Draegerman
Internet Somebody
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This is going to be difficult to type so I ask that all of you try to bear with me so I can get through this. It's a tribute to my father who was a diehard Cowboys fan (like most of you are) and the effect that he had over my life. I realize that this should be posted in the off-topic zone but I wanted to share it with the most readers that congregate on this forum, so I put it here. Perhaps when the day is over, the mods can move it to the more appropriate section of CZ.
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
These were the words that I was thinking as I sat there in the funeral home looking at my deceased father in his casket...my face was masked in disbelief as I looked around this world of the surreal...pain was numbing...shock will do that to you. As I was sitting there I began to think about how all of these events had unfolded and how my world was suddenly turned upside down.
The nightmare began for me the Friday before last (when I was debating the merits of Landry verses Johnson with another member on here), my aunt had called to say how sick he had gotten. I asked quickly how my mother was doing and was told that she, too, was in shock. My father was a very strong, big man (6'7 and just North of 300) who had an incredibly high threshold for pain, so I knew that it had to be bad when I got the call. Earlier in the week, while having routine surgery, they found cancer in his liver which had spread to his lymph nodes. The surgeon closed him up and told him later that it was terminal and looked like he had only three months to live. It was 3:00 am on that Saturday morning when my mother finally called, crying on the phone and said that it was worse than they had thought and that he may only survive for another week. She then said that he had asked for me.
Saturday evening, I was on a plane flying out to see him, I was praying that he would still be alive by the time I arrived so I could tell him goodbye.
He passed away before I got there.
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
My face was buried in my hands most of the time during the service, completely unaware of the rituals that they had to perform when one must prepare the deceased for burial. I wasn't crying when I had my face there...he would never approve of such weakness...I continued to reflect about this man to whom I loved dearly.
My father was such a proud Texan, you could tell immediately that he was when you saw him decked out in Cowboy boots and his sheepskin Marlboro jacket. He believed in God, family, country & the Dallas Cowboys (in that order). His beliefs were what had bonded us together through thick and thin. And oh my God, did he ever love the Dallas Cowboys. When I was young, he always had me sitting by his side whenever a game was on TV. He would hoop and holler when they did something good...cursing and screaming when they did something bad. I would be right there with him the whole time (except for the moments when he needed a beer). He was never much for emotion but I knew he loved me. He nurtured me as I was growing up, teaching me his values, encouraging me in sports, and pushing me to be the best in whatever I endeavored.
As I became a young man, I told him that I was going to drop out of college and join the US Army Special Forces. He wasn't very pleased to hear this, (which was probably attributed to his horrible experiences in Vietnam when he was an Army grunt). But as it became more and more clear to him that this was the direction I was heading, he began to fully support me. On the day that I was getting ready to depart...he said to me, "Be the best damn Green Beret out there."
I hugged him goodbye for the first time in my life that I can remember.
His proudest moment for me was the day that I had graduated from the Q-Course. He asked me if he could have my Green Beret as a keepsake so that he could brag to all of his drinking buddies about me...I did so with a smile (and without hesitation) as I showed him the two that I had brought with me to the graduation. It was my mother that received my silver jump wings, as is the tradition in SF. Whenever there was a crisis in the world, he would always call my home and ask my wife if I was alright and if she needed anything. He was like that you know...constantly calling...always worried for me and my family.
And when I came home, he was the first to call and catch me up on the Cowboys. I laughed a little during the times when he lauded the skills of newcomers Aikman, Irvin & Smith - because he was quick to point out that they would never be better than Staubach, Dorsett & Pearson. But, oh wow, did he ever love them for bringing all those Super Bowl trophies back to Dallas. He could've gone on and on about them until the next day, if he had wanted, (I absolutely loved his storytelling), but he was considerate enough to back off in the conversation and insist that it was time for me now to be with my wife and children.
I loved him for that.
I guess the greatest crisis came for me when I was deployed to a combat zone and my wife was involved in a head-on collision with another vehicle back at home. She was in critical condition as the Army was desperately trying to get me there. Unfortunately, they were having trouble getting an aircraft for me due to logistical constraints. My only course of action, while waiting, was to call my father from the operations tent. I pleaded for him when I said, "Please help me, she's hurt and my children are all alone and confused while a neighbor watches over them". It was so hard to choke back the tears and not sound hysterical when talking with him - as it was constantly drilled into me that men don't cry...but I know that he could tell by the way my voice was breaking and, thankfully, he pretended to ignore it.
He was there to meet me when I arrived at the airport...
...that was the kind of man he was.
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
And then suddenly it was my turn to get up from the chair to walk over to his casket and bring closure to his passing. It was difficult to stand and my feet were heavy (so heavy) as I approached his casket. Breathing became more rapid and my broken heart was skipping a beat or two. When I gazed upon him, the surreal feeling was washed away with reality. And as I stood there, a thought had come to me from an army chaplain who had once said (after an army buddy of mine was killed)..."Strong men do not cry...but stronger men do."
And that was it...the tears flowed and then it evolved into uncontrollable sobs.
I cried in sorrow over his passing...
...I cried with anger directed at the army for keeping me so far away from my loved ones...
...I cried with rage directed at God for letting him die before I could get there to tell him goodbye...
...and then I just cried some more.
I wiped away my tears and reached down and hugged him for the last time in my life. And then I gently kissed him on the cheek as I said goodbye.
Now I'm home and feeling this void in my life while trying to describe to all of you the pain being felt...but the words cannot describe it, nor will they ever.
