The Death of My Father

(Annual Repost in honor of dad)

Dad with William in 2004

My father died on Friday, January 28th, 2022. It seems strange to write that now, a year later. I use the word “died” purposefully. Many may say that he, “passed away.” I’ve grown to dislike that term now that I’ve experienced it so closely. Death is a serious event and to say that he “passed away” lessens the seriousness of it in my eyes. It gives the impression that he just moved on, which he may have. But in my life, here beneath the sun and stars, he died. He is no longer living on this property that he loved. He isn’t bringing us packages that were delivered next door to him by mistake. He isn’t bringing donuts to the kids on Saturday morning. He isn’t texting me or calling asking if someone can come help him with the animals or a pet project. I can’t call him to ask about his day or get some advice on something. He is dead. He died. He is missing and is missed. Saying “he died” helps me to feel that absence more clearly, more powerfully; makes me love him all the more, and remember that I too will die one day. 

Death is a part of life here on earth. It’s the price of admission and exit, if you will. There’s no escaping it no matter what we do or how far technology advances. It may arrive in different ways but it arrives all the same. Our last breath is but a breath away. The final beat of our heart is out there somewhere steadily marching towards us, searching for us like a lover who will not be deterred. Even though I wish he could have, my dad couldn’t outrun death, neither can I. I accept that fact.

I often wonder what it was like for dad to die. Did he know it or simply black out and not come back. I often wonder what my death will be like. Will I be at work? Hiking? In an accident? Feeble in a hospital bed sick with cancer or worn out with old age? There’s no way to know. I accept that too, as much as I can, as much as my need for control will allow me. I often ask St. Joseph for his help to have a peaceful death when it comes.

On September 16th, 2008 I was walking down our drive toward my parent’s garage to get a lawn tractor to mow our yard. When I was almost at the bottom of our drive and ready to turn onto my parent’s drive, my wife came out on our deck and yelled to me, “your uncle John just called, your grandpa has died.” It wasn’t a complete shock. He was 84 and his mind was starting to fail. My grandmother died less than a year before on December 20th. I don’t think he wanted to stick around much longer without her. I still remember him whispering to me at her funeral, “she’s a hard one to miss” and seeing him kiss her on the lips before they closed the casket.

Dad "tending" his flock...

As tears filled my eyes, memories filled my mind. I thought back to summer nights on my grandparents porch, sleeping miles from the city with crickets chirping and lightening bugs clinging to the porch screen. I thought of the times I went with them to Mass on a Saturday evening and then to get food to take to the nursing home when we visited great-grandma Rose, his mother. I thought of helping him bale hay, him teaching me to drive a tractor when I was 11, hunting deer with him, my dad, and my uncles, and bagging wheat on hot July afternoons on his farm. I stopped for a moment on the drive and considered going back to the house but I knew in my heart of hearts that grandpa Jake would be smiling all the more if I climbed on the tractor and did some work, and so I did. 

Later I heard the story from my father of how he died. He and my uncle John, the oldest of 6, were up on the hill chopping firewood. He lifted his maul above his head and on the downward swing fell down and died. I love that story. I love everything about it. He was doing what he loved, on the property he loved and worked for so many years. I also loved that my uncle, my godfather, was with him. What a grace! I prayed that I too, the oldest of 3, would be given the grace to be present when my turn came. Whether it was chopping wood, watching a football game, or in a nursing home, I prayed to be present when my father died. On January 28th, 2022 God answered that prayer from 14 years previous in His own way.

It was a cold, snowy morning when my alarm sounded at 5am as it always does. I looked out the window and saw 2 inches of snow laying on our deck. I changed my work calendar to “Work From Home” and crawled back in bed with my wife.

About an hour later her phone rang, it was my mom. I could hear her on the other end of the phone, “Jim isn’t feeling well, can you come over?” My wife is a nurse and her instincts kicked in immediately. She told me what was happening and we both quickly dressed. We both also imagined my dad sitting in his usual chair with the TV on EWTN suffering; maybe with a bad stomach ache which he’d been having lately. 

