#steve: rob said we need to stop smoking with breakfast

[imthursdaysyme]

stali getting ready for a night out

[baldrambo]

What do you think Hopper’s funeral was like? I’m kinda curious about whether or not that’s going to be addressed.

I am SO sorry for getting to this like 80 years after you sent it, lmao.  This was such a good question and the more i thought about it the more I got these clear images in my head of that day, and the more I wanted to just write it. I have 0 expectations that it will be addressed, honestly, SO here is Jim Hopper’s funeral service, told through the eyes of 4 non-Party members.

It was the last funeral, and by far the largest.  Karen Wheeler found herself thinking it was also the most beautiful.  She shifted her weight in her tall black heels and glanced around at the throng of solemn people in black.  The casket stood at the epicenter, a large block of shiny wood that shone brightly in the afternoon sun.  In a way, the symbolism of it felt silly.  There wasn’t a body.  There hadn’t been any bodies.

Attempting to banish the morbid thought from her mind, she glanced sideways at Ted who was staring solemnly at Pastor Charles.  Was he reading from the Book of Revelation again? She found it next to impossible to concentrate on any of the readings, anymore.  Ted had willingly attended every funeral with her, without complaint.  A fresh wave of guilt struck, and she swallowed.  Holley peeked over from her Dad’s arms, her large blue eyes carrying a new weight to them.  She was a kid now, not a baby anymore.  Karen reached over and gently caressed Holley’s cheek and that familiar, deep and abounding love for her children coursed through her like a powerful current. Karen wondered how someone could ever survive the loss of a child.

Karen turned to Mike, who stood stoically on her right, his hands at his sides like a soldier standing at attention.  He was staring over Pastor Charles, his attention on the trees in the distance, his eyes unfocused.  His mouth was set in a tight, straight line.  He hadn’t said a word all morning.  Hadn’t said a word since dinner last night.  The dinner table had been deadly silent, the new norm.

“I don’t want to go to the funeral tomorrow,” Mike spoke up, his voice eerily flat and quiet.  Karen looked up from her plate and squinted at Mike, confused.  “It’s the last one, Mike.  And it’s for the Chief.”

He clenched his fork in his fist and looked up at her, a strangely hollow look in his eyes that made her stomach start cramping up in knots.  “I’m not going.”  Karen looked over at Ted for help.  His attention was conveniently focused on Holley.  Karen put her silverware down, gently.  “I know this is upsetting for you, Mike, and….”

“No. No! You don’t know!”

“Mike...” Nancy reached over to put her hand over his and he wrenched it back standing up in his chair abruptly.  “It’s not like I actually wanted him to DIE!” He shouted, kicking at his chair. It went flying backwards, striking the wall.

Karen and Nancy both stood up.  Nancy stopped her.  “I’ll go.” She gave her mom a reassuring look, and wiped her mouth with her napkin, tucking her chair into the table neatly.

Nancy was standing at Jonathan’s side, leaning on his shoulder, her hand wrapped around his arm. Nancy kept sneaking glances at Jonathan, whose hands were in his pants.  Jonathan wouldn’t meet her eye, his attention fixated on Joyce who was staring ahead, stone-faced, at Pastor Charles.  Her face was still strangely devoid of emotion.  Will flanked her on the left, a head taller than her now. Clearly uncomfortable, he kept shifting his weight and looking over at Joyce, too.  

3 days after the fire, Will answered the door, his polite smile more a grimace. He stepped aside to let her in. Joyce was sitting at the kitchen table, a large ashtray full of cigarette butts in front of her.  She’d looked up at Karen, large, dark circles under her dry eyes.  “Thank you for stopping by.”  Karen nodded, watching the trail of smoke from Joyce’s lit cigarette float up towards the ceiling. Joyce redirected her attention to the ashtray, barely blinking. Karen looked nervously over at Will who gestured silently towards the front door.  Unnerved, she stopped in the doorway, turning back.  “If she is upset and needs someone to talk to….”

“She hasn’t said much since the fire,” Will interrupted.  “Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Wheeler.”

Nancy caught Karen’s eye and gave her a small, sad smile.

Karen had thought, naively, after the fire, that they might, finally, trust her.  Trust her with this weight they carried with them, this weight that had been hanging around since that girl had made an appearance in Hawkins. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they knew, they ALL knew something she didn’t.  Even Joyce.

She glanced down again at Mike.  His lower lip was quivering.  Karen reached over and slipped her right hand into his.  He gripped it back, tightly.

***

Scott Clarke thought Karen Wheeler was still the most beautiful woman in Hawkins.  He watched her place her hand in Mike’s, her black dress effortlessly drawing attention to her slim figure.  She had been his first crush, he remembered.  She dated Scott’s older brother, Rob, when Karen and Rob were seniors in high school.  He had been in….6th grade? 7th?  It felt like an eternity.  A bead of sweat dripped down his neck in the heat.  He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his button down.

There were beautiful white lilies lying delicately on the casket and perched in small bunches surrounding the funeral attendees.  They were freshly picked.  Were they the Chief’s favorite flower? It didn’t seem like they would be.  He thought the Chief was probably the type to prefer wildflowers.  He thought he would prefer wildflowers at his funeral, too.

He would remember the morning after the fire for the rest of his life.  He woke up like any other summer day, fried 2 eggs, toasted two slices of bread, and sat down at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee in his Friday mug.  His weekly copy of Science Magazine opened in front of him, he flipped on the news, prepared to ignore another day of local Indianapolis crime.  Within moments, his coffee and breakfast were forgotten.  Frantically thumbing through the prior year’s class roster, he stationed himself in front of the phone for the next 5 hours.  It was around three in the afternoon when he finally got off the phone with the Police Department and marked the last student on his list safe.  Moments later a sobbing Ms. Landon called.  Frank Rose in last year’s 5th period math class disappeared from the 4th of July Festival and was presumed dead in the fire. Scott had gone over and spent the evening with her.

Suddenly growing aware of the silence, Scott blinked, focusing back in on Pastor Charles.  He stepped aside to allow Flo from the Police Station to begin her eulogy.  Scott glanced around him at people growing increasingly uncomfortable in the heat.

Maxine Mayfield was conspicuously absent.  Scott hadn’t seen her since her brother’s funeral.

Lucas Sinclair stood adjacent to Scott, his parents behind him.  He fiddled with the buttons on his coat and his mother swatted at his hands, leaning in and whispering in his ear.  He stood up straighter and turned to his left.  Dustin and Claudia Henderson were standing beside the Sinclair’s, Claudia Henderson periodically blowing her nose loudly into her handkerchief. The boys exchanged a look and turned their attention another ten feet away to a handsome, familiar-looking older boy with longer hair.  The older boy met their gaze and shook his head slowly.  A warning.

