[MOL] to dusti, and a story [01221] Medicine On Line

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[MOL] to dusti, and a story

hi dusti,

thanks for asking.  how are you/  im real behind on emails, i guess maybe i'll
figure out how people are when i read them.

i just read a thing that i'll post here.  made me sad and happy at the same
time.  i'm back living with my parents and i realized just now its a blessing
in disguiese.  youll know what i mean afte you read this story.

i'm waiting around for test results from yesterday.  if feel like s&%t but i
think its from chemo.  my mind plays tricks on me so i think i need to stop
worry so much.  

well heres the story, thanks for the email.  i hope youre ok.  andy
For 52 years my father got up every morning at 5:30 a.m., except Sunday,
and went to work. For 52 years he returned home at 5:30 p.m., like
clockwork, for dinner at 6:00 p.m. I never remember my father taking a
"night out with the boys," nor do I ever recall my father drinking. All
he asked from me as his daughter was to hold his hammer while he
repaired something, just so we could have some time to talk to each

I never saw my father home from work ill, nor did I ever see my father
lay down to take a nap. He had no hobbies, other than taking care of his

For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every
Sunday at 9:00 a.m. He was always interested in my life, how my family
was doing, and I never once heard him lament about his lot in life. The
calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or

Nine years ago when I purchased my first house, my father, 67 years old, 
spent eight hours a day for three days in the 80-degree Kansas heat,
painting my house. He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done.
All he asked, was a glass of iced tea, and that a hold a paint brush for
him and talk to him. But I was too busy, I had a law practice to run,
and I could not take the time to hold the paint brush, or talk to my

Five years ago, at age 71 again in the sweltering Kansas heat, my father 
spent five hours putting together a swingset for my daughter. Again, all
he asked was that I get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him. But
again, I had laundry to do, and the house to clean. 

Four years ago, my father drove all the way from Denver to Topeka, with
an eight foot Colorado Blue Spruce in his trunk, so that my husband and
I could have a part of Colorado growing on our land. I was preparing for
a trip that weekend and couldn't spend much time tallied to Daddy. 

The morning or Sunday, January 16, 1996, my father telephoned me as
usual, this time from my sister's home in Florida. We conversed about
the tree he had brought me, "Fat Albert," but that morning he called the
tree "Fat Oscar," and he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had
discussed the previous week. I had to get to church, and I cut the
conversation short. 

The call came at 4:40 p.m., that day, my father was in the hospital in 
Florida with an aneurysm. I got on an airplane immediately, and on the
way, I thought of all the times I had not taken the time to talk to my
father. I realized that I had no idea who he was or what his deepest
thoughts were. I vowed that when I arrived, I would make up for the lost
time, and have a nice long talk with him and really get to know him. 

I arrived in Florida at 1 a.m., my father had passed away at 9:12 p.m.
This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for

In the years since his death I have learned much about my father, and
even more about myself. As a father he never asked me for anything but
my time, now he as all my attention, every single day. 


Barham, Dusti # IHTUL" <Dusti.Barham@tulsa.cistech.com> wrote:

> --------------------------------------------- 
>	Attachment:  
>	MIME Type: multipart/alternative 
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>  Andrew,
> How are you doing friend?  My thoughts are with you today.  Write us back
> and tell us how it is going.
> Regards,
> Dusti


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