“All relationships in life end (physically) in
death sooner or later. The only choice we have is to live our life out as fully
as we can, which includes loving another human being while we still can.” Yukio
Ishizuka, MD, Founder of Lifetrack (www.lifetrack.com)
When last you heard from me I was promising pictures from my
Dad’s 90th birthday party, which took place June 25 in my hometown
of Ft. Wayne, IN. (See photo section below.) The party was a huge success. 80
people attended, including friends and family from all over the country. The
party had been planned by my Dad’s loving wife Shirley for months in advance
and was by no means a surprise. What happened a little more than a week later
was.
That is when I received a call from my Dad (in the hospital)
telling me that he had suffered a heart attack. There was an operation planned
for the following day. I had just
recently returned back to LA from IN and then NY when I received that call and I
had exactly 45 minutes to pack my bags and grab the only flight out that would
get me to his hospital room by end of day.
The next 10 days are simultaneously a total blur and at the
same time vivid imprints in my memory. The bottom line is that my Dad passed away on July 20.
That ‘s why I‘ve been missing in action for so long. I would
apologize but I think that those of you what have travelled this road know that
it has fits and starts and unforeseen stops. This road cannot be trusted to get
one from Point A to Point B with any respect for “normal” time.
Dad underwent a “successful “ surgery and implantation of
two stents. He was released from the hospital for a day, only to have
complications and return to the hospital.
His wife Shirley, my brother Greg, my sister Shelby, his
stepdaughter Lisa and I were with him constantly after the hospital return. We
were there to support him through a recovery that would enable him to have
another operation to fix the newly surfaced heart problems. I slept in a chair
bedside and stayed with him day and night, taking a break only once to take a
shower and change clothes.
I had promised Dad that I would be there with him if
anything happened. And I was.
There is so much more to this story than I am able to relate
now.
Dad was given a burial with full military honors on July 25. I have always been proud of him, but perhaps never more so than on that day. The burial was at Scipio Cemetery in
Harlan, IN, the small town outside of Ft. Wayne that he grew up in and where
his father was the beloved town veterinarian. He is buried next to his sister
Jean’s memorial (a USO performer,
she and her husband disappeared in a plane crash during WWII) as well as next
to his son Billy’s memorial and that of his mother, father, grandparents and
his family going even further back in time.
Donations in his honor continue to come in and a memorial to him is being created at the Hoosier Warbirds Aviation Museum in Auburn, IN. A humble guy, he would be both surprised and honored by this.
Here is what I, the family's firstborn, had to say at his memorial service:
A
page in our book of memories,
Is gently turned today.
Everyone
in this room is here for one simple reason: Because they loved my Dad, Bill
Blackburn. And why would they not?
William
Leroy Blackburn was a perfect storm of lovability: good looking, smart, tall and
athletic. He was a country boy who grew up to serve his country in the
military, travel the world, play more than a few poker games really well, and raise
four children (three of whom are here today and one who is undoubtedly with him
watching us right now).
He
was blessed with a razor sharp mind and a rapier wit. When he allowed his
impish, youthful, cat- that- swallowed- the- canary grin to surface—and it did
a lot these past few weeks- it made him appear even decades younger than he
already did. With one quick smile
and a light in his laughing eyes, he could go from military man demeanor to little
boy with a secret.
Let’s
talk about that. My Dad, even as he advanced in years, had none of that “old
guy” energy or looks. He loved to be stylish, with it, a bit edgy, even. Even
during these last two weeks, in and out of Lutheran Hospital, the recurring
comment from nurses, doctors and staff was, “I’m looking at your chart and it
says you’re 90. That can’t be right.”
He
fit in anywhere, whether it be a movie set with me on a remote hilltop in the
80’s in South Korea, to his country clubs both here and out west, to celebrity
events in Hollywood, to hunkering up for some good grub at Coney Island or
Powers.
I
could go on and on about so many wonderful memories from the past. But the real
hallmark of any man is who he is when the chips are down. Or, as Dad would say
of people in these past weeks who stood by him and showed their love and
concern, they show their TRUE COLORS.
My
sister said at one point last week, “This is like watching a heroic movie with
Gregory Peck starring in it. Dad is being amazing.” And he was.
If we
adored this man before the events that began almost exactly two weeks ago to
the day, we now REVERE him. He had not ONE negative, complaining moment. He
cracked jokes when he was almost certainly at least a little frightened and
unsure of what the next moment would bring. Even though he told me last week,
“I’m not afraid of dying.”
He
THANKED the nurses who came to give him shots here, there, everywhere, even in
the stomach. “We’ve NEVER had someone thank us for giving them a shot,” they
told us.
He
made many of those sly wisecracks for which he is famous---he sang songs and
reminisced. He handed out Lucky Bucks like a lottery winner gone mad. He
remembered the name of each and every nurse- and there were many—and called
them by name when they entered his room.
He
was concerned that he was “wasting our time” and keeping us from more important
matters---and of course we assured him that there was nothing more important
then being with him at this time.
He
trimmed his moustache, shaved and showered when lesser men would have been
moping, whining and feeling sorry for themselves.
Who
goes to a rock and roll concert the night of the day they are release from the
hospital after suffering a heart attack? My Dad did. Layla’s band,
serendipitously, was playing in Fort Wayne and there was no disabusing him of
the notion of playing rock and roll fan for his beloved Granddaughter.
So
let’s talk about that serendipity: Somehow, Dad managed to have that great 90thbirthday party June 25 with all of his friends and family in attendance to
celebrate, managed to see his granddaughter perform for the first and as it
turns out last time right in his hometown, and then managed to have all of his
children-who live at distant ends of the country- holding his hand, side by
side with his beloved wife Shirley, telling him they loved him as he made his
transition. Serendipity? Or the final master plan of a guy who was nothing if
not organized, deliberate, and in control of any situation.
We
all learned so much about who William Blackburn REALLY was through this
experience. He showed his true colors: he was a hero, he was an incredibly
brave man, he was a sweet and loving man. As his doctor said toward the end: “I
fell in love with this guy.” Welcome to the club, my friend.
Oh, please
don't feel guilty
It was just
my time to go.
I see you
are still feeling sad,
And the
tears just seem to flow.
I don't want
you to keep crying
You are
shedding so many tears.
I haven't
really left you
Even though
it may seem so.
I have just
gone to my heavenly home,
And I'm
closer to you than you know.
Just believe
that when you say
my name, I'm
standing next to you,
I know you
long to see me,
But there's
nothing I can do.
But I'll
still send you messages
And hope you
understand,
That when
your time comes to
“cross
over,” I'll be there
to take your
hand.
When Greg
and Shelby and I went to get some lunch after a meeting with Lisa and Shirley to
plan Dad’s service the day after he passed, the cashier rang up our food and
turned to us. “That’s 19.21,” she said. Our Dad was born on June 24, 1921. She
said, “I don’t know why, but I just got chills.” So did we. Thanks, Dad.
Final
quote from an unknown author:
There
is a link death cannot sever,
Love
and remembrance last forever.