It had been the boys that first made him suspect something else was going on.  

A few days after the fire, Scott reached up and knocked on the door.  Erica Sinclair opened it a moment later, staring up at him.  She put her hand on her hip.  “WHO are YOU?”

“Mr. Clarke.  I’m here to see Dustin and Lucas.”  Moments later he heard loud thudding on the steps and the boys appeared in the doorway, shoving a protesting Erica back into the house behind them, shutting the door loudly and standing up against it, staring awkwardly at him.

“I came to check on you, boys.  Dustin, when I stopped by your house your mom said you both had been at the Mall the night of the fire.”  The boys exchanged a worried glance and turned back to Scott.  Lucas grimaced.  “Yeah, we….we were there. It was….it was a really, really big fire.” “Huge,” Dustin interrupted.  “We were…we got caught in it.  But we got out.”  Lucas nodded along enthusiastically.  Scott swiveled between the two of them, skeptically.

“Anywayyyy, we better get back inside.  Almost time for dinner.  Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Clarke!”  Lucas called out as he scrambled for the doorknob.  “Yeah, thanks!”  Dustin scuttled inside after him, shutting the door abruptly.  

Scott looked down at his watch. 2:55pm.

The boys had stopped fidgeting and were focused on Flo now, their faces solemn. Scott looked back over at the older boy, who was staring up at the sky, as if he were trying not to cry.  Steve Harrington!  That was his name. He’d nearly flunked the boy in 7th grade. He had to be 17? 18 now? How did he know Dustin and Lucas?  Frowning, Scott turned back to Flo, who was struggling to finish her statement.  Joyce was standing just beyond the casket, as resolute as ever, the crowd of mourners centered around her and her sons.

Strangely, Scott found himself wondering if Joyce ever figured out what was wrong with her magnets.

***

If only the Chief were here now, Calvin Powell thought to himself, to see the entire town of Hawkins show up for his funeral.  He could just picture him blustering about the office with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  “Just bullshit obligation,” he’d mumble.  And if he knew Flo would be the one giving an impassioned eulogy on his behalf, he would be mortified.  Powell stared over the casket as Flo’s lilt carried across the field.  Well, the Chief could suck it. Because he’d gone and gotten himself killed, and now here they all were.  Without him.

Scott Clarke was standing straight ahead of him, watching over Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair.  There were some hardened people in this town, but that man certainly wasn’t one of them. He’d been on and off the phone with Scott Clarke the day after the fire.  That’s when he’d still been acting as de-facto Chief. Not anymore, of course. The Feds had seen to that.

Powell re-directed his attention to Flo as she walked towards him, wiping at her eyes as she folded her notes up and tucked them inside her dress.  He gave her a small, reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulder as she stood beside him. Callahan was nearby with his young wife.   When the Chief took over, everyone figured he would make Callahan Deputy. He ruffled a few feathers by naming Powell.  He still remembered the Chief’s first week on the job.

“I already TOLD you,” Roger Walsh sneered.  “I’m here to talk to the Chief.  “Well I’m Deputy,” Powell cut in.  “So I’m here to….”  Walsh interrupted by sniffing and crossing his arms, his lip curling in disgust. “Deputy.” He clicked his tongue, staring Powell down.

Hopper waltzed into the station, his eyes red-rimmed, and headed over to the counter for coffee, ignoring the two of them.  “Chief Hopper,” Walsh interrupted him, uncrossing his arms. “I need to speak with you about….”  

“Talk to my Deputy,” Hopper interrupted, tipping his head back and swallowing a swig of coffee.  He turned towards the men, grimacing.  “I don’t have time for whatever *this* is today.”  Hopper headed past the men towards his office. “This is bullshit,” Roger cut in.  “You are the Chief, I don’t want to talk to this nigg…..”

Hopper stopped and swiveled, aggressively grabbing the man by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him forwards.  He smacked his lips.  “What?” He tilted his head, looking down at the man, his face stormy.  “Go ahead.” His voice was dangerously low. “What were you going to say.”  Roger gawked at the Chief, terror in his eyes.  Hopper let go and pushed the man backwards. “Get the fuck out of my station,” he growled.  “Powell, I don’t want to see him again.”

Flo nudged him sympathetically.  He was crying.  Powell sniffed, angry with himself.  He promised himself he wouldn’t do this.  Not here, not now.  The Chief wouldn’t want him to. He swiveled away from her, hoping Callahan hadn’t seen him.   Jonathan Byers was standing next to Pastor Charles now.  He was wearing worn down black trousers, his right hand resting in his pocket, a piece of paper in his left.  He took a deep breath and began reading.

The Feds had showed up within days, sauntering about the office arrogantly.  Powell wasn’t sure how a picture of Hopper’s dead daughter contributed to a federal investigation but then again, what did he know? He was just a small-town cop.

Jonathan Byers had chosen today of all days to demand an audience with Powell. He stood in front of the desk as Powell scooted his chair to the side for a man with dark shades.  The man looked up at Jonathan pointedly and then continued out of the office with a stack of papers from the bottom drawer. Another agent strolled in and also stopped for a moment to stare at Jonathan, recognition all over his features, too.This second man grabbed another box of papers in the corner.  

Powell opened his mouth to question the boy when Jonathan blurted, “Flo said you were helping her with Hopper’s funeral arrangements.  I want to give a eulogy.”  Confused, Powell frowned, scooting his chair back to its proper place. “Son, that is very nice of you to offer, but….”

“He was there for my Mom and I, when Will disappeared,” Jonathan interrupted, passionately.  “When NO ONE else was,” his voice broke and he looked away. Taking a deep breath, he looked back over at Powell.  “We’re the only family he has, now.”  Powell didn’t have it in him to say no.

Things grew quiet and Powell re-directed his attention to the boy, who was struggling.  He stopped to put his head in his hands.  Nancy Wheeler approached slowly and took his other hand, standing with him.  Jonathan got himself together and continued.  Powell glanced over at Joyce, who was staring down, her eyes trained on the grass.

Powell felt the worst for Joyce Byers.  Ever since Lonnie skipped town she’d been on her own, and she always seemed one bad day away from a breakdown. But the Chief had a way with Joyce.  Powell suspected the Chief had been sweet on her, he even teased him about it once.  “I was with her when we found Will in the woods. I’m just doing my job,” the Chief had shrugged.

