Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints<\/a> at the age of 59, my parents\u2019 marriage was sealed here in the Los Angeles California Temple.
(Click to enlarge.)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
My brother called me twelve years ago today. \u00a0In the early afternoon.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cDad died,\u201d he said, simply. \u00a0Trying, I\u2019m sure, not to break down.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I was downstairs, working in my office. \u00a0\u201cYou\u2019re kidding<\/em>,\u201d I said, stupidly.<\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve thought about that a lot. \u00a0Why did I say that? \u00a0I don\u2019t know. \u00a0It made no sense. \u00a0I guess I was in a kind of shock.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I walked upstairs, blurted the news out to my wife, got into the shower, turned it on, rested my head against the shower wall, and sobbed.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I\u2019m Norwegian. \u00a0When I was younger, I never cried. \u00a0I actually worried about it;\u00a0I wondered whether I lacked some gene, whether, when my parents died, I would look cold and uncaring. \u00a0When the time came, though, there was no cause for worry. \u00a0And\u00a0I\u2019ve become\u00a0better at it\u00a0over\u00a0the past twenty years. \u00a0More opportunities for practice than I would have liked.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I was fortunate to have spent the previous three days, Friday through Sunday, down in California, most of the time in my father\u2019s hospital room. \u00a0In fact, I\u2019d just returned to Utah late the night before. \u00a0My brother and his wife had left for a weekend trip somewhere, and, as my Dad was in the hospital for some non-life-threatening issue that I can\u2019t now recall, my brother (now himself gone) thought that maybe I might want to come down and spend a few days visiting with him.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll always be grateful that I was able to do it, and for my brother\u2019s inspiration.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
Roughly seven years before, my father had suffered a stroke during a seemingly routine medical procedure. \u00a0It was totally unexpected. \u00a0So far as I\u2019m aware, we have no family history of strokes.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
He had been very active until then, both physically and mentally, but the stroke blunted his mind a bit \u2014 enough that he noticed it, and hated it \u2014 and completely deprived him of his sight.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
It was catastrophic for him. \u00a0He felt useless, helpless. \u00a0He could no longer do\u00a0most\u00a0of the things that he had enjoyed. \u00a0He loved working in his yard, managing\u00a0his investments, researching the history of his Scandinavian immigrant family (he was a late-adult convert to the Church), listening to Dodger games on the radio. \u00a0Only the last remained.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
And I began to learn how to cry.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
He was still\u00a0fairly clear in conversation, though, and we spoke virtually every night by telephone.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
However, when I visited him in the hospital that clarity was gone. \u00a0His memory was shot, and he was confused.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
My sister-in-law tells me that she had visited with him just a day or two\u00a0before I came down, and he was fine then. \u00a0So something had happened in the short interval between her departure and my arrival. \u00a0I don\u2019t know what it was. \u00a0Perhaps it was just temporary, the result of medications. \u00a0Maybe he\u2019d had another stroke. \u00a0I never managed to find anybody who could tell me.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
Anyway, we had the same conversations, over and over again for three days.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know who I am, Dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you\u2019re my brother Ernie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Dad. \u00a0Ernie died in 1973.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
That had been a fateful year for him. \u00a0Dad and his younger brother\u00a0had been business partners for roughly a quarter of a century, golf buddies, very close. \u00a0And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, prematurely, Ernie was gone. \u00a0My father began to withdraw from active involvement in his company. \u00a0And, when he and Mom came to pick me up in Switzerland at the end of my mission in 1974, he never really fully went back. \u00a0It just wasn\u2019t the same.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cWas I in the military?\u201d he asked me.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Dad, you were in Patton\u2019s Third Army. \u00a0A sergeant in the Eleventh Armored Division.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cHmmm. \u00a0What did I do for a living?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were in construction. \u00a0You built things. \u00a0All over the greater Los Angeles area and, sometimes, even further away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I led a pretty good life? \u00a0I made a contribution?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
(He actually asked that.)<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Dad. \u00a0It\u2019s been a really good life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
I would leave him, late each night, and walk out to my car in the hospital\u2019s parking lot. \u00a0I cried. \u00a0And I would pray, not that he be healed, but that this not go on any longer. \u00a0He wanted to be done. \u00a0He was tired. \u00a0He was frustrated. \u00a0He hated being pathetic.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
One of the nurses told me that she\u2019d asked him, \u201cWell, Mr. Peterson, what seems to be the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just too damned old,\u201d he answered. \u00a0\u201cThat\u2019s the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
My prayers were granted. \u00a0But that didn\u2019t make the news hurt any less when it came.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
How I loved him.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
How I miss him.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
How grateful I am for the promises of the Gospel.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
Posted from Newport Beach, California<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u00a0 \u00a0 My brother called me twelve years ago today. \u00a0In the early afternoon. \u00a0 \u201cDad died,\u201d he said, simply. \u00a0Trying, I\u2019m sure, not to break down. \u00a0 I was downstairs, working in my office. \u00a0\u201cYou\u2019re kidding,\u201d I said, stupidly. \u00a0 I\u2019ve thought about that a lot. \u00a0Why did I say that? \u00a0I don\u2019t know. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1019,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21801","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
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![\"The](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/186\/2015\/06\/los-angeles-california-808x480-CWD_d038c40e.jpg\")
<\/a>