On the 35th anniversary of my father's surgery for a brain aneurysm, his granddaughter, who was born on his 65th birthday, February 26, 1997, will receive her Bachelor's Degree in Theatre Education (with a History Minor) from Longwood University on what promises to be a hot, humid day in Farmville, Virginia.
Any discomfort during the course of the three-hour ceremony will pale in comparison to the outright fear felt 35 years before.
I distinctly remember walking into Dad's hospital room as he waited to be sent to surgery prep, because, in typical Dad form, the words to come out of his mouth were, "What are you doing here?"
It was a Friday. Thus, I should have been in school. I don't exactly remember my reply, but it was a very respectful version of, "you actually thought I was going to school today?"
The next 12-14 hours were spent, you guessed it, mostly waiting. My brother and I played a lot of games of "Dots" on notebook paper.
The odds were split. There was a chance he wouldn't survive the surgery. There was a chance he would, but there would be minor, or, major changes to him, none of which could accurately be predicted, or, he could come out with flying colors.
We finally saw him late, late that Friday night, in ICU with wires and tubes coming from just about any location the human body could house them. He was alive, and all he could worry about, and tell us, was having to use the bathroom. We tried to explain that he had a catheter, so go for it. So, I remember leaving St. Luke's Hospital (today it is Parham Doctors) happy that he pulled through, but unsure how he would be comprised.
Saturday went well, and I did go to work. I worked Sunday after helping lead church service on what was supposed to be Dad's 20th anniversary there. Instead, he spent that day having a seizure on the other side of his brain, and being rushed back into ICU where he slipped into a coma.
That's how he was when I saw him Sunday night. I remember driving up to the Hardee's at Parham and Staples Mill and eating because I needed to, my mind six million miles, or more like 1.2 miles, away.
My stepmom and I did what you always do in life or death situations once we were both back home. We trotted the window air conditioning units from the basement and set them up in our rooms for the summer. We were late getting that done that year. Dad had always taken care of it.
Monday morning, back to St. Luke's, visiting Dad and being mindful of the fact that someone in a coma still has that subconscious tape recorder on. So we talked about the Boston Celtics' run in the NBA playoffs and everything possible that was positive. Then, back to Patrick Henry for the first time in nearly a week, since I had been on a field trip to the University of Richmond in the two days before his surgery.
In the end, the coma ended within 24 hours, Dad was out of ICU by that Friday and was up trying to walk a little bit by Memorial Day. By then, however, it was becoming clear that he was not the "Dad" I knew.
His final 29 years (he passed away on October 2, 2013) were spent remembering what he did as an eight year old and having no clue what he ate for breakfast. A once stoic man who showed little emotion now cried at the drop of a hat. There were times in the early days after several weeks of in-patient therapy at Sheltering Arms that he would start pounding his fist against his head, just wanting to die, so frustrated that he couldn't be himself. It was heartbreaking and exhausting for the rest of us, but we kept fighting so that he, too, would fight.
Some of my best memories of that subsequent summer was taking him back and forth, three times weekly, to outpatient therapy at Sheltering Arms. I enjoyed our car conversations. I also enjoyed getting to go up to Azalea Mall during his therapy and playing Moon Patrol at Woolworth's. :)
*****
Now we fast forward to 2019. After four long, sometimes exceedingly difficult years, Rachel Elizabeth Witham will do something that no one else in this branch of our family has done. Not even me.
She will graduate high school, enroll in college, and graduate with her Bachelor's Degree in four years.
My college degree was delayed for over a decade (I earned my Bachelor's in 1998, 13 years after high school), thus, she will have one up on me, and will never let me forget it. :)
It is also important to note that Dad, a semester shy of his college degree, left New England School of Theology to move back home to Maine to work, as the oldest son, after his Dad (whom I never met) took off and never returned. Family first. Dad never had the opportunity to finish that semester. However......
The cute freckle-faced, red-haired wonder that shares a birthday with her Papa will force May 18 to become a day a shared emotions. We will celebrate this incredible accomplishment (and trust me, you don't know the inside story of just how difficult it has been for Rachel to get to this point), knowing that Papa would be exceedingly proud as well, as would her Nana, who adored Rachel, but only got to cherish her on this earth for a little less than six years.
I've had a lot of "proud Dad" moments from both of my kids, especially (thank you son!!) the arrival of Robert Edward Witham, IV 16 months ago.
May 18, 2019 will rank high on that list. It was also mark a turning of the page. My son is 27, a father, a husband, while my daughter, at 22, will have a college degree, just got her first car payment, and will soon land her first career job.
You NEVER stop being a parent, but the age of changing diapers, signing permission slips, chaperoning field trips and going to watch high school musicals and choral concerts are done.
And, thus, on this "Full Circle Saturday", May 18, 2019, the date etched on an art display Rachel set up the day she moved into Longwood as a freshman on August 20, 2015, I thank the following:
--God, for allowing me to live to see this day
--Dad, for being willing to share his birthday with a pretty smart cookie
--Dr. Robert Singer and staff at St. Luke's Hospital and the staff at Sheltering Arms Hospital from 1984
--Rachel, for being motivated by many factors, including beating my high school GPA in college :)
--Harry J., for spending what I am sure were many lonely nights sleeping in his bed on the floor next to my bed wondering where his Mom was going for weeks at a time. He finally got to visit, understand, and he'll earn a degree in "Human Studies" on Saturday. He also got to be the BMOC, as seen by a picture below. :)
--Our North Carolina family for their unwavering and incredible support for Rachel over the past four years. We will never forget it. :)
*****
On a final note, I will also take time Saturday to remember my very first friend, Michael Crisp, who would have turned 52 years old. We lost him tragically in 2003. I miss him, Dad, Mama, my stepmom, my sister, and my grandparents, all who played a role, big or small, in making May 18, 2019 a reality.
Farewell, Farmville. Tomorrow.
