ISBN 0-9778140-0-9
326 pages, 68 photographs.
326 pages, 68 photographs.
....Dad’s death was not a total shock because he was in the
hospital, but he was supposedly past the critical part of his
recovery. Still, the massive heart attack was a surprise, and
beyond that one’s parents just don’t die—a lingering belief
from childhood that had stood the test of time. Moreover,
this old warrior had survived two major wars among other
serious brushes with the grim reaper. He seemed immortal
or at least indestructible.
My father had warned me about his impending death. For
the last dozen years, during my annual vacation to
Indianapolis, Dad had made sure I knew that death would
be there for him any time. By the second evening of each
vacation, he and I would stay up late talking, and he would
start, “You know, with the condition of my heart….” Then
he would move on to “And the papers are upstairs in my
metal box. The obituary is written. The burial instructions
have been completed. There’s a list of people to notify. I
would like to have ‘Amazing Grace’ sung and….” And so
on. Twelve years of trial runs, and now it had happened.
Beyond the actual death, I reflected on the more current
preoccupation of his last fifteen months—trying to
convince me to move back to Indianapolis. As his health
declined, and more importantly, as the disability of his
caregiver—my mother—increased, he became more
persistent in his requests for me to return home. Dad
wanted me to take care of him and Mother. Since I was
single and without dependents, he felt comfortable asking
that. Mother would never ask nor expect it....
hospital, but he was supposedly past the critical part of his
recovery. Still, the massive heart attack was a surprise, and
beyond that one’s parents just don’t die—a lingering belief
from childhood that had stood the test of time. Moreover,
this old warrior had survived two major wars among other
serious brushes with the grim reaper. He seemed immortal
or at least indestructible.
My father had warned me about his impending death. For
the last dozen years, during my annual vacation to
Indianapolis, Dad had made sure I knew that death would
be there for him any time. By the second evening of each
vacation, he and I would stay up late talking, and he would
start, “You know, with the condition of my heart….” Then
he would move on to “And the papers are upstairs in my
metal box. The obituary is written. The burial instructions
have been completed. There’s a list of people to notify. I
would like to have ‘Amazing Grace’ sung and….” And so
on. Twelve years of trial runs, and now it had happened.
Beyond the actual death, I reflected on the more current
preoccupation of his last fifteen months—trying to
convince me to move back to Indianapolis. As his health
declined, and more importantly, as the disability of his
caregiver—my mother—increased, he became more
persistent in his requests for me to return home. Dad
wanted me to take care of him and Mother. Since I was
single and without dependents, he felt comfortable asking
that. Mother would never ask nor expect it....
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Copyright ©2006-10 Heydon Buchanan. All Rights Reserved.
| presents excerpts from |
| CHAPTER 1 COMES A TIME… |
From delusion lead me to Truth
From darkness lead me to Light
From death lead me to Eternal Life.
—Hindu prayer from the Sanskrit
From darkness lead me to Light
From death lead me to Eternal Life.
—Hindu prayer from the Sanskrit