Tag Archives: life-lessons

Stacy Adams

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shoesstacy adams

When dad was hospitalized at the VA, I remember bringing him things from home. We didn’t know how long he would be there initially, so, at first the items he asked for were every day essentials like his dictionary and thesaurus that he used for his daily cross word puzzles, his favorite pajamas and his cologne, in case he met a pretty nurse. That was dad!
After a roller coaster ride of diagnosis, prognosis, treatment plans and an undetermined length of hospital stay, he asked me to bring his prized possession to the hospital, his fancy black Stacy Adams, the shoes that brought him to all the special moments in his life like our graduations, weddings, funerals, holidays and of course, every Father’s Day celebration.
Like a good daughter, I obeyed. I went home, wrapped up his fancy black Stacy Adams and brought them to him on my daily trip to the VA. He gave me specific instructions: “Mijita, take these to the shoe shine man we say hello to every day. Tell him to give these a good shine and let him know they are for me. He knows me.”
Of course he knew dad. Everybody at the VA knew dad. When I wheeled him around to his appointments or just to get out and about, he was like the big man on campus “Hey Pacheco” sounded around every corner and good Lord if we passed by any women I’d have to push his wheel chair a little faster before he proposed to one of them.
I dropped off the shoes and told the shoe shine guy to give them a good shine for Manuel Pacheco. He smiled and said “Hey..Hey…for Pacheco, of course! Just give me a couple of days so I can do them right.”
I passed by the shoe shine guy every morning and we would exchange a hello and he’d give me an update. “Not ready just yet.” I gave dad the daily update and he would just laugh. I grew frustrated at the delay and he said “Aye Mijita, calm down. Things run a little slower here at the VA.” Boy did I learn that first hand.
We were getting close to discharge and finally, on my way past the shoe shine guy, he waved me over to let me know the shoes were ready. He held them up as if they were a trophy. Those beautiful black shiny Stacy Adams sure were pretty. I told him we would pick them up on our way out.
After what seemed like an eternity, dad was discharged. We were ready to go home, but first, we had one last stop at the VA. I watched the exchange between the two of them. Again the shoe shine guy held up the shoes like they were a trophy and dad looked at them like his prized possession. He thanked him and as usual, gave him a huge tip.
On our drive home dad told me he used to be a shoe shine boy. I never knew that! I treasured these tid-bits of his life he would share. I got used to dad sharing things from his past. It was usually in the quiet moments that he would share something new. I really miss those moments.
After we got home, dad put his shoes right back in the same spot, in the closet. I kept waiting for him to put them on for some special occasion or just because. He never did. A month after he was discharged home under hospice care, he passed away.
The next time dad wore his fancy black Stacy Adams was at his funeral. As I think about our time together and all the “preparation” conversations we had, I can’t help but think he knew that would be his last shoe shine and he knew the next time he would be wearing those shoes would be at his funeral. That was dad, even in death, he was going to go out in style with his fancy black Stacy Adams.

Art work by Jesse Rodriguez of Magnolia Grown

If we could all be so lucky

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As my first official post, I wanted to start off with the words that I used to sum up my dad’s life. I’m sharing the eulogy I wrote for his funeral service on October 31, 2011. This was the first time I started to write about this journey.

“I heard my dad retell the story to people about when he got the call from the doctor about his diagnosis. He was driving, smoking a cigarette and had a beer in one hand and the phone in the other. He would say, at the end of the phone call, he threw his cigarette and beer out the window and kicked the devil out the truck. Since that day, only the Good Lord was riding with him. It was so true. I witnessed his daily transformation. He made peace with the past that haunted him.
In the final month of my dad’s life, he had come to terms with God’s plan for him. He knew his time was limited, but you would never have known it from talking to him. He always seemed to make US feel better at the end of every conversation.
Dad started to take notice of the little things. He would tell me about watching the sunrise every morning when he was in the hospital and how he couldn’t wait to feel the sun again. When he came home, he’d sit outside and feel, really feel the sun. I would watch him some times, closing his eyes, soaking in the sun. He would sit on the back porch and feel the wind blowing on his newly bald head. He’d smell the moon flowers and admire the beautiful Angel trumpets. He was truly thankful for every day.
He savored every cup of his morning coffee and every bite of food friends and family brought over. He read every word in the newspaper and attempted every crossword puzzle. He wasn’t going to waste any time.
He became more intentional about his life lessons. He would sit at the kitchen table with my kids and tell them about why it’s important to listen to their parents, to help out around the house, to be respectful and of course, to do their homework. He never let an opportunity pass that he could talk about staying in school or going back to school to anyone who would listen.
My dad valued education. It was education that gave him opportunities in his life. He also valued family and friendship and in the end, he valued his faith.
My dad left this world the way he wanted to, at peace with himself, with faith in God and surrounded by his girls. If we could all be so lucky…..”

This was my first experience being so intimately involved with planning a funeral. Dad planned as much as he could. I used to think it was so morbid to plan your own funeral. In the end, it was comforting to know that I was honoring his wishes and not guessing what I thought he would want. But then there were other things that I had to make decisions about. All the details and decisions blew my mind and made me really think about what I want for myself. For example, I had never seriously considered cremation, but dealing with the details of burial, I am seriously considering it. Then, I think about the question of, do I pick my own urn? I’m not sure I am ready to do that just yet. I have trouble deciding which pairs of shoes to get. I think about decisions my kids would have to make. Would they scatter me somewhere special? Would they fight over who gets to keep the urn? Would they divide me up in 4 urns? They are still young and I guess my block here is watching them fight over who gets the remote. With that as my frame of reference, you can see why I would be worried. There are so many questions and although I haven’t made any real decisions about my own burial plans, I’m good with just thinking about them and talking through them with my husband. I am learning it is not morbid or creepy to plan or prepare, it is actually a loving and courageous act. If we could all be so lucky…