The Longest Day

 THE LONGEST DAY
By Mike Jackson

I think there is a density to major events in your life. You can feel them if you are listening. You see things that take place in the future without realizing it.  For me, it is usually there. I can feel a change coming, like you do when the barometric pressure drops before a thunderstorm, causing the leaves on trees to turn inside out. For reasons unknown, I have especially felt it in songs. When Harvest Moon by Neil Young came out in late 92, I just knew that something was happening that would change every day of my life sometime soon. A major course change was there, yet I had no idea why or how. 7 months later my first marriage did come to a final end and my entire course did change just like I was sure that it would even though at the time everything appeared the opposite.

March 4th, 1985, I knew when I got up that day, that something would happen that very day to change my course for many years to come. Later that day, a catastrophic mechanical failure to my vehicle changed my course career-wise, relationship-wise, and overall direction I was headed in.

I do not subscribe to the idea that this is anything other than being sensitive to the subliminally subconscious signals of people, relationship dynamics, and mechanical undertones.

I have driven to Texas many times. Rarely these were largely uneventful and very smooth trips. Other times they were screaming suicide missions of self-destruction in which I held the vehicle I was driving together with imagination and my bare hands. People that I traveled with fell into two categories, obliviousness and dependency. My memory is painted with skylines and silhouettes of Texas cities and roadways. 

Lately, I could "feel" Texas moving towards me. I tried to ignore it because I had no plans to go that way anytime soon. I would have loved to go, but life was just so busy. I was 3 months into my Service Manager job at Dartmouth Motors, following a 2-year run as a Service Advisor. People were depending on me and I needed to be there for them. My father, Joe Jackson had lived in Port Aransas, Texas since September of 1980. I had last visited him in September of 1993. Even though I had no plans to go there anytime soon, whenever I closed my
eyes, or daydreaming, I saw Texas.

5:15 AM Friday, March 29, 1996. Radio blasting country music at unthinkable decibels cut me out of my protective blanket of darkness and dreams. Gayle’s alarm clock. She didn't use the conventional buzzing or beeping type, which despite all of the studies suggests those are a terrible way to wake up. I am sure it would be better than this.

Pain rolled into my heart and soul. I felt injured. Why? I was 30 years old and in good health. Yet, I had never felt as injured as I did now. The events of the previous day began to play back to me. I told myself it would be all right, but there was a coldness in my soul. I have no possible description for this. It's like on day four of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August of 1990, I knew that day that I would be very directly involved with that. There at 5:15 AM Friday, March 29, 1996, something so sure was lurking, yet I would never dare think it.

The day before was a pretty rough and busy day at Dartmouth Motors. There were a lot of demands that day, well any day really.  I had been doing this job for the better part of a year, but only recently was actually titled with the position.

Six o'clock came and I was going to finally get out of there. I was only 3 steps from being outside the door when I heard the new car manager's voice suddenly echo throughout the dealership over the intercom: "Mike Jackson Line one, URGENT". 

Something must be wrong at home. Quickly, I backtracked to the dispatch booth and picked up the phone. "Don't panic!” it was Gayle. The words obviously, instantly produced panic.  "Brooke just called." "Please let the kids be all right," I say inside”. Gayle continued, "She's very upset, it's your Dad." Terror...again. This is something I never imagined! "He was taken to the emergency room today from work. He's still there. She doesn't know much else." 

Gayle gave me the number to call Brooke at. Brooke answered right away.  She explained that Bobbi, Brooke's mother-in-law had called her when she found out about this. She lived on Mustang Island in Port Aransas too like our father. It was a very small town and news spread quickly. 

Brooke was still very upset and was very sure that she was going to go down there tonight. Until a few weeks ago, Brooke, her husband Jamie, and their two children, Taylor and John were living in California. Jamie had just finished active duty with the Navy and they had moved back to Texas. They and the kids, who were only 2 and 3 were staying at Laura, Jaime's sister's house in Austin. She explained to me that all she knew was Dad was at work and he was taken by ambulance to the hospital. 

Brooke was definitely as shocked as I was. "We only saw him two weeks ago!" She was wondering at this time if maybe she missed some warning signs. I told her not to dwell on that. We had to watch closely now and do whatever Dad needed us to do. Hopefully, this would just be some warning sign that he needs to give up cigarettes and drinking, and maybe in the end, it will have been a good thing to be warned before disaster plots its inevitable course. 

Dad smoked since he was ten. Alcohol was probably an important part of his life since his mid-teens. Brooke informed me that they predict Dad will be out of the emergency room very soon and we can call him once he is in a regular room. "They have ruled out heart attack or stroke," Brooke told me. She gave me the number to the hospital.

I felt helpless. My Dad was in South Texas. Over the years, that distance for most of the time seemed to mean that we actually lived on different planets. At the moment I really wanted to be there and have him know that I was there for him. I'd give anything to be there and it was frustrating. 

I could not be much comfort to Brooke 2,000 miles away. I not only wanted to be there for Dad but also for Brooke.  It felt like I was trying to console her by writing letters. There wasn't much more for us to say. All we could do now was wait. We hung up. 

The energy building in me felt like it was being generated by a giant turbine. I could not stop pacing. I had to do something else. I called information in Port Aransas, Texas. I used to work with my Dad in the City of Port Aransas, Public Works Department. Carl who was the Director of Public Works back when I was employed there could tell me what was going on the first hand. I needed to know something more. Carl was now retired and now my former supervisor, Crockett was the director. 

Carl’s wife answered and quickly passed the phone to her husband. He was both surprised and not surprised to hear from me. Even though my Dad did not work for Carl anymore, Carl still seemed to know a lot. He said, "I spend a lot of time out at the landfill talking with Joe. We talk about politics and everything else. We both listen to Rush. But last couple of weeks I did not think much of it but your Dad was moving slower than normal. Today he called Crockett and told him he needed some oxygen because he was having trouble breathing. He didn't want to go to the hospital, but the City Manager came down and talked him into it. Dadd-gum-it Mike, I wish I had realized that he just wasn't looking well lately.” Carl was truly emotional about it. To think about it, Carl was often emotional. I thanked Carl for the information. 

Out the door and home I went hoping that by the time I got home, Brooke would
have called with good news, but there were none. Eating was out of the question. I was restless. I decided that it would be a good idea to let David and Janet know what was happening. Dave was my father's first cousin. They grew up together. Dave and Janet were like my 2nd parents. My mother was put on bed rest when she was pregnant with Brooke. I was three and a half and I lived with them during that time. I still remember much of it. They were as close as your extended family gets.

The surprise, although masked, was apparent in Dave’s voice. We had so little information. Dave told me about symptoms he had experienced last year. It had taken months of tests to finally reveal the root of the problem. Dave explained to me what he had and I wrote it down so that when I spoke to Dad later I could offer it. There was not much else we could talk about. All we could do now is wait. Dave told me that if he did not hear from me, he would assume that all turned out well. Dave as always, let me know if there was anything we needed to let him and Janet know. I hung up hoping I would not be speaking to him for a while. 

I called the hospital. He had been released from the emergency room. I felt slightly better than I had in hours. I went through a maze of telephone transfers. People asked me who I was and told me I could speak to Dad myself. 

The telephone in his room rang and rang. I hung up. I instantly re-dialed. I told the desk that there was no answer. This time I was told that he may still be in emergency. That old ill feeling crept up once again. "Oh no, let me go down and check in his room", the woman said. She returned to the phone. "He was in the restroom, Mr. Jackson; you have a phone call from your son."

"Hello?" He was out of breath. This was new territory for me. "Dad, how's it going?” trying to keep the conversation as normal as possible. "Could be better” he answered. I began to ask him about what was going on, but he had other plans. "Mike, I was just in the bathroom and the fuckin phone rang twenty times! The guy next to me can't even rest! I heard Bobbi was calling here. 

Dad's relationship with Bobbi was okay until the day Brooke went into labor with Taylor. Because Jamie was on tour with the Navy, Brooke was staying with Bobbie. Brooke went into labor; Bobbie called the ferry and had them wait for them. She took Brooke to Spawn Hospital in Corpus, where Taylor was born. Bobbie called my mother in Connecticut; she called my sister Amy, also in Connecticut. Amy called me in New Hampshire. I called my Father, and instead of him knowing about it, that is how he found out about it. He was only less than a mile from where Brooke went into labor. 

