My earliest memories of my father are of him whistling down the hallway on his way home from work and him singing Old Man River. He loved that song, and he had the deep voice to pull it off. What I learned later in life was that he especially loved Paul Robeson. This afternoon I sat at my father’s bedside reading a book about Woody Guthrie, and found myself on a chapter about a concert in Peekskill New York at which Robeson had performed, and after which the artists and attendees had been ambushed by town-folk while the police looked on and allowed them to be mercilessly beaten. Robeson had two things going against him. He was an outspoken black man fighting for civil rights and he supported the Soviet Union. As I read about the “Peekskill Riots” my father’s breathing became more labored than it had been shortly before and I called the hospice nurse to ask if we should give him another dose of morphine.
When I woke up this morning, I had no idea that by 6pm I would be saying goodbye to my father. I got a call when I’d arrived at work from the staff at my father’s Board and Care home. They were concerned that they hadn’t been able to get him to open his eyes today. Yesterday, after I’d fed him breakfast, he hadn’t been able to eat or drink anything else. Shortly after their first call, the hospice nurse called and said that she thought my father was “transitioning.” I asked her what that meant, and she used the “d” word. I did a few last-minute things at work and drove over.
Nearly five years ago, shortly after my mother’s sudden and unexpected death, we discovered that my father had something seriously wrong with him. It turned out to be an atypical form of Parkinson’s known as “Lewy Body” disease. He has received incredibly wonderful care from the Veterans Administration since he was diagnosed and we moved him from Florida to here in California. Without exception, every single VA person I have worked with for these years has been fantastic. Without the VA, my father would have died a long time ago and whatever length of time he would have lived would have been much worse. For the last two years he has received nearly 100% of his health care right in his home, a blessing for him and especially for me as his primary caregiver.
Soon after I arrived at his house today, his VA nurse practitioner called to say she was coming over to see him. She hadn’t yet heard the voicemail from hospice and was just planning a routine visit. She arrived at 3:30 and when she heard the way he was breathing she told me that she thought he was feeling discomfort and should be given a next dose of morphine. After that dose, she tried to prepare me for what she felt was coming soon by telling me what his last moments would be like, and suddenly Dad opened his eyes and looked at both of us. He couldn’t talk, but I truly felt like he knew who I was. She said she wanted to leave us alone for a few minutes and left the room. I sang Shalom Aleichem to Dad, the slow version I had learned in Hebrew School, welcoming the Sabbath Angel and telling Dad I was inviting her into the room to be with us. He closed his eyes, and breathed more easily.
By around 5pm, Dad seemed comfortable and was breathing quietly and peacefully. As I had dashed out of the shop this morning I knew that I should have something to read and I grabbed a book which Drew Durham (an amazing young man who works part time for us) had loaned me about Woody Guthrie. My father had always been known as “Saint Herbie,” because he would do anything for anyone and always saw the best in people. When I got to the part in the Woody Guthrie biography about the concert with Paul Robeson I found myself in even more awe of who my father had been. Despite the vitriol that had been thrown at Robeson, my father had continued to love him and sang Old Man River Robeson style for most of my life.
When I say that my father always saw the best in people, I have to add one instance where he didn’t. My father, a Jewish-American GI who landed in France on the day WWII ended, ended up at Dachau, destroying left-over German munitions and guarding Nazi officers on trial for war crimes. He saw the worst of humanity sitting through those trials and at one point nearly killed a Nazi officer who had made a joke about the Jews he had personally tortured. Dad’s friends pulled him off the guy, who would later be executed for his crimes.
When Lewy Body invaded my father’s brain after my mother died, it did so in the form of Nazi marching bands outside his Florida apartment. Fortunately, with the proper medications, my father’s dementia no longer included any Nazis.
My father was able to see the difference between people who had committed atrocities and people like Robeson, who had spoken their minds and then got accused of being terrible people. Robeson and the Jews whom the Nazis had vilified were the same, to my father, and I am my father’s son. Thank you Dad.
After reading about the concert and riot, my father’s breathing became labored again and I put the book down and focused completely on him. Awaiting a call back from the hospice nurse, hoping that I could give him another dose of morphine to ease his discomfort, one of Dad’s eyes opened slightly and he began breathing the way his nurse practitioner said he would when he was nearing the end. I told him it was OK, that I was with him, and I held his hand tightly. He breathed less and less frequently. Then, no breath for seconds and more seconds, and I thought, it was over. His one eye was still open and I thought of all the movies I’d ever seen about people dying and knew that my job was to close his eyes. I touched his lid and suddenly he breathed again. I’m not sure if I said it out loud or just thought it, but “OK, now you’re just screwing with me” is what went through my brain. But that was the last breath. I’ve never been with someone at the moment of death. It was peaceful and strange. My father, who had done so much for so many in his life, was finally able to sleep.
One of the staff walked by the door as I started to cry, and I told him I thought my father was gone. The phone rang. It was my sister. “Dad just died.” We cried.
On July 14th we’re having a Woody Guthrie birthday singalong at our shop. I have one request for the musicians who’ll be helping us that day. Let’s sing Old Man River for Herbie, one more time.
Farewell Dad, and say hello to Mom.
Craig, thank you for sharing the gift of this story. What an incredible gift you are to your father, including this oh-so-meaningful embrace you were able to give in your attention and presence as he enters a new plane of existence. Blessings on Herbie and on you.
