Posted by Peter Estes on October 10, 2011:

My Dad liked smooth peanut butter, soft ice cream, sugarless iced tea, fried eggs on toast, and fresh corn on the cob. My Dad did not like music of my generation, the Washington Post editorials, or Democrats. When my Dad was happy, it was obvious; he would tease my mother about her magna cum laude degree in biology or joke with my brothers and I about just about everything. If my Dad were happy he would sing. I remember many times at the dinner table, he would break into his rendition of The Third Infantry Division Song. We all knew the first line of the lyric "I wouldn't give a bean to be a fancy pants marine..." My Dad knew the entire song. I'm not sure if he ever was in the Third Infantry, but he loved to sing that song. I don't know if my Dad liked the Washington Redskins or not. I can still hear him say: "They're playing like they've never seen a football" or "all they do is shirt tackle, they ought to outlaw shirt tackles, fine 'em fifteen yards for a shirt tackle. " My Dad constantly complained about the Redskins, but he watched them every week. My Dad liked to play cribbage. I learned to play cribbage when his mother and father, my grandparents, came to visit. Cribbage required either two players or teams of two players. Somehow, I'm not altogether sure why, I became the fourth player. In the moment, cribbage was serious business. Afterwards not so much. As time went by, my grandmother and grandfather stopped traveling. I would play cribbage with my Dad. When he was winning, it was due to his superior intellect and excellent choice of crib cards. When I was winning, it was because the cards afforded me a no brain decision or it was the result of "pure dumb ass luck". My Dad would always subject my hand to a post mortem which on rare occasion would beget the comment: "Anyone who would throw two fives in the crib would kill little pigs." After my grandmother died, my Dad no longer wanted to play cribbage with me. My Dad was not a gambler, but he liked to play the lottery. Dad would buy lottery tickets for his brother Kay. This kept them close as they lived on separate coasts. A week before he passed away, he ordered me to buy his twice weekly lottery tickets. I don't know if anyone ever checked on those tickets. I don't recall my Dad drinking much alcohol. I think he drank one or two cocktails at dinner parties. Dad didn't like beer. When I was in high school, my Dad told me that beer wasn't any damn good. I didn't listen, but I later learned he was right. As with most things he told me that I ignored, he was usually right. My Dad smoked unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes. As far as I know, he smoked them for close to forty years. Dad didn't want me to smoke. Dad would hound me about smoking, saying he was hooked and couldn't quit. Finally, Dad convinced me; I quit smoking. Dad continued to smoke. My Dad suffered a stroke when he was fifty-four. The doctors told him to quit and he did. My Dad never smoked again. My Dad lived his sense of duty, as everyone should, and he impressed that upon my brothers and me. When my mother began to show signs of Alzheimer's disease, my Dad assumed his duty to take care of my mother. It wasn't easy; Dad was often frustrated, but he would not put my mother in a care facility. As my mother's health deteriorated, the stress increased upon my father. Dad developed congestive heart disease, yet he still felt it was his duty to take care of my mother and he did so. Dad believed that he could give my mother better care. I think that Dad was afraid that if he were to put my mother in a nursing home she would die right away. I think he was so adamant about this because of something that happened to one of our dogs. My father had grown up with Boston Terriers and that was the breed of dog that we had in the family. We had a totally mismarked Boston terrier, Corky, who was an all white dog. We had him for almost twelve years. Corky began to have seizures. One night, Corky began to have one seizure after another. The next morning, Dad took Corky to the veterinarian. They were going to administer anti seizure medication. A couple of days later Corky died. My Dad said that he never should have let the veterinarian convince him to leave Corky at the animal hospital. Corky should have died at home, with us. The thought of Corky, dying alone, in a cage, was too much for Dad. I'm convinced that Dad wanted my mother to pass away at home, instead of in a cold room in a nursing home. My mother died at home a few days after Christmas in 2009. My Dad never got over my mother's passing. They had been married over sixty years. Two weeks after we interred my mother at Arlington Cemetery, my father was in the hospital. My Dad didn't return home for three months. Dad was in and out of the hospital until December 11, 2011, when he passed away, officially of sepsis. During the last year of my Dad's life, I learned things about him, which I had never known. Dad's high school nickname was "Swede." During World War Two, after my father drafted, the Army wanted to train him as a doctor. Dad took the paperwork stating such to his sergeant, who told him that it was no good. Dad wound up in the infantry. Funny thing about this is that Dad was enrolled in the University of Iowa, studying to become a doctor, when he was drafted. On March 21, 2011, the first day of spring, my Dad was interred in Arlington Cemetery, with full military honors. When we had finally cleaned out my parent's house, our house, I thought that in the end, all that is left is a name on a stone in a cemetery. At that moment, I felt how meaningless a life turns out to be. You are born, you live, and you die. The stuff in between doesn't account for anything. Sure I have my memories, but they are little comfort when one feels so disconnected and alone. But I was wrong. A friend once told me that all that is really important in life is how much love a person gives to others. So, I guess my mother and father did live very meaningful lives. They both loved each other and me and my brothers. Recently, a friend told me that I was evidence to how important my parents were to the world. I don't know that I'm anything to which I should be a testament. I know one could look at my three brothers and say Dad and Mom accomplished something grand. But I've resolved to live the rest of my life in a way that will honor my mother and father. I miss my Mom and Dad every day. I'll miss them both forever.

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