nakneker
Gold $$ Contributor
I know many of you have gone through the process I am now going through, if firerams are part of your heritage it seems a natural process I guess. A little history, Dad has been a bachlor most of his life, just the way he was made I think. The past several years he’s lived with me and my family. He was with us as most of our seven kids grew and left the nest. 4 years ago I built him a little apartment in the workshop when we built a new place. Simple place, 700 sq feet with a reloading room, bathroom and bedroom, he had input when we built it and was happy there. 3 weeks ago I found him on the floor during my daily visit when I’m here, my wife would visit when I’m out of town. He was in the middle of a diabetic seizure, I guess that’s the term, his blood sugar was 24 and he had been on the floor most of the night. Long story short he went to the hospital, at day 4 when he was showing signs of a recovery when he had a stroke, he is now in an assisted living facility about 5 minutes from the house. His short term memory, which was in the early stages of dementia is pretty much gone but he still remembers me and a few other things. I’m grateful for that. I visit him every day when I can.
The doctor said he won’t improve mentally. After the stroke he was in deep sleep for four days, couldn’t wake him up. Since then he wakes up and eats once a day and then goes back to sleep. He’s lost his ability to walk and is confined to a wheelchair and requires assistance to move around. Quite honestly it’s heartbreaking to watch. He has always been a very independent man with a high IQ and quick wit all of his life, that’s not the case anymore.
I give you the back story only because I know many of you can relate. I’m dealing with his reloading room now, I’ve given most of the powder away to people he would want it to go to. I’ve given away dies and odds and ins he’s held on to for decades and I’ve kept a few things that would mean the most to him just in case something goes his way and he can return to his apartment. Right now, he doesn’t know or remember home, maybe that changes, if it does I want the things that matter most to him to be there. His guns, his Randall knives, his watch collection etc.
Back in the late 60s he was working at Jenson’s in Tucson. He was shooting benchrest with a custom 222 and had a 250 savage improved built he has talked about ever since. The rifle is long gone but the stories of that rifle aren’t and I’ve heard them all several times. I found the reamer to that rifle, still in its case, oiled and in good shape. I sent it to Zack at ODCR and I’m going to build a rifle with it just because I can be sentimental like that, it’ll remind of the my Dad every time I use it. There’s all kinds of small things like the vickerman seating die pictured or the one pound of H450 that still smells fresh and usable, things that speak of his joy for the hobby.
Dads not gone. I continue to hold him in high esteem and he has my utmost respect and always will until he passes through the door of life and starts the next stage of the journey. This process had made me empathize with those who have been down this road much more than before. It’s surreal to deal with his “stuff”, it’s a new path and at times it’s not easy. Sometimes I just take a break, sometimes thats all I need for a minute or three. Then I regroup and get back after it.
The only person I talk to about it is my wife and best friend who also cares for my father deeply. I just thought I’d share here because I think many of you understand this process better than myself. I feel for those of you who have your own story along these lines.
One last thing that some of you may get a chuckle out of. The day of the stroke he was showing signs of a good mental recovery. When he’s feeling good and his mind is clear he displays his humor which can be brash at times. I was in his hospital room and a young lady came in the room to give me some paperwork. She was cute, Dad always perked up when a cute woman was around. He asked her “Were you homecoming queen” she was nice and replied “no, I wasn’t part of the cool kid crowd“ Dad replied “you certainly have the looks to be home coming queen” she was flattered, then he added “but your personality needs some work”
I followed her out into the hall and assured her that’s just his humor, I don’t think she knew how to take it.
The doctor said he won’t improve mentally. After the stroke he was in deep sleep for four days, couldn’t wake him up. Since then he wakes up and eats once a day and then goes back to sleep. He’s lost his ability to walk and is confined to a wheelchair and requires assistance to move around. Quite honestly it’s heartbreaking to watch. He has always been a very independent man with a high IQ and quick wit all of his life, that’s not the case anymore.
I give you the back story only because I know many of you can relate. I’m dealing with his reloading room now, I’ve given most of the powder away to people he would want it to go to. I’ve given away dies and odds and ins he’s held on to for decades and I’ve kept a few things that would mean the most to him just in case something goes his way and he can return to his apartment. Right now, he doesn’t know or remember home, maybe that changes, if it does I want the things that matter most to him to be there. His guns, his Randall knives, his watch collection etc.
Back in the late 60s he was working at Jenson’s in Tucson. He was shooting benchrest with a custom 222 and had a 250 savage improved built he has talked about ever since. The rifle is long gone but the stories of that rifle aren’t and I’ve heard them all several times. I found the reamer to that rifle, still in its case, oiled and in good shape. I sent it to Zack at ODCR and I’m going to build a rifle with it just because I can be sentimental like that, it’ll remind of the my Dad every time I use it. There’s all kinds of small things like the vickerman seating die pictured or the one pound of H450 that still smells fresh and usable, things that speak of his joy for the hobby.
Dads not gone. I continue to hold him in high esteem and he has my utmost respect and always will until he passes through the door of life and starts the next stage of the journey. This process had made me empathize with those who have been down this road much more than before. It’s surreal to deal with his “stuff”, it’s a new path and at times it’s not easy. Sometimes I just take a break, sometimes thats all I need for a minute or three. Then I regroup and get back after it.
The only person I talk to about it is my wife and best friend who also cares for my father deeply. I just thought I’d share here because I think many of you understand this process better than myself. I feel for those of you who have your own story along these lines.
One last thing that some of you may get a chuckle out of. The day of the stroke he was showing signs of a good mental recovery. When he’s feeling good and his mind is clear he displays his humor which can be brash at times. I was in his hospital room and a young lady came in the room to give me some paperwork. She was cute, Dad always perked up when a cute woman was around. He asked her “Were you homecoming queen” she was nice and replied “no, I wasn’t part of the cool kid crowd“ Dad replied “you certainly have the looks to be home coming queen” she was flattered, then he added “but your personality needs some work”
I followed her out into the hall and assured her that’s just his humor, I don’t think she knew how to take it.
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