Dear Craig,
How sad and how beautiful. I’m glad your angel is finally at peace and that YOU can breathe a little easier now, too. I was with my Mom when she passed over–it is a moving experience. God bless all of you (you, Derrick, your mom and your dad).
Love, Lorraine
Thank you for this beautiful, redemptive description.
Craig: What a beautiful and special relationship you had! May his memory always be for a blessing, and may his soul be bound in the bonds of eternal life.
Rabbi Michael Lerner
My heartfelt condolences on your loss. You dad’s memory is a blessing.
As a VA clinician and someone who lost my mom to Lewy Body Dementia last year and grew up singing some Paul Robeson at summer camp, I was very moved by your open and articulate sharing. Thanks!
Dear Craig, my prayers are with you and all those who loved your dad so. I am amazed at your ability to so eloquently express so much about times that are beyond words. You and your stories are a gift to us all. Love, Heather
Thank you for sharing a part of your life. He is enjoying the presence of God. No more suffering for him.
A big hug for u.
Dear Craig, Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute to your father. What a gift for all of us. What a man he was; you are such a tribute to him. With love, Katie
Dear Craig,
Thanks so much for sharing these final moments with your dad. What a wonderful man he was and it helps me to understand a bit more about how you grew into the wonderful man you are. Truly, this world is a better place because he was among us.
Hugs,
Geoff
Craig,
I’m sending care and a hug your way as you continue to find ways to mourn your dad and remember all the wonderful things about him. Thank you so much for sharing this with us all.
Alana
Craig, Thanks for the story of Herbie’s final hours. The serendipity in those moments is something that always amazes me and the Drew Durham-Woody Guthrie-Paul Robeson-Herbie Wiesner connection is one of them. I hope you rest in the assurance that you were “all in” with your Dad in those final moments and he knew it.
Love,
David
P.S. I can’t believe that one of the Youtube links is to Frank Sinatra (in a tuxedo) singing Old Man River.
Dear Craig, Thank you for so candidly and eloquently sharing this story. You are truly worthy of the loving and inclusive heritage from your father. He will love on in you. Much love to you and your family, as you share memories.
wow. its hard to respond to the death of the father i never met of a beloved friend of mine.
but I know since he raised you to help you to be the man you are today that all those you have impacted were in reality impacted by your dads spirit and his love just as much.
i know he deserved the saint Herbie nickname, cause of how awesome you are.
thank you for writing this, and for the indelible ripples of your powerful spirit (a reflection of Herbie’s) in this world.
thank you. and bless you now and always.
may much peace come to you now and for always
love
the aforementioned
Drew Durham
Dear Craig
Thank you for sharing your story. It is both unique and universal and touched my soul. I especially appreciated hearing your regard for his caregivers and the VA personnel. It reminded me that when we put out love and caring in the world as you do, we are much more likely to find it coming back to us. May your father’s memory be for a blessing.
Marcia
Dear Craig, thanks for this wonderful true story. It is unbelievable to read about all that your Dad had done in his ilife. You are a loving, caring son, indeed, and my thoughts are with you.
It is hard to face a father’s death —- mine passed away on July 7, 1969, and I lit the fire to cremate his body by the side of Ganges (thus forming an exception to the 5,000 year rule of only males lighting the funeral pyre; from the later part of 20th century, they allow daughters to do this if the dead person has no son).
Best regards,
Suchitra
Dear Craig,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m praying for your father, you and your family.
Thank you for sharing so beautifully the story of your father.
Big hug,
Justyna
Dear Craig,
My heart is breaking. Herbie and I shared a life together since I was a little girl. He was the most caring and giving person I ever knew. Who else would take his little cousin everywhere he and his friends went, and never, to my knowledge, complained about dragging me around. He was a wonderful son, brother, dad, husband and cousin. I will miss him very much. Herbie was so very lucky to have you and Derrick taking care of his needs. Will you be “my favorite sea lion” now? I love you and wish you peace and happiness.
Love,
Stelli
That is a great tribute to Herbie. We had lots of fun at Far Rockaway.
Love,
Myra & Herman
Craig,
Your from-the-heart tribute has touched many who never knew Herbie, including Bill and me. We just watched Paul Robeson’s Old Man River via your link. I grew up hearing him sing that (in rural Nebraska of all places!) and it had been many, many years so the words were fresh.
Thanks for sharing your experience of your father’s final hours, I found it very moving and very loving. I had the privilege of being present as my mother departed this earthly life under similar circumstances (bless everyone who works in hospice care!), and the feeling of peace is what I remember most.
May you find comfort in the gathering tomorrow — we look forward to singing Old Man River with you then!
Much love, Kathy and Bill
Dear Craig:
I am late with my comments mostly because I was wrestling with what to say that might be of comfort to you. I am in awe of your total commitment to Herbie and your infinite love and respect of his life and his needs these past few years. In particular, all the times you came to visit him at dinnertime and he was unable to talk with you. But I’m sure that God helped him know that you were present and your love was infinite.
Peace be with you and blessings to you and your family.
Hugs,
Natalie
Dear Craig.
you don’t know me. Back in the day I was stelli’s best friend.
I knew your dad through her. Boy did she love him. We went to see him and your mom
and giggled a lot because we both thought Herbie was sooo handsome.
I’m sure you have wonderful memories of a wonderful man and father.
sincerely, Anita
Beautiful comments affirming the spirit of life without the dark shadows of negative comments one finds so ubiquitously on the web. At last, a completely human website. A tribute to a beautiful life, a good passing and the positive humanity of those who commented.
The outpouring of love and support has been wonderful. Thank you to everyone.