For those interested in my words to honor my father...here you go...
Two things - first please excuse me if I break down. The last three weeks have been the hardest of my life. And two, how 'bout them Hogs? I believe they pulled out a win in honor my daddy! Sorry to any Texas fans there may be in the crowd.
So, here we go.
Wade Turner - a father, a husband, a grandfather, a cousin, a son, a friend, a coach, a confidant - so many ways to describe this one man. He was certainly a lot of things to a lot of people. For me, he was everything. My super hero. We didn't say, "You're my whole world," to each other for nothing.
I'm having the hardest time believing, understanding, and accepting that he isn't here. I also can't bring myself to talk about him in the past tense. He loves me and always will is a good example of that. I also do it out of respect for the fact that a parent's love, and in this case, a father's love for his daughter, never dies.
My dad has taught me so much, and I felt it fitting to share some of his lessons with you today. First and foremost, the man taught me true, solid work ethic. If you work hard enough, you're going to be okay. Daddy worked until the last day that he could. His death is perhaps such a shock because we all saw a man who wouldn't give up or slow down for anything. There is so much from that to respect.
He also taught me how to dream big and how to use that work ethic in order to achieve it all. Case in point, I moved myself to Israel and have built a beautiful life that I wouldn't trade for anything. All with Dad's support and blessings.
Perhaps to the disappointment of my mom and others, Dad also taught me how to fight and cuss with the best of them. I'm shocked that I haven't said a curse word yet...but I guess there is still time.
I believe that Daddy's most splendid gift of all was how to love unconditionally without judgement with all of his heart. This was something that I was lucky enough to experience everyday and the value of his that I hold most dear.
There is one more thing that Daddy has left with me that I want to share. That is a strength so other worldly that I didn't know it was possible. Perhaps some of you saw on Facebook this #wadestrong. This fine gentleman (gesturing to the Methodist minister who officiated the funeral) reminded me of Daddy's strength when I was at my lowest point these past three weeks, when I thought my physical self was literally falling to pieces from the pain of losing my dad. Carter said to me, "You've got this. You're strong - Wade strong." And I guess I am.
Please take with you today a piece of my father, whether it be his compassion, his strength, his laughter (oh, that laughter!), or his ability to tell dirty jokes to any and everyone. And for Heaven's sake, share stories with me about my dad. What an individual. My daddy, the superhero, flying with the angels and painting the most magnificent skies I've ever seen. Thank you all for coming to pay respect to the best man I know.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
The World Lost a Hero...
It is with great sadness that I am writing about the passing of my dear sweet daddy, Wade Turner. The last month has been a whirlwind of emotions and events, and I'm just now finding the courage and the strength to write about it.
My dad fell ill in early to mid-December, something which we initially thought was just the flu. Then things got complicated. He had a very aggressive blood infection. His congestive heart failure flared up. He kept getting sicker and better and sicker and better. I hopped on the first flight I could and came to be with him, simply because when I told him I was coming, he said, "That's wonderful, darling," not "Don't waste your money - I'm okay." I was terrified as I made my 24 hours journey home. I rested a day in Fort Smith, my hometown, before heading to the state capitol, Little Rock, where my dad was hospitalized (thanks to the good ole VA system). I crashed on the couch/in the spare bedroom of dear, dear friends who said, "Stay as long as you need to," something which a lot of people say but not a lot of people mean. This amazing couple meant it, and so I camped out. I was with Daddy everyday, including his birthday, when he turned 69. It was the second night of Chanukah, too, and I made him and my hosts blueberry donuts, and I fed my sweet daddy vanilla ice cream. He begged for me to stay the night at the hospital, and I did. He asked me to rub his head when his breathing got worse. I tried to show him pictures and make him comfortable. I sang him happy birthday. He just couldn't get better. Very tragically, the day after his birthday, he had to be put on a breathing machine. I grabbed his shoulders and hugged him tight and looked him in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and I said, "I love you, Daddy." He said, "I love you, too." These would be his last words to his family, to me. My sister from Florida rushed in to be by my side, a blessing so big, it's impossible to comprehend. My brother flew (in a car) to my rescue, as well, and helped in indesribable ways. Six very painful days, my daddy stayed on the breathing machine. Six very painful days of trying to take him off to see if he could recover on his own. Six very painful days of saying goodbye over and over again, not knowing what the future will hold. With the strength and love of family around me (especially because of a sweet story my brother told me about my amazing almost 18 year old niece), I was able to go and tell my daddy all the last little things that had gone unsaid like, "I will be okay," and "Don't be scared," and "If you need to go, I understand." Thanks to God, for us, my dad and I didn't leave a lot unsaid. It was very clear to us and to all who know us how much we love and adore one another.
