"Just calling to let you know we're all fine, we had a beautiful snow, Missy measured six inches here. And, uh, we're staying in out of the nasty. I didn't know what shift you're working so I just decided to call. Give me a call sometime and tell me what shift you're working or tell Mom on email or however you guys do that. Talk to you later. Bye."
That was the last voice message my dad left on my phone. I was working and couldn't answer when he called...and I'm so glad I didn't because now I will always be able to hear his voice when I miss him. I listened to it a lot yesterday. I played it over and over as I drove to the funeral home to meet my family and make his final arrangements. I listened to it before I went to bed and then again when I woke up two hours later. I've listened to it so many times I have it memorized. I made of a recording of it and emailed it to my family so they could listen to it when they needed to hear his voice again too.
My father had a beautiful voice, it was deep and melodious. I could listen to him speak for hours. He also had a beautiful singing voice, strong and deep...and I never heard him hit the wrong note. When he sang Battle Hymn of the Republic it was so beautiful it could bring tears to your eyes. When I was in 7th grade our school choir performed a beautiful rendition of the song. Dad and I would sing it together hundreds of times, our voices harmonizing perfectly. My daddy always told me I had a beautiful voice and could be a professional singer. I like to think I got any singing talent I have from him.
Listening to his message soothes me, makes me calm. It brings a smile to my face and brings back all those memories of singing with him.
The last couple of days have been hard for our family. We alternate between crying and laughing as we share our stories...and man, do we have some really good stories about our father. When we met with the preacher who will be performing the funeral yesterday we were asked if any of us would like to get up and say something about dad. We all just sat there for a minute in silence and I finally spoke for all of us. Each of us would love to say something about our father, but our grief is so overpowering, the pain so raw, we fear we will stand to speak and nothing would come out.
When my beloved Pop (my "step" father, although I loved him as much as loved my daddy) died a few years ago I got up and spoke, not because I wanted to, but because he had asked me to. He was sick for a long time and was in hospice, so we knew the end was coming. Pop gave me messages to pass on to everyone at his funeral, and because I loved him I did exactly what I asked.
My dad didn't do that, because my father had no intention of dying right now. He hadn't been in the best of health, but they had cleaned out his carotid arteries, put in stents to keep the blood flowing freely. He'd recently had a pacemaker put in. He had done everything he could to stay alive, and then suddenly he was gone.
So if I could manage to stand in front of people tomorrow and talk about my father, here's what I would say.
My father loved his family, he was completely devoted to us and always had been. He and I spoke on the phone almost every day since my brother Jimmy got sick...that's a lot of talking! We talked about everything and everybody, and while he never gave me specific messages to pass on I think I know what they would have been. So I'm going to tell you some of the things and people we talked about.
We spoke often of his wife of 40 years, Karen "Kay" Parrott. He loved her with all his heart, was faithful to her and their wedding vows for four decades. He called me a few months ago and said, "Sis, I need your help planning a surprise. I want to take mom on a trip just as soon as Jimmy's well again, and I need your help figuring out the best place to take her and things to do. I was thinking I'd take her to Branson, do you think she'd like that?"
She would have loved it.
I've been to Branson several times over the years so he quizzed me on what hotels I liked best, what shows she'd like, where they should go to eat. We spent hours over the month planning the special trip he wanted to give her. My dad didn't like to go out to crowded places and I don't ever remember him going on a vacation, so he wanted this trip to be special for her. I don't know if he ever told her about his plans, I had the impression he wanted to make it a surprise so I doubt he did...but I know he was serious about his intention to do this for her.
He was proud of the man my brother Charlie had become. Strong and intelligent, a deep thinker like our dad, yet such a kind and gentle heart. Charlie is also a heavy sleeper like our dad was, so daddy took it as his job to call Charlie every morning at 5:30 in the morning to wake him up for work. He was so proud when Charlie decided to go back to school to get his degree. Education was very important to our father.
