I've been on hiatus for some time now, considering that today is Father's Day, I think it's time I begin to share again. I've been dreading today's arrival out of a fear of how I would approach it since this is my first Father's Day without my Dad. "Holidays are going to be tough..." I was told, and this one is no different.
Charles Eldon Brown, or "Charlie Brown" as everyone else knew him, passed away on February 22, 2005. My mom walked into his bedroom at about 3:30 as she customarily did before going to work every morning. It was her habit to give him a kiss and tuck him under any blankets that he might have strewn about in his sleep. This particular morning she found him non-responsive and cold, his misty-blue eyes open and mouth agape. In her desperation, my mother screamed for me to do something to help. The first 30 minutes of my morning consisted of a trying to bring my father back to life. I lifted my father up and layed him flat on his back while my mother called 911. I began administering CPR under the guidance of the emergency operator in attempts to revive him while help was on the way. Mom was standing behind me sobbing and crying out for God. Each breath I administered would gurgle out from his mouth signalling a failed attempt to resuscitate him. Looking back on this, I already knew that he was gone but I dared not stop my attempts for my mom's sake. She needed to see someone taking charge of the situation with a steady hand since she could not, I was the only person that could so I continued to perform CPR until the EMT arrived. Charles Eldon Brown was declared deceased before the sun could rise to awaken the rest of Crestview, Florida. The next series of days required a steady hand as well. I took immediate control of each step that needed to follow: I called my 3 brothers and 2 sisters to share the news with them, I began making funeral arrangements with, my sister, Ingrid's immense contribution, I cared for my mother's rest and health and I contacted the Veteran Affairs office so that my mother could begin receiving her widow's benefits. Dad took the time to tell me what things needed to be done in the case of his demise; In part, I'm touched that he would trust me with such responsibilites. I can only pray that he is pleased and proud of the steps I took sortly after his passing. On the 25th of February, in the company of family and very dear friends, I buried my father with full military honors at the Barrancas National Cemetary in Pensacola, Florida.
Then something happened yesterday that prompted me to blog:
I was in line at a local supermarket when I noticed an end-cap displaying several Father's Day cards, obviously accessible for those last minute shoppers that hadn't bothered to stop by the proper section of the store. I immediately recognized a children's book that had been tucked behind an envelope by some disinterested consumer. "Just Me and My Dad" by Mercer Mayer was perhaps one of my childhood bedtime story staples. I picked up the book and was overcome with emotion and started to cry. As I flipped through the pages of the Little Critter Story I saw familiar images of a son and his father fishing, eating, sharing stories and finally falling asleep together. The amount of love that I felt for my Dad when I was little can only pale in comparison to the adoration and respect that I have for him in my adulthood.
He was a patient man and I idolized him for that trait, though some people claim that I'm already a patient person. I've been wishing I was a cool as he was since I knew what "cool" meant. He was a humorous man and I appreciated every attempt he made to keep me in a good mood. I'll miss those moments we shared alone, talking about each other's day. He was an affectionate man and I'm so grateful that he never denied me love. Any opportunity to tell me he loved me was taken without hesitation. It wasn't rare for me to have a voicemail message from him saying "Te Quiero, son. God Bless..." followed by some masked attempt for me to call home by telling me that "momma was worried" about me.
I love him.
I miss him.
Needless to say, I bought the book...
...I'll be sure to bring it with me next time I visit him at Barrancas.
Te Quiero, Papa. God Bless.
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