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Rest in Peace, Philip Charles Gabriel
Three weeks ago, my dad talked to me for the last time. Three days ago, he died.
During those final weeks, any words surprised me. He was diagnosed with dementia eight years ago, four years after that with Alzheimer’s disease, and hasn’t been able to converse for several months. Every visit, he was a bit quieter, a lot thinner; a little less like Dad.
But he could still manage that sweet smile I remembered from my youngest days. Dad was gentle, peaceful, and seemed happy for visits, even when he didn’t know who we were. My brother, sister, and I would sit around dad’s couch or bed; he was content to eavesdrop on our conversations, occasionally revealing sparks of recognition.
He played guitar in his younger years, preferring outlaw country; Cash and Willie and Waylon. In the ‘60s, Dad would hang out at Waylon’s club on the outskirts of Phoenix before the singer hit it big. We’d play Dad some of his favorites on our smartphones and watch his face brighten. When words fail, music remains.
Dad was also one of the funniest people I knew. Never pie-in-the-face clowning, but subtle. Think Bob Newhart, his favorite comedian. The long pause, the slight reaction, the unexpected reply that broke up the room. Evening after evening, we’d watch Newhart or “The Odd Couple” reruns, as long as a Western wasn’t on the other channel.
There’s no way to sum up a life. His little lessons on hard work, faith, and honesty, and his living example of each. The fishing trips where he seemed almost annoyed when a bite would disturb the moment.
His memories were fading before he was diagnosed. As his mind receded, he would recount stories from his younger years. Stories I’d never heard that were buried until more recent memories evaporated. Ice fishing from his car on the frozen lakes of northern Michigan. Emergency-landing a homemade plane with his college buddy when they ran out of gas midflight. Tales about my boat-building grandfather who died when Dad was just 12.
My Dad’s last words were the same ones he said whenever we talked. Each time he dropped me off at school, talked on the phone after my latest Navy deployment, or shared our monthly lunches and brunches, he always made sure to end it with, “I love you.”
I love you too, Dad.
Published in General
Gentle rest, Philip Gabriel.
My condolences on your loss, Jon.
Again, Jon, sorry for your loss.
I’m sorry for your loss, Jon.
Prayers for you and your family, in the days, weeks, and months to come, Jon.
Peace and grace,
Jim
Apologies for missing your original tweet on the 4th, and again, sincerest condolences.
It was a 12-year run for me, although the doctors admitted my Mom’s brain MRI results (multi-infarct dementia) indicated the process was underway long before even then. I just thought she had ornery days. Stupid me.
Night after night of TV and music, to get her to smile. Your words are very familiar, albeit it was more MASH, Stan Freeberg and Carol Burnett than Westerns and Newhart. (They definitely share Odd Couple appreciation.)
Since I never knew my dad (the SF jazz pianists separated when I was one), Mom was the everything.
A pithy thread: https://twitter.com/TheZed11/status/806381865527640064
Wishing you peace.
God bless Jon and give you comfort.
Jon, what a beautiful, graceful soliloquy. Eternal rest grant unto him oh Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.
What a wonderful Dad. I’m sorry for your loss.
Wow, and I thought 8 years was a long time. God bless you.
A beautiful tribute, Jon. Well done.
Thanks for sharing your dad with us, Jon. So sorry you’ve lost him.
Sorry for your loss, Jon. I have always found the words of Kahlil Gibran comforting:
“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand an seek God unencumbered?
“Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim yours limbs, then you shall truly dance.”
I lost both of my parents in 1994. My father died in late April of that year. My mother joined him the day after Christmas that year. They had been married for 50 years. Reading Gibran at the time brought tears to my eyes, but eased the pain in my heart. I hope they help you find peace.
I’m sorry Jon. As my dad lay dying I read Eliot’s East Coker to him. I’ve long found these words appropriate for the moment:
I am so sorry for your loss.
Jon,
For your Pop.
Good Shabbos.
Regards,
Jim
The picture of your handsome dad instantly reminded me of Jack Lemmon, then you said he loved watching the Odd Couple. When a child can write such a beautiful tribute to a parent, it says what a great parenting job they did. You are his legacy so he’s not really gone – he just changed addresses, as Billy Graham once said. God bless.
Jon, our family sends our deep and sincere condolences to your family. My husband’s father passed from Alzheimer’s also – I know I wept more than my husband with the harshness of what this disease brings. Keep his memory alive with all your shared memories. Prayers.
Condolences, Jon. It was about the same for my Dad.
There aren’t any words, but there has to be words. Thank you for telling us about Philip Charles Gabriel, and bringing him to life with your skill.
Condolences Jon. I was my dad’s caregiver as Alzheimer’s claimed him after a long battle in the last year of his life. There is one moment that I’ll never forget during that time. I found some old photos of submarines rafted together that he took, or perhaps a shipmate took during WWII. We looked at them together. I told him that they looked like Balao Class submarines. He replied of course they are, you can tell by the vents on the hull. I was stunned. He couldn’t remember my name, but somehow that memory found it’s way to the surface.
May your father rest in peace Jon.
Jon, my condolences on your loss. A thoughtful and moving post.
C
Condolences, Jon. I’ll pray for you and your family tonight.
Been there. It’s difficult. My condolences.
I’m sorry for your loss, Jon.
Your tribute is very moving. Thank you for sharing it with us.
It’s hard losing a beloved father. Your tribute made me cry, in a good way.
I’m so sorry for your loss. May the memories of his life be a blessing, and bring you peace and comfort.
My sympathies and prayers for you and your family, Jon. Thank you for this tribute to your father. God bless.
Didn’t see this until now. Sorry for your loss.
He was a good lookin’ dude. Sounds like a good dad too.