As Jonathan finished up his speech, he walked back to his mom, hand-in-hand with Nancy.  Jonathan reached for her hand when Joyce turned away suddenly, retreating towards the parking lot.  The entire town watched her as she went.  As if she were the Chief’s Widow.

Powell never bought that the Chief wasn’t sweet on her.  Just like he never bought that Will had been lost in the woods, or the fire at the Mall was just a fire. But then again, what did he know? He was just a small-town cop.

***

Jane always came to visit, at least every two weeks, without fail.  But it had been a long time.  Too long.  Slowly but surely, Terry Ives built up her strength to go and find her daughter.

Terry squeezed her eyes shut, her daughter’s features coming into crystal clear focus.  She reopened them, pushing herself up from the rocking chair.  A bed lay fifteen feet in front of her, a still figure laying on top of it.  

Jane.  Her feet splashing in the inch of water that filled The Void, Terry approached the bed, her heart pounding.  Jane’s eyes were closed, and she stirred for a moment on the sheets. Asleep.  

Standing there for a moment, Terry sized up the faded green comforter and white bedframe.  This wasn’t The Cabin.  Terry kneeled beside the bed, water soaking through the bottom of her nightgown.  Faded tears stained her daughter’s sleeping cheeks and a beige shirt was folded in her arms.  A small patch on the arm read “Hawkins Police.”

Terry leaned forward and rested her hand on her cheek.  “Jane,” she whispered gently.  Her eyes fluttered and opened.  Jane blinked for a moment, confused.  Jane sat up slowly and looked around, still gripping the uniform.  “Jane!” Terry exclaimed, louder this time. El continued to look around the room, the confusion turning into despair.  “Mama?”  She whispered, clutching the shirt tighter.

Something was terribly wrong.  She could barely feel Jane’s energy, it was weak.  Too weak.  Terry rested her hand on her daughter’s cheek again, but she didn’t move.  Jane squeezed her eyes shut tight.  “Mama,” she murmured, and a soft sob escaped from her lips.  She pulled the shirt to her chest.  “I can’t feel you, Mama.  I can’t feel him,” she began to cry, her despondency like painful tendrils reaching into Terry’s own heart.

Horrified, Terry glanced around her desperately.  Why couldn’t Jane see her?  Why couldn’t she feel her? Something fuzzy beside the bed grabbed Terry’s attention. Focusing in on it, a small nightstand materialized.  It was adorned with a lamp, a clock, and a picture frame.  The frame included 2 small boys and a petite brunette woman.

The woman. The woman who came to see her with the Cop. Why was Jane in her house?

Terry heard a noise behind her and turned around slowly.  A small green car came into focus.  Terry took a few small careful steps forward.  The woman was resting her head on her arm, leaning up against the car. She was taking shallow, shuddering breaths, her tiny frame quaking ever so subtly.  In pain.  

She was wearing all black, standing in tall grass.  Not with Jane.  As Terry approached, the woman picked her head up.  Her big brown eyes were filled with tears.  She put her hands up to her eyes, dabbing at them carefully with the backs of her hands.  The grief etched into the lines of her face matched Jane’s. Taking one final deep, sharp breath she squared her shoulders and started walking away.

Terry watched her figure pass by Jane’s bed, fading away into a cloud of smoke. Where was the Cop?  Terry felt the beginnings of exhaustion creeping into her mind and she pushed them away.  She had to find the Cop.  She fought for a mental image of him.  Her mind was going fuzzy, Jane’s bed fading in and out like a t.v. station competing for a signal.  Panic creeping in, she squeezed her eyes shut, pushing for the memory.  Her breath grew raggedy from the strain as she opened her eyes.

Another bed began to materialize, this one without a bed frame, this one far, far away. Yet somehow so close.  Blinking, Terry slowly stepped towards it, the image continuing to cut back and forth with her daughter’s.  As she grew closer to him, The Void seemed to expand around her.  The air grew colder and her heart began beating faster.  Thump, thump, thump.  He was lying on his side, curled up in a ball.  Shivering.  Not safe.  She was a few feet away when his voice grew slightly stronger, his image momentarily clear.

“You don’t tug on Superman’s cape….you don’t….spit.  Into the wind.  You don’t pull…the mask off that old lone ranger…..and you don’t….mess around…..

….with Jim.”  The hopelessness and fear were so powerful, Terry nearly froze.  Mustering her last bit of strength, she reached for him.  Her hand closed over his.  Terry gasped audibly. “El?”  He whispered into the darkness.

And with that, he was gone.  Jane was gone.  Terry felt the sensation of falling, sharply, backwards.  She grasped for something, anything, in front of her as she fell, her hands closing around thin air.  She landed in her rocking chair, now frozen in place.

“Terry?  Terry!”  Becky leaned over her sister.  “Why is the lamp blinking, honey? What is going on?”

“Breathe,” Terry whispered. “Sunflower.  Three to the right, four to the left. Rainbow.  Four fifty. Breathe. Sunflower. Three to the right, four to the left. Rainbow.  Four fifty.”

“Terry, what is it?” Becky whispered, urgently.

Breathe.

[ariestaurus21]

Ohhhhh fine, two can play *that* game: Steve fumbles for the phone, takes the call even though it's an unfamiliar number. "McGarrett." There's a pause on the other end, long enough that he almost ends the call, his thumb hovering over the red button. Then a shaky breath, a muffled sob, and Mary's voice. "Steve?"

Steve fumbles for the phone, takes the call even though it’s an unfamiliar number. “McGarrett.”

There’s a pause on the other end, long enough that he almost ends the call, his thumb hovering over the red button. Then a shaky breath, a muffled sob, and Mary’s voice. “Steve?”  

He’s suddenly completely, totally wide awake. “Mare? What’s wrong?”

“I…”

“Mary, where are you? Where are you calling me from?” he asks, tossing the covers back and sitting up on the side of his bed. He glances at the clock on his bedside table. It’s 4:12 A.M.: the middle of the night in L.A., pretty damn close to it in Hawaii too. If she’s calling in the middle of the night, in tears, there’s a problem.

“Mary? Mary you there?” he calls out, when the only thing on the line is uneven breathing.

“It’s gone,” she whispers.

“Gone? What’s gone, Mary, what’s happening?” he asks again, heart hammering in his chest. Every instinct in his body is telling him to go to her, to protect her, that something’s gone horribly wrong but she’s thousands of miles and half an ocean away. There’s nothing he can do but speak on the phone but she’s not answering him… “Please, Mary, tell me what’s wrong!”

