The Hero In The Next Room: Remembering My Dad 15 Years Later

  It was like a punch in the stomach.  For a few seconds I was breathless, followed by major anxiety.  Then a certain calmness took over. I was at work, around noon, out delivering mail as a letter carrier for the USPS.   It was a pleasant, sunny day. Even though I knew my Dad was near death, hearing my Mom say "your Dad died" over the phone was a shock that I had never experienced before or after.  On Tuesday, February 5th, 2008, my Dad, Thomas R. Lane, died of esophagus cancer at the age of 74.  It doesn't feel like 15 years have passed. The sadness I felt still comes to me whenever I think of my Dad’s last days alive. 

  A few days after he died, I began to write his obituary to be published in our local paper.  In starting to write, I began to realize that most of his life was a big mystery to me.  And how could that be?  He was Dad for 44 years.  How could I not know about some of the things that made him my hero?  I knew the State where he was born (Pennsylvania), but not the City (Ashland, which I visited once as a child).  I knew his mother's name (Tillie, who I met at a young age), but forgot his Dad (Charles, who I never met). He also had two brothers that preceded him in death: Harry (never met) and John (met as a child). And a    sister, Betty, who was alive at the time and that I met many times.     

  My Dad served in the U.S. Army (Special Forces) from 1951-77, and was sent to the Korean War as soon as he enlisted.  To his fellow military friends he was known as "Rocky", which came out of his middle name "Roy", but also matched his tougher than the rest persona.  He also served in the Vietnam War in the mid-60's.  I knew this as a young kid. What I didn't know was for how long he was there.  Turns out it was for three tours of duty from 65-69.  He was awarded four Bronze Star medals for his service.  I knew none of that.  But my Mom filled me in on stuff I was unaware of. My Dad rarely talked about his time fighting in these wars.  It wasn't until later in his life that he opened up. And a certain melancholy would consume him while talking about friends that he lost. It was hard for my Dad to finish a story about his years served in Korea and Vietnam.  Often he would only say that he saw things happen while in combat that no one should ever witness. 

   He would often talk about a moment that occurred when he was about to go back for another tour in Vietnam.  One day in the late 60's, our family gathered at a restaurant either in or around Ft. Bragg as my Dad waited for a car to come pick him up.  I remember hugging him goodbye and running back in the restaurant looking out the window. As the car slowly pulled away he glanced out the window as I was waving goodbye to him. He smiled and waved back.  I was probably four or five years old then, but I can still feel the sadness of that moment today.  Once again, as my Mom told me,  my Dad would be gone for another 6 months. 

  The same height as me, 6'2", my Dad always seemed taller.  He was bigger than life.  I think all children feel that way about their parents. He could come across as an intimidating figure at times.  Most of this rough exterior came from his youth.  But he had a great sense of humor. The city of Ashland was a very small coal mining town. Lots of poor folks like his parents lived there during the Great Depression years.  My Dad grew up there, from his birth in 1933 until he joined the Army in 1951. That way of life shaped his values, his principles and how he viewed people. He respected straight forward, honest people. This is what he taught me and it is still something I believe in today.   Yet, I never asked him about his hard, early life when I got older.  Between not knowing the full story of his Army years, his family and his childhood years, there's a feeling, even now, of embarrassment that maybe I didn't know my Dad as well as I should have. 

  The day before he died, his health took a turn for the worse.  I remember going to his room and realizing that this might be the last time I see him alive.  Before leaving I told him I loved him.  Over the years I've thought about that moment many times.   If there's one thing the Lane family didn't do enough was say "I love you" to each other.  I honestly don't remember saying it to my Dad when he was alive.   

  In the last few years of his life my Dad used to call me 2-3 times a week, often around 6:30 at night just to talk.  Sports, life and maybe a little politics.  I miss those calls. I learned so much about his life through those phone calls, then I ever did living with him. Beneath the tough exterior, he had a huge heart. Throughout his entire life he was always there at all of my ball games, school outings, graduations. And not just with me or my sister.  He did the same thing with his grandchildren.  Often volunteering his time when needed. 

  My Mom and Dad are buried about an hour and a half drive away in a Military Veterans Cemetery.  I visit them twice a year in the Spring and Fall.  It's a tough visit for me.  As the years pass, I've become more sentimental over the loss of my parents. Part of the process of getting older, I guess. .  

  When I became a teenager I got my own TV in my room.  A life changing experience!  My Dad had started a new job working for the Water Company as a building/office inspector. The years rolled on until I moved out in early 1987. I look back on those pre-1987 years with a different perspective now.  In the evenings and on weekends when we were both home, my Dad would often be sitting with my Mom or by himself watching TV in the living room, reading a book or a magazine.  While I stayed in my room also watching TV, reading a magazine or listening to music. I should have spent more time talking with him about his life or sports or whatever was on his mind. Sitting alone in my room, little did I know back then that my only true hero was not a musician or athlete, but was just down the hallway.  A hero in the next room.  

  It's been 15 years since my Dad died. And in March my Mom will have been gone for 9 years. In 2018 my sister died at age 59.  At 58, I find myself reflecting on the past more often. And I often wonder if that's normal or even healthy.  But those memories are too vivid to let go.  There are days that I find it hard to reconcile that I'm the last one alive from our family.  It affects me more each year. Lots of people have lost a parent or sibling.  But all of them in a short time?  

   I often dream about my parents. In those dreams we are always together.  It's there that I tell them thanks for everything they did for me and my own family. And how much I love them. Words I should have said more often when they were alive. But I'm saying it now, because I do love them.  And always will.

Extra Reading: Here's a piece I wrote last year about my Dad's very small record collection.  And how it shaped my own eclectic taste in music..