Daddy was excited when my brother Jimmy got his bachelors degree and then was over the moon with happiness when he completed his Masters. Shortly after beginning his dream job Jimmy got sick and was hospitalized for the year. That was the beginning of a very dark time for our family, and it bothered daddy so much that he wasn't physically strong enough to stay at the hospital more. It was also when our daily talks began, first out of necessity to relay information pertaining to Jimmy back and forth, and then as a way for me to check on him every day.
Dad always referred to Jimmy as the runt of the litter, because while Missy, Jimmy and I had our dad's physical characteristics (big heads, stocky build), Jimmy took after the Sigsbee family and was always smaller and thinner. He was sick more often as a child, lost most of his hearing, so everyone was more protective of him.
When it became obvious that Jimmy had the Parrott fight in him and survived all that happened to him, our dad quit calling him the runt and started bragging about how he was so much stronger than any of us had ever thought. He was so proud of Jimmy's strength and determination and would proudly tell me every milestone Jimmy hit, when he got special shoes to help fix the "drop foot" he had developed while laying for months in the hospital bed. He was tickled pink (his phrase, not mine) when Jimmy got new braces for his legs and was able to take a few steps, and I thought he was going to bust his buttons with pride when Jimmy was able to walk to the bathroom for the first time in years.
I think of all us kids he was most proud of my sister Missy, and rightfully so. When Jimmy got sick Missy gave up everything...her job, her social life...EVERYTHING to take care of her bubby. She moved into the hospital, she took on the responsibility of making all the medical decisions, she took over his finances and paid his bills. She became the rock of the family, the one everyone depended on to make important decisions and make sure necessary things got done. She fought the insurance company, doctors, nurses, she became a warrior whose only mission was my brother and father's well being. Daddy often said Missy was the glue that held everything together and he didn't know where they'd be without her.
I know my dad was proud of me to, he told me so often. He was proud of my work ethic, and raising two kids on my own. He was proud of the advocate I've become when it comes to Brandi's health. He told me over and over how he had placed on of the Diabetic on Board stickers I designed on his car.
He was proud that I'd gone to college after dropping out of high school, and was beyond proud when our local college asked me to teach classes on emergency communications several years ago. He thought it an amazing accomplishment that his "drop out" daughter was now teaching college classes.
He loved his grandchildren and great granddaughter as much as he loved his children. He was so worried about Brandi and when I called him in tears one night because Brandi had slipped into a diabetic coma he said, "Oh sis, she's going to be fine, she has Parrott blood in her. Her body is just tired and needs to heal itself, but she'll come back to us"...and she did. In the hundreds of conversations I had with him over the last three years he always asked how Brandi was, how her blood sugar levels were, and if she was gaining any weight. He worried so much about her but was the first person to ever call her a warrior...and she is. He told me she took after his mom, who had given birth to 10 children and was in a coma when my daddy was born. He said granny was strong and stubborn and a fighter - and that Brandi reminded him of her. I think perhaps that's the best compliment he could have ever given anyone.
When I would call him exasperated with my son he'd say, "Sis, he's just like his daddy and that's not necessarily a good thing, but he's got Parrott blood in those veins too so don't you worry, one day he'll pull his head out of his ass and become a great man." From your mouth to God's ear daddy!
Recently I had to pleasure of calling dad and telling him that DJ had completed his Bachelor degree and a perfect 4.0 grade point average and was going to graduate summa cum laude. Then I told him he had already enrolled in his first class towards his Master degree. My daddy started laughing and said, "See sis...I told you he had Parrott blood in him. Tell DJ grandpa's proud of him!"
There's one other person my dad talked about often, a man he loved like a son and considered a part of our family, Danny Warren.
Danny is my sisters best friend, has been since childhood, and a few months ago they declared their love for each other and officially became a couple. Oh man, dad was over the moon thrilled. When I asked what he thought about their relationship and if he thought they'd get married one day he said, "I sincerely hope so Sis, Danny is a fine man, an honorable man, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have for a son in law." The truth is that I already consider Danny my brother, just as daddy already considered him a son. As my father said, "All the rest is just a piece of paper."
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