When we left the house I could hear the sirens of the EMS off in the distance, mom had already called them. This was more than a stomach ache. I sent Nicole sliding down the drive and to their house in the car. I waited at the split in our drive to direct the crew so they didn’t accidentally try to go to our house.

As I stood in the drive watching the snow fall and listening to the sirens scream I began to pray. It was the prayer I always prayed when I heard sirens go by the house or when I saw emergency workers on the road:

O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee and for those who do not have recourse to thee, especially the enemies of Holy Church and those recommended to thee like those who are going to help and those in need of their help.

The problem was, even after praying this prayer thousands of times, I couldn’t remember the words. I tried over and over, “O Mary, conceived without sin…O Mary, conceived without sin…” The words wouldn’t come no matter how hard I tried or how many times I started over. Then, for an instant, the snow stopped and a slight breeze brushed my face. As tears began to flow I said, “dad.” I knew it was over. The snow started again and I began praying for his soul instead.

There were three vehicles with flashing lights that slid sideways in the snow up the driveway as I motioned to them the correct direction. As they parked their vehicles I ran to my parents house. Through the sunroom window I could see my beautiful wife in the kitchen, white as a sheet, moving up and down administering CPR through tears. She was heartbroken and completely exhausted. She had been performing CPR for probably 10 minutes. Our eyes met as I came in the house and she mouthed to me through her pain and tears, “I’m sorry.” She continued as she was trained to do until she was relieved by one of the paramedics. Mom and my brother Dustin watched on in confusion and with hope.

Mom and Dad at dinner

Dad had awoken about the same time my alarm went off thinking my mom had punched him in the inner thigh for some reason, maybe in her sleep, although she hadn’t. He wasn’t feeling well so he went downstairs to relieve himself. Mom had retrieved some aspirin while he was in the bathroom. When he came out, he sat down at the kitchen table. Before she had a chance to give him the pills he started to go down. Mom lowered him onto the tile kitchen floor beside the table and called 911.

When I came into the kitchen, there he was. Pale, lying on the kitchen floor between the table and the bathroom door. It was the same kitchen where we had shared meals over the past 30 years. It’s where Nicole and I celebrated our marriage with friends and family, it was the place of hundreds of birthday celebrations, of baby announcements, Christmas dinners, Easter celebrations, card games, board games, and so much more. The table had been taken from my grandparents home after they had both died and this table had witnessed far more of these wonderful family events than I could ever count.

Nicole and I ushered mom and Dustin into the living room while the paramedics did their duties. They have this band that goes around the chest and performs compressions allowing them to do other work. I knew he was dead and I quickly began to hate that machine. It’s incessant pulsing continued for an eternity. I hadn’t given up hope, I just realized that this was it and so that machine drove me insane. I can still hear it and see it gyrating his lifeless body on the floor in my mind’s eye even to this day. 

Eventually they moved him to the ambulance to take him to our local hospital and I was greatly relieved to have all of those great men and women out of the house and that horrid machine out of my life. I phoned my brother who was about to catch a flight and let him know what had happened and that it didn’t look promising. He canceled his flight and headed our way.

I think mom still held out hope and our brother Dustin, who is mentally handicapped, didn’t really know what to think. I hugged mom, Dustin, and Nicole and returned to our home. I changed quickly while Nicole informed our kids about what was happening. I walked back to my parent’s home and drove mom and Dustin through the snow covered streets to the hospital.

Mom and Dad celebrating 50 years of marriage.
(almost 13 months before his death)

In the waiting room we held back our tears with jokes and memories of the funny or annoying things dad had done through the years. Finally, after about 15 minutes, the emergency room doctor entered and confirmed the worst. He was dead. The doctor asked us about his medical history trying to make some sense of what had happened. He wasn’t the healthiest person but he had a strong heart and so a heart attack didn’t make sense to us. When we reviewed his morning and symptoms, dad thinking mom hit him, him being fine but not feeling well for a time and sudden collapse it made sense that he had an abdominal aortic aneurysm. The pain from the rupturing aorta in his sleep woke him and he thought that mom had hit him. From there his heart pumped all of his blood out an a matter of minutes.

