Father's Day: All that's left is love

Father's Day: All that's left is love

I was walking toward the room of a former neighbor, now on the Alzheimer's wing of an assisted living facility in Raleigh.

There, coming down the hall was a familiar face, a familiar figure, a man I have known and liked and worked with for most of my time in Raleigh. I knew he had been afflicted with the dread disease for some years. I have lunched with him frequently during that time. But I was surprised to see him there. He recognized me. I went into his room while he brushed his teeth before dinner.

"The food isn't bad here," I said reassuringly.

"Yeah, tell me again," he grinned. His wit is still there.

The next day, when I received a letter from my friend's son, I knew what this Father's Day column would be about. About the unreserved love between a father and a son. About how it's OK for grown men to cry.

"Dad got an early Father's Day gift/birthday gift this year," David wrote. "His birthday, June 14, falls so close to Father's Day every year that he's used to getting the 'one gift covers both' surprise.

"On May 21, we admitted him to an assisted living facility. Sure, we know it's the right thing to do, and that he will get the 'around the clock' help he needs, and that we can no longer provide for him at home. I just wasn't ready for this. It hurts so deep -- so bad."

"That Friday was the worst day of my life too: starting off after a sleepless night, waking to a mad scramble to locate the misplaced power of attorney and moving him from the hospital to the 'home.' I was numb throughout much of the day. Only after the day was done did I really feel the sadness engulf me. I cried like a 45-year-old little boy who misses his lifelong friend, role model and mentor. I've cried almost every day since."

I knew that my friend Mel had a unique closeness with his two sons, David and Lewis, as well as with his daughter, Merriwether. But nothing delighted him more than for the three men to go on a "just the boys" vacation once a year, to Gettysburg battlefields, to New York for a round of Broadway plays, or to the Outer Banks.

Because of my own association with him at work and the 13 years of beach weekends with him, Dave Jones and John Raynor from the newspaper, I knew there was no better "man to ride the river with" than Mel Finch.

You got a lot for your friendship: loyalty, wit, and, yes, love.

Dave and John were the golfers. Mel and I were the readers, the nappers, the walkers and the "go-fers" who picked them up for lunch and drove them back to the green. We four made many "precious" memories." I, too, have felt some of the anguish and ache that Mel's family feels as I have watched him steal away, little by little, toward the twilight zone.

"While my heart is broken, even worse, so is Dad's spirit," David continued. "He doesn't understand and wants answers. There are no good ones. As trite as it sounds, he deserves so much better. He's the best of all of us.

"Unlike what you hear from some dads of his generation, my dad had no problem expressing his pride and affection for me. He would rub my back, tell me how proud he was of me. He always said the right thing to encourage me when I stumbled. I'm so proud of his being my father.

"He's a good man, who unselfishly gave back to the community, his family and to his work. His role, seldom in the spotlight, was one of unassuming importance, the 'backroom guy' who made things run smoothly -- be it his family or a multimillion-dollar company. He worked hard at it, yet somehow made it look easy with his firm but gentle spirit." Mel retired in 1992 as the chief financial officer of The News and Observer Publishing Co., and served on the former Raleigh city school board.

David describes one night he spent looking after his dad, spelling his bone-weary mom. He had gone to bed and was reading when his father in his pajamas padded into his room.

"I got up and hugged him. He kissed me and thanked me for all I had done for him. I told him I enjoyed being there for him as he'd always been there for me. I walked him back to his room, tucked him in and turned off the light. He said, once again, in the dark, 'I love you.' I cried myself to sleep.

"So Dad gets the shaft for Father's Day and his 78th birthday. It seems so unfair. He recently said he's lost everything. I told him he still has the most important thing.

"He looked at me and asked, 'Love?' We held each other and cried as I said, 'Yes, Dad, love.'

"I pray that he finds his deserved peace soon."