Super Bowl 44

One of my favorite traditions or customs with my dad was our bets. We used to bet over the meaning of weird words.  We would bet over who could grow more tomatoes.  We would bet over what an article said or what date something really happened.  But most often, we bet over sports.  Redskins games, Caps games, World Series, you name it.  The amount was always the same. A quarter.  The winner got bragging rights, and the loser got to put the quarter in the cup.  After a few months of betting, we would take the proceeds and donate it to charity.

Why does this have anything to do with Super Bowl 44 when my dad died on Monday, February 4, 2008 and that was the day after Super Bowl 42? 

My dad had been home for nearly a month from the nursing home when he died. Before that, he had had some very bad nights and some very good days.  He wasn't eating much but his spirits were great.  The Friday before he died, he even had his coffee bunch over.  The Geezers is what he called them.  This was a group of older gentlemen that he knew from the Patent Office, who would go to McDonald's every Friday for coffee and to talk.  They shared articles and stories and discussed patents and life and women and who knows what else.  They told plenty of bad jokes, and I'm sure they had some bets going too.

When Dad moved back to his house after the hospital and the nursing home, he had 24-7 care.  Not nursing care, but CNAs (certified nursing assistants) who would cook, clean, keep his oxygen on him when he slept, and so much more.  Because the nights were so difficult for his breathing, I slept at his house every night.  I slept in the living room on an air mattress so I could be close to his room and hear if there was trouble.  The dog slept with me in the bed. I could hear when he became agitated and tried to take his oxygen mask off.  I could hear when the CNA had fallen asleep and things were getting rough. I could hear when he just was talking in his sleep.  That's why I was there.  To help him in whatever way I could. 

In the month between when he came home from the nursing home and his last night alive, I had one night off.  Most nights I slept about 2 - 3 hours and was still working full time.  I was pretty ragged at this point, and my father and mother insisted on Sunday afternoon that I go to my friends Caroline and Oscar's house to watch the Super Bowl.  Mom and Dad had been trying to get me to take a night off for some time.  My mom was able to spend the night that night, and so I finally agreed just to see my friends and get some sleep.

My mom is from New York.  She took the Giants in the Super Bowl that night.  My dad loves Payton Manning and is a mid-westerner.  He took the Colts.  Of course, they bet on the game. The Giants won.  Mom won the bet.  By the next morning, Dad had slipped into a coma-like state, and he died that afternoon.  To this day, Mom reminds me that Dad died owing her 25 cents.

What does this have to do with Super Bowl 44?  I'm getting there.  For the first anniversary of Dad's death, I didn't quite know what to do.  There isn't yet a gravestone because he donated his body to medical research so I couldn't go visit him.  There wasn't much family in town so I couldn't spend time with them.  So I went to his house to watch the Super Bowl.  He had laid a fire in the fireplace before he died, and I lit it.  I sat in front of one of the nicest, warmest fires and watched the game with the dog.  It was perfect.

This year, we had an historic blizzard.  30 inches at his house.  His house didn't have power until 8 p.m. tonight so I had to watch the game at my house.  Again, Payton Manning was the QB.  I knew Dad would want to take them, and that's fine, because I'm a sucker for a good story and I took the Saints.  And wouldn't you know it, the Saints just won. 

Dad, that's another quarter you owe. 

Love you.