“Th.. There was…. a, a… A fire, Steve, there was a fire! The house… Aunt Deb’s house, the house she left us it’s gone! It’s all gone!” she wails and she’s coughing and there’s a clatter on the line and the sounds grow distant, like she dropped the phone.

“Mary! MARY! Hello? HELLO? MARY-ANNE!” He’s on his his feet, shouting into the phone, panic making his throat tight, sending his already wildly beating heart into overdrive.

“Hello?”  

The sudden, unknown voice in his ear almost makes him drop the phone. “Hello? Who’s this? Where’s my sister?”

“This is Captain Rob Malone, LAFD. Your sister’s fine. She’s with our paramedics, receiving oxygen at the moment. She inhaled a bit of smoke, but she’s doing all right.”

“What about her daughter? My niece? Joan? Listen Captain, she wasn’t alone in the house, she has a three-year-old daughter! My niece!”

“Relax, sir, we know, we know. Your niece is okay, sir. Joan is fine. Your sister got her out, managed to protect her from the smoke too. She’s all right.”

Steve closes his eyes, lets his head drop back and exhales in weak-kneed relief. “Oh thank god.” Tears sting at his eyes and he presses a hand over them. He abruptly sits back onto the bed, drawing in a shaky breath. His family’s okay.  

“Good, okay, thank you, Captain. I… Can I speak to my sister again?”

“Yeah, sure, let me put her back on the phone.”

“Steve…”

“Mary… I’m so gald you and Joanie are okay.”

“Everything’s gone, Steve…” Mary says, sniffling.

“I know, but you two are okay. That’s what counts.”

“I don’t even know where we’re gonna sleep, tonight! I don’t even have my purse, my phone… I don’t even have clothes for Joan!”

Steve grabs his tablet from the nightstand and opens the browser, looking up the flights out of Honolulu to LA. “Look, I’ll be on the next flight out. I’ll be in LA in about… seven hours. I’ll book a room for the three of us at the… what was that hotel near the house?”

“The Holiday Inn. On, on Orion?”

“Yeah. I’ll pay with my credit card, call the front desk, explain about the fire, they’ll let you in the room. You can wait for me there.

“Steve, I don’t have cash for a cab…Oh, ok, the guys from the emergency crew tell me they’ll have someone from the Red Cross with the essentials for Joan, and they’ll drop me at the hotel.”

“Once I’m there, we’ll figure the rest out, the insurance and all that, get you on your feet, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’ll be ok, Mare,” he says gently, while he finishes booking his plane ticket.

“Thanks for coming to the rescue, big brother.”

“Any time. Now, I gotta pack. My fight leaves in 95 minutes and I gotta get Eddie taken care of and call Danny. Leave a message on my cell with the room number so I can call you when I land, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Mary, I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Can you put Captain Malone back on the phone for a minute please?”

“Yeah. Bye. And… Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

“Sir? This is Captain Malone.”

“Captain. I’m Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. I’m with the Five-0 Task Force in Hawaii. I’’ll be on the next flight out to LA. In the meantime I’m making a reservation for my sister and her daughter at the Holiday inn on Orion. Is there any way you can make sure she gets there?”

“Yeah. Is there anyone in the area I can contact for her in the mean time?”

“Yeah, not in the immediate area, but if you could contact Chin Ho Kelly, from the State task force in San Fransisco, I’ll tell him what happened, so if you could coordinate with him to make sure Mary’s taken care of… He can be there before I can.”

“Sure thing. Text the number to this phone. I’ll reach out.”

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for making sure my sister and her daughter were safe and able to reach me.”

“Part of the job, Commander.”

He calls Danny next and once Danny’s done grumbling about the hour and Steve has a chance to explain why he’s calling, Danny’s all business. He’ll take care of Eddie, inform the Governor, whatever. It takes a weight off Steve’s mind.

The next twenty minutes pass in a blur of packing and online hotel reservations, phone calls to Chin, the hotel, to his buddy in stationed in Miramar who owns some rental property somewhere in Cali (he can’t recall if it’s in San Diego or LA) and he’s ready to go.

He’s just about to punch in his alarm code when a car pulls into his driveway. He frowns, wondering who the hell is showing up at his house at ten to five AM. He’s quick to recognize the Camaro’s throaty rumble and Danny’s steps on the front porch.

“Ready, babe?” Danny calls out as he walks in the door

“Danny, what… what are you doing here?” Steve asks, a bit lost.

“What do you mean what? Who the hell did you expect to take you to the airport? I said I was coming. Here I am.”

“You said…” Steve trails off, clearly having missed something somewhere.

“Yeah, I said. I guess it didn’t register. You thought I’d let you leave your truck in long term parking or pay for a cab? Clearly you think I’m a shmuck. I am not a shmuck. You? You’re a putz. Besides, I got a bag of stuff for Joanie in the trunk. Toys and plushies and clothes Charlie’s outgrown. Don’t worry it’s all gender neutral for the clothes and girls can play with trucks too.”

“I… Thank you, Danny. I don’t know what to say.”

“You already said it, babe. We help family when they’re in need and you’re family. You know that so stop acting like a dope. Now come on, you gonna miss your flight. Your sister’s waiting.”

*-+*-+*-+*

He’s halfway unsurprised to see Chin waiting for him at the gate, his gold California State Task Force shining on his belt. Steve’s unbelievably glad to see him, knew that he’d take care of Mary while he flew in from Hawaii, with San Francisco being only about an hour’s flight from LA.

“Chin, my man,” he says, grabbing his friend in a crushing hug.

“McGarrett. It’s been way too long,” Chin says against his shoulder, his wide grin evident from his tone alone.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Ohana, Steve, you know that,” Chin says, when they pull apart. “I got one word for you brah: Mexico. So this? Don’t even mention it. Abby’s with Mary and Joan.”

Okay, so maybe Chin’s got a point there, but when he called, it wasn’t about asking a favour in return for what he and the rest of the team did when Sarah was kidnapped.  Not that he’s not grateful that Chin not only answered the phone in the middle of the night but managed to commandeer a plane or a helicopter or whatever and get to Mary in under two hours.  And speaking of Sarah… “Abby came? What about Sarah?” Steve asks.

Chin’s smile doesn’t fade. “With Abby’s mother. She charmed her grandmother as fast as she did me.”

Steve laughs and he can’t help but smile widely. “She’s a charmer.”

“That she is. Abby’s with Mary and Joan at the hotel. We’ll join them for breakfast as soon as we get out of here.