On what would lead up to the last night of Chanukah, Daddy's treatment team posed a very hard question - did we want to take Daddy off of the breathing machine. We knew that by doing so, he would not live. And we knew that those were his wishes, not to keep him alive with heroic measures. That was the most painful question I have ever answered in my life - Yes, take him off of the machine so he can go in peace. We all agreed, and the team moved him to the palliative care unit. I was petrified to go in the room, but with the loving embrace of a nurse who is literally an angel on earth, I made it by my dad's bed. They took out the breathing tube and made him so very, very comfortable. I held his hand. I kissed his forehead. And he just very gently drifted away. And that was it. Three weeks of terror, three weeks of living a nightmare that I have always dreaded was over. My daddy was at peace. I got to hold his hand. I got to tell him everything. I got to spend his last waking moments with him. I'm so lucky, even though it is hard to say that in the midst of all this pain. That angel of a nurse even shaved my father's face after he passed out of respect for him, since my mom had said that he didn't look like himself (he was always ALWAYS clean-shaven). My mom and I drove home that afternoon, and I'm convinced that Daddy painted the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, just to show me that he was with me. We got home, sad and lonely and feeling this huge empty space, and we lit the Chanukah candles for the last night, the night with the most light. And Daddy helped to enhance that light. So beautiful and so incredibly sad.
Daddy's funeral was very much along the same lines - beautiful and incredibly sad...and so very funny. An orange tabby cat that very much resembled our beloved Spike who died a year ago (and who watched over my dad as if it was his duty) came to the service, rubbed on people's legs, jumped on the bottom shelf of the table, jumped on the chair next to my mom, and allowed her to love on him. This cat's presence was so weird yet so fitting, and the funeral director said in all of his years of work, he had never seen something like it. The 188th came and presented my mom with the flag while Taps was played in the background. Seeing a soldier in full regalia get down on one knee, give the flag to my mom, and say, "I am so sorry for your loss. The United States of America thanks you for your husband's service," was one of the most beautiful displays of respect I've ever seen in my life. Then, my host from Little Rock, a Methodist minister, began the most perfect ceremony to honor my dad. We couldn't get a rabbi in time, and this guy knew and loved my dad, which made it all the more fitting. One of my best friends eulogized my dad and had everyone in tears of awe and laughter by the end. I eulogized my dad because I felt it my duty. I cried the whole time, but I did it with honor. And our Methodist minister wrapped it up with a eulogy that perfectly encompassed my dad, rough edges and all. Then, we all took turns helping to cover the grave, my mom first, me second, the rest of the family, and then friends. It was so beautiful how it all just happened, how everything just flowed. Everyone cried together, everyone laughed together, and the warm embrace of all these people who love my dad helped me to get through one of the hardest days of my life. The fact that I was surrounded by family that I hadn't connected with in years, my sister and her husband, my brother and his family, my late sister's husband, meant so much to me and lifted me up. Wow. Just wow.
And now, here I sit. Trying desperately to understand what has happened over the past three weeks. I'm with my mom for another couple of days before I have to head back to Israel and rejoin the real world. My heart is broken into pieces. But I am at peace. I have a reaffirmed bond with my family, my dad's last beautiful bit of magic that just drew us all together. I am determined to take care of my mom and grow closer to her. And I am ready to continue on with my life infused with a sense of strength that I didn't know was humanly possible. As our Methodist minister friend told me when I was at my lowest point ever, literally falling apart physically over losing my dad, "You've got this. You're strong, Wade strong." And he's right. I take that with me everywhere I go. I am even stronger now than I was before, and even though it hurts like hell right now, I know that my dad is always with me, his love will never die, and that I will always make him proud.
Sending you all my deepest thanks for all the sympathy and all the love and all the support during this terribly difficult time. It's appreciated more than you will ever know.
My dad fell ill in early to mid-December, something which we initially thought was just the flu. Then things got complicated. He had a very aggressive blood infection. His congestive heart failure flared up. He kept getting sicker and better and sicker and better. I hopped on the first flight I could and came to be with him, simply because when I told him I was coming, he said, "That's wonderful, darling," not "Don't waste your money - I'm okay." I was terrified as I made my 24 hours journey home. I rested a day in Fort Smith, my hometown, before heading to the state capitol, Little Rock, where my dad was hospitalized (thanks to the good ole VA system). I crashed on the couch/in the spare bedroom of dear, dear friends who said, "Stay as long as you need to," something which a lot of people say but not a lot of people mean. This amazing couple meant it, and so I camped out. I was with Daddy everyday, including his birthday, when he turned 69. It was the second night of Chanukah, too, and I made him and my hosts blueberry donuts, and I fed my sweet daddy vanilla ice cream. He begged for me to stay the night at the hospital, and I did. He asked me to rub his head when his breathing got worse. I tried to show him pictures and make him comfortable. I sang him happy birthday. He just couldn't get better. Very tragically, the day after his birthday, he had to be put on a breathing machine. I grabbed his shoulders and hugged him tight and looked him in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and I said, "I love you, Daddy." He said, "I love you, too." These would be his last words to his family, to me. My sister from Florida rushed in to be by my side, a blessing so big, it's impossible to comprehend. My brother flew (in a car) to my rescue, as well, and helped in indesribable ways. Six very painful days, my daddy stayed on the breathing machine. Six very painful days of trying to take him off to see if he could recover on his own. Six very painful days of saying goodbye over and over again, not knowing what the future will hold. With the strength and love of family around me (especially because of a sweet story my brother told me about my amazing almost 18 year old niece), I was able to go and tell my daddy all the last little things that had gone unsaid like, "I will be okay," and "Don't be scared," and "If you need to go, I understand." Thanks to God, for us, my dad and I didn't leave a lot unsaid. It was very clear to us and to all who know us how much we love and adore one another.
