual business and finished my shower, taking the opportunity to press "pause" on life for a few more minutes before the storm comes in. (Yeah, you probably don't want me making battlefield decisions.) I've been swamped with work lately (largely self-imposed), feeling pulled in a lot of different ways. I needed a moment to process and reprioritize. To think of what I'd need to ask a stranger about my father on that stranger's dime, thanks to back-end-charged international phone minutes.
"They've never called before when he's in the hospital," I thought. "He probably tells them not to. This must be it. We're going to New York this weekend, for a long-planned trip to see a long-missed band. That may be off. Is my passport expired? I might miss the bachelor party I just sent out invites for. I'm out of vacation days ... do I get family leave? You saved up vacation days last year for this eventuality, then burned them this year when you reconfirmed that life does not adhere to plan... I'm not making this morning's staff meeting. I've work yet due this week... But you know what, he's had false alarms many times before; don't get prematurely worked up... he's probably just sending a message about adjusting his finances during the economic crisis. Or asking why I let his AAA membership expire."
After the shower, I was ready. For some reason, the get-to-business-paced fuzz bass tones of Radiohead's "The National Anthem" played in my head. After several listens, I boiled the message down to two or three possible international phone number variations. With the third option, I reached her. She called herself my "cousin" -- to my dad, an only child whose parents were taken out by the episodic wars that define Europe's history, every friend or relative there was my cousin.
This cousin, I've never met, but she said, "I think you stayed with my parents once." (Probably so. It was my father's general practice to obligate us to stay with "family" wherever we were in the Czech Republic, freeing us from the "burden" of paid lodging and subscribing us to a lifetime of unknown familial obligations and/or guilt to be repaid in kind. The guilt usually began with, "They will be insulted if you do not stay with them" and continued with, "Everyone asks about you. They wonder why you do not yet have any children.")
Anyway, the cousin lives two hours away from the scene of the passing, but she's the closest relative who speaks English, so whenever she visited her parents, who live next to my dad, he leaned on her to decipher tax forms and banks statements he could no longer read, and to send the occasional "email," a technology he would never, ever adopt. No doubt she assumed these duties with the same familial sense of forced obligation.
So I really felt for her, because she had to deliver a stranger this news: "I'm sorry, but your father passed away tonight." She said she was sorry. I said I was sorry. She said sorry again ... I said really, I'm sorry the job of messenger falls on you. I guess I expected more info to flow out, like a news story. Then I realized she may be waiting for me to ask. So then:
Me: "How did it happen?" Her: "In his sleep ... he had pneumonia for a week, but he didn't want to go to hospital."
Good for him, I thought. He's been saying he's ready to go for years, and losing his vision really had to be the last straw. If I were in his condition, I wouldn't have wanted to live through another Czech winter.
*awkward silence* "Um ... how is everyone?" I asked. (Yes, yes! Go for the family interest bit!) "I think they are coping," she said. Which, if you knew my dad the way we do, you would laugh at the open-ended ambiguity of that statement. Anything from, "It's a bummer," to "They're relieved. He's cute and idiosyncratic, but lord he can be a pain."
Then another feared question emerged. See, my father was stubbornly reluctant to commit to any end-of-life arrangements with us (despite his repeatedly professed welcoming of the end of life). Things like wills and power-of-attorneys and anything else that would help his family handle necessary affairs from overseas through a language barrier.
So I asked, "Are there arrangements?" hoping my cousin would pick up on the lovely English euphemism for "is someone taking care of the body and stuff?"
Turns out yes. He did take care of that. He requested two services: a small one in the village church, and a larger one in the city next week. Again: my father was impressive in many ways. But the thought of a second service, as if to be held in State, evokes images of grandiosity and his tendency to overstate his accomplishments and those of his children. (e.g., I cost myself an NHL career by not playing high school hockey in the Czech Republic.) I can say this because I'm his son, and because a real Czech expat "relative" of his, in a bit of nostalgia, just said as much to my brother about an hour ago.
So that is the news, and how I learned it. I spent the morning calling siblings. After the calls, the more subdued notes of Radiohead's "The Reckoner" surfaced in my head. I still haven't processed it. Not sure when that figmentary moment of "it hits you" will hit. I'm still a much duller shade of numb, since this is an occasion long forecast and much rehearsed -- and complicated by the overseas nature, in which daily life has not really changed, yet things are necessarily different.
As with most of life, I find it a curious process to watch unfold. It interests me that he believes -- or when alive believed that he would now be -- he is in "heaven" (or is it The Purg' first, and then heaven only after The Rapture? I lost my pocket schedule.). Whereas I tend to think he has now disappeared as an entity, his influence and physical particles scattered faintly among us, as evidenced below. But maybe we're talking about the same thing, in inferior terms neither religion nor physics can explain.