To say that he had been upset with Bobbie would be an understatement.  Over the last three years, their relationship was slowly healing, but calling the hospital to check on him was sensitive. How did you find out I was here?" I told him "Bobbi called Brooke and she called me". "Do me a favor Mike", Dad said while gasping for breath in between each syllable. "Call everyone and tell them not to call here. I will call you after they run tests and we know more. Right now I have a lot to think about. I have probably smoked my last cigarette and drank my last drink." 

This was something that we casually discussed over the years.  Since I had finally quit drinking in 1989 and at this point, I had gone two and a half years without smoking. "It was tough enough for me to give each one up one at a time" I offer, "but I cannot even begin to imagine what it could be like to quit both at the same time." Dad said, "When you cannot breathe no matter how hard you try, I think I could quit doing anything. There is nothing worse than not being able to breathe." "Maybe like being locked in a tear gas chamber causing the air to be ripped from your lungs until they let you out?" I said. "Yeah", he said. "You probably do know." 

At this point in the conversation, I decided that all was going to be OK. I wanted to talk to Dad about normal things now. I was hoping it would take his mind off the heavy things he was contemplating. I told him how I bought Beatles Anthology II the first day that it was out. Dad had to put the phone down to get some oxygen as his breathing became labored. He returned. "I got another Beatles Interview CD," he said. "I really cannot appreciate them as much as you would. I'll send both of them up to you." I told Dad that another thing going on right now is the musical exchange has re-ignited between me and Gary Clark. Gary had got me writing music again and it was really going well. I knew Dad would like to hear this. 

I decided not to keep Dad long. "You need to get some rest, Dad. I will call everyone and let them know that you are OK and not to call." "Yeah", Dad says, "that's really all I need to do right now." "I love you, Dad, take care." Dad replied, "I love you, Mike." He hung up the phone.

I looked at the phone. I felt torn. Two major emotions were rushing through me. First, I wanted cry to cry because I was still scared even though I was relieved that he was getting care. The second is, that I did not mention to Dad that I called our cousin Dave because I worried that I may have overreacted to the situation by calling him. Oddly, I felt guilt.

I dialed Brooke. "I want to go down there," she told me. "I think I'll just wait until tomorrow morning" she decided. "Dad does need to rest and doesn't need us to come down and wake him up tonight." She asked me what I would do if were I in Austin, and I told her that I would be in Corpus with him. I could hear the relief in Brooke’s voice at that. 

I called Amy who is at my mom's house. I gave Amy the news and tried to lighten the panic that was threatening to take us all in its' undertow. I told Amy all about the conversation Dad and I had and it had the same effect on her. Dad's words about the telephone ringing and waking up the other guy were certainly refreshing.

I slept horribly that night....and now......for some reason, on this Friday morning, yes, I felt injured and as this day begins to slowly unravel, I only begin to understand the bond between myself and this great person named Joe Jackson.

08:30 AM Dartmouth Motors, Newport, NH, I told my co-worker Laree about the situation with Dad. Tears welled up in my eyes from the undeniable fear in me of what the tests this day would tell. I was preoccupied all day. I found concentration on work very hard to master. So why would I not need to fire someone? One of our shop technicians made a final mistake that warranted his dismissal. He had to go now. The General Manager Jim and I talked and I told him that normally this would not be a problem for me but I explained the events of last night and I offered to him that while I am capable, today is not the day I wish to terminate someone, I would like him to do it. Jim doesn't grab the bait on this. Still me.

My technician and I sat down in the break room. I told him that due to problems that I had outlined to him in writing he was going. I was very careful with him. He is a good kid overall. I really liked him.  I did not agree with certain trivial things the current regime would focus on.  Jim needed to get a life.  His over-inflated projection of himself was unnecessary.  He was a personable guy, but his desire to have the unobtainable ruined any hope that anyone could truly like him.

I terminated many people when I worked for Adams TV Rentals. In all cases, I had always kept the possibility in mind that there could be retribution in some way. Out of all of those, only one termination turned violent...twice. It is something anyone in a supervisory position has to think about. I had the strangest feeling deep within me that I would not be home to protect my family if I needed to. Good old Desert Storm. I saw terrorism, suspicion, and stealth everywhere. I made sure he knew this was all coming from higher up, also because, it really was in this case. It was the only way I could think to protect the family that I somehow felt I could not protect. I still had no idea why this was.

At the end of the work day, I stood out in the shop and told my good friend Paul about my Dad. I've had no calls at work and I was hopeful that no news is good news. I walked out the door and took the black 2 door Celebrity loaner car home.

At home, Brooke called and told me that Dad was in intensive care. The feeling of doom filled me like water surrounding me in a cramped water tank with no way out.  I started to feel like the ground I was standing on was hollow and weakening. Brooke told me that his legs were in very bad condition. She had learned that Dad had not been feeling well for some time and he hadn't said anything. "I'm so glad I came down to see him", she said. "I am too," I told her, "but I wish I were there too" "I know," she said, "but Dad told Tom that he had better not see you or Amy down here." Now that sounded like my Dad to me.

Brooke went on, "The first thing he said to me was 'Brooke. Quit smoking.'" Dad made it quite clear to me last night that quitting smoking was quite obtainable. I wanted to be there for Brooke, and for Dad. I could not be there and I felt a strong sense of pride for the strength that she demonstrated. Brooke was awesome.

This Friday happened to be the night Samantha was going out on a movie date with JB. She was not too happy because when I was asked if she could go up to West Lebanon to the movies with him I told her I was to talk to him before they went out. I had this talk with JB, all the time envisioning those early days in 1985 when Brooke first moved to Port Aransas and Dad suddenly had a 15-year-old to deal with. The way Dad would do things, not exactly the way that I do things, but with a strong influence from him. There was less dramatic unloading of shotguns in front of the boy, which was something Dad always did for emphasis.

I had to stay up for Sam to return at 11:00. I sat on the couch. Only a couple of weeks ago Dad mailed me a couple of tapes. I watched one called "This was America 1963" and "This was America 1968". I began to grow extremely agitated during this time.

At 10 0'clock the telephone rang. Brooke was calling from Port Aransas. "Mike, we just got home from Corpus. The hospital called and said Dad needs a ventilator. They said if he doesn't have it he is not getting enough oxygen to his brain. They need me to sign the papers." "I just want to ask you if you think that I should do this." I thought really hard. Three years ago my uncle David (a different David from previously, we have many in our family) was having a casual conversation at a family picnic and somewhere it turned deep.  He told me that he had told his sons if anything really crippling should ever happen to him he would hope they would put him out of his misery. I was somewhat shocked that David brought this up out of seemingly nowhere. I was in Port Aransas 2 months later and I told Dad about that conversation. Dad said to me. "Nothing wrong with that Mike. Shit, I wouldn't want to hang on as only half a person."

Then I thought of the conversation I had with Dad on the phone last night. Dad told me that not being able to breathe was the worst feeling he had ever known. "Yes, Brooke, go sign the papers", I replied. "OK. I thought I should. We're leaving for the hospital now, I call you later if I have any news." Brooke hung up the phone and she and Jamie went back to Corpus Christi.
The feeling of doom now rolled in like a deadly thick fog. I kept telling myself that once Dad receives the ventilator he will improve and this is probably the darkest hour...I prayed.

Samantha arrived home at 11:00 as she should and went up to bed. At 11:10 I went to bed myself. I had to work in the morning. I was a fool to think that I could sleep. After all, I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to wake up. A dream... If only this were a dream. Dad was so much on my mind thinking of him lying in the hospital. I could not believe any of this was happening.

11:37 PM the silence and the darkness are cut and smashed by the ring of the telephone. I knew that second I did not want the phone to ring this time. I jumped over Gayle to pick up the receiver. "AT&T operator, collect call from," "Say yes!" Jamie’s voice said after the recording. "Here, talk to your sister." You could tell Brooke had been crying. "Mike. He won't take the ventilator. They're all trying to get him to change his mind but he won't. They say if he doesn't get the ventilator he will slip into a coma and die." I could hear her crying. "Does he know that?" I asked her. "Yes. You should see it. They're all mad they are arguing with him. He really seems to know what he's saying."

