Good-bye, Dad
The call from the Perley and Rideau Veterans’ Home started out like the usual professional courtesy call about circulation issues or sugar levels. But then I heard the words “no vital signs”.
“No vital signs?” The nurse confirmed no breathing, no pulse. Dad was gone.
It’s a funny thing when someone reaches 102 and can still carry on a decent conversation– somehow you begin to think he’ll make it to 103, then 104, then maybe the Guinness World Records. But it turned out that Dad was finite, just like the rest of us. In the final analysis, nature wins.
As I began to process the reality, one of my Dad’s war stories came to mind.
It was 1944 and the Allies were pressing forward. The Signal Corps was always at or near the front. As a Signal Corpsman, my Dad was part of a vast enterprise to maintain and expand a telecommunication network from London to the front lines.
One afternoon one of his buddies approached him. “Bowley,” asked the friend, “can we trade shifts? If you take my shift now, I’ll take the midnight shift.” “Sure,” replied Leslie, “glad to help.”
As it turned out, during the midnight shift, a shell landed directly on the the signal centre, killing everyone, including my Dad’s chum. Because he had agreed to switch shifts, Les Bowley was back at camp, safe in bed. His time didn’t run out until last Saturday.
All of us get “lucky breaks”. Some people call it Providence, others call it Grace, some call it mere chance, and others call it Karma. Definition is for another discussion. What’s really important is what we do with it.
Used to the full, a second chance is a blessing, but a second chance wasted is tragic.
It certainly got me thinking. My Dad got many a second chance, and used them well.
I hope I do the same. And I hope you do, too.
Dad’s obituary. (https://cole.permavita.com/site/LeslieBowley.html?s=40)