I didn't mean for this to be his tribute post (that should be more thought out, me thinks, whereas this is a very self-centric, immediate reaction to how I heard the news). But I don't know when I'll get to that. So here is a sampling of kind thoughts from my friends, and from the university where he worked, which have poured in to my family.
As is the way of these things, it's fun to pick up on little bits of impressions he left -- for example, his overflowing cafeteria tray! Among his colleagues, he was a vigorous debater and a thought provoker whose arguments were always respected even when they were patently disagreed with -- the true, pure spirit of academia minus the politics.
I collect them here because I want to, so there. Anyone who stumbles upon this is of course welcome to leave your thoughts in comments, too. I've withheld others' identities and hope they won't sue me for unauthorized broadcasting:
Sorry to hear about your dad. I very much enjoyed meeting him and sharing our interest and appreciation in the same music. Like your dad mine was a big band/swing drummer and he introduced me to all the great bands and drummers of that era. No doubt your father was very proud of the legacy he left with you and your siblings. I don’t know how the Czech’s honor the deceased but we Irish figure it’s an occasion for remembering the good times and hoisting a Guinness or two or even a Pilsner Urquell. My sense is your dad would be in agreement. -a good old friend, who met him at my Meet the Father party
i'm so sorry to hear of the passing of your father. as you well know, i liked him very much. he was a unique and entertaining individual, and in a world cloaked in shades of grey, he added a good bit of color. sometimes clashing, disjointed color in jarring patterns, but welcome nonetheless. he will be missed on many levels.if there is anything i can do to help, let me know. -A good friend, and the guy whose bachelor party I just soiled
My condolences to you and the family. Please send my regards to Dominic. -The university nurse, who I remember fondly
Thank you so much for letting us know. I have many memories of R. but perhaps the strongest one is his indomitable spirit. He just never believed something couldn’t be done. Despite the fact that sometimes when I didn’t think he was right I wanted to smack him, we could use a lot of that right now and I aspire to it every day.
Shine on, R___. -longtime always-helpful university administrator
I am very sorry to hear about R's death. I have such great affection and respect for him. Whatever anyone says, we can all agree that he was completely unique. (I am sure that you know this much better than we do.) I will add him to my prayer list.
-an old legendary colleague
I was forwarded your e-mail. I am deeply saddened to learn about R. I knew of his faltering health, but none of us are ever ready to hear the bad news. I think you know I was (and am) an admirer of his great intellect and always learned from him in short and/long visits with him. He had asked me to visit him in Czech Republic.
You and the family members are in my thoughts and hope all of you can capitalize on the best of times from the past as move forward. Through [colleagues] I hear about your kids. Last time when I saw them the oldest one was a young teen age.
With Kind regards, -a former colleague/student?
Please accept my deepest sympathy. Please let your children know you are all in my prayers. -a colleague
My condolences to you and especially to Dominique who was in my first freshman seminar group! -My awesome freshman seminar group professor! That is just cool.
Thank you for letting us know about his passing; I have fond memories of R.
Mainly our meetings were in the cafeteria, where his tray flowed over!
I know that he did his best to help A-B resolve their brand problems with the Czech republics. He lived most of his time in the U.S. with a death sentence hanging over his head – a true political refugee. -Longtime marketing professor
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms, And our parent's bedrooms, And the bedrooms of our friends. Then we think of our parents: Well what ever happened to them? --Arcade Fire, "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)"
Today, it's sinking in more.
Yesterday was a daze and maze of "Are we flying over? Can we make it in time for the service? Who's going? What's $2500? What are you thinking?...I don't know, what are YOU thinking?"
We siblings always knew it would be complicated whenever we got The Call. We also knew, after all my father's medical ups and downs, we wouldn't get any call until he's already passed. There's no off-the-shelf plan for dropping everything AND flying for 16-22 hours AND taking the train out of Prague AND finding transport to the village where not even the bus line goes.
After pow-wowing with siblings last night, my brother and I played some already scheduled hockey and had beer with the guys afterward. Several of them have met my father, and all of them have heard the stories. There were many toasts with Czech beer.
On the way home, my brother and I cracked each other up with stories. Like this one:
The time, shortly after the divorce, when my dad made dinner of salisbury steaks (from the frozen box) for my friend Wiley and me. We were 9. My dad asked Wiley what he wanted to drink. "What do you have?" Wiley asked, the way kids probe the full inventory of goods available under their friend's parents' regime.