“Then let’s get going.”

The rest of the day flies by but the memory of Mary crashing into him, crumbling into his arms, warm and safe, Joanie, small and secure between them will stay etched in his memory forever. His sister and niece, his family, safe and close, is something he decides he wants, needs even. He doesn’t want to let them go.

Not anymore.

There are calls to the insurance company, shopping trips for clothes and other necessities and when the day ends, they’re sitting side by side on a hotel bed, watching Joanie sleep the peaceful, deep sleep of the innocent.

“She’s so… It’s like nothing’s happened. I mean, people say kids are resilient but…” Mary says, her head against his shoulder.

“They are. I mean, look at us. We turned out okay, in the end,” Steve says, watching his niece sleep, the old, stuffed monkey he found in the bag of toys Danny sent clutched in her arms, snuggled close to her face. He suspects it once belonged to Grace.

Mary lifts her head and gives him an incredulous look, her eyebrows reaching her bangs. “Seriously? You’re being serious right now?”

“Okay, maybe it took a while, but look at us now. We’re good, no?”

“Oh, you mean me, single neurotic mom and you, single cop nutjob? We’re good?”

“You’ve been spending too much time talking with Danny Williams, is what.”

“Yeah, maybe but he’s got you pegged, he really does.”

“Does he, now.”

“Yeah. You really are a big mushy marshmallow inside. You’re mellowing in your old age.”

“Yeah, maybe I am getting… old,” Steve says quietly. These days, he feels pretty old. It’s not for nothing he’s been letting the kids out more with Danny, letting him take the lead, staying behind to run things from HQ while they chase the bad guys around the islands.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that, bro. C’mon. Don’t get all gloomy. You’re not that old.”

He draws in a deep breath and heaves out a sigh. Now’s as good a time as any to bring up what’s been on his mind since he’s laid eyes on his sister and his niece this morning.

“Well, I’m not getting any younger, that’s for sure. So, once the insurance investigator’s done with the investigation, it’s gonna be, what, two to three months before you have a place to live?”

“Yeah, about. You were there when we spoke to him. In the meantime, they’ll pay for a hotel for the next couple weeks and then an apartment I can rent till the house gets rebuilt so long as the fire wasn’t caused by negligence, which it wasn’t. You know all this, like I said, you were there. Why are you bringing this up if you already know?”

He draws in a deep breath and sets his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at her. “Mary, I want you to come live in Hawaii, with me. Share the house. Use the insurance money to, I dunno, start a trust fund for Joan, instead of rebuilding the house here. Dad’s house is half yours, so why don’t you come and life there?”

Mary just blinks at him for a few seconds.

“This a joke?” she asks, with a faint chuckle. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m serious, Mare. Move back home. With me.”

“Steve. I have a job here. I need that job to feed my daughter. I can’t move back to Hawaii.”

“Yes you can. I… Look… have a job for you, with Five-0. We’re growing. We have an admin position available, almost like the job you have here. I’d like you to take it. It’s… It’s not a hand out, Mare. It isn’t. I need someone I can trust and I’d love to have you close and…  Joanie could go to the same school as Charlie… ” he says, heart hammering in his chest, suddenly nervous, afraid he won’t be able to convince her.  

“That’s a private school Steve, I can’t afford that!”

“With the insurance payout, you could, instead of using it to rebuild the house. And I can… I want to help pay for it. I… I want to help you raise her, Mary,” he says in a rush.  He’s afraid she’ll say no, because deep down, now that he’s let himself want this, he knows it’ll break his heart not to have his family with him. He’s let himself imagine this, just for one single day and it’s insane how much he wants it. He wants to be Uncle Steve full-time. He wants to be more than a video chat uncle. He wants to teach Joanie to swim. He wants to babysit on weekends when his sister has a date. He wants to have Charlie over for playdates with Joan, watch them play with Eddie on the beach behind the house.

He wants the house full of noise when he wakes up in the morning.

“Look… Mare, you two are the only family I have. I have the money and it’s not like I can’t afford it, and since I won’t ever have any children of my own…” There. He’s said it. He’d let the cat out of the bag.  

“What? What are you talking about? Wait a minute! Are you sick? Is this, is this the radiation poisoning? You’re sick, aren’t you! That’s why you want me to come to Oahu with you!”

“Shhh! You’ll wake Joan!” he snaps, putting a finger to his lips. “And no, no! No, I’m not sick!” Not yet, he doesn’t say. Steve blows out a long breath, shaking his head. “Look… I’m not sick I promise you, all right? The only thing the radiation poisoning has to do with this is… I’m, God, this is embarrassing. I’m sterile, okay? I’m shooting blanks,” he growls, feeling his cheeks flame. “I won’t ever be able to have kids of my own. That’s all.”

“Oh. Oh my God, that’s why you broke up with Lynn!” Mary hisses, her eyes going wide.

Steve exhales and nods, dropping his gaze to the floor. “She wants kids and… I can’t give her any. So… It became a point of contention. We couldn’t figure out our way past it. We broke up.”

“Hello! Steve! Adoption! I did it!” Mary says, pointing a finger back and forth between herself and her daughter.

“Wasn’t that simple an answer for us, Mary. Adopting when you’re over 40 and when you have a dangerous job like mine and with the prospect of declining health, plus it takes a while to get a child in Hawaii. Not so easy. It takes less time if you’re willing to adopt an older child but… Lynn is a child psychologist. She knows a lot about the trauma adopted kids can come with, if they’re a little older and… she didn’t want that. Didn’t want to… y’know… take the job home. But I want kids too… So we started fighting about it and… We broke it off.”

Mary shakes her head and sighs, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Why didn’t you say something? Huh? Why did it take my house burning down for you to ask me to come live with you? Or just maybe just move back to Hawaii? Wo Fat’s been dead, what, three, four years? It’s been safe for me to come back for a while now.”

“You really gotta ask that?”

Mary growls out a frustrated sigh. “You didn’t want to ask. Because you’re a stupid McGarrett man who keeps everything inside. Like dad did.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “God. Men.”

“Yeah, there’s that. But… You think it’s easy to talk about this? You think I wanna talk about never having kids? About… maybe getting sick and… dying before Joanie graduates? I just… I want you close, Mary. Okay? Please?” he says, and yeah, maybe he’s getting a little choked up. “Besides, I didn’t want to ask you to sell Aunt Deb’s house. Now…”

“It’s just a house, Steve. You said so, remember? You said the only thing that matters is that we’re okay, me and Joan. Oh’ana.”

