Understanding

The last few hours with my dad in 2011....

He was born within five miles of where he will die. A feat not a lot of people would be proud of, but my dad is proud. As his body literally decays from the ravages of bone cancer, I sit and watch his frail skeleton twitch and convulse from the effects of the natural dying process. A man who not long ago was still oiling windmills and flanking calves no longer knows who he is, much less the faces of his wife and children. However, still ingrained in his terminal memory is an era of who he was.

As he reaches out to make business deals with those, who I can’t see, and pushes along cattle that only exist in his mind I am taken back to the days that are claimed in his memory, or captured on a hidden photo somewhere in the dining room drawer. As if they were chiseled in stone he speaks of cattle and horses that somehow enter his feeble mind from yesteryear. And, as though he woke up just this morning to a day full of his duties, he still reminds me of the dangers of spring blizzards and how to not concede to a drought. He speaks of truckers hauling cattle, wildlife that run about and the strange woman standing at the end of his rolling hospital bed. The beef business is so deeply ingrained in his mind, that with every breath he takes he speaks of his true love, watching his cattle grow. Of course, none of it makes sense and flows out of his mouth in a tangled mess of sentences barely understandable, but I understand. As his only son I understand each step he takes, each breath he fights to grab and each thought he is now so confused by. Perhaps I understand because my mother says I am just like him or maybe it is a lifetime of walking beside him helping to build his dream of being a cowboy and a rancher. It might be the butt blistering whipping’s he laid across my backside in the name of love and doing right by others that helps me understand. None the less, I understand.

I understand that your word is your bond and a handshake is a binding contract. I understand that nothing comes without hard physical labor. That honesty and integrity are key and “lying won’t get you your dreams.” I understand how to spot a sick calf days ahead of time, how to manage forage availability and utilization of commodities markets to protect my investment. I understand the timing and stroke of an old windmill that, like he, shows much wisdom in its own production. I understand the importance of faith and family and “we wouldn’t be where we are without mom.” I understand that we rarely saw eye to eye and every argument was a time to learn through his impatience and my wrecking something again. Yes, I understand…. because of his wisdom I understand.

Even now, though the calmness of the sunset has begun, his eyes wonder about the room catching a glimpse of a wondering calf and an unbranded colt. I reach out and take his hand as if I were meeting him for the first time and though it is probably caused by the wild signals his ever-weakening brain is sending he squeezes hard and with confirmation as if to say, “son I’m proud of you, understand?” Little does he now know, however, how proud I am to be his son. Dad……? Do you understand? Thank you for everything dad.

In honor of my selfless dad, “Little” Jerry Sullivan, Oct 25, 1940 – June 16, 2011

"Little" Jerry Sullivan 1940-2011