Intensive Care

"Doctor, any reason I shouldn't travel up to Boston later today to help my son with an electrical project that I promised him I would help him finish?" Bob asked, worried that the answer would probably be no.

"You mean, other than the fact that you're 84-years-old and you've been in intensive care for the past 48 hours?" the Doctor replied.

Dr. Dubin knew Bob well, and knew that there would be no stopping him from responding when one of his children needed help.  And besides, whatever level of activity Bob could handle would be better for his body than idleness.  And it would be better for his heart as well.

"You know, Bob, I think that might just be good for you right now.  But please promise me that you'll take it easy up there."

That was all my Dad, Bob Dorn, needed to hear.  He went home and packed some tools he would need, along with the portable oxygen concentrator that would aid his breathing.  With one of my older brothers doing the driving, Dad was on the road from New York to Boston within a few hours.  He was eager to finish a couple of projects he had been helping me with over the past couple of years in our antique home.

Built in 1768, our Cape-Cod style house was on the original coastal road that connected Boston and Plymouth.  Old houses are gems, but they require lots of special care.  A few years earlier, I had mentioned to Dad that I wanted to install floodlights so my son and his friends could play basketball in the driveway when winter sunsets came way too early.  Dad also knew that our uninsulated ceilings above the upstairs bedrooms made winter nights too cold and summer nights too hot.  These were things he could do something about, and Dad was a person of action.

So over a two-year period, Dad made a number of trips to visit us in Boston.  As a career electrician and job foreman, he masterfully planned how we would add to the wiring in the old house.  This was very hard to do  because of the non-standard walls from the 1700's and the tin ceilings that were added in the 1800's.  But Dad figured it out.  He was the foreman, and I his not-so-young apprentice.  We enjoyed working together, and both silently knew that these projects provided rich opportunities for us to get to know one another better and enjoy family togetherness. 

After a few early trips, new circuits were installed and ready to power new floodlights for the driveway and soon-to-be-installed ceiling fans to help make the upstairs bedrooms more comfortable.  One more trip was needed to install the fixtures and get it all working just right.  Dad always did things right.  He was a man of deep conviction -- always finishing what he started, whatever it took.  His life was one of hard work and willing sacrifices to do what he felt was the right thing.  He had voluntarily enlisted in the Navy during World War II, because he felt there were people overseas who needed help.  After the war, he and a few friends started a volunteer fire department when a few neighboring homes tragically burned down.  And as his family grew, he worked tirelessly as an electrician to provide for his eight children and to support his wife as she struggled with chronic pain and illness.

After Mom passed away, Dad retired and began a season of helping his kids and others in practical ways.  With the eight of us scattered mostly along the East Coast, Dad would make frequent trips to visit each of us to work on home repair and improvement projects.  He would always manage to find out when any of us faced electrical, plumbing, carpentry, painting, or other sorts of challenges and needs.  And this of course gave him a chance to be in each of our homes, spending time with us and our growing families.  His kindness and generosity made a lasting impression on all of us -- a sweet example to try to follow.

So it was an easy choice for Dad to drive up to Boston after being released from intensive care.  There was a project to finish.  And Dad and I were also finishing something deeper.  It had been seven years since he and I had driven cross-country together, visiting horse tracks and starting a late season of finally getting to really know one another.  This visit would indeed turn out to be his last.

Dad awakened to the smell of my wife Grace's coffee brewing.  He always said that was his favorite part of visiting us.  The smell drew him to a chair at the round table in our small kitchen, where he looked over his sketches and notes about the wiring project that would be our focus this day. 

Meanwhile, I got to work fixing us some bacon, eggs and toast.  As I cooked the eggs, I couldn't help but think of our Sunday morning tradition growing up, where Dad would boil eggs for all of us after church.  He would take orders using the pencil that always rode atop his left ear, licking the pencil tip for whatever reason before writing down each of our preferences, and then proceeding to make us whatever sort of eggs came out of the pot.  I think we all just played along, perhaps trading amongst ourselves to try to get something resembling the soft- or hard-boiled eggs we craved.  But it is the togetherness that mattered most -- a legacy of family unity first embodied in that boiled-egg tradition.

As we enjoyed that unhurried breakfast together, Dad and I talked about the project details a little, but mostly we talked about deeper things.  For the past seven years, since our 10-day cross country drive together, Dad and I had developed the ability to discuss more significant things together.  This was a big change after so many years of not really talking about anything related to emotions or struggles or joys.  So I was able to ask him if he was afraid of dying, and we talked a bit more about what we each knew and believed about God.  I also sought his advice about some decisions we had to make about some foster children we had recently taken in.  And of course, we made a list of things to get at Home Depot after breakfast. 

It was a well-balanced meal -- a sweet shared experience that we both savored.  Moments I still treasure.

Intensive care.

[scroll down for some questions to ponder and author’s reflections]