Steve nods. He get out from under her arm and gathers her close, hugging her tightly to his chest. She huddles against his side, like they did, that Thanksgiving a few years ago, when they found out Deb was sick, but this time, he’s the one with tears running down his face. Giving voice to his fears is… a whole new kind of terrifying.

Admitting he wants Mary and Joan close because he needs to see them live their lives, watch Joanie grow up while he can is… He doesn’t even have a word for the emotion it triggers inside him. But he wants them there. Close.  

“What happens when I get a boyfriend?” Mary says after a few minutes of silence.

“You put a sock on the doorknob and I go hang out at Danny’s for the night,” Steve says, his tone perfectly deadpan, despite the edge of emotion still discernable in it.

Mary bursts out laughing, slapping his chest with the back of her hand “Geez you’re such a moron! I’m serious!”

Steve inhales and thinks. “I could… We could put an addition on the house. Turn the garage into a guesthouse, for me. You and Joanie can have the big house. And I could build a new garage where the shed is, and put a small shed–”

“Under those big trees where the hedge ends, by Mrs. Kekoa’s house!”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll move back home with you. God. I’m thirty-eight and I’m moving back home to live with my bachelor brother. This is gonna ruin my social life, you know that?”

“Nah. What’s gonna ruin your social life is the number of guns your bachelor brother owns,” Steve says seriously.

“Oh my God, you actually would wait up for me with a shotgun wouldn’t you!”

“I don’t keep the shotgun at home. I have a sweet grenade launcher though,” he replies, only half joking.

Mary bursts out laughing, clapping a hand over her mouth for fear of waking her daughter. “Seriously though, Joan can’t get to all that stuff, right?” she asks.

“No. It’s in a safe in the cubby under the stairs. It’s a fingerprint lock. I’ll add another lock to the cubby itself, just to be sure.”

“Okay.”

They stay huddled together hanging on to each other in silence. Steve doesn’t want to let go, and despite knowing Mary’s the one going through a tragedy, he’s the one with the lump in his throat and tears burning in his eyes. He hasn’t felt this close to crying in… decades.

Oh, he’s shed tears over the years. He let a couple sobs escape when he killed Wo Fat, but he was drugged out of his mind that day, so confused he had trouble remembering what year it was. Now, though, he knows. He knows exactly what year it is, how old he is, how long it’s been since the liver transplant, how long it might be till he needs a kidney transplant because most liver transplant recipients do, eventually, need a kidney because the anti-rejection meds protect the graft but destroy their kidneys, how long he has till the complications from the radiation poisoning become a reality and he gets thyroid cancer or leukemia or lymphoma.  

He’ll be sick before he’s fifty.

He’ll likely be dead before he’s sixty.

He closes his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat, tightening his arms around his sister. She leans against him, resting her head against his chest so he let his own head drop forward till his forehead is pressed into her hair. The position is uncomfortable, his neck stretched too far forward, the muscles pulling. He doesn’t care.

He feels the first big, fat tears overflow from his eyes and drip into Mary’s hair at the same time his frame is shaken by a hiccupping, choked sob.

Mary wriggles out of his arm and looks up at him, lifting his chin up with a soft, gentle hand. At least, that’s what he imagines, because he keeps his own eyes tightly shut, as unstoppable tears keep flowing down his face.

“Oh, Stevie,” she says quietly before engulfing him in a tight, tight hug. “Don’t… Don’t cry. You’re gonna make me cry.”

She must have moved, knelt on the bed by his side because his head is on her shoulder and it’s impossible if she’s sitting by his side and it’s ridiculous that’s he’s thinking about this when he’s crying.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Stevie. We’ll be all right. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m scared, Mary,” he whispers against her neck. “I’m… I’m really scared. I d… I don’t… I don’t want to be dead in ten years. I want… to grow old. I want kids… of my own, I want… I want a life, Mare… I don’t…”

“I know. I know. Shh… It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.”

He wants to stop, because this isn’t him, but he just… Can’t. The only thing he can do, for a little while, is let himself cry. Maybe it’s relief, he thinks. Mary said yes. He won’t have to face that big, quiet house anymore, ever again. He won’t be alone. He’ll have Mary-Anne and Joanie with him. He feels a bit guilty though, about losing it. How did he, the tough-ass Navy SEAL, end up bawling in his sister’s arms, when she’s the one who just lost everything?  

“M’ sorry. You… I’m the one who should be… Comforting you, not… Not the other way around.”

“Heh, since when do we ever do things the right way, huh? It’s a family tradition, right?”

It startles a watery laugh out of him. “Right… M’ sorry.”

“Oh, stop apologizing or I’ll kick your ass.”

It startles a chuckle out of him. “You could try.”

“Steve. I’m here, okay? I’m coming home. We’re coming home with you. We’ll be okay. All of us. Okay?”

Steve nods, separating himself physically from his sister and wiping a few stray tears from his face. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

“So, you wanna call Danny, tell him the good news?”

Steve smiles, hugely. “Yeah.” He extricates his phone from his pocket, unlocks the screen and tosses it to his sister. “Call him. Tell him the good news.”

“You don’t want to tell your BFF I’m moving back home?”

He gives Mary a tired smile, watery. “I think I need a minute. I’m getting emotional in my old age.”

Marry gives him a serious look. “This means a lot to you, huh?”

Steve swallows back a rush of emotion past the still-present lump in his throat. “Yeah. I, uh… I’ve… never really lived alone and, despite being single for most of my adult life, I don’t like being alone. And family is really important to me. We spent so many years apart, Mare… I don’t want to waste any more time. If you find someone, then great. We’ll do the addition. If I do, then we’ll do a bigger one, or expand the second floor, or…”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Ohana, like the kama’aina do it, the whole extended family thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not so sure about you being my boss though.”

“I’m a good boss, ask anyone on the team!”

“Yeah, benevolent dictator much?”

“That was a joke!”

“Not from the way Danny tells it.”

“Danny Williams is not a reliable source where my leadership skills are concerned.”

“Well, remember I have baby pictures of you, so.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t be dictator and you won’t have to find out.”

“Seriously, Mary, you can’t do that.”

“I won’t, unless I have to.”

“Mary. Seriously.”

“I’m serious.”

“You… But.. Mary! I’m your boss!”

“Technically, you’re my brother first. And there’s no rules about sisters embarrassing their brothers, so, I’m sending that picture of you with Santa to Danny.”

He knows exactly what picture she’s talking about. It’s the one with mom and dad where he’s nine months old, wearing nothing but a diaper and a Santa hat. The one she sent him a week ago, that he still has on his phone. The phone he gave to Mary a couple minutes ago.

