I will miss you Dad

Posted On August 3, 2008 | Filed Under Family

My Father, John Poffenberger, passed away on Friday, August 1, at 2:42pm. He leaves a loving Wife of 50 years (+-11 years) Barbara Poffenberger. He had 2 sons (David and Mark) and 2 daughters (Sue and Julie). He will be missed by all that knew him.

Updated Aug 6 : Dad’s memorial service will be held at on Saturday August 23, 3pm to whenever at North Christian Church, 5201 Camden Drive Fort Wayne, IN 46825. You can read Dad’s obituary here.

I spent the last week of his life with him in Hospice at Parkview Memorial Hospital in Fort Wayne, Ind. When I went to see him on the Friday before his passing, he was not expected to live 24 hours. I made him a promise that I would not leave. Didn’t expect it would be a week. Well, he fooled everyone. He always did things his way, and he did so now.

We were told by the nurses and pastors at Hospice that the dying are waiting for something to occur. Whether that be a loved one to arrive, or for someone to say something special. We never will know what Dad was waiting for that week he was in Hospice. I suspect that he was not really waiting for anyone in particular, or for anything to be said. I think he was enjoying the family coming together like it was and did not want any of that to end.

I was able to have long conversations with my brother, Dave, who lives out in L.A. Dave is 7 years older them me, and we never really talked that much when I was younger, and more so as we both got older. Not because we didn’t want to, we were just never afforded the time to. My sister and Mom finally were talking to each other after over a year of silence. And I was able to reconnect with my daughter, Jessica, and have wonderful talks with her that will always hold special meaning in my heart. I found out how my Mom and Dad met. On a dare. And why she stayed with him. Because of his car, a 1956 Chevy Bel Air.

I don’t share any entry I have in my journal, but this time I feel is a good time to share one. This is the entry from Friday, August 1. I wrote it about an hour after my Dad’s passing:

Dad died today. May he find peace. It was 2:42. I was able to give him one last hug. I left a cigar with him. Now he can have one last smoke without Mom bitching. I will always love you Dad.

If anyone knows my Mom and Dad, you will understand about him smoking cigars. Always had to hide them from her. Most of the time it was in his tool box, before she found where they were and threw them away. I contributed to his delinquency when I came down to from Michigan to give him a ride in the truck. We would stop at the BP station and we would both get a coffee and a cigar. Then drive around, with no particular destination in mind. Smoking cigars, drinking coffee, and talking.

If I can take anything away from the last week that I spent with him it is this: You may think that you don’t have time to do the important things in life, but you really do. That time you spend in front of a TV, or on the internet, you could be spending it with someone you love. Talking may not be the most in thing to do these days, but it is the most cherished time you will have with someone, and it will always be something you will remember. I may not remember the TV shows I watch, or the movies. Won’t remember the web pages I have read. What I will remember will be those times I went and took my Dad out for a ride in his Red truck. I’ll always be able to watch that movie that I missed sometime again, but I will never be able to take Dad out for a ride again.

My conversations with my Dad were often very short in those last years of his life. Mostly he would call and ask about the weather. It’s cold Dad, I would say. And he would say “It’s cold here”. Or he would call and ask how Steve was doing at the wrestling meet. “He won, Dad”. “O Boy”, he would say. And something that I did not know until last week was that when I got of the phone with him, he would begin calling. He would call my sister (”He won, gotta go”). He would call my Brother out in California, evidently waking them up at 5:30 in the morning at one point, He would call my other sister. He would call his next door neighbor.

Dad, I would just like to say that I kept my promise.

Comments

One Response to “I will miss you Dad”

Dar Richardson on August 4th, 2008 7:01 am

If you are not there for the meeting tonight, I would like to share this with the group. Very important healing message./

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