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Atheism and Death: Second Request

A book about Atheism and Death could either be a short, very personal exposition of the subject, with huge emotional appeal but limited practical use, or it could be something much larger and more far-reaching. It’s a rather intimidating subject, and right now I’m not sure which I’m able to undertake.

So again I’m asking for help.

As I relate in the adjacent post First Request, I’d like to know more about how atheists handle the death of loved ones. Not just as ordinary people faced with loss, but as atheists faced with loss.

First, tell me something, anything, about your own experience of dealing with death. Not just as an ordinary person, but specifically as an atheist. Continue reading “Atheism and Death: Second Request”

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Atheism and Death: First Request

My recent experience with death and dying hit me in two ways:

First, as the guy in the middle of it, thinking and feeling it first hand, I’m grappling with … oh, all kinds of stuff. I still get hit, several times a day, with these waves of mental discord. Something interesting happens and this wordless thought-form pops into my head: “Hey, I should call the Old Man and tell him about …” followed instantly by this second thought-form that translates into “Oh. I can’t. Ever. … Shit.”

But second, the experience revs an insistent engine in my head, “You’re a writer! Write a book!”

So I’m thinking about it. Continue reading “Atheism and Death: First Request”

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I’m Back

I got to be with my dad from midnight on Wednesday until Sunday morning.

I expect to be writing more about this at some indefinite-future time, but for now the details are this:

Thanks to everybody’s donations, I got to be there with him for 3 days and a little bit more, and I was with him when he died. He knew I was there, responded to my voice, and seemed to be comforted by my touching and talking.

I told him what a good man he was, and what a hole there would be in the world when he left:

I love you, Old Man. You’re not alone. I’m right here with you.

I was so lucky to meet you, to have you in my life. There just aren’t words for what you mean to me. You’ll be in my head every day for the rest of my life, and I’ll do my best to be somebody you’d be proud of.

The world has been a better place for having you in it. I guarantee you every person who ever went on a wilderness trip with you remembers it to this day, and it’s one of their best memories, and the reason for that is just you. There are so many people who love you, who respect you for the man you are, who envy you the life you’ve led.

All the work is done, and you did a fantastic job. The horses are back in the corral, the mules are fed, the gear’s all put away. If you want to rest now, it’s okay. I’ll be right here with you for the whole trip.

I was with him on Sunday morning, running a cool wet cloth over his forehead and talking to him quietly, when his eyes opened. I went down to the nursing station to ask a question, and when I came back I sat and put my hand on his warm forehead.

At 9:45 a.m., his labored breathing changed, became suddenly softer and slower. He sighed through five more breaths, and then stopped. I could see the pulse still beating in his throat, but after a minute that too stopped. The nurse came in and I choked out “I think he just died.”

Daniel Franklin Farris: Sunburnt mountain man, mule packer, High Sierra wilderness guide, horseman and hunter, teacher and coach, backcountry cook, unmatched teller of campfire tales, protector and defender, friend to dogs and horses, sometime cowboy poet, legendary bare-knuckled bar fighter, irrepressible lover of women.

Crusty angles and edges, but soft-hearted, patient and giving, ever-welcoming, he was also my Dad.

There will never be another like him.

 

 

____________________________________

Anybody who wants to check the details of the story, my Dad’s name was Dan Farris. He was in Room 11 of Northern Inyo Hospital, Bishop California. His attending physician was Dr. Boo … and I’d bet good money Dan made at least one joke about that, considering it was Halloween, or close to it, when he was admitted.

The hospital staff were nothing short of fantastic. They took great care of Dan, checking on him frequently and keeping him comfortable. They made a big fuss about the fact of my long-distance visit. Everybody had been told to expect me, and I must have been asked a half-dozen times “Are you ‘New York’?”

They completely ignored visiting hours, letting me show up at 5 a.m. and stay until after midnight, they offered trays from the cafeteria at breakfast, lunch and dinner, they told me what a good friend I was for traveling this long way, they listened to my stories about Dan the mule packer, wilderness guide and good friend, they kindly pretended not to notice my erratic tears, and there were even a few hugs.

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Update

I haven’t been near a computer for a couple of days. Also haven’t had much sleep. I’m typing this on my Droid.

I’m sitting in a hospital room right now, next to my dad. He’s sedated with morphine, but sometimes drifts up to consciousness that can range from muzzy to vivid. He’s refused food and water since several days before I got here, so he’s no longer able to talk.

