My Father, The Anti Hero, part 3

After the trip to Arizona, things seemed to slow down for my dad.  He didn’t seem to care as much.  His shop would lay dormant for days, sometimes weeks. Business was at a stand still. He never made any money from his business anyway.   But it was the center of his life, his……..purpose.  He had what I like to call an “organized mess of a shop.”  Everything was sort of out-of-place in my eyes.  His desk had about 1000 post a notes on it, but he knew what they all were, and they all had their place.   The workspace got messier and more cluttered.  I guess at the time I never realized how much the shop went downhill after that.  He had always been so meticulous, organized, clean.   For years I never understood my dad’s obsession with organization and cleanliness.   It was constant mockery for me. Dad was always teasing me about my windshield.  I’ll never forget it.  If I were sitting in the drivers seat of my car, my dad would come up to the windshield and say “hey! Jeremy! can you see me from in there? hee hee.”  I always thought it was funny, but deep inside it was important to my dad.  Dad always had really nice cars: Caddie’s, Lincolns, Mercs, but by the year 2003 it was Impala.  You know, one of those big black giant sleds.  It was beautiful and he loved it. He took really good care of it and, yes, the windshield was spotless.  The days became numbered at the shop.  My father was growing older and by this time his neglect of diabetes was finally settling in.   Dad had been a diabetic for years.  Like I said he was a large man, and never seemed to pay much attention to his health.  So many years of alcohol, drugs, and just plain abuse on his body.  My dad had become an insulin dependent diabetic.   Taking shots of insulin daily was no good.  My mom is also a diabetic, but she became diabetic because of a staph infection she got on her arm.  It poisoned her pancreas, and her pancreas pretty much shut off. Some people are dealt the worst cards. My mom never deserved that hassle in life.

Right about the time Dads shop was losing steam, I had started playing with a bunch of guys around town. An indie band of some sort I guess.  We were fairly cheesy but none the less a good band.  Dad was really excited for this band,  he was trying to do everything he could to help.  We practiced a few times at his shop, only to play for a few minutes before the law arrived.  Cops are so bored:) He called me one day to tell me he had found me a place where maybe I could practice.  He said he had a friend that owned a big industrial type building near the shop.  So one summer afternoon my father and I tore out for this place.  It was down one of the weirdest roads I had been down.  You know the roads Im talking about, the really long roads leading into the deep unknown of your town or city that usually a concrete business or the dump would be on?  Well that was this road.  We finally got to the end of this road and wouldnt you know it, it was a concrete plant and metal recycling plant.  I remember telling dad that this was weird and he assured me that his friend was legit.  So we met up with his friend and Dad was right, this guy had a great offer for me.  It was a huge two room loft type space.  It had two sets of double doors and actually was really nice on the inside and it had a bathroom and shower.  I was really pumped for this situation.  He told me it was only 400$ a month, for everything.  Dad said, “We will take it!”  The place needed to be fixed up, so I swept it up and my friend Spencer, whose dad owns a flooring business, gave me all of his previous years samples. I made a multi-colored flooring that looked divine.  I was really proud of it, and so was my dad.   I know he felt so satisfied to have done something for me that made me so happy.  This new place facilitated a new beginning for me – an around the clock practice/recording space.  At this point I wasnt much of a recording engineer, but I genuinely  loved the idea of it.   I eventually would move a bed out there and basically make it my apartment.  It was a great place. We would have parties, jam sessions,  movie nights or just recording.  I named it “the factory.”  It seemed only fitting to be named that considering I was actually surrounded by a factory.  This building would represent where I would do my first real recordings.  Little did I know at that point, it would turn into my career.  So the band continued on and we started wanting to play out-of-town shows. Of course I spoke with my father about this matter.  He was, of course, the best hook up known to man for finding a good car or truck.  I told him what I needed and his neighbor at the shop just happened to have an older conversion van.  So Dad went over there and talked to him about it.  His neighbor traded me straight up for my truck.  In some ways I was so excited, but in others my heart was broken.  I loved my truck.  