I did not want this be happen. But it was. Brookes' next question surprised me. In 1988 when my maternal Grandfather was in his final hours, Dad had tried to reach me.  I was in the middle of a very big day moving my travel trailer from East Canaan, CT to Tolland, CT so that we could move into it. Dad at this time told me, "Mike, it's just not right when something like this is happening that nobody can call you. Tell you what, when I die, I'll call you." I laughed, "All right Dad, I'm going to hold you to that."

"Do you want to talk to him?" she asked. Dad was keeping his promise. His voice came over the phone almost like it always had, yet there was no chuckle like he always used to do as he said 'how's it going''. "Mike. I think we've come to the end of the line here and that things can never be the same again. It is only going to be downhill from here. Rather than try to stretch it out, I do not want to be hooked up to anything."

Oh HELL NO! "Dad, what are you talking about? You can't just refuse! You have us. You have grandchildren. You can't just go!" I was so ready to dig in and argue! I could not believe I was hearing this from him! 

"Dad!" I said with desperation in my voice trying not to cry, "Last night on the phone you told me... YOU TOLD ME the worst feeling you have ever known is not being able to breathe." "Yeah. I'm telling you, it's awful". he said. "Dad", my words slowed in pace. You will not be able to breathe. That's what's going to happen." His reply was immediate. "I know Mike. I can't go any farther. I really really need you to hear what I'm saying, Mike." He was arguing and pleading with me too. It caused my head to spin and my heart to break. He kept telling me that he did not want to be hooked up to machines. I remembered the conversation from 1993 about being kept alive." 

One thing was for certain, being down did not reduce his tenacity. Mike, I need you to hear
me." He said it again. As he spoke, I could feel his sincerity and desperation.  This time he also really needed me, and my sisters. The more he talked, something weird happened inside of me. I went down swinging, then I stood back up, but I was a different person suddenly. He was more than my father. He was also the best friend I've ever had. Friends like us saw each other’s wishes to the death. He would do the same for me in a heartbeat and I knew it. I realized at that moment that this was the final phone call.

Panic surged through me suddenly. We all go through life thinking there will be more time to show people how much we love and appreciate them. Time was up. Barely able to speak, I forced out the only words that I knew at that moment. "Dad, you can't possibly know how I feel about you," I told him, and really meant it. With more breath, to put forward the words as he knew I needed to hear them he said, "No Mike, I think I do." 

It was strange when he said it. The words had such gravity to them, that I believed that he really could see inside me and know how I felt. He knew how awesome I felt he was. He knew how sorry I was for all the stupid things I had done when I was younger. "No Mike, I think I do" meant so much more than anything I have ever heard before. "I love you and Brooke and Amy and your Mother and your grandfather and everyone in that whole family. We'll catch each other further down the road." Although I had not said this word in 25 years, I said it in my mind..."Daddy".
"I love you, Dad." 

Brooke was back on the phone. We were weighing out the circumstances.  On such a lack of oxygen, did he really understand the choice he was making?  We could clearly see that he knew what was happening.  In fact, from all the years of smoking and later on, putting on weight, he had been living on reduced oxygen for years and had adapted to it.  "Mike, he really seems to know what he's saying. He's really aware of what's going on." I sighed, "Yes he does. Brooke, we owe it to Dad to respect his wishes, I'm standing with him on this." Brooke agreed and we supported each other in that as a family we would stand united for our father. We hung up the phone. I couldn't believe I was allowing her to deal with this alone.

There was no way that I could sleep now. I went down the stairs sobbing. I couldn't seem to stop. I turned on the TV and watched the rest of that tape Dad sent. I read the note he sent with it. He taped some Corpus weather forecasts on the end of the tape. He always had an opinion about meteorologists. In the one he taped for me, he states "a good guy but looks like he has plastic ears." That's Dad.

I called Mom and Amy. I had to talk to someone. I kept thinking that I would still be going to work in the morning. I played guitar for a while before going up to bed and lying down at 4:30. I just stared into the darkness for hours, numb.

Gayle’s alarm went off. She got up and took a shower. It was the end of the month and her weekend to work. She got out of the shower and looked at me. "We have got to get you down to Texas somehow." At this moment I knew that I was not going to work. I called my co-worker. I told him of the conversation I had had with Dad several hours earlier. He stayed up till 4:00 partying and couldn't make it in. I then called Mark whom I knew would cover for me but he was in North Carolina. I called the parts manager and he said he'd make it work.

I knew for sure I was going to Texas. A 1985 Subaru with a blown head gasket would not do it. 1985 Jeep Cherokee would be too expensive on gas. 1985 Oldsmobile Ciera could do it. It has 6 million miles on it and if it breaks down on the way, I'd just ditch it, or leave it in Port Aransas. I really did not know.  I didn't care how or if we got home. I just wanted to get down there. I kept feeling that it was impossible for Dad to even live the next couple of hours because all I could hear inside me were the echoes of the phone call the night before.

I called Amy to tell her my plan. She was going too. I then called our cousins Dave and Janet. I recited the conversation I had with Dad last night with Dave. Dave was certainly stunned as he saw a major presence in his life fading away. My father and Dave grew up together, of course, he was stunned. Dave had an experienced demeanor about it though. He had seen many people he was close to pass on and he was very wise and helpful. He asked if we needed money. The truth was, yes. We had just lost the Subaru and had to buy the Ciera and do work to that. He told me to stop down there when I got to Connecticut. He also told me that he remembered how I used to write when I was younger. He told me that now was a very good time to write as this could really help me.

I called Brooke to tell her Amy and I were coming. I did not know it but the hospital used this as an excuse to at least have Dad keep wearing the oxygen cannula long enough to see Amy and me. He knew we were coming. He would wait.

I needed to straighten out the Ciera, it was at Dartmouth Motors. Only a few days earlier I had an ignition issue with it. I needed to make absolutely sure it was resolved. I drove the Jeep towards the dealership. As I was climbing the hill out of Newport I began to scream at the top of my lungs to release tension. It was stupid but I felt like doing it and wondered if it would help. But as soon as I began I realized I couldn't stop. Finally, I screamed at myself in a third-person manner, "Sgt. Jackson!!! Get a hold of yourself!!!! You are an NCO!!!! You will act like one!!!!" Crazy? Perhaps, but it was all I had to grab onto.

By the time I pulled into the dealership, I was totally running on adrenaline. I went out back and drove the Oldsmobile into the shop. I had to tell several people the story of the phone call I had with Dad only hours ago. It was very hard to repeat. I had to tighten the drive belts and they were very difficult. Paul came over and helped out and I told him that this car was making the trip to Texas. Amy and I would drive the thing non-stop for 2 days until we reached Corpus Christi. I told him I had driven cars in worse shape this trip. Paul did not see anything wrong with taking the car but he was more concerned with my frame of mind and how much I have or have not slept.
I went out to the front of the dealership. Marshall and Jim were not there. I called Marshall, the owner of the dealership at home and told him what was going on. I told him I needed a couple of weeks. He told me no problem, also that the 800 number works from Texas too.

I left the dealership and went home. I carefully inspected every inch of the Ciera. I removed every last piece of paper just in case we had to ditch this car so there would be no signs of where it came from. I called Gayle and told her to drive to Dartmouth Motors after getting out of work pick up the Jeep and leave the loaner car out back. I called Amy. Amy told me that she really wanted to see Dad and she wanted us to fly there. I was not sure why this had not occurred to me. We decided to fly. We hung up and she got right to calling the airlines. I called Brooke to let her know what we were going to do. Amy called back and told me she had our flight booked for 3:15 PM today and we would arrive in Corpus at 11:45 PM. I called Dave and Janet to let them know that we were now going to fly to Texas. They asked that I meet Amy and Sal at their house. Dave told me I could leave the Ciera in his driveway.

