This poem by Jancarl Campi says a lot about my dad, Albert Truesdale, and all that he overcame during the course of his life.
One day you will see that it all has finally come together. What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself, "How did I get through all of that?" Just never let go of hope. Just never quit dreaming. And never let love depart from your life.
When dad turned 81 a few years ago, I asked him what it felt like. His reply was that he never thought he’d make it to 80, so it felt great! There must have been so many times in his life when he asked himself: “How did I get through all of that?”
Who was Albert Truesdale? He was a son, a brother, a husband, a friend, a father, and a grandfather. But, most of all, he was a fighter. He overcame so many challenges in life. And, he had a hard time giving up ~ even at the very end.
Dad was born on June 23, 1928, to William Truesdale and Mary McKibbon, who had six children. Dad was the fourth: Bill, Mary, Rusty, Dad, and then Frank, and Jim. It was the year before the Great Depression and, as we all know, times were really tough.
When he was five, dad was diagnosed with polio; his parents could not afford any medical care for him. As a result of the polio, he grew up with no muscle on one side of his body, which impacted him throughout his life.
One of the smartest people I knew, dad did not make it to college. His ability to do math problems in his head was remarkable and he often wished that he had become a math teacher. He would have been a great one. Instead, when he graduated from high school, he went to work as an offset printer. He had helped my grandfather run a printing business in the basement of our house; it was something he knew. A few of us remember what it was like to take the train downtown with him on a Saturday and spend the day with him at work. From loading the paper into his four-color printing machine (which seemed to be 50′ long!) to using a magnifying glass to make sure the colors lined up, it was demanding work. I remember him scrubbing ink off his hands every night when he got home.
When he was 25, he took my mother to her senior prom. (Yes, he robbed the cradle!) He bought his first bouquet, made of yellow roses, went home and put it in the freezer, and presented it to her when he picked her up. It was beautiful … at least until later that evening, when the roses defrosted and turned brown. They always joked with each other about that bouquet. My mom honored that fond memory with the yellow roses that surround him today.
My parents married almost 59 years ago. My mom’s parents did not want them to get married; they did anyway. Over the years, her parents came to accept and love him. And he became one of my grandmother’s biggest fans.
That same summer, dad and his father and brothers built a cottage that, to this day, overhangs the Kalamazoo River in Saugatuck, Michigan. You may have seen some of the pictures of the cottage as it was being built, some of grandma and grandpa, and a few of dad with his brothers and their families at the beach. That cottage served its purpose; it kept our extended family close.
My mom and dad had seven children. As the oldest, I am followed by John, Mike, Rich, Ed, Alice, and Ann. Before the girls were born, we lived in a small two-bedroom apartment in the attic above my dad’s parents’ bungalow on Morgan Street. (They must have been saints to tolerate us.) While she was alive, dad was very devoted to his mother. He had an especially hard time leaving her when our growing family moved to Evergreen Park.
As a parent himself, one of his most frightening moments was when the hospital called to say that they had lost one of his children. Little Ed was there with pneumonia and had been missing for an hour by the time they called. My mom and dad headed to the hospital, split up, and then found him down a hallway under a bed playing with some blocks.
After coaching Little League summer after summer and freezing our backyard every winter so we could play hockey, dad finally retired in 1994 at age 65. Fishing and golfing were how he planned to spend his time. We all remember those mornings at the cottage when dad would wake one or more of us well before dawn to go fishing. He also loved to golf and took his game very seriously. Every year, before we left for Saugatuck, he would hit practice balls in the yard. If he was shanking (or slicing ~ forgive me for not knowing the difference), we’d worry that we’d have to stay home that year. But, we always did go.
About a month after he retired, dad had a stroke, which required surgery. His doctors never did figure out how his brain, now getting blood from only one side of his neck, compensated. A medical miracle ~ our dad. Of course, the stroke affected the other side of his body ~ the side not affected by the polio. So, when the physical therapists would tell him to compensate by using his “good” side, he’d reply that he no longer had a good side. Nevertheless, he worked hard to recover.
He never did get to golf in retirement, but he did get to enjoy being a grandfather. He was loved by his eighteen grandchildren – Andy, Jessie, and Kevin; Jeff and Tim, Matt, Steve, and Alex; Nicole and Scott; Emily, Katie, and Megan; Jake, Josh, and Maddie; and Raiden, Olivia, and Ryan. He was so happy to dance at Matt’s wedding to Jennifer. And, he was looking forward to welcoming Brian to our family this September. He taught them to fish, to root for the Cubs, and to never give up.
About five years ago, dad ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. The nurses told us that he would not recover. His doctor told us that, if he did, my dad would need a feeding tube. She worried about his quality of life. Well, he pulled through, shrugged off any thought of a feeding tube, and, although he learned to tuck his chin, he never did learn to eat more slowly.
Two years ago, dad learned that he had bladder cancer. A few weeks ago, he went for his last checkup. Finally, a medical condition that he could beat! I think we all got the same phone call that day. He was so happy!
Last summer, dad had to start using a wheel chair and oxygen, entered hospice, and it became more and more difficult for my mom to care for him. Luckily, Bill, a medical doctor from Mongolia in the U.S. to study for his medical boards, moved into my parents’ house. Bill took such wonderful care of dad.
Last year, I started taking dad to the movies to give my mom a bit of a break. After a few months, I mentioned that I thought my mom might be getting jealous. He looked at me like I was crazy; he had figured this out weeks ago. He told me that, when we got home and she asked how the movie was, he would say “Eh, it was ok.” That day, we saw True Grit. He loved it. When we got home, my mom asked how the move was. He said, “Eh, it was ok.” It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
After my mom’s birthday dinner a few weeks ago, he spent quite a bit of time opening a box of Valentine’s Day Turtles. As he picked one out of the box, my mom told him to take a small bite. Instead, much to her dismay, he popped the entire thing in his mouth. A boyish grin spread across his face as he spent the next 20 minutes chewing it. Getting him to eat more slowly was a fight we never did win. Dad always did things his own way.
On Monday, we asked him whether he wanted to move into an in-patient hospice unit. He told us, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted to stay home.
Tuesday night, his breathing slowed down and then finally stopped. After a minute or so, I tried to remove his oxygen mask and my mom stopped me. She knew him so well; he was her fighter. Sure enough, he started breathing again. He breathed for a while and then stopped. Again, about a minute went by. Just when we knew he was gone, he started breathing yet again. This must have gone on four or five times. By then, we knew we had the Energizer Bunny on our hands. He just never stopped surprising us. And he had a hard time giving up. But, reflecting on all he went through, I now understand why.
I thought I knew my dad so well. It wasn’t until I talked to relatives and wrote this that I really got to know him. Dad lived and died on his own terms. He overcame the obstacles that he faced. He found ways around the hurdles. I know that I speak for my brothers and sisters when I say that we looked up to, respected, admired, and loved him dearly.
StartledAwake 