Born on April Fool's Day

I'm pretty sure that a few days ago my Dad celebrated his April Fool's birthday -- even though he passed away over four years ago. 

During his time on earth birthdays were always cause for celebration and with his birthday on April First -  that was double cause for fun.  As a little girl I remember him leaving the house on his birthday mornings to head to the newspaper office on Main Street and he would wonder aloud about what craziness his staff would have in store for him this time.  He'd shake his head, chuckle, straighten his tie and leave for a day of good-natured April fool pranks - he was always a good-natured target for those April 1st birthday pranks.  Mr. Andersen (that's what most everyone in town called him) just was good-natured all the time - which turns the old stereotype of the curmudgeony newspaper editor quite upside down.  Mr. Andersen's positive, good-natured outlook was unstoppable.

And now, I'm thinking, something as final as death couldn't, didn't, stop my Dad.  He was, up to the very last, someone who would see the glass more than half full, someone who put others first, someone who had firm convictions about important matters.  And small matters as well, like his tie-wearing.  He was adamant about putting on a tie every day - right on up to the last.  That man put every ounce of his faith and effort and passion into whatever he happened to be engaged in at the time.  For those who knew him from his vibrant, out-there-doing-everything-for-the-community years, Mr. Andersen was unstoppable.  And in his final years, the Alzheimer's years, you would think that that Unstoppableness would have vanished right along with his memory.  But it didn't. I saw his unstoppableness every day as he lived out his last years under my roof.  I saw not just tiny remnants of this man's dedication and commitment to a cause, I saw gigantic, all-consuming, the-most-important-thing-in-all-the-whole-world, heart-wrenching unstoppable commitment to THE important matter - the only one that remained clear through the fog of the Alzheimer's years - his caring and comforting of his WWII bride.  He was unstoppable in that. 

This WWII soldier with the April 1st birthday married his sweetheart during a furlough from the Army in 1945.  He and his sweetheart, a young enlisted woman with the Women's Army Corps, were stationed at the same stateside base.  On their wedding day in '45 he promised to love, honor, and cherish her in sickness and in health, all the days of his life.  All the days of his life.  And he did.  He never once broke that promise - through their 65 years together on earth. He was unstoppable in that mission - even in the last years of his life when he had trouble remembering his sweetheart's name or why she never got up out of the hospital-type bed to eat a meal or sit by him on the couch.  Severe osteoarthritis had kept her down for years - but he, even through the haze of his Alzheimer's, tried valiantly to keep her spirits up, to express his unstoppable dedication to her even when his words and sentences had gone to some foreign land that none of us knew about.  It was beautiful and heart-wrenching to see - this man whose livelihood and passion had been all about words and sentences and communicating.  He had been throughout his life, in the military and then as a civilian, unstoppable in his communicating along with his adherence to some mighty high ideals.  Nothing could stop Sgt. Andersen or Mr. Andersen from taking the high road, even when others pointed out that high road's obvious foolishness.  He just remained on that high road, forging ahead.  Always. 

So how this man somehow through the tangled up and misfiring neurons in his brain - sat at the bedside of his sweetheart and tried to figure out words and find words to honor her and comfort her - it was something to see. Her refusal to accept his Alzheimer's diagnosis resulted in some frustrated and angry outbursts she'd direct at him. Confusion, sadness would cloud his face momentarily, but then, in practically the blink of an eye, the cloud on his face and in his mind would pass and that unstoppable devotion and love would shine just as brightly as ever. Because he was no longer able to retrieve the words that were once the tools of his trade, he would reach for her hand instead and hold it gently in his, "foolishly" honoring his long-ago promise. 

As this pair of WWII veterans' caregiver for a number of their last years, I learned much - about them as a couple, about them as separate people, and about the circle of life.  In those last  years I saw things that couldn't possibly be true - but they were.  I saw with my very own eyes a forever April Fool unstoppably in love.

Mom passed away a few weeks ago, a little more than four years after my Dad. Now they are reunited - Mr. and Mrs. Andersen, that old couple, those long ago soldiers side by side once again.  He's holding her hand and he's wearing his tie.  I'm thinking he's still seeing the glass more than half full and he's found all those good and important words that had gone missing in his last years on earth, the words that always brought comfort and honor to his sweetheart, his bride.

I know she missed him terribly these past four years - and eventually, before she passed, she'd replaced the regret she had had over her angry outbursts with memories of all his unstoppable "foolishness" that had endeared him to her in the first place.  So I'm thinking yeah, there was a mighty fine happy celebration last week, on Dad's birthday - April Fool's Day.