My dad, playing the new host: "Water, Sanka, tonic water, Tang, beer, President's Choice." (Notice the distinct budget-conscious nature of this menu.)
Wiley and I stared at each other, eyes wide. "Beer?" Wiley asked, raising one eyebrow the way no one else in our class could. "Um, dad...?" I uttered feebly, feeling like I had to be the adult but knowing I had no power.
"Well, it is Busch, so American. It is not really beer," he said in his authoritative accent -- Who were we to question him? Wiley didn't need to ask twice.
So while I drank freaking Tang, my nine-year-old friend had a beer with his salisbury steak dinner, and I sat there stewing in a mix of jealousy and fear of unknown consequences. Lord knows how the Busch got there in the first place, because my dad sure didn't drink it. This was a budgetary way of getting rid of undesirable inventory without "wasting" it.
* * * *
Anyway, last night when I dropped my brother off after the hockey and toasts, as I was pulling away, he flagged me and said: "In case you get hit by a cement truck or something, I love you. You're a good brother." Heh heh, awesome. Ain't that life? I love the balance, in those scenarios, between "I want you to hear this in case something happens" and "I want to have told you this, in case something happens."
I pulled into my driveway under that unmistakable afterglow of having soaked up the the presence of friends and family, again reaffirming that life never gets better than that. My wife and I talked and shared until we fell asleep -- probably the only time I'll ever get a free pass for waking her up with my dog-disturbing racket when I come in late from hockey. I fell asleep smiling.
Today feels a little different. With plans a little more solidified, I'm not as distracted by business-like logistics. The transition from present "is" to past "was" is poking me in the back of the head; soon it will move down to the heart. The stories keep flowing in. And the music. Yesterday, in the car, I wasn't sure what to play. It's been all NPR lately because I'm fascinated by the financial crisis -- so many economists, recognizing problems but with different perspectives on what is needed -- but I thought, given my personal news, I should put music on.
Staring at me from the sun visor was Arcade Fire's "Funeral" album, which knocked me in the gut when I first heard it a few years ago. But I wasn't ready for that yesterday. Today though, "Funeral" has come on organically via alphabetized iTunes. So now I'm in that mode, and other people's memories are adding to the effect.
* * * *
Like the university cafeteria memories:
My dad was, ah, "frugal" in the stereotypical "cheap Czech" sense, but also in the Depression-era habits of a guy who had nothing, lived in fear under Nazi occupation and then without much to his name as an immigrant here. When I was a kid, we drove around town looking for 87-cent gas vs. 88-cents. When it was his turn to drive the carpool with my friends, the rag he used to wipe the windshield -- because "defrost" didn't work on our ancient cars -- was a pair of my Fruit of the Loom briefs from two sizes ago. My friends would point at it and laugh -- but not too loudly, because ultimately his mysterious nature scared the crap out of them.
So my dad always loaded up on food -- which he loved in all forms but Indian -- wherever he could. Professors used to get lunch free (then later half-price) at the university cafeteria. So for his cheapest meal of the day, he LOADED that tray. Memories coming in from old colleagues mention his academic brilliance and, inevitably, "that overflowing tray!"
One from today said, "We were still telling stories in the cafeteria recently about his prodigious salads."
Ah life. It's about friends; family; and oh yeah don't forget: Food.
No, I didn't fall off the face of Planet Home. Yes, I have more funereal and travel stories to tell.
But first I selected the "upgrade" that Sampa is pushing through all of its sites, so at the moment, everything is a bit jumbled as I try to figure out what this upgrade has done, and how to manage things within. (Although I think this change shouldn't affect the blog -- just the rest of the site's hanging fruit.)
I apologize for the wacky format of things. Do bear with us while we conduct this government-mandated test...
As you may have noticed, the site has changed. Sampa, the free-site host, did a version 2 of some sort.
Despite an FAQ that made it sound like allowing one's site to go through v.2 surgery would be okay, there were several flexibilities that surprisingly disappeared with the click of a button. (e.g. I cannot believe sidebars like this one are even narrower than before.)
And I'm told -- miraculously! -- that the conversion cannot be undone. Truth be told, I'm actually quite pissed. But free is free. Sampa has otherwise been good to me.
So I need to sort through site "features" to see how I can make do. Except that I don't have the time at the moment, in the middle of graduate classes and Lighthousehockey.com. (btw, I've removed that Lighthouse RSS feed so that you're not clogged with random Islanders hockey gibberish).
But I promise to touch up the accessories when I get a chance, and return to irregularly scheduled blogging.
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February, 2008