by Harry Burlington

Created on: August 19, 2009

Reflections: My father

My father was a good man, a strong man, a perfect man, and now he's gone. He's been gone for almost fifteen years now; he was taken from me when I was only thirteen. I never saw much of him prior to his death, because of the many hours he spent as a conductor for the railroad. His job is what fed us and clothed us, but it was costing him his life. He worked three or four days straight, come home for twelve hours and then leaves again to run a coal train north. I would sneak into his bedroom, when was home, and he would be sleeping to spend time with him.

It was very difficult to hear the news, over the telephone, from a stranger that my father had gotten sick and was ambulanced to the nearest hospital. My mother just walked in the door from buying groceries when I handed her the phone. I'll never forget the look on her face, as she just dropped two sacks of groceries, and ran to the phone. The stranger explained more to her about dad's condition, she started to cry, and I knew then it was bad.

All of us, my two brothers and mother, knew dad's health wasn't good. He hated doctors and would never get check-ups and would routinely say, I'd rather die than go to the doctor. It was stupid on his part, because he had suffered over five heart-attacks from the time he was forty-one, until then at fifty-five.

We drove three hours to find my father being rushed into surgery, his aorta had ruptured and he was bleeding severely internally. He was in surgery for over fourteen hours, when at 5:22am, the doctors came into our little personal family room. They all were present, so the news could not be good, before the head doctor even said a word, my mother said, Is my husband dead? The doctor said, Yes, ma'am, he's gone. The room broke out in tears and sobs, all of my dad's brothers and sisters were present. The only person who didn't cry was my oldest brother just starred at the wall, and didn't make a sound. I was crying so hard, when I looked up from his lap and saw the bone chilling stare on his face. That was eerie to me and I still cannot understand his detachment at the time.

I spent the next few days sitting in my bedroom crying, thinking about the good times with dad, there wasn't many, but he did impact my life from a distance, I'm assuming. I still think of him daily, even now, I saw a man one day driving a red convertible car, looked just like my father, silver hair, big smile, and a stocky build. I was at baseball practice and he drove a circle around the parking lot, looked at me, and drove off. Never saw that man before or again, but it sent a chill down my spine. I was really hoping it was him, my dad, my hero.

I used to talk to my father, even though he's passed away, but just little things like...Dad, I could really use your help here. I would sit by his grave and hold long conversations about life, only to get no response or feeling that he's watching over me and my family. That has hurt me deeply, but I guess when I pass on, I'll find the answers to the many questions I have for him. Although, he never has spoke back to me or given me any sign that life will be alright. I lost faith in any God and its taken time to rebuild some trust with God, but I still remember the man my father was and that's who he will always be to me.

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