It was a gift to me from my family for when I went to college.  It was hard to let go of it, but I knew this had to be the right thing to do at this point.   This van was really tricked out.  It had 6 captains chairs and bench/bed.  It had tv/vcr, and get this……strobe lights.  Super weird.  After the trade I came to learn that this van actually use to belong to a man my dad went to high school with.  It was weird because that guy now owned a strip club and had for years.  The van immediately felt, I dunno,   ummmmmm kind of dirty.  But it didn’t matter, we had our van.  We started playing some out-of-town shows, and having a great time.  We played one show in Montevallo at an old pizza place.  I don’t recall the name but it was fairly known for having great shows.  Some friends of mine had gone to see the Get Up kids and Jimmy Eat World there. “Must be legit” I thought.  This show turned out to be a landmark show for us.  There were two bands, Liars Academy, and Brandston.  We played well and the other bands seemed to enjoy.  Little did we know that Liars Academy would take our cd to a big time producer they knew and he would end up calling us.  Long story short,  this was our ticket to Atlantic Records.  I remember calling my father and telling him what was going on with Atlantic.  He was surprised and hesitant.  My father was such a skeptic.  He would say,”Who is this guy?  What does he know about anything? Is he screwing you already? You know son, the Beatles got screwed!”  I would always laugh it off, when in reality I should have taken his advice.   He would always encourage me to  be myself and never let anyone have more control than me.  He was a marvelous bossman, I guess thats why in the past he did so well owning and running a business.  I would always relay different things this label would talk to me about, and most of the time he would get defensive for me.  I honestly wish I had listened to my father more.   As the band progressed on, there was a lot of weird pressure.   Our sound, our art, our weight?   I was a big guy, college football player to be exact, and I was told I couldnt be a star if I was a big guy. A hard pill to swallow, but I went on and lost 110 lbs.  I looked and felt great. Dad was always telling me I looked sick.   I just think it was the shock of seeing his son so thin.   We toured for years, day in and day out, constant touring.  Our album came out in august of 2004.  It flopped.   It was destined for failure.  We were a product of something not of ourselves.  I had no clue who I was.  In so many ways I forgot where I came from and that I was just a good ol boy born of two southern parents.

Throughout touring I would call my parents consistently, always checking in.  I started to notice my dads deterioration.  His diabetes had finally started to eat at him.  But this didnt seem to matter to him.  He still ate a basket of peaches a day, and a flat of scuppernongs a week.  He was visiting the doctor more frequently, and he had started dialysis.  I honestly never realized the magnitude of it all.  I know a lot of attention was on my grandmother, who lived next door to my dad.  I was not close to her but my father loved her so much. She was suffering from Alzheimer’s.  When I was home from tour I would go visit them.  It was hard for me, my grandmother hated the boys when we were all growing up.  I always felt like she was taking crap out on me because of how my father acted all those years growing up.   This was surreal for me, seeing her in this state.  She was such a hard woman for so many years, and now, she was acting like nothing more than a child.  She would always say to me, Julius(my grandfather) im tired?  This broke my heart,  I did not know what to say.  I cant imagine not realizing who someone is or was.  My grandfather was a hard man, and they never seemed to like each other.  Alzheimer’s baffles me, it always seems to take someone back to when they were happiest.  I’m probably wrong about that, but it always seemed that way.  I knew my grandmother had a hard life and to know that she was happy made us happy.  About two years into touring we had settled in la for a bit to try and make some headway.  What a joke!  A pointless time in my life.  LA is not for me.   My band was at the end of its life.  We were so miserable.  touring was making us hate each other.  By this time we had no clue who we were.  We didnt know at the beginning of the tour and we had no better clue by the end of it.  We decided to end the band one summer on the side of a hill in Burbank.  It was the right decision.  We were headed no where fast, and the abundance of bands and so called musicians popping up were making us sick.  In some ways we were giving the world a break. Who needs another run of the mill band playing run of the mill songs.   Two of the members stayed out. and the rest of us headed home.  At the time I lived in St. Augustine Fl and nice town with too many cool people.  