I missed my mom's last breath by twenty minutes. I talked to my dad for the last time on a zoom call.
Yesterday I went to the hospital to visit my former father in law. Now this man is far from his death bed, he's also far from playing nine holes at Butterfield.
I'm not a betting man, but if I was... I'd bet on the guy who once handed me his daughter's hand to recover. He will be in a golf cart before he goes to a cemetery. He will be at Wrigley Field before he goes to a field of dreams.
You're thinking, "Why the hell is Shepley morbid on a Monday morning?"
I'll tell you why....
I tossed and turned all night thinking about my own mortality. Thinking how absurd the argument on Daylight Savings Time always is when we change the clocks. It's about the only time in our lives that we can change time.
Every November and every March. The same argument, the same chore of going around the house and changing all of the clocks. Don't forget the one in the car either. That one on the dashboard always confuses me. Why can’t I remember how to change it?
Last night at seven o’clock, which was still eight o’clock to me, I was ready to go to bed. I was dozing off watching the hockey game on the television. I had to try and stay up until eight thirty, which was nine thirty.
The Blackhawks were losing 2-1 when I turned the TV off. I had to stay up or I’d be screwed going into the new work week. I went to clean up the kitchen to get me closer to a reasonable time. It took ten minutes.
I went into George’s room to see how he was doing. I’m sure it was traumatic for him to see his PopPop painfully laying in that hospital bed.
“Dad? Do you think Pop will be able to pick me up on Saturdays any time soon!”
I wanted to bullshit George so bad, but I couldn’t.
“Georgie Boy…. Don’t count on it much before the spring. Let’s shoot for Saint Patrick’s Day.”
I could see the disappointment in my son’s eyes. Saturday errands with PopPop is the highlight of George’s week. It’s also the highlight of Pop’s week.
We said a “Hail Mary” together and I assured my son that this too shall pass.
I grabbed a melatonin and a glass of water. I did a quick shot of lemon juice with ginger and Turmeric and headed to bed. It was eight thirty, the new eight thirty.
I turned on a thunderstorm and rain program on Spotify and hoped for the best. I made it until 2:12am, which is still 3:12am to me.
Let’s pray that PopPop sees the leaves bud next spring. How fragile his life was yesterday. How fragile all of our lives are.
Hell of a fucking way to start the first full week of November.
Well…. You Chalkheads know what to do. Start drawing that smile!
