“Life is just so daily,” are words of comfort, expressed by my stepdad, Dick Sattler, years ago, to a friend in need. He was a spectacular person, a real friend to a lot of people, a mentor to me.
My best memory of the man was his cooking. His jambalaya was always a pleasure, but his smoked turkeys were the best I have ever eaten. Dick was the Babe Ruth of smoked turkey. Someone, someday, might prepare a better bird, but his will forever be etched upon my taste buds.
He owned a coffee service, and I had the pleasure of riding along for his rounds on several occasions. When Dick walked into a customer’s office, the people he met were genuinely pleased to see him. The reverse was equally true. My stepdad loved people, of every variety, wherever he went.
Dick bought silly toys and novelties by the score, storing it all in a closet at my parents’ home, and if you were lucky, one of them had your name on it. I’ve still got a package of “Fart Plugs” somewhere.
He told bad jokes well. If I heard a joke that was embarrassingly stupid, I’d save it for Dick. My poor mother would say, “I don’t get it,” while we laughed and thought of something even worse.
His greatest achievements were extremely personal. An alcoholic himself, Dick sponsored many in his thirty-plus years of sobriety. He counseled the sick and comforted their loved ones. He took calls at all hours, stopping whatever he happened to be doing to help.
Those that knew him well, and there are many, could add a lot more here. I had the pleasure of knowing him for the last twenty years, and these were the things I remember the best.
Alzheimer’s stole him away from us, piece by piece, soon after he was unable to go up the stairs by himself so we had to get stair lifts to ease his mobility. Take a look at the curved stairlift prices from the online store we purchased ours from. And if you need to install specialized stairlifts, then you may consider installing these Wheelchair Accessible Stairlifts. It was with a heavy heart that I drove to comfort my mother as he was breathing his last. Dick had been on Hospice Care At Home for a long time, so the news did not come as a great surprise. He was made to be as comfortable as possible, and departed soon thereafter.
His family arrived and preparations were made. The funeral service was beautiful, or so I have heard. Thirty minutes before it started, Beth called:
“I think my water just broke,” she said. “Don’t worry, just stay with your mom, I’m going to the hospital.”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but our boy had decided to arrive two weeks early. I searched the church for Beth’s parents, knowing that they had planned to attend Dick’s funeral. In the mean time, I ran into several people, doing my best to appear less than frantic. My friend, Tony, was waiting to sign the register.
We shook hands and I said, “I think Beth’s water broke.”
“Why are you still here?” was his response.
Beth told me to wait for news, so I went back with my family. She wasn’t calling or responding to my texts, so just as I was about to be seated for the funeral, Tony’s words echoing in my brain, I took off for Missouri Baptist. I’m not sure what laws I broke on the way there, but my mind draws a blank.
When I arrived, the nurses in labor and delivery had no knowledge of my wife. Certain that another foolish male had wandered into the wrong hospital, they suggested that I try Mercy down the road.
“Her OB is here, we took classes here, we took the tour here,” I said. “Did anyone check in ten minutes ago?”
Well, she was there, under her maiden name. Hospitals can’t do a name change over the phone, and this was one thing Beth hadn’t gotten around to doing. We had two more weeks, right?
There we were, all dressed up for a funeral, our baby on the way. Once Beth was comfortably situated in the labor and delivery room, I made a quick round trip home for our halfway-packed bag. In this, I did fairly well, thanks to my wife, who scribbles lists daily. I returned to see that Beth was attended by her parents, who had learned of their daughter’s pregancy from my friend and boss, Buddy.
To know Buddy is to love him. His sense of humor is fantastic, which, coming from me, means that it is completely deranged. I alerted Buddy as to why I wasn’t at the funeral, knowing that he would explain my absence to my co-workers, and that he would definitely seek out Beth’s parents. Beth’s parents, having heard about Buddy’s sense of humor, thought he was kidding around. They left shortly after I did, but Beth made them turn around, knowing that it was going to be a long night.
If you ever want to kill time, get the person you love the most pregnant and be present during labor. The roughly nineteen hours that passed between her arrival and our boy’s arrival went in the blink of an eye. For the first several hours, we walked laps around the halls and Beth sat on the birthing ball, trying to get things moving. Our nurse started an oxytocin drip to help. In case you didn’t know, once the water breaks, the clock is ticking. You’ve got about twenty-four hours to deliver the baby before some scary things start to happen.
Beth’s epidural was less scary than the buildup. My wife’s scoliosis makes doctors go wild, like they’ve stumbled upon a major phenomenon. The reality is that we were worried about the epidural, because we are familiar with her spine. We brought an x-ray with us, just in case. The anesthesiologist got it right on the second try. They made me sit through this procedure, because apparently husbands who watch it are prone to fainting. That news made me more prone to fainting than the procedure itself.
My big scare happened during the night, when Beth’s blood pressure, always high in a hospital setting, was racing, while every contraction was taking the baby’s heart rate down. For three hours, I stared at the monitors, not saying a word to my wife. The nurse was on it, in communication with Beth’s doctor, while all I could do was wait and watch. They worked it all out in the end, though, and I slept.
Then, early in the morning, I was awakened. It was still dark out, but I have no idea what time it was. I was, happily, not completely useless, and I didn’t faint. I think that everything that comes out of an expecting father’s mouth in the delivery room is pretty stupid. Luckily for me, my wife doesn’t remember much from the time she started pushing.
“You’re really doing it, sweetie,” was my worst line, delivered as I saw his head begin to emerge. It was my attempt at reassurance, delivered between pushes. In my defense, I was running on two hours’ sleep.
Still, in the “not completely useless department,” my job was to hold Beth’s right leg while she pushed, fetch her water and dab her forehead in between. She was sick a few times, and I held the cup. It’s not much, but it sure beats casual spectating. I prayed to Mary, not very Lutheran of me, but it’s what I did.
Beth seems to believe that she was falling asleep in between contractions, but I think that time must have acted very strangely for her. Her contractions were coming like clockwork, and while my recollection wasn’t the best, she pushed through nearly every one. Her epidural was mostly affecting one side, thanks to her back, so she felt a lot more than I would have wished on anyone.
The doctor took my wife’s hand and made her feel our son’s head. That was all she needed. Two more pushes and out he came.
In dumbfounded awe, I said, “Wow.”
If you’ve never seen a child born, in person, there is nothing like it. Movies do a poor job of it. Even the movies they show in birthing classes of real births don’t compare. It is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, and probably the most amazing thing I ever will see.
The doctor asked if I’d like to cut the cord, to which I replied, “Sure,” which wasn’t affirmative enough for him, so I said, “Yes.” He also made me take two really gross pictures. I’ve taken them off of my phone, and while Beth and I agree that we don’t want to delete them, we’re not exactly sure that keeping them is the best idea. It’s something I know I’ll never forget, but if our son ever sees them, I’m not sure he’ll ever forget them without professional help.
Beth’s family came to the delivery room, and left when it was time for us to go to our postpartum room. It took us about a day to decide that Thomas Daniel would be a good name for our son. Tommy seems to like his name, when he’s awake, which isn’t often.
Holding my son, alone with my wife in that little room, I felt a love I had never known before. I struggle to find words to describe what I felt then, and continue to feel now. I’m not good with emotion, and in those first few days, I was in it up to my head, my toes barely touching a sandy bottom. When the waves came, they took me.
Maybe that is why, driving home after returning Tommy’s grandma from a visit, I felt real grief for the loss of my stepfather. We’d had a full day at home by then, and a difficult first night. You’re never ready to be a parent, you just become one, and life becomes very daily. I thought of what Dick said and how very true it was, and wished he was still here.