Felled By a Sitcom

I'm down with the flu, and TV is playing a big part in my "distract the kids so I don't contaminate them" plan for today.  I know, I know.  TV isn't a great choice for a babysitter, but when the doc tells you you're highly contagious and that you have to wear a mask if you "have" to be with them, and your husband works nights...well, it's a viable distractor.

In any case, after multiples episodes of Dora, Mickey Mouse and other stuff my mind is conveniently deleting from its database, I decided it was time for a mom-centric show.

Consult: DVR.  I don't get to watch many shows first-run, but the DVR captures them for viewing when the kids are already in bed, playing with dad, or succumbing to a milk- or sugar-coma.

Select: the How I Met Your Mother episode from January 24th.

Spoiler alert: if you haven't seen this episode but later intend to and don't want me to ruin it for you, quit reading now.

In a nutshell, this episode deals with the funeral of Marshall's father, played by the goofy sidekick from Coach.  (Ya'll know who I mean, right? I'm bad with names.)  In it, Marshall's mom and brothers have touching last words to recount from his dad.  Marshall doesn't feel like he has a similar story to share...but then discovers a voicemail from his dad that a previously battery-drained phone didn't deliver earlier.  That message lets him hear his dad say that word "I love you" one last time.

I don't remember my last words from my dad.  He died on August 5th, 2008, 2 months before Catherine was born.  During the last six months of his life, he was 100% unresponsive and uncommunicative, and considered to be in a terminal state.  Although I was able to see him several times during those six months (I live 1500 miles from where I grew up), our visits were comprised of holding hands or me feeding him various meals. The last meal I fed him, which was also the last time I saw him while he was living, was 2 days before his 75th birthday.  It was dinnertime and the very first time I'd visited him in his nursing home without my mom or husband tagging along.  He'd already entered hospice care, and we knew the end was near...although we didn't expect him to linger for another six weeks and then die just 18 hours before my flight back for my next visit was to land.  But I digress...

I remember the last words I said to him.  I told him how much I loved him and how much I missed the man he had been before Alzheimers had robbed him of his mind, his personality, and his quality of life.  I told him I was going to enjoy telling my daughter all about the wonderful times I'd enjoyed with her grandfather while growing up but that I hated more than anything that she wasn't going to get to know him.  I told him I was glad that he was the first person we'd told about our coming baby, on the trip we made to Pennsylvania 3 months previous when it looked like the end was then - that's a picture of him and I and the baby's first stuffed animal.

But I really wish I could remember the last words he said to me.  I know that we talked on the phone a few times after he broke his hip in November of the year prior and had to enter the nursing home for rehab.  I know, in fact, that we must have talked even just prior to the weeklong 105 degree temperature he suffered that landed him in the state he'd be in for the rest of his life.  And I also know that those talks were probably not about anything meaningful, since Alzheimers had reduced our chats to pleasantries instead of the long talks we used to share.  But for the life of me, I can't remember. 

Maybe that's better.  Maybe the most pleasant memories to save are the ones of our long chats on current events, politics, family gossip, the Phillies and NASCAR.  But I don't know.

So here is flu-ridden melodramatic me thinking about what last words I'd want my children to remember me saying to them.  "I love you" is a given.  "I'm proud of you" and "I want only the best for your life" aren't far behind.  But what insightful advice could I offer that they could look back on?

I guess this is what I've come up with: "I want you to always be who you are.  Always say what you are thinking, but say it with respect.  Always think deeply and thoroughly, but act decisively.  Remember who your friends are and always have room in your life for more.  Take care of the people you call family, even when they've stolen your last nerve.  And never believe that there's anything you can't accomplish through sheer stubborn will."

What do you think?  What last words do you remember, or do you want to be remembered by?