SAME DATE. VERY DIFFERENT MEMORIES

I am blessed to have a number of old family videos on dvd, and from time to time I drop one in the tray of my computer hard drive, and reminisce about days which were, but are now long past revisiting, except by means of memory or media.

There is one video segment, in particular, which for me is more memorable and poignant than the rest. 

The date in the lower right of the film is 12-30-91; a date that would, ultimately, seem rather paradoxical in terms of its importance.

We had invited my parents, siblings and children to our house to celebrate my dad’s retirement. He was approaching 66, my age at this writing, and had made the decision to sell his pest control business, “McDonald Exterminators,” to his most trusted employee; (a business, I am happy to say is still alive and well today).

As the video begins family members can be seen milling around my backyard. The grill is decked out with steak and hamburgers, and yours truly is busy “doing the honors.” Jean and I had only lived at our current location for two years, and at that time there was very little ground cover in our “back 40;” save for 27 scrub oak trees, and a privacy fence.

As the video continues my family has assembled in my den, and my father and mother are standing next to a cake which bears the standard, “Happy Retirement” moniker. Interestingly enough, (at least to me) the cake and my parents fill the exact space in the video where, as I type these words, I am seated at my computer keyboard.

Fast forward twenty years 

… to the very day.

On December 30, 2011 my dad sustained a life-altering stroke, and as a result fell and hit his head on a table, and required hospitalization. Though subsequent rehabilitation at the hospital, and a nursing facility proved hopeful, it was not to be. Daddy sustained another stroke shortly thereafter, and passed away on March 2, 2012. 

In preparation for the inurnment of my father’s cremains, I retrieved the urn from the crematory, and brought it home. And because the presence of my dad’s ashes was a bit unsettling to me, I placed the urn on the floor of that same den in which we hosted his retirement, and under the window which faces my backyard; the venue where I once grilled the food we ate that day, and in which we celebrated the end of a long and prosperous career. By this time my privacy fence had seen better days, and after I removed it, our neighbor’s fern migrated across my previously bare backyard, and surrounded those lovely oak trees; which by this time have doubled in height. 

Two memorable dates: December 30, 1991. December 30, 2011

The first, a celebration of a life and career.

The second, the beginning of the end of everything once held so dear.

Like a fog in the morning, what we know and cherish is almost intangible, and too close to slipping from our grasp.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 17. Copyright pending

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