The movie, Big Fish, caught my attention while looking for a DVD to watch. We’ve watched this one several times, so I’ll skip to the part that relates to my thoughts today.
Near the end of the movie, where the son arrived at
the hospital, finding his father was near death after he’d suffered a serious
stroke. The young man volunteered to sit by his bed all night and gave
his mother a chance to go home.
If you’re familiar with the movie; his father woke up
momentarily and sat up wild eyed saying something that sounds like, “the river”.
His son reached as if to hit the Call
Nurse button but instead waited to find out his father’s request.
“Tell me how it ends”.
The young man wasn’t prepared with a response because his father never
told him what he’d seen in the old witch’s eye so many years earlier, a
prophecy of how he was going to die.
The son, being familiar with the many fantastic yarns
his father had shared, began to carefully create the vision his father never
told him about, pausing as details sprang to mind in such a way as to fit with
other stories his father conjured up throughout his life; all having to do with
the river.
According to his son’s interpretation his father was
no longer constrained by oxygen tubes, able to move about and pointed to a
wheelchair and stressed the need to escape from the hospital in order to return
to the river…
Interestingly, I found tears streaming down my cheeks,
an uncontrollable transference of emotions as thoughts of my own father came
crashing down on my consciousness.
One of the earliest memories of my father is linked
with a trip to Jones Beach out on Long Island, New York. We’d gone to the
huge Olympic pool and dad was standing in the water making sure I didn’t drown;
but the memory had to do with how much hair covered his chest and back, more
like a friendly bear than a human to my young eyes.
Dad’s physical strength and mental awareness were
cause for concern as Alzheimer’s robbed the best of him. When mom died dad
was in the hospital and they were reluctant to tell him that his wife of 67
years had passed away, leaving that task to me when I arrived a couple of days
later. Dad was really upset, thinking
she was avoiding him when she didn’t show up with his newspaper each
morning.
Dealing with these feelings, the movie progressed; but
I was already lost in my own thoughts.
I can’t turn the clock back. My father passed away
about eight years ago, complications from old age and a used-up body.
For a few moments I can visit an earlier time, like
when I first saw him playing ball with other young fathers on a field of
dreams, a battered old First Baseman’s ball glove on his hand. From then
on I wanted a First Baseman’s glove, to be just like dad.
One chilly winter day, my father attempted to get me
off to meet the school bus and noticed I had no jacket. He grabbed a
brown jacket belonging to my brother; but my jacket was blue, certainly dad
should have known my jacket was blue, so I refused to wear the brown one.
Getting chased around the house was going to make me miss the bus so I ran out
the door before dad could catch me; I wasn’t wearing that brown jacket and he
couldn’t make me.
Many years later I recall sitting down for lunch at
Sharpstown Mall with dad and some of his friends from work to tell him I’d
joined the Houston Police Department; now that was a day to remember. Dad
wanted me to be an accountant; he’d paid for the first two years of college and
was totally blindsided by my decision. It was the first, perhaps the only
time dad was unable to speak a word.
These thoughts and a thousand more rushed through my
mind as the movie played on. The young man carried his father, placing him
in the magically restored factory new Charger’s passenger seat for a crazy
drive to the river as everyone waved goodbye, the river where it all started,
the river where it all must end.
So, this is how it is and as it should be…
Not too long before my father died, as his mind
wandered into dementia more and more, I grew concerned that my father hadn’t
shared his last wishes with me. He’d
mentioned that he wanted to be cremated but hadn’t indicated where he wanted
his ashes to be spread.
That’s an awkward topic to bring up. I asked him
straight out and watched his reaction, his shoulders rising in unison to match
his eyebrows indicating he hadn’t really considered the thought.
“How about Lucy and I sneak your ashes out to
Northgate Golf Course in the middle of the night and scatter your ashes there?”
My dad’s eyes showed signs of excitement as he became part of an event we could
get in trouble over. “Now, you realize…” I paused and then continued, “…we’ll
have to scatter you in the rough since you hardly ever landed on the
fairway.” Dad actually smiled and
enjoyed my making fun of his golfing abilities.
“I have a better idea.
We could scatter your ashes on the river in that same spot we placed
mom’s ashes.” Dad may have been aware of
the special location on the river mom had picked, a secluded place among the
Mangroves in a recess tucked away from the main portion of the river.
Dad took a deep breath, picturing in his mind the
exact location. I watched a few tears
trickle down his cheek. Yes, that would
be a better place, there, on the river.
So, this is how it is and as it should be…
And he shall turn the
heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their
fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse. Malachi
4:6
In the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen
