Betty Birney’s Blog

Dad at 20

One year ago today, October 16, I lost my father. He was 89 but still had so much life in him, it was unexpected. He was so strong – a veteran of the Battle of the Bulge in Patton’s army, a businessman, artist, great husband, father and friend, an excellent writer and collector of stories and information.

I can’t count how many times over the past year I’ve almost picked up the phone to tell him some good news (he loved great book news and bragged too much). I’ve been in bookstores and seen a book and thought, “Oh, Dad will love that,” and pulled back my hand from the shelf. I’m heading off to Nebraska to receive their state award, the Golden Sower. A year ago, the nurses in the hospital were quite taken aback when he’d reel off the list of my awards – and he was accurate, too.

My mother, also gone, was once extremely ill and quite out of her head with pneumonia. She was having some pretty interesting hallucinations – scary at the time but good material for a writer. The first thing she said when she came back to normal was, “Where’s Dad? I want to see him.” My father, sister and I were rather shocked because her father had died 25 years earlier. Dad kindly said, “Well, he’s been gone a long time. Don’t you remember?” (At this point, due to the hallucinations, we still weren’t sure she was mentally okay but believe me, she was.)

I’ll never forget the huge look of disappointment on her face. “Oh, yes,” she said. Then she went on to explain, “I was just lying here thinking he never asks for anything for himself and I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him I love him.’

This was Grandma's favorite photo of Grandpa - she kept it on her dresser.

Grandpa was one of the greatest, most generous guys ever and though he was a great storyteller, he could be a quiet person, too.  But he knew how much Mother loved him.  She just wanted to tell him again.

My sister and I were lucky enough to have ample opportunity to tell my father how much we loved him. And as the daily grief lessens, instead of the pain, I remember how hard we laughed in his hospital room about a silly joke he made. It still makes me laugh now.

Laughter and stories, those are the great gifts, aren’t they?

Recently, after I recently spoke at Vail Mountain School, a student commented that I was lucky to have such an interesting family.  How true – and I am grateful.