My Dad (left) and father-in-law, bonding over Thanksgiving dinner. I miss them dearly.
Where does your mind go when you know your time on Earth is ending?
I pondered this thought on what should have been a beautiful May afternoon as I sat inside my in-laws’ house across from my father-in-law, who was lying in his hospice-provided bed that consumed much of the living room. I asked him frequently if he needed anything, but no response came. I tried to engage him in some of his favorite subjects: my girls/his granddaughters, golf, and jokes that were definitely not up to “Dad joke” standards (that was his specialty). Nothing.
He didn’t speak or make much sound at all during the last day I would see him alive, except for one time: My mother-in-law came into the room, kissed his forehead gently, and asked him softly in his ear if he wanted something to drink. He nodded slowly.
Mom always knew how to get a reaction out of him.
He lost 60-70 pounds since last July when he found out he had an aggressive form of multiple myeloma. He never complained about his condition or prognosis, the chemotherapy, the constant shortness of breath, or the frequent hospital stays. During the last hospital stay when he was able to talk more, one of the first things he said to my wife Kim and me was poignant: “I’ve had a good life.”
As it was time for me to leave his bedside at his home, I got up, kissed him, and told him I loved him. I drove back home in tears, praying that he would have more time.
He died two days later, on Friday the 13th - 1 day shy of the 1-year anniversary of my Dad’s passing.
My Dad had been in poor health for quite some time, having endured two heart attacks, congestive heart failure, and kidney issues. He didn’t like to do anything small. On the morning of May 14, my brother, sister, and I got the call from the hospital, saying we should come and say our goodbyes. He wasn’t speaking or eating at that point, but we were told that a loved one can still hear you, even if he/she is unable to communicate.
We all arrived and took turns with him. My brother went first, followed by Kim and me. Kim stayed briefly before giving me alone time with him. I don’t remember everything I said to him, but I told him how happy I was for him that he was finally going to be with Mom.
Just about 30 minutes after we all said our final goodbyes, Dad went to be with his Terri, who passed away in 2000 – on May 15. I’ve remarked to people that Dad died on May 14 so Mom could have her own memorial day. Ever the gentleman.
My Dad, Jack Harper, and father-in-law, Allan Baenziger, were two proud men who loved their wives and families deeply. They also enjoyed each other - Kim and I were blessed to have in-laws who got along wonderfully - and bonded whenever we’d all gather at my house pre-COVID for the various holidays. It wasn’t uncommon to find both of them asleep on the couch following dinner.
They had their differences, of course. My Dad wasn’t afraid to share his opinions, good or bad, about people or things; my father-in-law, on the other hand, was much more reticent. My Dad could watch Hallmark Channel movies 24/7, while my father-in-law was more likely to be found with a science fiction or fantasy novel in hand.
They both helped to shape my career as a professional organizer in ways they didn’t realize. My Dad wasn't the neatest person in the world. To be fair, he wasn’t the only reason why our house growing up was a mess, but that constant mess made me determined to keep an organized and clean house when I had one of my own.
When I got older and would return home to visit, I would help my parents clean up and would bring out what I called my “magic bags.” What made them magical was that things went into the bag, and those things simply never came back out. Dad never cared for the magic bag concept.
Every summer, we would take our annual family vacation to the Jersey Shore in Stone Harbor. When I was 14, Dad was having trouble organizing all our stuff into the back of our light blue station wagon with the fake wooden paneling in and around the car. I held my tongue as I watched him struggle until I couldn't hold back any longer.
“Please let me give it a shot!” I begged.
“OK, smart aleck,” he said - except he didn’t say aleck. “Have at it.”
So I did. About 15 minutes later, the car was packed and ready to go. Dad just went inside, wisely avoiding the gloating he was about to hear. I got to do the organizing and packing from then on.
My father-in-law wouldn’t have let me take such control. His version of having me help was, “Hold the flashlight while I (insert project task here).” He could build or fix basically anything you needed, so it was easier for him just to do things. Then again, a few unexpected trips back to his house or to the hardware store, since he always forgot stuff, would make the project run longer than needed.
The more projects he did at our house - my wife is always looking to tinker, while I’m more of the “let’s-enjoy-it-as-it-is” type … and the type who almost never wins that battle - the more I would try to get him organized before we began the project to save us time. Admittedly, I wasn’t very successful at it, but it made me more focused on being properly prepared before starting any task.
Organized garages were neither man’s specialty. While my Dad’s garage contained my brother’s black 1957 Chevy, the car, the spaces, and cabinets around it overflowed with bags and bags of stuff that made walking in and out of the house an obstacle course. My father-in-law’s garage, meanwhile, is carless, much to my mother-in-law’s chagrin. Instead, it’s filled with all sorts of tools and materials that have banished their respective cars to the driveway for years.
When my Dad had to sell the house that we grew up in, I went through the garage with him and purged a great deal of damaged and/or mildew-laden stuff, salvaging whatever I could that he and my siblings wanted or needed. I never got to organize my father-in-law’s garage while he was alive despite my many offers to do so. I have the chance to organize it now, but not having him there beside me just won’t be the same..
I’ve been blessed to have two wonderful fathers in my life, each amazing in his own way. Both men guided me and gave me invaluable advice that I have used as both a husband and a father. We could hang out and talk about virtually any topic, even if we didn’t always agree. They had their flaws like we all do, but they taught me what it meant to be human and that being true to yourself was just as important as doing the right thing for others.
It hurts to know that I lost both within a year’s time, and it’s harder to accept the fact that instead of praying for them, I’m left praying to them. Like the pain of losing my Mom unexpectedly 22 years ago, the hurt will remain but will ease with time. People will say, and rightfully so, that the pain is worth the price of loving someone, because you were able to love and to have that person in your life for however long or short that you did.
I was reminded of this thought the day of my father-in-law’s viewing. I didn’t have any organizing sessions scheduled that day for obvious reasons, so I went for a walk as I often do around the neighborhood. The music played on shuffle through my iPhone, and the last song I heard as I neared the end of my walk was “The Graveyard Near the House” by The Airborne Toxic Event, one of my favorite bands.
The last two lines finished as I arrived at the house:
“It’s better to love whether you win or lose or die.
It’s better to love, and I will love you ‘til I die.”
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Tom Harper is owner of Tom’s Organizing Made Simple LLC, a Bethlehem-based company dedicated to helping people declutter and organize their space, stuff, time, and/or tasks. Follow TOM’S on Facebook or Instagram.