It was five years ago this hour (when the blog is set to post) that my father, Oliver Joseph Courtemanche, Jr., passed away. Dad had been sick for a number of years with emphysema, and was actually in the hospital for a more routine sort of thing, an obstruction. I was getting ready to fly down to Florida to help my mom and sister take care of him 28 hours from the time they called me to let me know that dad was dying. He’d taken a turn for the worse and was bleeding out at the hospital.
There would be no discharge to home for a lengthy convalescence and slow death from lack of oxygen. God had elected to take him now. I was working that night and when the phone rang I knew it wouldn’t be a good thing. I was glad that I had a chance to say goodbye to the man who figured most prominently in my life. Someone held the phone up to him and I got one last chance to say that I loved him.
My father was many things in this life – athlete, construction worker, college student, school administrator, father, owner of dogs, husband, friend, author (his master’s thesis is listed on Google Books) and Christian. Not on that list, but perhaps how he most identified himself was as Staff Sergeant, U.S.M.C., Retired. There’s something about Marines that sticks in a way none of of the rest of us can fully understand. They have earned that and I honor that brotherhood that my father shared with other Marines.
When he left this Earth my father left behind 4 kids, one grandchild, three daughters-in-law, a son-in-law, and a wife who all grieved him. And a dog. A little Boston Terrier named Beau. My father and Beau had a love affair. The dog was practically attached to the man, much like my Maisie was with me. The difference is that Beau didn’t understand what had happened to his friend who was no longer there, and it destroyed him. My mother performed heroic measures to keep the dog up on his feet and engaged. But there was no consoling the little guy over the death of his best friend. Within a short time the dog had passed as well, shorn of the will to live.
The rest of the family fared much better. I know that we all miss him and it still chokes me up a little bit when the thought occurs, “I should call dad and tell him about that…” That call will have to wait. But I know I’ll get to catch up with him down the road because his final words were, “I think I see Jesus.” It doesn’t get better than that for a Christian. I’ll attend Catholic Mass to honor my father this morning. And I’ll light a set of candles in his name. And I’ll miss the man who helped form me into the man I am today. In the meantime, here’s a video I put together at the time of his death. I think he’d like it.
Thanks, Dad. See you soon.