Gayle came home and I filled her in on the plan. She was worried. In my mind, I began a military strategy of planning that I had learned at the Academy. I began to plan the rest of the day in reverse so that all necessities of time were met. We should be at the airport an hour early. By planning backwards I was able to plan all the way up to the time I had to pull out of the driveway here at home. Gayle mentioned that while I was gone she could do some painting around the house but she needed materials. I was the only person on our landlord R.P. Johnson's building supply account so I drove to Sunapee and bought some paint.

When I got home time was getting short. Gayle and I said goodbye and I could see how sad she was as she stood on the front lawn and watched me leave. She was worried about me being up for 31 hours. I had told her I would try to sleep on the plane. It seemed to take forever to get through Claremont. I drove like I was in a trance and in my head, screamed a song I had listened to last night while channel surfing on television. The song was Lenny Kravits' "I Just Can't Get You Off Of My Mind". Appropriate the ways this bluesy melody played on inside of me relentlessly. The Ciera ran perfectly.

I parked in Dave and Janet's driveway. Amy's' red Ford Escort was parked on the side of the road. We talked about Dad. We talked about little Sal, Amy's one-and-a-half-year-old.
Dave asked me if I noticed how quickly he picked up the phone. He led me back to the room that was his son Stephen's when he was living at home. Now the room was more of an office. Dave had his word processor set up and he told me that he had been writing a lot lately. Writing a book as a matter of fact. Writing a chapter a week. He stressed once again, "If you have it in you to write, write all you can. I handed Dave a very rough 1st 2 pages of a story I had just begun to write.

We moved the cars around in the driveway. Janet gave Amy an envelope. "You tell your father this is our gift to him," she said. We said goodbye to them and headed down the road in Amy's little Escort with the studded snow tires that made their intense clicking noise on the highway.
I honestly could not care when the next time I saw that Oldsmobile Ciera was. For most of my life, I was living in yesterday or even tomorrow, today I was living in today. Everything inside of me just flowed toward Corpus Christi Texas. It did not matter if you put me on a plane, a train, or even a tricycle, enough time passed and I would be in Corpus Christi. I would naturally gravitate there. Dad and I were close. We were not always close. We did not always know each other the way we do now.

It was early December 1979. Dad was living at New Cambridge Apartments on Farmington Avenue in Bristol, Connecticut with my Grandmother, Violet Jackson. Dad had just moved from Strong, Maine the previous August. In October he bought a 1970 Ford Van. He was doing his best to get back to normal working building construction in Berlin, Connecticut, It was a weekend when Brooke, Amy, and myself were staying at my Grandmothers' apartment for the weekend as we had every other weekend since late 1974.

The sun set on this early December night and Dad asked me if I wanted to take a ride. I cannot describe the feeling of true elation that came from my father inviting me along with him. We have for the most part been separated from Dad for nearly 5 years. It was times like this that made me realize how much I missed having him there. We got into that white, cold Ford van and drove down to Joe's' Cafe in Forestville, Connecticut. We sat at a table and fed the jukebox with quarters. Dad picked stones tunes, "Shattered", "Beast Of Burden" and whatever else he could find. We began to yell above the music and the other voices. It seemed to me that Dad and I were having our very first conversation as friends. I told him I liked Cheap Trick and I must have said it in a way that told him that he would not like that band because he told me that what you like is what you like and there is nothing wrong with that and some sort of good could be found in everything.

It was about midnight when we headed back to the apartments. We parked outside and sat there with the motor running, the heater blasting, and the radio playing. We heard ZZ Tops' "It's Only Love" and were trying like hell to figure out who was singing. Our closest guess was the Rolling Stones, which is pretty funny to me now.  In our defense, those old ZZ Top guitars on Tejas really had a Stones sound.  The vocals, that is a different story. We talked about music, life, Brooke, Amy, Mom, Grandma, and drinking. I told him about my wild night last year shortly after I turned 13 in Torrington, Connecticut. He asked me if Mom knew, which she did. He was relieved to hear that. 

Destiny was in the air that night. We did not know it at the time but that night would be the beginning of the two of us staying up many long hours and many nights never going to sleep. Many nights would be spent on the telephone. Sometimes even 8 consecutive long-distance hours! Long nights playing darts, then getting coffee and going to the Jetty to see the sunrise. The bottom line was, as we sat in that van on a cold winter night, we were looking into the new frontier. A great friendship was born that night. A few years would pass before it could grow, but it began this night. 

I know the Hartford highway system very well. We ran into Hartford at about 60 miles per hour only to miss the 91North exit. We got turned around and then headed to Bradley International Airport. We got to the desk and the woman said they were having some computer trouble with Amy's credit card. Thankfully, Dave and Janet giving us money allowed us to pay cash for the tickets.

We had some time so we went to the restaurant for coffee. Sal and I compared notes on service departments in automotive dealerships. We talked about Dad and Sal told me about his one time in Port Aransas. He told me that although he only met Dad one time, he felt like he knew him as if he's seen him a hundred times. Dad is that kind of guy.

We went to the terminal. Amy was dazed like me. Sal could easily be seen as a helpless bystander, who could not do anything to help although it was apparent he wanted to. He was going to miss Amy, which could be seen.

We got onto the plane and I reasoned to myself and to Amy that in-flight time would be a good time for us to get some rest. This was easier said than done. Although the time seemed to drag, this all seemed very fast to me. I never flew to or from Texas. All of my flying was done with the Military. The thought of being in New England and Texas on the same day seemed strange. 

"I Just Can't Get You Off of My Mind". That song played relentlessly from last night. There was nothing I could do to stop it. It was like an oracle. In the music, a kind of surrender began to weave itself through my soul. I suddenly felt timeless. Not old or young. Amy sat next to me. We had not seen each other in a while and yet it was as though we had never spent any time apart.

 Another part of me wanted to climb out of this plane, out of my skin, out of my life, and out of this world. I reached into my bag and pulled out the latest book I was reading, "Ashes of Eden" by William Shatner. It was a Star Trek novel set 2 months before Kirk's death. The book picked up in pace with suspense, deception, and climactic explosive consequences as the pages at the end grew less and less. Amy sat next to me reading a magazine.

I set the book down, shut off my reading light, and closed my eyes. My mind moved as fast as the plane we flew in. Dad. Dad was everywhere and in everything I thought of. I knew he was still with us somehow. I knew for sure that we would land in Texas and he would still be here. This was something that my mind as contingent as it may be, never even considered. If Dad knew we were on our way, he would wait. I know my father well. I used to like to make him out to be a superhero like so many other sons and daughters. I liked to imagine people would just fear him at the mere mention of his name. Of course, this was childish but it is pretty average for a boy to see his father as Superman. He was not Superman, but he was very strong. Joe Jackson sacrificed much for many people. If you knew him, you would see that it was his way of thinking of others all the time. It was really magic.

I remember many times as parents would scold a child in front of Dad for wanting to do something. The parent would say no. Perhaps the child would not understand why he couldn't do this. Dad would say most graciously, "Hey, I think all he wants to do is do this and I think that's OK as long as he does it like this." In other words, Dad would always reduce the problem down to a simpler form and dissect it. He would then remove the damaging part and leave the basic reason why the kid would want to do something showing the parent that there was really no harm in the child's intentions. The beautiful part of this is the way he handled it NEVER undermined the parent's authority. If it was really a bad thing the child wanted to do he would enlighten the child into a whole new area with such ease he was truly a wonder. He had such a demeanor doing this that he was an absolute pleasure to be around. He had the amazing ability to see people for who they were.

Don't misunderstand me. Joe Jackson was no fairy-tale guy. He brought over 1,500 balloons to Brooke's birthday party in 1974. The Easter bunny evidently got super drunk and that is why there were eggs all over the ceiling of our house, not to mention that rabbit can drink a lot of beer! 

He bar fought frequently. Did donuts on Steve's lawn with a 51 hundred-pound Chrysler and knocked a cop down in the road when he attempted to grab my Dad's arms to arrest him for the doughnut incident. He had demons for sure, but he was full of love for his children and was honest, selfless, witty, and creative.

As a child myself I remember him taking small portions of food at the dinner table and waiting until everyone else was done before he would go for seconds. His manners were splendid.....Well....unless someone really pushed him. It was then you would know, he had no fear.