I remember the feeling of relief when I returned.  Almost as soon as I got home I got a call from my sister, she was crying.  She could barely speak.  ”Grandmother has died” she said.  I didn’t  know how to respond, like I said we had never been close.   I guess I had no clue how sick she really was, I had visited her in the hospital on my way home from California.  She looked really tired and fed up with this world.  I had a feeling it would be the last time I would see her.  I think she went peacefully, she deserved too.  The same week my grandmother died, my father had been hospitalized.  He had a weak heart.  I remember traveling up to his room not having any clue what I was going to say to him.  His mother had just died.  What do I say? What do I do? This is the most real I’ve ever felt.  My father was like a child.  He loved his mother with all of his heart. No matter how much bad he had done, and no matter how much he had lost of hers.  You can never take away that bond of mother and child.  I walked into his room on the 4th floor of the hospital.  I knew almost immediately that the roles had changed.  I had to be the strong one for my father who was now,  so weak and mourning his mother.  I hugged him but there was no comfort my hug could provide.  I had never seen my father cry, that night we cried together.  He kept saying, I miss my momma.  I cant even describe what this does to a son.  There is nothing I can do.  There is no way to bring her back so that he can once again feel that comfort of his mothers touch.  She was gone forever and I dont know if my dad was ready to face that.   He kept trying to muster up the strength to talk about it, but he himself was battling a severe heath condition.  The dialasis was wearing thin on him.  It had put so much strain on his heart that he was blue.  He needed a pace maker and was scheduled to get one in the coming weeks.  My grandmother funeral was scheduled for two days from then.  I remember the day off my dad called me and said come break me out.  I guess if he left the hospital all hell would break loose.  But he didnt care and neither did I.  This is his mother and he had to pay his respects.  I got him his close and stole a wheelchair from down the hall and put my father into it.  I got him down to the car and he started to cry, the realization that his mother died was coming in spurts.  I was so hard to see the strongest man I’ve ever known so weak, and broken down emotionally.  I’ve never had more respect for my father than that moment.  He himself was dealing with the hardest thing life could offer, death.  I got him to his house so he could change into something nicer.  This moment would forever become one of the hardest moments of my life.  My father was too weak to shower, change, brush his teeth, nothing.  I gathered up all my courage and helped him into the shower.  I shaved my father and helped him bath.  I brushed his teeth and combed his hair.  I helped him put on his pants one leg at a time. I tied his tie, and finally put on his coat.  I can imagine the humiliation my dad was experiencing.  He was having to have his son do everything for him.  This was so hard, I guess I never realized how sick he really was.  I got him back in the wheel chair and took him out to car and we raced to the funeral.  We made it there early, and my dad wanted to be wheeled right down front.  I asked everyone to leave the room since my father had not had time with her or a visitation.  He asked for me to push him forward so he could see her.  I did this and did all I could to hold back the tears.  I sat behind my dad and watched him suffer, suffer like I’ve never seem someone suffer before. He asked me to wheel him back so I did.  He would cry the whole service. After the service I took him back to the hospital, I know by now he must be weak.  I stayed with my dad for many hours until his wife and the rest of my family came up to see him.  We all sat with him and laughed and did whatever we could to take his mind of the funeral.  I think we really helped him.  A lot of friends came to the hospital to see him.  It was nice to see him so appreciated.  I stayed at home for about a week and finally asked dad if it was cool If I headed back home.  I had not been home in a long time.  He seemed to be getting better so he didn”t mind at all.   A couple of weeks went by and he and I would talk on the phone and he seemed to be doing ok.  I knew he was sick but never knew how sick.  My mom would give me updates and say she didnt think he was doing to well.  But for some reason I kept my distant.  A decision that would forever plague me.  About two and half weeks after I left I got a call from my step mom.  She said “Jeremy, I think you should come back.”   I asked her well how is dad?  She said, ” he seems peaceful.”  At that moment I knew what had happened.  He had given up.  She said during the pace maker operation that he had a massive heart attack.  