On what would lead up to the last night of Chanukah, Daddy's treatment team posed a very hard question - did we want to take Daddy off of the breathing machine. We knew that by doing so, he would not live. And we knew that those were his wishes, not to keep him alive with heroic measures. That was the most painful question I have ever answered in my life - Yes, take him off of the machine so he can go in peace. We all agreed, and the team moved him to the palliative care unit. I was petrified to go in the room, but with the loving embrace of a nurse who is literally an angel on earth, I made it by my dad's bed. They took out the breathing tube and made him so very, very comfortable. I held his hand. I kissed his forehead. And he just very gently drifted away. And that was it. Three weeks of terror, three weeks of living a nightmare that I have always dreaded was over. My daddy was at peace. I got to hold his hand. I got to tell him everything. I got to spend his last waking moments with him. I'm so lucky, even though it is hard to say that in the midst of all this pain. That angel of a nurse even shaved my father's face after he passed out of respect for him, since my mom had said that he didn't look like himself (he was always ALWAYS clean-shaven). My mom and I drove home that afternoon, and I'm convinced that Daddy painted the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, just to show me that he was with me. We got home, sad and lonely and feeling this huge empty space, and we lit the Chanukah candles for the last night, the night with the most light. And Daddy helped to enhance that light. So beautiful and so incredibly sad.
Daddy's funeral was very much along the same lines - beautiful and incredibly sad...and so very funny. An orange tabby cat that very much resembled our beloved Spike who died a year ago (and who watched over my dad as if it was his duty) came to the service, rubbed on people's legs, jumped on the bottom shelf of the table, jumped on the chair next to my mom, and allowed her to love on him. This cat's presence was so weird yet so fitting, and the funeral director said in all of his years of work, he had never seen something like it. The 188th came and presented my mom with the flag while Taps was played in the background. Seeing a soldier in full regalia get down on one knee, give the flag to my mom, and say, "I am so sorry for your loss. The United States of America thanks you for your husband's service," was one of the most beautiful displays of respect I've ever seen in my life. Then, my host from Little Rock, a Methodist minister, began the most perfect ceremony to honor my dad. We couldn't get a rabbi in time, and this guy knew and loved my dad, which made it all the more fitting. One of my best friends eulogized my dad and had everyone in tears of awe and laughter by the end. I eulogized my dad because I felt it my duty. I cried the whole time, but I did it with honor. And our Methodist minister wrapped it up with a eulogy that perfectly encompassed my dad, rough edges and all. Then, we all took turns helping to cover the grave, my mom first, me second, the rest of the family, and then friends. It was so beautiful how it all just happened, how everything just flowed. Everyone cried together, everyone laughed together, and the warm embrace of all these people who love my dad helped me to get through one of the hardest days of my life. The fact that I was surrounded by family that I hadn't connected with in years, my sister and her husband, my brother and his family, my late sister's husband, meant so much to me and lifted me up. Wow. Just wow.
And now, here I sit. Trying desperately to understand what has happened over the past three weeks. I'm with my mom for another couple of days before I have to head back to Israel and rejoin the real world. My heart is broken into pieces. But I am at peace. I have a reaffirmed bond with my family, my dad's last beautiful bit of magic that just drew us all together. I am determined to take care of my mom and grow closer to her. And I am ready to continue on with my life infused with a sense of strength that I didn't know was humanly possible. As our Methodist minister friend told me when I was at my lowest point ever, literally falling apart physically over losing my dad, "You've got this. You're strong, Wade strong." And he's right. I take that with me everywhere I go. I am even stronger now than I was before, and even though it hurts like hell right now, I know that my dad is always with me, his love will never die, and that I will always make him proud.
Sending you all my deepest thanks for all the sympathy and all the love and all the support during this terribly difficult time. It's appreciated more than you will ever know.
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