Amy nor I got any sleep on the plane on its longest run from Bradley to Dallas. The plane landed and we walked briskly to the other end of the terminal so that we would be close to where our next flight would depart from. We stepped outside so Amy could smoke, it was no longer cold outside. I was like a coiled spring in the warm Dallas night. I am so immersed in my anti-terrorist training that I use it as a tool, to survey my environment wherever I go. I only mention this because this mode is a foremost function of mine the more foreign my environment and with the lack of sleep and the injured state of mind and heart my senses felt sharper than they had in years.

Time was getting closer to departure. We sat in chairs at the terminal. I gave Amy a copy of my story about AM radio as I had to Dave earlier that day. Not even 2 pages complete. Many times throughout the day, Amy took out a picture of her baby Salvatore and looked at it missing him so much already. I know that she would never want to leave him for any reason and yet here she was, she would rather be doing nothing else at this time than what we were doing. Dad had to know before he left this world how much we loved him, and for that, we would have walked to Texas if we had to. Words are worthless on this point so let me go another step and mean it. If I had to crawl there, I would.

Our time came and it was time to board. This time we had the good fortune to be flying one of the infamous American Eagles which if you were around in the 90's, were famous for mysteriously falling out of the sky a year or two ago. The railing was missing from the stairs that rise into the plane and there was a friendly flight attendant there to tell us it was missing. Amy and I walked all the way up to the front of the plane where we sat staring straight at a wall. This plane was just one of those small commuter flights so I knew this ride would be a little rougher than the smooth jet ride from Connecticut. I admit, I was still hoping to be able to sleep.

The plane took off after a long delay and I pulled out The Ashes of Eden. I dealt the last few pages their fatal blow and once again, James T. Kirk had saved the galaxy. Only this time I knew he was riding down his last stretch of road to the end. The end is near.

"I Just Can't Get You Off of My Mind" It kept going. Dad is only 50! FIFTY!!! This should not be. I realize now how lucky I have been all my life. Some people have no fathers. Some people have fathers who ignore them, steal from them, and even hurt or molest them! Brooke, Amy, and I really were fortunate.

Talk began to circulate around the plane about fog in Corpus Christi and a possible landing and layover in San Antonio. Amy looked worried. I just knew no matter what we were going to Corpus tonight, I couldn't care less if a volcano erupted on Interstate 37. This is hardly an obstacle when our Father needs us. I had a window seat. The plane was in poor shape as the window next to me was not sealed tight and was actually blowing a draft on me. I saw the lights of San Antonio below. Six minutes later I saw those same lights from the same position. Six minutes later I saw the same. Six minutes later again. The announcement came that I did not want to hear but knew I was going to hear. Our plane was landing in San Antonio. Even worse we were already supposed to be in Corpus. It was a few minutes before midnight.

We told our flight attendant that we had to talk to someone right away as we noticed we were going to be the last ones off the plane from where we were sitting and everyone else was pretty upset. There were 4 unattended children on this flight whose parents were probably waiting next to Brooke and Jamie in Corpus. 

We walked across the pavement to the terminal and I was next to a guy named Brian who worked for American Airlines. I was about to test their customer satisfaction capabilities. I strode next to him. "Brian let me paint you a picture. We are headed to Corpus Christi tonight to our Father who only has hours to live and we were supposed to be in Corpus fifteen minutes ago. We have to get there and we have to get there quick. There is no time to think about options." 

Brian motioned to Damien. "They have to get to Corpus," Brian said. Damien recited in a slightly sing-song voice,  "We're taking everyone to a hotel and putting them up for the night. At 9:00 tomorrow morning, they'll fly them back to Dallas then back to Corpus Christi." I very calmly shook my head. "NO, you are not listening to me. This is a family emergency." Amy began to cry. I continued. "We are not staying in a hotel, or flying anywhere tomorrow. We are going to Corpus now. You will do whatever is necessary to do that." 

I got to the pay phone and called Bobbi, Jamie's mom. She told me that Brooke and Jamie left the airport and were on their way back to Port Aransas. I told Bobbi that we were coming anyway. She told me that we shouldn't with the fog and all. I told Bobbi, who did have her own experience with New Hampshire winters that this was not snow or ice, and even if it were, we'd still be there. She said she'd tell Brooke to meet us at the hospital in several hours. I then called the hospital to get directions. They told me that they were on the Flour Bluff side of Corpus on SPID (South Padre Island Drive).

Brian and Damien sure were not very prepared for this. The next 30-40 minutes were quite confusing. At one point they were running in circles so badly attempting to find rental cars that I walked across the hall stole the San Antonio phone book from a pay phone and gave it to Damien opened the rental company pages, quietly ready to feed it to him if he didn't figure it out this time. They found a flight attendant who took responsibility for the children. One child's
father called from Corpus and made it clear his daughter was not to get into a vehicle with it this foggy out. She would remain back there until morning. It was a weird chaos all around us.
Damien found a vehicle for the attendant and the kids. We finally convinced him that he had to hire a taxi to take Amy, me, and some other guy to Corpus. The other guy had something to do with oil rigs and for each hour that he wasn't at the site to do something or other he was losing 7,000.00 dollars per hour, or so he said.

Our taxi was a white 1986 Chevrolet Caprice with a 350. It had a lot of miles on it. It sounded like a pretty good running old 350 that burned a little oil and had either an engine valve train tick or possibly a bad left exhaust doughnut. The car rode well over the streets of San Antonio, Our driver a stocky black gentleman of about 44 years old seemed happy to have such an easy run and said he was surprised American was buying it. "they never do this" he said.  He stopped for gas and we got drinks. A Poland Spring bottle of water was a nice companion for me. I wanted to go to sleep. Amy was resting. She and I sat in the back of the car. The radio played on with South Texas mellow mind-numbing easy-going-popular-local-light-rock-something-or-other. Lenny Kravitz kept on going in my mind. My seat belt kept getting tighter and tighter, I did nothing about it. I closed my eyes as the car disappeared into the South Texas darkness away from the lights of the city.

The ride in this Caprice was surreal. A misty dream through distance and seemingly time. The ticking of the engine went on endlessly. It felt as though we were gliding a foot off the road. Visions of 1984-1985 went through my mind. We were coming down Interstate 37 and I knew we would be passing right by Koch Refinery where Dad's longtime friend originally from Bristol, CT, Jeri and I used to work in 1985. Time spun backward in the misty wash of the night air. No one spoke in the car. The only noise there was the radio and the ticking of the engine. 

Visions of my early days at the refinery played on in my head. I saw myself returning to Port Aransas after staying in Flour Bluff for my first week at the refinery because I did not have the gas money to go back and forth. Our friend Steve was at the house that Friday night playing darts, and Glenn was there too. Steve asked me in his trademark Texas rasp with formality, "So what have you learned working as an instrument fitter's helper this week?" I told him I learned how to eat hot baked beans from a Styrofoam cup without a spoon. That caught Dad's attention. He asked me to repeat that. I told him. He giggled with pride. This was something he would have said. He loved irreverence. He showed such an amazing magnetism to that one simple answer that this remains one of the most memorable nights of our relationship. He was playing Foreigners' "I Want To Know What Love Is". It was brand new. He missed me. I could tell. It felt good to be home. We were excited too because we knew that in a couple of weeks, Brooke and Grandma were flying down for a week visit.

As the ride continued I noticed our driver was going through an extensive regiment to stay awake. He finally stopped to get out and walk around the car in the night air. I had a lot of faith in him. I knew he would not fall asleep at the wheel. Earlier on I said that sometimes in life you can see things that are to come, most of the time not recognizing what they really suggest. For the past few weeks, I began to feel an impending Texas journey creeping upon me. I cannot explain this except to say that when you drive through the many little towns of Texas as I have many times, there is an aura to doing this. Never anywhere else with the exceptions of the extreme rural northeast can I say this. When looking at a map, Texarkana is my most favored point of entry into Texas. Looking down the map to Port Aransas it is easy to see why the ride takes in so many small towns. Interstates just do not offer a direct route.

For many weeks now I saw the many towns along the way in my reflection. Tyler, Victoria, Giddings, La Grange. I first thought this meant that in the summer of 1996, I would be taking Gayle and Samantha down to Port A to meet Dad. I looked forward to this day. Yet, here, as I rode in this taxi down Interstate 37, I finally knew why these strong feelings of impending journey crawled upon me. I cannot stress well enough how strong these feelings were. I began to fear what would come when this ride was over. 