“I love you, Old Man. I was so lucky to have you in my life. Lucky to live in a world that had you in it. I’m here with you. I’m going to be right here with you for as long as you need me.”

These are some of the things I tell him, and his eyes tell me he hears and understands me.

“He’s so lucky to have a friend like you,” say the nurses. I wonder if this is something they say to everybody, but even so it brings me to tears. I need to hear it.

I helped move some of his things today, and came across treasure — the spurs he wore on mountain trails through decades of wilderness cowboy work. I want them with an almost physical ache.

Night is falling outside. I sit in a quiet dim room and think about the sound of breathing, and the light shared between people who love.

The man was sunlight in my life for some of my best years. I’ll get the spurs, yes, but they will be the least of what I inherit.

Soon, now, say the doctors.

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Update on the Dad Thing

I took the donate button out of my Appeal post after getting enough to make the trip. The generosity of the FTB community has been overwhelming — thank you all for the kind words, well wishes, and donations! Special thanks to Greta Christina and PZ Myers for telling their readership about this post.

I have a flight to Los Angeles at 5:30 a.m. I’ll drive from there to the Eastern Sierra, where my Dad lives. I don’t know how many days I’ll be there. I’ll keep you all informed as much as I can while away, but I’ll be on borrowed (or library) computers, so updates may be erratic. Continue reading “Update on the Dad Thing”

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Everybody Stop Sending Money

I’m posting this from my phone (I’m at the bakery where I work), so it will be short, but people have donated enough to get me there.

I’m a bit shocked at the number of hits the “appeal” post is getting, and I’m touched, wounded, blown away by the generosity.

Thank you all soooo much.

I’ll keep you posted.

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An Appeal

Um.

My Dad appears to be dying. And I’m pretty much broke.

He lives in a little town in California; I live in a little town in upstate New York.

I haven’t been in very close contact with him the last few years, but it hasn’t been all my doing. The rough-barked cowboy bastard had his phone switched off a year or so back, and his lifelong habit is to never return letters or calls, so most of our contact has been one-way, through the mail. I set him up an email account about a year back, and wrote him the details of how easy it was to use, and where he could access it – the local library, which is on his way to town. His response: “I don’t do computers.”

So, uh, I’m going to ask for donations, so I can maybe get there to see him. Okay? Crap, I hate this. Continue reading “An Appeal”

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Charley & Me — Part 1

Touchy-feely time.

I’m actually a little nervous about what I’m about to write. It’s not one of those “guy” subjects a man gladly talks about. It’s not a neutral subject either, like the weather, or geology, or politics. No, it’s definitely one of those girly-girly, Oprah and Dr. Phil subjects.

Yep, I’m gonna talk about my feelings.

I have it figured you should never lie to yourself. You can tell all the lies you want to other people (I’m not condoning it, I’m just using it as a rhetorical counterpoint), but you should never, never, never tell yourself a lie. Continue reading “Charley & Me — Part 1”

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Charley and Me — Part 2

Charley’s not a very big guy, but he’s solid, and every inch of him you can see is either burned a deep tan by the sun, or covered in tough hide from a lifetime of hard outdoor physical labor. Below the neck, everything inside that hide is either hard muscle, rawhide-strong tendon or solid bone. And there’s this: Charley has a reputation. He’ll fight anybody, anytime, and he’s never been known, in any town within a day’s drive, to lose. If you catch his hands still for a second, you can count the scars on his knuckles from those fights. As I found out later, even the local cops would back away from getting into a physical dispute with him. Continue reading “Charley and Me — Part 2”

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Charley & Me — Part 3

Falling Rock was never seen again. Black Deer questioned Grey Owl and Running Wolf when they returned with the trophy, and became suspicious. He delayed his decision and sent all the tribe’s warriors out to look for signs of the missing brave. They came back with no sign of him, but expert trackers believed Falling Rock may have been attacked, had escaped, and might return.

So they waited, but they also continued to search. Years passed and Black Deer died, but Shining Fawn never married. Braves who had liked Falling Rock continued to search – to find even his bones would satisfy the tribe’s desire to know what happened to the well-liked young hunter. They traveled north and south along the rough mountain range, and to the east and west of it, meeting other tribes and telling the story, asking for news, and never finding anything. Continue reading “Charley & Me — Part 3”