For the last few weeks I've been thinking a lot about my father. We were seeing lots of signs that his MS was finally winning and while Dad put up an enormous struggle it was a battle we all knew he would eventually lose. Last week I got a call that his health was failing and this wouldn't be like the other times where he would bounce back and continue to amaze us all. So, I went to see him and, sadly, to say goodbye. When I walked in I found a man that I barely recognized.
It was hard to watch as Multiple Sclerosis wrestled against my Dad's will. The cruelty of the disease is unnerving. It never stops and it never tells you what's coming next. First, his coordination forced him to stop driving and then the fatigue forced him stop teaching and then essentially to stop living. When the MS left him unable to eat or drink I wondered what was left and in the end, there wasn't anything so it took him.
While I was growing up I would hear stories from family and and friends of my Dad talking about their memories of him. The stories seemed to focus on youthful high jinx and exuberance and the vitality and health of a young boy and a young man that I never knew. I thought a lot about that and the hopes and dreams he must have had but Dad was a practical man and we never discussed what those dreams were when I got older, the reality of living and fighting the good fight stepped in the way of that.
All of that got me thinking about how many people Dad touched in his life and how he touched people in such different ways. Those that knew Dad the longest remember everything that was taken from him. They remember a young, strong and tough young adult that looked nothing like the frail, dehydrated and starved man he eventually became. My experience is vastly different and those that met Dad later in life have a different understand of him still.
Each person that knew Dad had an incredibly unique relationship with him. Not a single person of the thousands that met my father, in whatever capacity, can claim that they had an identical experience with him. While this is the case with all relationships it is something still to marvel and hold dear to our hearts. He was a unique man to us and each person he knew was unique to him.
I couldn't really get out of this blog without mentioning WVU. Everyone knows what a fanatic my Dad was when it came to the Mountaineers so it doesn't seem like this would be finished unless I included something from Morgantown.
Before you read any further, watch this 10 second video clip.
Major Harris was one of the best quarterbacks (and possibly players) ever to play at WVU. He made plays that left fans simply spellbound, slack jawed and in awe. The video shows what is simply known as "The Play" to Mountaineer fans and the story after the video ends is just as compelling and THAT is the part of the story I want to tell.
A few years after the game Don Nehlen relayed the story of how "The Play" came to be. The story is simple, Major Harris simply ran the wrong play. You can see right at the beginning of the video where Major was rolling to the right while his offensive line rolled to the left. Once he made that mistake and got caught out in the flat alone he had no choice but to keep going and stutter step and fight and improvise until "The Play" became legend. Major Harris walked off the field and over to Coach Nehlen and said "Sorry coach, I ran the wrong play". Nehlen said he looked back at his star qb and said "Don't worry, Maj. We'll take results like that".
So it was with my Dad. Dad wasn't exclusive in his struggle and certainly wasn't alone in executing life's game plan wrong from time to time. We all live lives like that and Dad was no exception. Every day he struggled with what MS was doing to him physically but he never quit, never showed panic and never got angry. He simply stutter stepped (he did that literally) and improvised his way around every obstacle put in front of him. He refused to be tackled by life and stayed amazingly positive through it all. That is his legacy to all of us that knew him. Dad didn't always make the right first step but he never failed to keep going, gaining the respect of those around him, making them feel lucky to know him and me really damned proud to call him Father. And so to that I'll say "Don't worry, Dad. We'll take results like that".
May you finally be free.
Love,
Your Proud Son.