The signs said Corpus was getting closer all the time. Dad was on the edge of leaving this world. He always seemed so strong to me. Now I would see him vulnerable, or so I thought. There is an awesome example of bravery when a 50-year-old male decides because he will not have people taking on the burden of caring for him and deciding to suffer without the aid of modern technology to die standing hard on the morals he has always displayed. I told Dad at one time that the difference between my drinking personality and his was that he usually retained his morals and that mine were out the window early in the game. He laughed at me and said, "Shit Mike, don't tell anyone that I have morals, I have a reputation to uphold." He knew I meant it though. He always stood up for what he believed in unconditionally. Dad would stand by us even if the tables were turned and it was our turn to stand for him. We would not let him down.

Timeless is all I could say about this moment in time as the lights of Corpus began to come into view. I do not think I could define this feeling. I will try to anyway. I refer to timelessness as sitting in a spot in space and time that could be in any time over a broad spectrum. By all of this, I simply say, that this event could be happening today March 31, 1996, or March 31, 1986, or March 31, 1966. This feeling has only happened to me twice during my lifetime and it is a feeling so strong that it chills me to the bone. 

The other occasion was Thursday, January 17, 1991. I returned to my World War II barracks at Fort Devens, Massachusetts from my motel room at the Suisse Chalet in Leominster. The night before the United States and its coalition allies began the air war over Iraq and Kuwait. We had just sent an advanced party over there on Monday. We were "locked down" and packed up to go any minute ourselves. We all returned to the barracks. I walked up the old wooden staircase to where my bed was on the second floor. The whole place looked and felt so different. I could feel the legacy that we were carrying out. An older guy named Jack was playing the AM radio and there was strange older music playing. Intermittently an announcer would break in talking about the war. At that moment there was no time. I could not tell if it was January 1991 or December 1941. I cannot stress this enough! I suddenly felt very small as I stood in front of the biggest picture of the universe I had ever seen and all of its inevitability. I was merely a pebble of sand on the beach of eternity.

The first thing to show up was the oil fields. Koch Refinery flew by in slow motion as past visions of sirens, explosions, Jeri, and Dad as he once was drifted through my mind. Now I knew the whole ride very well. Sam’s Club where Dad did his shopping only 4 1/2 days ago flew by. SPID came and so did the usual main roads, Weber, Everhart, Staples, Airline...We found one small medical clinic but it did not match the description given to me by the hospital. They told me that I could not miss this place. Our good driver was patient. 

Suddenly, Bay Area Medical Center loomed like a castle where nothing stood only a few short years ago. This place was bigger than some Hawaiian islands. We pulled in thanked our driver and dragged our bags into the hospital. No one wanted to let us in and Amy and I waited quite a while for someone to finally tell us how to get to Dad. Just the thought that he was somewhere in the building and so were we but not being with him really irritated me. We were led through a series of corridors until finally we were introduced to Dad's nurse who gave us a brief update as to Dad's condition. "Your father knows you are coming. He decided to at least wear the oxygen nose tube long enough to see you."

We walked down to the last room on the left and there under a white cotton blanket was Dad. He looked very tired and un-rested. He was having extreme difficulty breathing and the monitor next to him warned of the lack of oxygen he was getting from every labored breath. The moment that had stalked me all my life was here. I feared growing older not because of my own age but seeing my parents get older. I always prayed it would not come to this for many years yet. Predator time laughed its ugly laugh at me as I stood there at my father’s bedside. To hell with time! For one of the few times in my life, I was in the here and now. All that mattered at this time was to let Dad know we were there for him.

The nurse woke Dad up. She left the room. He could not talk but he moaned with approval that we were there. I am sure he could not see us. His eyes could barely open if at all. I could even see he was frustrated by this weakness. "We had to come, Dad," I told him. "You're more than just our father, you're my best friend too." He moaned louder. If he could cry now he would. There was no mistake, he knew exactly what we were saying. Dad kicked his feet adamantly as he tried to mouth the words, "I love you" to Amy and me. His legs were purple and I was pretty sure that had he elected to take the ventilator, he would have lost one or both. I knew Dad did not ever want to be a burden on anyone. I also wanted him to understand that I would do anything for him. I told him that I respected his decision, but, if he ever wanted to change his mind just say the word and I'd have all the help in the world here and that he could return home with me and I'd be very glad to do whatever I had to do. I wanted him to know that he really had other options. Of course, he communicated quite well that he was not going to do that. Dad struggled and even managed to get his eyes open so he could see us. Amy pulled out her picture of little Salvatore and showed it to him. Even then, he was filled with pride as a Grandfather. Sadly, he would never get a chance to hold this child.

The monitor next to Dad revealed that he was only receiving twenty percent of the oxygen that he should be getting. We were told a normal average person would not even be conscious under these circumstances. Somehow Dad defied this remarkably. He wanted to talk to us. This was very hard for him. He grabbed my shoulder and tried to pull himself up. He was still quite strong.

The nurse came in periodically. She would straighten out IV tubes and wires that were monitoring him. He wanted these things off. She told him to leave them alone. He argued. He mouthed the words slowly, "Listen to my son." She pulled me aside and said, "The doctor will be in just a few hours. I want you to talk to him. We were really hoping that Joe would change his mind when you and your sister got here. He lost consciousness Friday night around supper time. We could have legally put him on the ventilator before he realized it and could have legally treated him. He won't let us do anything. We are wondering if it is the lack of oxygen or if this is his real character that is refusing treatment." I told her, "He is fully aware of what is going on and what he is telling you to do. He is a person of strong conviction. This is totally within character. When my father makes up his mind it is made up."

Amy and I continued to hold Dad's hands and talk to him. He would go in and out of consciousness but the hard labor of his strangled breathing never stopped. He began to remove wires and monitoring devices including the small oxygen tube on his face trying to tell us it was time for all of this to be gone. When Dad opened his eyes he was pleading with us to let him go. He wanted none of the devices the hospital claimed were not prolonging his life. There was a tired in his eyes like I had never ever before seen. How could it have come to this? Just a few weeks ago we were talking on the phone about the New Hampshire Primary. He sounded fine then. He hid his problems well over the phone and made no mention that he was not feeling well lately. In between Dad's naps Amy and I went outside so Amy could smoke. Of course, she wanted to give it up but this would not be the time. Other people were around as their loved ones breathed with the help of ventilators and still died within the hour. We knew our time was coming when we'd have to let go of Dad. The hours passed by very slowly watching our father suffer from the lack of oxygen. I wanted to have the hospital take everything off him but the nurses insisted the doctor should be here for that. They said we could check him out but because he was so large and because of how bad off he was he probably could not survive the ride home. It would have been nice if Dad could go home for his last moments instead of being in a hospital. This was unrealistic under the circumstances. Yet, I did think about breaking him out, after all, it was his idea.

Back in 1981 when Dad lived on the county beach in that 70 Ford, which he nicknamed, "The Hotel Ford" he lived with a bunch of people who also lived in vans and tents. Our friends JT and Nancy were among them. They had a friend named Jeannie, who was terminally ill.
When she was nearing the end of her life she was admitted to Coastal Bend Hospital in Aransas Pass, the next town 8 miles away on the other side of the Ferry. Jeannie was definitely going to die and was very sad whenever friends came to see her because she did not want to spend her last hours in a hospital.

One day Dad, Nancy, and J.T. devised a plan. They decided that they were going to visit Jeannie and break her out of the hospital.  They drove the Hotel Ford over to Aransas Pass, marched to the desk, and told them they wanted all of Jeannie's belongings and that she was leaving. Nancy headed down the hall got Jeannie dressed and wheeled her out in a wheelchair. Doctors and nurses insisted that they could not do this, but Dad and JT stood their ground. Jeannie spent her last days on the beach with her friends. She was very happy.  The day did come when Jeannie did not wake up one morning, but she was where she wanted to be with the people she loved.  Every time Dad, JT, and Nancy were in the same place, they always spoke of this, which they called The Great Escape.