“Mary, don’t”

“But you look so cute in that picture!”

“MARY!”

FIN

[thomcordeiro]

A Goodbye to My Dad

Transcript of my eulogy from June 6, 2017

A great husband to our mom and brother in a large family.  We only knew him as Dad.  

Most people mention just how funny he was.  So I hope to provide some laughter this morning.  He would want us to laugh.  Our Dad never wanted any large celebration of his life, he would probably think we have done too much already, but we thought it was important to remember.  Just a few weeks ago we were talking about funerals and services and I said “Dad, what would you like at your service?”, he said “what do I care, I’m dead”.

Our Uncle Ray can provide more stories about Dad’s youth in Bristol, RI.  How he loved that town, and it provided such a wonderful place to grow up for their large family.  Steve and Derrie can provide more stories about Holyoke and Taunton and Westerly and Troy, NY, etc.  But the majority of my memories remain right here in East Hampton.  

Now remember, until we moved to East Hampton, our family had never owned a home.  Dad traveled from city to city setting up new W.T. Grant’s department stores.  East Hampton was their first home.  It was 1975 and they paid $34,000.00.  We all remember arriving at 10 Quiet Woods Road.  Our parents told us later about the looks on the faces of the Mayflower movers as they stared up a 40 degree, 200 foot, curvy rock driveway.  

It was the home they would share together for the next 42 years.  And amazingly it has the same carpet.  Oh no that’s right, Grant almost burned the house down…

 But back to the story…  

 When we were kids, dad would tell great stories as we went to bed.  The creek, his friends, trouble they got in at school.  All stories of his youth in Bristol.  He was a great storyteller. Sound effects, animated, the whole thing.  We didn’t want to hear Dr. Seuss or a fairy tale.  We wanted Dad to tell us a story.

For us growing up in East Hampton he was a great sports Dad.  And I know many of you remember him from Little League.  Right to the end he was mad that Pete Michaud kept me off the All Star team in 1978. Seriously, it bothered him.

 Because of his family’s athletic prowess he always loved sports. His brothers were phenomenal athletes, Arthur and John were fantastic and Ritchie could have been a major leaguer if not for an injury.  Our Uncle Ray, the Cordeiro’s last remaining brother, is here today, played 19 years of professional baseball for the Pirates, White Sox, winters in the DR, the Cordeiro’s knew their baseball.

But Dad wasn’t really much for the home maintenance stuff.  Steve and Dad did make fantastic levels from railroad ties when we first moved there, but I digress. Dad wasn’t exactly comfortable with the outdoors.  We remember when there was a bees nest on the side of the house.  Dad creeped up to it to try and spray and when the bees shot out and buzzed around his head, he actually pushed off on me and ran in the house. My hero.  We laughed about that for years.

Now back then we had one car.  Six people, one car.  Dad got paid once a month!  So once a month the entire family got into our Ford Gran Torino and headed to Middletown.  All six of us!  It looked like the Grapes of Wrath every month!  Dad hated shopping, but he did like to browse at unique stores, especially ones that involved smoking.  When the family would go to Sears, Dad would always want to stop off at The Printers Devil.  Anyone remember that place?  Yeah, there were some books and Dad would buy some pipe supplies, but seriously it was a Head Shop!  Not the best place for kids!

Our trips included Bob’s Surplus and driving up Washington Street to Shop Rite, Caldor.  We didn’t have much, but we were all together.  With Dad making us laugh.

Dad was a really smart guy, and he was robbed of that over the last several years.  He was a voracious reader and frequented the library several times a week.  He didn’t go to college, but most didn’t from his generation.  But he loved the projects.  In 5th grade I had a science fair and decided to do Fusion vs Fision.  I think the poster boards are still in the house.  Dad may have helped me too much because I was the only kid with perfect drop shadow letter and he took the time to draw a tiny circle representing every piece of coal depicted in the project.  But I was in the fifth grade!  I didn’t have those fine motor skills!  I couldn’t color in the lines!  He was never so mad when I didn’t win.  I think he wanted it more than I did.

When I got to high school, I know my dad lived through my successes and failures (there weren’t many BTW).  Some of my fondest memories are of him in the stands with the other crazy, obsessed dads.  You know who I’m talking about.  When I was a freshman a few of us got to sit on the varsity bench after our JV games and I remember looking across the court and Dad would always be motioning… “move down the bench”, “get closer to the coach!”.  Like Coach Horton was going to look to his right and say “Hey wow, you’re right next to me! Get in the game!”

But that was our Dad, you always knew he was there. Coaching in Little League, Umpiring, In the stands for basketball, out by the right-field fence for baseball or 

usually because you could hear him screaming, or you could smell his pipe smoke.

Oh the pipe.  It’s hard to remember Dad without the pipe.  It looked weird when he changed to cigarettes later in life, but I guess they were easier.

We all remember that every Sunday he would mix his tobacco for the week.  A can of Sail, a can of Finlandia, pour them both into a bag and mix with his hands.  It’s funny, I have no memory of my Dad giving me a bath or washing my hair as a child, but I remember the mixing of the pipe tobacco.  

We had a classic 1950’s home life, but the problem was it was the 1980’s.  Dad worked, and Mom did absolutely everything else.  And if he was here he would agree with me.  “Cece, my coffee isn’t going to make itself?” But boy did he love mom.  

After high school, while at Temple in Philadelphia I tired to share as much as I could with my parents, but telephone calls were expensive back then.  I resorted to calling during the week when I knew Dad was a t work on the 800 number for Moore Medical.  Dad would say “I can talk, but if my boss get near me I might have to act like I’m talking to a customer.  And right in the middle of the call, he would break out… Mr Phillips, I really need you to make a payment”, then right back to the call talking to me.  

Here’s something funny, Dad had an eye patch for a few years, he had double vision and no doctor could ever tell him why it happened.   

We all have great memories of Dad with his camera, he loved to take pictures with his Pentax 35mm.  That was if he remembered to take the lens cap off.  And there was the time at Steve and Kim’s wedding where he went the whole day and realized he never had film in the camera.

Back then, you used film and you couldn’t see the picture until it was developed. Now the kids look immediately, but then not so much.  We have boxes full of blurry, eye-blinking pictures because you just didn’t know.  But he also took some of the most beautiful family pictures, many of which are on display here today.

He wasn’t much for driving, not sure if he got nervous or anxious, but we got lost a lot.  He was from Rhode Island and we got lost in Providence coming home one night!  Why does it say Broadway!  “If I reach into the back seat!”, but he never did.

