On April 4th, 2006 my life changed forever. It was the worst moment of my life, one that in my 26 years of life I could never imagine. As I sat in the chair next to my father’s hospital bed, holding his hand, all I could do is stare at the heart monitor through glossy, watery, tired eyes and listen to the incessant beeping of the machines attached to my father, keeping him alive. His long, tiring, journey was now at a crossroads and we (Mom and I) now faced a difficult decision. Turn off the machines and put it in the hands of God, or keep him alive as long as we could without much hope of him recovering.
His long journey began in late August of 2005 shortly after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city of New Orleans and other parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida. At its peak Katrina was a category 5 hurricane that produced sustained winds of more than 175 MPH. More than 1500 people lost their lives during the storm and those who survived were left with nothing more than utter destruction all around them. Displaced homes, displaced family members, and an uncertain future became a reality for those left with not much more than what they could carry. It would be the beginning of a long, tiresome healing process for those affected by the storm.
The first part of that healing process was to evacuate the survivors out of the destruction and chaos to help them restart their lives somewhere safe and stable. This is where my father’s journey began. After his retirement he stayed busy by doing a number of different things. He helped a buddy start a small construction company, he worked independent jobs for people, and he drove school buses for the school district in Lexington. Sitting still and resting simply never appealed to him, even as he aged into his sixties. Always a people person, he loved the interaction with the passengers and the sense of getting them to their destination safely. He drove part-time for many years and was eventually offered a job, through a friend, to drive tour buses for Bluegrass Tours. When Katrina left nothing but destruction in her wake, the people of New Orleans needed help. Shortly after the storm, his boss called asking if he and another driver would be interested in offering their time to drive a bus down to New Orleans, pick up survivors, and transport them to the Astrodome in Houston. My father quickly agreed. Along with his partner, they drove their bus to New Orleans, filled their bus with hundreds of survivors, and headed to Houston. At one point they were on the bus for more than 36 straight hours, rotating between driving and trying to shut their eyes for a minute of rest if that was possible. My father told me he could not put into words the despair and destruction they saw upon arrival in New Orleans, but they knew they had to help as many people as possible. After almost a week of evacuations from New Orleans to Houston through bacteria infested water, filth, and chaos, my father returned home. He had helped hundreds of people begin their healing process and helped them in some small way during the fight of their lives. Unfortunately, he was now about to begin the fight of his.
My father began having health issues weeks after returning home from New Orleans. His breathing was never quite normal because of COPD from years of smoking (he quit around 1990), but it was rapidly becoming more of a struggle than normal. After a number of doctor’s visits it was determined that he had contracted a lung infection called Histoplasmosis. While it could never “officially” be determined that this happened while driving in New Orleans, the doctors did say it was certainly their best guess because the spores of the infection are found in contaminated soil, water, and animal droppings. All of which were heavily present after Katrina’s destruction. The doctors determined they would do surgery and remove the infected area of his lung so he could begin a road to recovery. When the doctors performed the surgery, they found that the infection had consumed most of his right lung leaving them with no choice but to remove it entirely. Now a 69-year-old man, who had just potentially saved hundreds of lives, lay in a hospital bed with chronic COPD and one lung, hooked up to a machine basically breathing for him. Yet, the doctors remained optimistic. From that point, each day brought with it new and difficult challenges for both my father and for our family. He would take a step forward one day and two steps back the next. As strong as he was and as hard as he was fighting, the doctors finally began to question whether he would ever be able to recover. As months of these daily struggles went by, it was becoming frighteningly clear to me that my father, my super-hero father, would probably never leave the hospital.
I was in my 4th year of coaching high school baseball as an assistant coach at Paul Laurence Dunbar and nothing made my father happier and more proud. He sat directly behind home plate for every home game we played. That year we were scheduled to go to Florida for a spring break tournament, but obviously I did not want to leave town with my father in the hospital. My father disagreed with those thoughts and told me to go, assuring me that he would be there when I returned. The second day of our trip, April 3rd, my mother called informing me to come home because my father wanted to talk to me face to face. I quickly returned home and the next day I watched my father invite all of his close friends and my close friends into his hospital room so he could talk to them. We realized he knew what was happening and he was saying his goodbyes (well, his “c’ya laters” because he didn’t believe in goodbyes). Later that day he asked to speak to my mother alone and then, lastly, to me. I do not know the duration of our talk, but what he told me that day would change my life forever. Soon after our conversation, he went to sleep and my mother and I had a conversation with the doctors. They informed us of the decision we now had to face. My father had previously told us he “didn’t want to be kept alive by no machines,” so we agreed to put it in God’s hands. As I sat in the chair next to my father’s hospital bed, holding his hand, all I could do is stare at the heart monitor through glossy, watery, tired eyes and listen to the incessant beeping of the machines attached to my father, keeping him alive. His long, tiring, journey was now coming to end. The doctors entered the room and turned off the machines. Only the now silent heart monitor remained active and I watched it for a few seconds. I turned my focus to my father’s face, as I squeezed his hand tighter, and listened as he took his last breath. It was April 4th, 2006. His journey was over, but thanks to him mine was just beginning.
It was the worst day of my life, yet eleven years later I can pinpoint it as the day that started my journey towards the person, father, husband, and coach that I wish and hope to become. I didn’t realize it at the time because of its simplicity, but the conversation we had that day changed my perspective on how I live my life each and every day. He told me three very simple things, “always smile, love people, and help others.” When he spoke those simple words I did not yet understand how profound they actually were and still are today. He was lying in bed, dying of a disease that he contracted while helping others and yet those were the words he chose to tell his son the last time he would ever speak to him. His perspective that day, and the way he lived his life, changed my perspective and the way I lived my life. Standing at his grave site sometime soon after, I promised him that I would dedicate my life to loving and serving others the best way I know how, through coaching and teaching. We were always connected through the game of baseball and he used it to teach me many life lessons. I knew I had to do the same, now with a new perspective that he had given me. With the constant inspiration to make him proud of me, I began seeking and devouring any kind of knowledge that may help me along my journey. This journey is now eleven years old and I have become a lifelong learner of all things baseball. Through this journey I have also learned many life lessons and it is my goal to pass on this knowledge to anyone that will listen. I know that’s what he would want me to do. If it helps just one person than this entire journey has been worth it. I know now that life is about perspective. The way you see the world is the way it will see you. My father was simple, loving, and cared for others. He didn’t know a stranger or an enemy and always remained positive regardless of the situation. That was how he saw the world, through a simple lens. That is what is beautiful about this world. Sometimes a different perspective, even the simplest of ones, can set forth the changing of a life.
Thanks Pops.
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