Dad having told me that story many times certainly made me think of that right now. Unfortunately, the circumstances were not the same. We would only put Dad in more pain. To see him in the pain he was in now was nearly more than I could bear. This was the real first time I ever had to see a loved one suffer and I believe there is no greater torture.

Dad had somewhat of a sense of time knowing that Amy and I had spent a few hours with him now. He was getting mad and began to protest that he still had monitors on him and catheter tubes. He tried again to take these things off and actually said very clearly two very trademark words of his; "Fucken Bullshit". I got down close to him. "Dad, I promise, not much longer. As soon as the doctor comes we'll tell him what you want. Not much longer Dad, I promise." He began to relax a little. Brooke called us from Port Aransas and said that she was going to drive over in the Saturn and Jamie was going to drive Dad's truck over so that we could stay at the hospital for a while. 

I talked to the nurses again and they finally decided to begin removing these instruments. About this time Doctor Lycos came in just as the sky began to lighten outside. He was quite young, my age perhaps. He sat down and right there in front of Dad began to tell Amy and me chronologically what took place from Thursday night on. The Doctor explained to me that Dad's regular physician told Dad three months ago that he had to give up smoking and have surgery on his legs. I knew Dad said once he was trying to quit smoking but he had done this many times over the years. I saw nothing unusual with that. "Your father is one hundred pounds overweight and does not seem to take care of himself. Even his personal hygiene is lacking. The Doctor pointed to Dad's feet upon which toenails extended an inch and a half beyond the toes. If Dad could have trimmed them he would have but obviously, he could not reach his feet any longer and was just buying larger shoes to compensate. The Doctor ran down a list of things that could be done all of which he said he had discussed with Dad when Dad was fully conscious. They could do a lot but the results would most likely be small and the lifestyle that would follow would be drastically different and dependent. The whole time Doctor Lycos told us these things Dad listened nearly yelling because he was worried the Doctor was trying to talk us into authorizing medical attention.

After listening to all that the Doctor had to say I told him, "We stand by our father."  Dad suddenly relaxed. He knew we were not to betray him. He was quiet except for the hard breathing.

The Doctor left and I called home and talked to Gayle I knew she would be up early. "Is that him?" she asked hearing Dad's hard moans and gasps for breath. She told me I should eat something. I knew she was right. After hanging up the phone, Amy and I went down the hall to the cafeteria. We filled our trays and went to sit down. Dr. Lycos was sitting in a booth and asked us to join him. "I really like your father. He seems like a real neat guy." We of course bragged. Why shouldn't we? As far as Brooke, Amy, and myself were concerned we were the luckiest kids in the world. Yes, a lot of people say that about their parents, but Dad has a way of showing it that is unlike any other I've seen. He always showed us the simple things, the good things.

"How long has your father been chronically depressed" the doctor asked. I was surprised by this question and yet not surprised at all. I always knew, but never acknowledged it. "For about 20 years," I said. "He lost his father when he was thirteen and regretted all his life that he did not get to know him better while he was here." Amy continued, "he still loves our mother, they have been divorced for 20 years." 

Amy and I told Doctor Lycos stories of how witty and intelligent Dad was and how it was an honor for anyone who knew him to call him a friend. "He is so polite", said the doctor. "Friday night there was a female doctor in his room arguing with him about his decision to not accept life support. She was very aggressive and your Dad just kept telling her his mind was made up. Later after she left the room Joe said to me, 'I really don't agree with her ethical style. This
is my decision and I wanted to tell her off but since she's a woman I just kept my mouth shut".

After we finished breakfast we went back to Dad's room. We were unaware that while we were in the cafeteria Tommy Brooks, the Port Aransas City Manager had stopped to visit Dad. I would meet Tommy twenty-four hours from now in a different world.

Shortly after we returned the nurse gave Dad a shot of valium to ease his pain. He was a symbol of pain lying in that bed. I loved my father, but if going now could stop this I'd understand. The nurse explained the valium would slow involuntary functions too. I knew what she was saying and yet, Dr. Lycos explained that Dad's heart was strong enough to keep him hanging on for weeks. Inside I worried that us allowing the valium would shorten his life, but I knew that this wasn't a life. The Dad we loved was in our hearts and memories. This was just someone suffering very badly. We knew this was the best thing. Although still in pain, Dad knew we had got the hospital to stop trying to prolong this and he stopped fighting. 

Brooke walked into the room. It seemed like I had not seen her in a million years. She spoke to Dad and he told her in the best way he could he was happy she was there. Brooke told us that Jamie had not come over after all because he was not going to drive an almost dead man's truck. 

We held Dad and stayed with him for a while longer when Brooke told Amy and me that we really should think about getting some rest. I knew she was right. At this very moment, I had been up for 52 hours. I really felt like I no longer required sleep and that the world as I knew it was gone. In a way, it was and still is forever. We said goodbye to Dad and headed back towards Port Aransas to get some needed rest.

In what I think was 1971 my grandmother LaCross died. My grandmother Violet Jackson had come over from work at O.Z. Geddney Electric in Terryville, Connecticut to the convalescent home where her mother stayed during her last days. My Grandmother was quite dirty with soot from her factory job and told the staff she had to go home and clean up. The nurses begged her to stay, but never really said why they wanted her to stay. "If I only realized what they were trying to say!" Grandma Jackson told me years later. "I kept telling them to just let me go home and clean up and I'd be right back. I was so stupid! They knew she was going but I didn't see it and they called a while after I got home to tell me she was gone."

You had better believe I was thinking of this story as we said goodbye to Dad and went outside to Brooke’s car. We talked about Dad's condition and the information we had leading up to this. Brooke told a story on the ride down the 18-mile road from Crockett, Dad's boss. Crockett told Brooke that down at the transfer station where Dad worked the plywood floor was all wet with some dark liquid. Dad told Crockett that he couldn't figure out what the hell was all over the floor. Crockett figured out that Dad's leg was bleeding all over the floor. This took place a couple of months ago. Dad never let on about any of this. There had been many doctor visits and ultimatums that we never knew of. I realized that Dad had been in more pain than I ever before imagined. Just the fact that in the past 4 years, he had lost the majority of his teeth and could not afford to have them replaced saddened me.

As we drove north the Beach access roads passed by. Mustang Island State Park where back in the 80's Dad and I had gone out to pick up Brooke's Camaro after she broke the alternator belt on it one night. We drove out in my 72 Dodge Dart and realized the belts we brought would not work, so we rope-tied the cars together. About halfway into town, I drove through a puddle that splashed water on Dad's windshield. He turned the key into the on position and allowed the wiper to crawl up the windshield to clear the glass with what little battery juice was left. Reflex made him turn the key all the way back into the lock position. The steering wheel was locked and bound against the key interlock so he could not get it out of the lock position. About 20 seconds later, something was pulling the rear end of my car sideways to the right. It was the Camaro, it was down in the ditch. I stopped and Dad told me what happened. We stopped long enough to catch our breath before we continued on to A Auto Supply.

Memories that I had not seen in a very long time crept in as Port Aransas grew nearer all the time. The 18-mile road had so many stories to tell. Dad was a part of many of them. The day was warm, nothing like I had left in New Hampshire, which now seemed like a dream. I was overdressed, jeans and a flannel shirt. I felt like I had stepped off of a spaceship.

We took a right turn down Ave J where Dad and I used to live, the decrepit old mobile home now years gone away. Right turn onto Station Street and pass Shibui Sands left onto Ruthie Lane. There was Dad's house. My house. Our house. He would not be coming out to greet me this time. We got out of the car and Brooke had the keys. None of the keys would fit and I tried to no avail. We finally decided to send Brooke through the kitchen window. This was now pretty dangerous because the guy I bought the house from, Rick Gaston, had misread the zoning rules and raised the house 40 inches off the ground so the window was 7 feet up. Below the window was a cactus that although when I bought the house in November 1985 was one petal and in a small planter now covered 50 square feet at least. Brooke being so small made it in climbed across the sink and opened the door for us.