The hospital allowed us time with his body, to see him, to touch him. We then returned to the house. Mom went inside and I called my uncle John to tell him the news. When I hung up I could barely breath. I sobbed as I walked through the snow toward the stairs that led down behind the barn to the pond. Dad had those stairs built 22 years ago for our reception when Nicole and I were married so that kids could go to the pond and fish. I stood at the top of the stairs and cried, and cried. Out of the corner of my eye a rabbit darted across the yard. Dad was a definite lover of beagles and rabbit hunting and so I laughed through my tears. For me, it was a sign from him that things were going to be okay.

I knew we would get through this and that things would be okay. What other choice is there? Life rolls on. As the old hymn says, “time, like and ever-rolling stream bears all its sons away”. We mourn over the loss of life but maybe more so over expectations that will never be realized. The memories I will have always, the dreams must be forsaken. I mourn that dad won’t be around to watch children unwrap presents, get married, receive First Communion, graduate, or play. I mourn that my children will no longer be able to know the man who sacrificed his life and body so that they could roam the 80 acres behind their house or fish in the pond with the man who has taught so many to fish.

Dad and Anthony heading to the pond for fishing 2004

Yes, I knew things would be okay but that knowledge didn’t prepare me for what would be the next worst part of the morning, telling my wife and children. Nicole already knew, how could she not. She had tried so desperately to save him. I am blessed to have that knowledge and have her. I tear up now thinking about her love for me, for him, and for our entire family. The children, on the other hand, only knew that things weren’t good and that and EMS had taken grandpa away. 

When I confirmed to Daniel, 12, that he was dead he buried his head in my wife’s lap and wailed. I will never get that sound out of my head. It’s the actual, audible sound of a young heart breaking. We told the others and they all grieved in their own way. Some cried in their rooms, others went for long snowy walks on the property to sort things out. The most difficult was Samuel. He had spent nearly every day the previous year with dad working on their quail raising business. They had put in countless hours building pens and caring for birds. The project was completely out of control but they loved it and loved working together. I cry now as I write this seeing the pain on Samuel’s face when I confirmed dad’s death.

That evening we met at my parent’s house for pizza and a time of sharing and comforting. We ordered pizza from Pizza Crossing, dad’s favorite, and talked about so many memories. We laughed and cried and ate and spent the evening sharing the love he had given us while making plans for the coming days.

We were blessed to be surrounded immediately by family and friends. The outpouring of love from those who loved him and us was amazing. Family traveled toward Logan for the funeral, meals were sent to our home, our phones exploded with fond messages and memories. At the vigil service, we stood for over 2 hours greeting hundreds of people, some I knew, some I didn’t, and some I hadn’t seen for over 30 years. We exchanged laughs and stories of dad’s impact on our lives. My brother, Fr. William Hahn, conducted the vigil prayers and offered the funeral Mass with an overflowing church.

The events of the days from his death to his burial were a testimony to a life well lived and life gone too soon. I am thankful to everyone who loved us during that difficult time, a list of which would take up 10 more pages. I am thankful for my wife’s family for traveling and staying with us so that the kids would have their cousins to lean on. I’m thankful for the kind words, shared memories, tears, flowers, food, and love.

As my brother said during his funeral homily, dad had a farm but didn’t raise livestock or grain. He was too busy raising grandchildren, they were his pride and joy. They are what he lived for I think. I’m thankful that they were all so close to him, seeing and working with him almost daily. I’m thankful that I had another man to help me raise these boys and point them toward manhood.

He had a heart of gold. He was a tough, strong old plumber but he was a softy. I laugh now when I remember the times he would need to leave the living room to cry…at a sappy commercial. Mom made fun of him because she couldn’t watch sad movies with him because of his unreserved, ugly cries. I love that about him, I hope one day my façade of pride will erode enough to feel those movements of the heart that he did.

My dad died on January 28th, 2022. It still feels like a bad dream I hope to wake from. I still get angry at my loss. I still expect him to walk through our back door or call me on the phone. I doubt those thoughts and feelings will ever change but I’m blessed to have known him. I know he cheers us on even to this moment in that “great cloud of witnesses” and I can’t wait to see him again. As I whispered to him at the graveside service, and every time I’ve visited since, thanks for everything dad. I love you.