I just shoveled the snow off of five spaces in the parking lot of the apartment/condo complex where I live. Not that I needed a spot to park, but who knows? Maybe I will, but even if I don't, a fellow resident might need a place to park tonight when they get home from work, I cleared some spots for them. I don't know why the management can't do it; it's their job, but regardless, it's been done now, and I got in my workout for the day...
Having said that... while shoveling the snow, I couldn't help but think of my father.... He was always trying to come up with a way to make shoveling snow by hand easier. Until I left home for college, I lived with my parents in a house on a hill that had a fairly long driveway. For many years, whenever a major snowstorm passed through, we had to clear out the driveway by hand shovel. No one enjoyed that at all, including my dad. He attached a 'handle' to a scoop that belonged on the front of a truck and we sometimes used that (sometimes in tandem) to scoop the snow off the driveway. Normally we worked 'in shifts', but my dad always worked the longest and the hardest to make sure we had a clear path....
And it was the snow that did him in. Or, rather, the snow shoveling. My dad had a long history of hypertension-- he had had a heart attack back in 1966. At least I think it was 1966, because the last memorable Christmas we had was in 1965, when Dad was still in his prime. My dad's heart attack took away our sole source of income; with 7 mouths to feed (my oldest brother and only sister had graduated high school and left home by then) money was really tight, and I remember the horrible conditions-- milk made from that horrible-tasting Carnation instant powder, blocks of cheese from the government, hand-me downs that were ugly and outdated, not to mention being ostracized from the community...
Flash forward to 1989, when a huge snowstorm passed through Minnesota. I wasn't at home at the time-- in fact, I was on the other side of the globe, in Japan. Dad had been out shoveling snow most of the morning. My mother was working two jobs-- as an elementary school teacher's aide during the day, and at a nursing home during the night, so she was not home.. One of my brothers was living with my parents at the time, and he wasn't feeling well. My dad came in from shoveling snow, and said something to my brother... maybe it was that he was tired, or not feeling well. It's been so long, and I don't remember the details, but Dad went to lie down. After a while, my brother asked if he wanted something to eat, and my dad said he wasn't hungry. My brother left him alone, and while Dad was asleep, he suffered a massive coronary and passed away...
I got the call just as I was about to leave home in Japan for a speech contest. I was supposed to give a speech in Japanese, and I was supposed to win (my sponsor had that much confidence in my skills.) I called him to let him know I was heading out to the community hall, and when I set the phone back in the cradle, it rang. Curious, I picked it up. It was my brother. That was even more curious, because my brother never called me before. When he told me Dad had passed away, I thought he was joking. But when I realized he was telling the truth, the shock hit me like a ton of bricks. What was I to do??
I called my sponsor back and explained what happened. They told me I should come to the event, but not participate. He understood. I said I was alright, and went to the speech contest, and I bombed. I couldn't speak while memories of my dad ran through my head. I fought back tears as I rambled and forgot my thread. I told the audience to never take one parents for granted. I was in a daze. At the party held after the event, I sat numbly in a corner.
Many years have passed since my father passed away... And I realize in many ways I am just like him. Of my brothers, I probably look the most like him. All the hair on my chest-- just like him. All the wrinkles-- just like him. All the good looks-- well, they, too, are from my father. The saddest of it all, though, is that I never really appreciated him while he was alive. It wasn't until after he passed away that I realized just how much he meant to me, just how grateful I should be for what he gave me. It wasn't until I grew up a little more that I could finally see what fatherly love truly means...
One last thing-- six months before Dad passed away, I had a break from teaching in Japan. I returned to the U.S. for the first time in three years. On the day I was scheduled to fly back to Japan, my dad stopped me on the porch, gave me a hug, and with tears in his eyes, told me he loved me. I was very surprised, as this was totally unlike my father. I told him I loved him back, but the truth of the matter is, I think I was in too much shock from his actions to really express how I felt. Given another chance, I would hug him back like I meant it, hold him against me and tell him I loved him more than words can say... For being the hardest-working man I ever knew, for overcoming life's obstacles again and again, for always trying to be better, for trying to provide more, for every laugh at my god-awful jokes, for working with Mom to raise us right-- for all these things and more-- I would give him my heartfelt thanks.
So, with each shovel of snow, I am reminded of my father, and my loss.... and this is why shoveling snow saddens me so...
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