Lastly, I realize that a part of my father will live through me because he had the greatest influence over my life as I was growing up, but I'm also here to tell all of you that even though this may be true...
...a part of me had died with him as well.
Drae
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
These were the words that I was thinking as I sat there in the funeral home looking at my deceased father in his casket...my face was masked in disbelief as I looked around this world of the surreal...pain was numbing...shock will do that to you. As I was sitting there I began to think about how all of these events had unfolded and how my world was suddenly turned upside down.
The nightmare began for me the Friday before last (when I was debating the merits of Landry verses Johnson with another member on here), my aunt had called to say how sick he had gotten. I asked quickly how my mother was doing and was told that she, too, was in shock. My father was a very strong, big man (6'7 and just North of 300) who had an incredibly high threshold for pain, so I knew that it had to be bad when I got the call. Earlier in the week, while having routine surgery, they found cancer in his liver which had spread to his lymph nodes. The surgeon closed him up and told him later that it was terminal and looked like he had only three months to live. It was 3:00 am on that Saturday morning when my mother finally called, crying on the phone and said that it was worse than they had thought and that he may only survive for another week. She then said that he had asked for me.
Saturday evening, I was on a plane flying out to see him, I was praying that he would still be alive by the time I arrived so I could tell him goodbye.
He passed away before I got there.
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
My face was buried in my hands most of the time during the service, completely unaware of the rituals that they had to perform when one must prepare the deceased for burial. I wasn't crying when I had my face there...he would never approve of such weakness...I continued to reflect about this man to whom I loved dearly.
My father was such a proud Texan, you could tell immediately that he was when you saw him decked out in Cowboy boots and his sheepskin Marlboro jacket. He believed in God, family, country & the Dallas Cowboys (in that order). His beliefs were what had bonded us together through thick and thin. And oh my God, did he ever love the Dallas Cowboys. When I was young, he always had me sitting by his side whenever a game was on TV. He would hoop and holler when they did something good...cursing and screaming when they did something bad. I would be right there with him the whole time (except for the moments when he needed a beer). He was never much for emotion but I knew he loved me. He nurtured me as I was growing up, teaching me his values, encouraging me in sports, and pushing me to be the best in whatever I endeavored.
As I became a young man, I told him that I was going to drop out of college and join the US Army Special Forces. He wasn't very pleased to hear this, (which was probably attributed to his horrible experiences in Vietnam when he was an Army grunt). But as it became more and more clear to him that this was the direction I was heading, he began to fully support me. On the day that I was getting ready to depart...he said to me, "Be the best damn Green Beret out there."
I hugged him goodbye for the first time in my life that I can remember.
His proudest moment for me was the day that I had graduated from the Q-Course. He asked me if he could have my Green Beret as a keepsake so that he could brag to all of his drinking buddies about me...I did so with a smile (and without hesitation) as I showed him the two that I had brought with me to the graduation. It was my mother that received my silver jump wings, as is the tradition in SF. Whenever there was a crisis in the world, he would always call my home and ask my wife if I was alright and if she needed anything. He was like that you know...constantly calling...always worried for me and my family.
And when I came home, he was the first to call and catch me up on the Cowboys. I laughed a little during the times when he lauded the skills of newcomers Aikman, Irvin & Smith - because he was quick to point out that they would never be better than Staubach, Dorsett & Pearson. But, oh wow, did he ever love them for bringing all those Super Bowl trophies back to Dallas. He could've gone on and on about them until the next day, if he had wanted, (I absolutely loved his storytelling), but he was considerate enough to back off in the conversation and insist that it was time for me now to be with my wife and children.
I loved him for that.
I guess the greatest crisis came for me when I was deployed to a combat zone and my wife was involved in a head-on collision with another vehicle back at home. She was in critical condition as the Army was desperately trying to get me there. Unfortunately, they were having trouble getting an aircraft for me due to logistical constraints. My only course of action, while waiting, was to call my father from the operations tent. I pleaded for him when I said, "Please help me, she's hurt and my children are all alone and confused while a neighbor watches over them". It was so hard to choke back the tears and not sound hysterical when talking with him - as it was constantly drilled into me that men don't cry...but I know that he could tell by the way my voice was breaking and, thankfully, he pretended to ignore it.
He was there to meet me when I arrived at the airport...
...that was the kind of man he was.
"Only through death do we understand what it means to live..."
And then suddenly it was my turn to get up from the chair to walk over to his casket and bring closure to his passing. It was difficult to stand and my feet were heavy (so heavy) as I approached his casket. Breathing became more rapid and my broken heart was skipping a beat or two. When I gazed upon him, the surreal feeling was washed away with reality. And as I stood there, a thought had come to me from an army chaplain who had once said (after an army buddy of mine was killed)..."Strong men do not cry...but stronger men do."
And that was it...the tears flowed and then it evolved into uncontrollable sobs.
I cried in sorrow over his passing...
...I cried with anger directed at the army for keeping me so far away from my loved ones...
...I cried with rage directed at God for letting him die before I could get there to tell him goodbye...
...and then I just cried some more.
I wiped away my tears and reached down and hugged him for the last time in my life. And then I gently kissed him on the cheek as I said goodbye.
Now I'm home and feeling this void in my life while trying to describe to all of you the pain being felt...but the words cannot describe it, nor will they ever.
Lastly, I realize that a part of my father will live through me because he had the greatest influence over my life as I was growing up, but I'm also here to tell all of you that even though this may be true...
...a part of me had died with him as well.
Drae
