My Father (part one)

My father passed away on Saturday, September 9, 2006. It was totally unexpected, a complete shock. He had seemed very healthy, walking the dog daily, eating right, all of that. He was only 70 years old. He was a teacher and a football coach for 40 years, and had retired in 1998. This autumn, he “came out of retirement” to coach my nephew’s (his grandson’s) 4th Grade (9 year olds) football team. I hadn’t seen him this enthused about an activity in quite a long time, it was very cute, to be honest. I had even helped him with getting the gear from the local youth football association.

So on the 9th, I debated about attending the first game of the season. I work overnights, you see, and I had worked the night before. That morning I had to officiate at two high school soccer games, and I thought that would be enough activity for one day. But at the last minute, my employer cancelled work for that following evening, so I decided, even though I was a bit tired, to tough it out and stay awake and go watch the football game. In a sad way, I’m glad I did.

The first half of the game passed by uneventfully, the score tied at halftime 14 – 14. My nephew, Andrew, scored one of the team’s touchdowns. When I got there, I walked up to my dad on the sidelines, patted him on the back and said, “wow, you’ve really got a dogfight on your hands!” “Yes, we sure do,” he replied, and turned his attention back to the game. I stepped back and let him coach, obviously it was not a time to demand his attention. My mother was there, so I stood next to her and watched the game.

Halftime came and the team grouped together in one of the end zones, the coaches instructing the kids on play adjustments, the usual sort of thing you’d see at a game. Near the end of halftime, my father jogged with the team down the field and coached them through a few 10-yard sprints. I thought it was great to see him in his element.

The 3rd quarter started. I believe there was the kickoff and then one play was run. Standing with my mother, I looked down the sidelines and did not see my father standing with the rest of the coaches. “That’s odd,” I thought. Then I noticed him sitting on the bench between a couple of the kids, his head tilted backwards. “That’s not right at all,” I thought, and ran to my father.

“Dad, are you OK?” I asked, and I got no response as he was shuddering and staring blankly at the sky. As I asked this question of him, on of the other coaches heard me a turned around. This man was a nurse, and together we got my father on the ground and started CPR. He was having a heart attack. I remember ordering some lady to call 911. I remember seeing my mother just standing there and staring. I remember seeing 50 kids in uniform on the field, staring at what must have been a new sight to most of them. I imagine there were many parents who had talks with their kids that evening that they weren’t expecting to have for a long time.

The ambulance arrived, and I rode in the front as we went to the hospital. In the Emergency Room, a large number of nurses and doctors worked on my father for about 30 minutes, and I was allowed to sit in the corner and watch. The look of frustration on the head doctor’s face is a look I will never forget. Nor will I forget the sight of my father in this state. Almost one hour from the heart attack, they pronounced my father dead. I could not believe it. I collapsed on his chest and cried unbelievable tears.