As Brooke opened the door, time stood still for me. I say this because just looking around enabled us to put together Dad's last days. He left for work at around 9:30 AM on Thursday and here the house sat, waiting for him to return. All the televisions are on, as they should be in Port Aransas. All VCRs and stereos too. You never shut off electronics in Port Aransas! Shotguns hanging on the wall haven't moved for years. His desk is where he spends all his time ordering many things through the mail and cataloging many movies that he tapes with VCRs. Recipes and notes. Coins he admired. I am not making this up, hundreds of cigarette burns in the carpet. Fans blowing at the couch where he sleeps. On the big television, "Personal FX" on the FX channel. This is a collectibles show he told me many times that he really admires.

Seeing this house like this almost made it seem like he really was going to return. The thought of going through all of Dad's belongings removing them destroying the mobile home and raking up the yard as if he never lived there seemed as likely as a trip to the moon. Thinking of him returning was so much nicer and the house almost gave a little hope inside of me that perhaps a miracle could do this. A million memories flooded into me. I bought this house in 1985. Troubled relationships, parties with friends, songwriting but mostly long wonderful hours with Dad solving all of the problems of the world over and over again. Every time I thought of it this way I realized that had I gone to college instead of driving to Texas in 1984 I most likely would have not built the relationship with Dad I have and today I would be sorry for not having spent more time with him. I knew today that I was fortunate.

Originally Amy and I intended on staying here. Brooke explained on the way down 18 Mile Road that the house was not really livable for Amy and me and that Dad really must have been feeling down for some time as he normally would have kept up with his housework more than it was. We were about to leave and Brooke could not figure out why the house key would not work. We had to find a way to lock the house. I looked for Dad's cordless screw gun. Could not find it. I told her that I would unlock the back door lock the front dead bolt from inside and go out the back way. I got to the back door and a faint recollection of this door being ripped off by a wintertime windstorm drifted into my mind. That was a long time ago and I was not sure if this was a true memory or if this was only a dream. The door had a nail through the upper stop chain wound tightly to hold the top of the door to the jamb. I grabbed the big spring on the chain. It stretched in my hand. Suddenly the nail let go and the spring contracted with a snap punching its blunt hook end right into the palm of my hand, rust and all. I could see it was in deep, I had to spread the spring to get it out. I did this quickly and painfully. I cleaned it with peroxide immediately.

Back in the kitchen, I saw Ford keys hanging on the cupboard. I asked Brooke if those were the truck keys. She said no, the truck keys are on the house key ring. I knew that there were no Ford keys on that key ring. When I told her this she ran outside and found another set of keys in the car which did contain the real house key. Brooke felt very bad at what happened with the spring. It was just one of those things. A painful family loss is in progress and it is only natural for someone to get hurt to the point of some discomfort. Better that it is me and so small compared to the many things that could happen. Small incidents like this take a person at the prime strong age of 30 and chip away at the granite reminding him that he too is mortal. This fact was really coming home today. I began to feel helpless and less competent than say even 24 hours ago.

We began to walk out the front door and Brooke stopped dead on the step going out and turned to Amy and me. We asked her what was wrong and she told us, "I just had a really strange feeling about Dad." We drove to Bobbi's house where Bobbi, Jamie, and Brookes ' children Taylor and John were. As we came down 7th Street I saw the truck Dad had told me about for just over two years now. A brown 85 Ford full-size extended cab. So far he managed to keep this truck from being the typical Island Vehicle. This is a term given to vehicles after they totally surrender to the salt air of Port Aransas. We pulled into the yard and were greeted by Jamie Taylor and John. It was truly amazing. John looked just like Dad when he was that age. 

Bobbi was out in the front yard too and she had a full cup of coffee in hand. I asked her what it was. She handed me the cup. Just the right amount of cream and sugar in it. Either that or I was just too tired to notice. Another woman in the yard yelled at me for taking the cup. "You don't need that! You should get inside that house and go to bed right now!", she said. "Who is this woman?" I thought. I did not know her, I was sure of this. Nonetheless, she certainly seemed to have a degree of control of the environment even here at Bobbi's house. I was introduced to this very determined person named Rosie and it became quickly apparent that she was a longtime friend of Brookes and she was like family so she was taking care where no one else knew things had to be cared for. Looking back, it was a nice touch.

Not long after the coffee I went into a downstairs room that used to be a garage lay down and let the lack of sleep wash over me. Would Dad live for weeks to come? Dr. Lycos said he very well may. Why is my Father being subjected to so much suffering? When I look back like this, I know he did not deserve to be in such pain. What a truly brave man.

I heard the telephone ring...I know what it is but I brush it off. Minutes seemed to pass by and I heard no stirring. When I was sure I was wrong Brooke opened the door to the room and stepped down the small staircase. I knew what she came to say. "The hospital called," she said. "Dad passed away." Her eyes were full of tears and I hugged her and Amy too. Why was I surprised? The nurse told me what the valium would do.

We had to go back to the hospital. Brooke asked if I was OK to drive. I was of course. We got into Dad's truck and once again time stood still. He was almost there. Sunglasses on the dash. Cigarettes, mail, leather projects, coins all that he was. You could smell him, a slight hint of Irish Spring. Typical Ford 6-cylinder. The windshield was broken in many places and Port Aransas was filthy. We rolled down the windows and the hot Gulf Coast day blew in. The transmission growling in 3 gears, must have been this way for a while. On the way down 18 mile road Brooke told us she asked for what time Dad had gone. It was found to be the same moment she turned around at the doorway of the mobile home on Ruthie Lane.

We arrived at the hospital and went directly into the room. The room was very different. There were definitely equipment differences as they had removed all the electronic equipment that had been in there just a short time ago. It wasn't this that made it so different. This was the first time in my life that Joe Jackson no longer was in the world and little did I realize, that the whole would be different in a darkened sort of way forever. The only thing that made me feel somewhat resolved was that Dad's face was relaxed now. Never have I seen such a peaceful look, especially after such torture. I cried harder than I had ever cried before. I can remember my uncle Dave crying this way at my grandfather's funeral. I now really understood where Dave was that day. How could this have happened? I knew the answer. But it did not seem good enough. Despite that fact, I knew deep down that all answers today were final.

Brooke, Amy, and I spent a very long time with Dad. This was our wake, there would be nothing else except a cremation and a service then a final trip two miles out into the Gulf Stream. I was glad I spent time with Dad before he was gone. If I had not, I could not have comprehended the pain that he was really in. My own mind would have painted a strong picture of him in good health and then suddenly whisked away from this world.

Tom's friend Gayla had a friend with the Aransas Memorials Funeral Home in Rockport. We were told by Gayla that they would take the best care of Dad's wishes. It was comforting that this was being initiated by a friend. Brooke, Amy, and I would have no solid point of reference to find a suitable place.

We spent a few more minutes with Dad and then decided that it was finally time to go. Dad was no longer in this room but somehow silently with us. I felt so proud to be his son. I felt so proud of my sisters. I knew this day that I was one of the most fortunate people alive. Somehow I also felt like some world-saving vital mission had just collapsed in disaster and that recovery was impossible.

The ride home to Port Aransas was strange. My Grandmother, Violet Jackson died in October 1986. The leaves were full of color on the trees and signified a passing on. We were reminded that life goes on because we know the winter will not last forever (unless you live in New Hampshire). This afternoon of March 31, 1996, it was sunny and warm. The drive down 18 Mile Road just told you that the spring was here and that warmer days were ahead. It all seemed blatantly contradictory. I was grateful that we were not going into winter. I think cold gray skies, holidays, and sub-zero temperatures on top of Dad's recent passing would have been rough. I knew that the hot weather ahead would prove to be a distraction. Dad has not liked hot weather too much over the past few years. This was one summer he would not have to endure.

We returned to Bobbi's and called friends and family. I called Crockett, Dad's boss to let him know. He was a friend of Dad's for sixteen years. He told me he had to see me in the morning. Dad had given him something. This turned out to be Dad's paycheck stub and deposit receipt. Dad had paid all his bills the day he went to the hospital in the morning and then gave Crockett the deposit slip to make sure the checks were all covered. Dad was always
responsible to the end. 

The time had come for sleep. I went to sleep hoping when I awoke this would all be a dream.
The longest day of my life, of Dad's life, and of my sister’s lives was over. We realized this day how close we all are. Dad was everything I ever wanted in a father. It was an absolute honor to know him.