When Derrie lived in Southern New Jersey we took a family trip to see her.  I don’t know how we got him to go.  On the New Jersey Turnpike, “just trying to find Mullica Hill!”  Or when Steve thought he saw the North ramp and had Dad drive across six lanes of traffic only to take the wrong way!

Dad and I actually worked together at Moore Medical during two summers when I was in college, and for a brief time after college.  We drove to work together every day.  Now before you tell me how lucky I was, let me tell you that dad was an absolute creature of habit.  The same thing every day.  We listened to Bob Steele on WTIC during breakfast.  Dad filled his thermos the same way every day.  Mom made us both lunches and we were off. I would be trying to sleep in the car as we drove to work at 6:30 every morning.  And he smoked in the car!  I know it stunted my growth!  Dad would be talking about the Red Sox or Patriots or Politics, etc.  Now remember this was before Route 9 was completed between Cromwell and Berlin so the ride to New Britain took just over 3 hours.  Right on Spring Street after the bridge, Newfield Street to Cromwell, 372 to Berlin, up the turnpike to the Olympia Diner, and on to John Downey Drive.  It was painful.  But now I look back and appreciate that time with my Dad.

One day, they changed the policy at Moore Medical and banned smoking on their premises, which included their parking lot.  Dad was not happy and asked just how much of the shared parking lot belonged to Moore.  He then waited until I got into the car for lunch and then proceeded to back up his Renault Alliance, or Mazda 626, can’t remember which, 25 feet to the neighboring businesses parking space and victoriously light up his pipe. He was bad ass.

But he had great friends wherever he worked.  We were lucky to have a few former co-workers come last night.  Think about it, Dad retired in 2000, 17 years ago.  And co-workers remembered him and thought enough of him to come out. Thank you Patti Brown and Mike Scaringe.

He loved his family and friends back in Bristol too.  We have fond memories of the Fourth of July vacations and the time we spent in the Almeida Apartments.  Dad and Ray and Ritchie telling stories about the old days and laughing.  He never wanted to go to the fireworks or the carnival, but he loved hanging out with his brothers.

We all have memories of the State quarters when they were introduced in the 2000’s.  He would give one to each of the grandkids when we would stop for a visit.  The problem was the kids would hand them to the adults and then they would sometimes get misplaced or used as change.  This did not go over well.  Here is what the conversation sounded like; 

Dad:  “Did you put the Maine quarter in your map?”  

Jenna: “No, Dad said he used it at Food Bag.”

Dad: ”Thom, I gave you a quarter!”  

Dad loved watching golf on TV.  He was a particular fan of Billy Andrade.  You see, Dad grew up with his father John Paul Andrade.  And back in the early 90’s Billy was everything.  Every week through the summer he would follow him. “Where’s Billy?”  “Did Billy make the cut?”  “Their showing Billy on TV!” 

He was like the son he never had...  Wait he had THREE sons!

So, I got tickets to the Canon Greater Hartford Open as I think it was known then and we saw Billy on the driving range.  I yelled out “Bristol Rhode Island”, anything to try to get his attention.  But Dad didn’t say a word.  When he was gone I said “Why didn’t you say anything?” and Dad said “I just choked…”

He does have a signed picture of Bill Andrade from the mid 90′s that Uncle Ray gave him that he cherished.

A few years later he retired and sat in his recliner.  And he pretty much stayed in that recliner until a few weeks ago.

He stopped driving three years ago.  You see he kinda “tapped” a few cars around town.  I got a phone call from a friend, she asked me what kind of car my Dad drives.  Uh oh I thought.  It was my Dad.  

When I went to the house with Officer Salafia we asked Dad if he hit a car at Food Bag.  Dad said “No”... and then replied “I may have ‘tapped’ a car, but never hit a car”.  “Dad! Tapping is the same thing!” 

He still had his sense of humor of humor though.  He said, “Thom you can have my keys, but I’m a GREAT driver!” and I just looked at him with a side-eye and he said....”I’m a GOOD driver!” and I gave him an even harder side-eye and he said....”I’m a driver?”  

He never drove again.  I think he knew.

Looking back now I am so glad we had a chance to go back to his High School class reunion last summer.  As Kim and I drove with mom and dad back to Bristol, we took him by all the old sites from the stories of his youth.  The creek, Guiteras School, the Bay, the red, white and blue center line in the road.  And as we drove Dad looked out the window and I thought was reminiscing, but after a bit he looked over at me and slowly said, “When can I smoke?”

Little did any of us know it would be the last time he was in Bristol.

The last 3-4 years Alzheimer’s or dementia or whatever he had, really robbed our Dad of who he was.  He slowly... 

stopped reading books.  

stopped doing puzzles 

stopped reading his Sunday New York Times

stopped talking as much in general, we all noticed that.  

The loud brash, sometimes chauvinistic guy, was quiet at family gatherings.  No stories, not much laughing. But whenever I left the house, even just a week ago, he would say “Thank you Thom... I love you... Be careful”  It was the last thing he said to Grant, who was the last to see him.

And so in the end what is a Life?  I sum it up with the content of my dad’s personal bookcases and storage in drawers and bureaus. I have spent some time over the past week going through them, and I first want to say, “you couldn’t have hidden any money in there? Couple $20’s?  Nothing?”

But what was in there was every slip of paper, drawing, school picture, report card, hair clipping, children’s tooth, etc. that you could ever imagine.  Our parents didn’t have or want flashy stuff or fancy cars and trips.  But their drawers were filled with love for their kids.  Amazing.

He loved his grandkids and was so proud of all of them too.

We also found a letter he wrote to Mom when stationed in Iceland with the Army that she has been reading lately and carrying with her. Six pages, handwritten, and a beautiful letter for two people in new love.  Just a portion reads;

“I love you so much and I want you badly.  To make you happy is what I want most in life.  You seem fairly content with me so far, though god knows I have done nothing to deserve it except love you.  But someday I’m going to make up for all you are to me.  I will build you a dream house and give you children and make you as happy as I can.”

“Take care of our love and my heart, and remember, Love me, Trust me, Wait for me, Be mine, Be true, Be good.  All my love and a million kisses, Ernie”

All he wanted to do was come home, marry our Mom, and start a loving family to last the rest of his life.  And that’s exactly what he did.  

So thank you Dad for your humor, your grace, your humility, and your love.  

We will all miss you, we will take care of mom.  

All my love and a million kisses, your son Thom