He was now brain dead.  I was in shock and in some ways I think I had formed a defense from my grandmothers death.  But everything exploded right in my face.   I had missed the last two years of my fathers life for a band,  I had come home after his mother died, I felt as If  I had failed him in every way imaginable.  What do I do? Do I cry? Do I throw up? Do I break things?  I had no clue what to do.  I immediately called my closet friends and of course they gave me there best wishes.  But at that moment nothing seems right, or fare.  I felt cheated by god, and this so called life.  The person I was dating at the time flew in from new york and I picked her up at the airport.  I had nothing to say. Nothing I could say.   We started towards my home so I could attend the funeral. I remember during this drive it all started to settle in.  All I wanted to do was call him. But if I called his number, no one would answer.  No one was on the other end.  No father was on the other end to hear my problems and tell me how to fix it.  Nobody was there to tell me how to beat the situation.  I feel like this was the first time ever in my life I was helpless.   I arrived in Pensacola at the hospital where my father was kept alive by machines.  I remember my step mother saying “would you like to see him?”  I said of course.  I walked back trying to not look at everyone’s faces, it seemed so pointless at this time.  I walked in my fathers room only to a my father body being pumped up and down by machines.  He already looked dead to me.  The blank look on his face. The color of his skin.  My step mother said Ill let you be alone with him.  As soon as she closed the curtains behind her, I broke down.  I couldnt stop crying.  I sat next to him and stared for a while.  I decided that this was my time to tell him anything I needed to tell him.   So I said,”Dad, I hope you know how much I love you, and that I hope I have become a strong man like you. And Dad dont worry about everyone, Ill do what I can to take care of them.”  I said more but I honestly dont remember what I said.  I think they were words for just him and I.  I starting walking back out to the waiting room when I saw my mom in the hallway.  I broke down again, It was so hard to see her here also.   I wanted to be a strong man for my mother.  But sometimes you cant be what you hoped you would.  You just have to let it be.  Me, my two sisters, my mom and my step mom all gathered in a private room to talk about what to do.  The machines were keeping my Dad alive and we just didnt think that was right.  We all decided that the best thing to do would be to pull the plug.  As we walked back to his room, everything seemed to be in slow motion.  There was no noise.  No beeping of monitors, no announcement on the hospital loud speaker.  I was blind and deaf to the world.  We walked into the room, all of us.  This was it.  The nurse explained the situation and said it would take about 20 minutes.  She unplugged him…… it took a moment and finally his body started to suffer.  We all immediately broke down crying.  I had never felt so helpless.  I watched all the most important people in this mans life all come forward to tell him what he meant to them and how much they will miss him.  His wife, my mother ,my sisters.  I was next to him the whole time.  So before he drew his last breaths I leaned down and said ” Dad, I love you more than you will ever know.  You are the greatest father I could have ever asked for.” I meant this with all of my heart.  With all of my being.  I started singing the song “don’t” by elvis.  It was my fathers favorite song.  I sang it the best I could intermitted with tears.  A moment before he stopped  breathing all together he turned to me as I sang.  I know he was brain dead.  But for one last time.  He could hear me.  He was proud of us.  We loved him, and we will always love him.  My Dad died at 10:48 May 1st.  We sat with him for a bit after he died.  He immediately turned colors and it immediately set in.  He was gone.  A moment I could never forget and wouldn’t trade for anything.  The worst thing I could have done was not be there with him when he died.

The Funeral was a sad celebration.  A lot of people came out to see him.  Many friends and believe it or not many enemies.  It was nice to see so many people there to pay tribute to my father, my anti hero for so long.  But after so many trials and so many years.  He has become one of my heros.  No matter how much wrong he did, there was no denying that he was my father.  I will always cherish the time I spent with him.  In this world you only have one mother, and one father.  My mother is the greatest woman who has ever lived for me, and now after all these years and after seeing my father pass, I can honestly say, my father was the greatest man who has ever lived for me.  I will never forget him…. and what he taught me.  Thankyou….

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