For some reason in my dream I was walking by the chemistry lab on the college campus, but it wasn’t the chemistry lab anymore. It was filled with pneumatic lines, electronic switchboards, and hydraulic pumps. Mark, a former colleague who I haven’t seen in a long while was on the phone and just as I was walking by, I heard him say, ”Searle, I need you here right away. The pumps are out of alignment again and I need you to fix them. I’m not sure if you will need to re-bevel the gears or if you can mill out some shims, but get here as soon as you can”
I stopped and ran up to Mark and we had this conversation:
“Mark, what are you doing? You can’t call Dad into work! He’s going to die tonight!
What? What are you talking about Dan?
Dad has stage four lung cancer and hasn’t been conscious for days!
Oh Dan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea or I never would have called him to fix these pumps”
Just then, the door to the lab swung open, and Dad walked in. Not the sick, frail, broken-bodied Dad of the last few weeks, but Dad from his prime, Dad from say 1975 before his back surgeries and the other pains and burdens of his life had started to make him stoop. Tall and handsome, a headful of jet-black hair slicked back away from his deeply tanned forehead, biceps straining against the short sleeves of his work shirt, a smile on his face, a small pouch of tools grasped in his right hand.
He walked up to Mark and they discussed different repair options, and Dad said “Dan, pull the inspection plates off those four pumps and I’ll take some measurements.”
I knelt down and easily got the inspection plates off the first three pumps and Dad knelt beside me with his calipers and other gauges. As he was taking his measurements, I was struggling with the fourth pump which was sitting at an odd angle and was partially under another piece of machinery. Dad said, “That ones tricky, left me show you.” He put his hand over mine and his large, strong hand enveloped both my hand and the wrench I held and he rolled my hand over slightly to match the angle of the inspection plate to find the retaining bolt. Just then a bell began sounding over the loudspeaker:
Ring ring – ring ring – ring ring.
Dad cocked his head and said, “That’s for me. I have to go” and stood up, gathered up his tool bag, and with several long strides made his way across the floor of the lab. When he got to the door, he turned back to me and said “You finish that up for me, okay?”, then the door swung shut and he was gone.
I woke up from my dream but the bell was still sounding:
Ring ring – ring ring – ring ring
I realized the cell phone beside my head was ringing and as I reached to pick it up saw 3:34 am and my sister’s name on the display.
“Hi Deb Dan, he’s gone Yes, I know. I’m on my way”
I cried most of the drive to Crockertown, but not just because my dad is gone, but mostly because he cared enough to find a way to say goodbye to me before he stepped out the door.
Rest in Peace Dad.
Searle V. Crocker 2/2/1936 – 10/25/2020
I dreamt of Dad last night.
For some reason in my dream I was walking by the chemistry lab on the college campus, but it wasn’t the chemistry lab anymore. It was filled with pneumatic lines, electronic switchboards, and hydraulic pumps. Mark, a former colleague who I haven’t seen in a long while was on the phone and just as I was walking by, I heard him say, ”Searle, I need you here right away. The pumps are out of alignment again and I need you to fix them. I’m not sure if you will need to re-bevel the gears or if you can mill out some shims, but get here as soon as you can”
I stopped and ran up to Mark and we had this conversation:
“Mark, what are you doing? You can’t call Dad into work! He’s going to die tonight!
What? What are you talking about Dan?
Dad has stage four lung cancer and hasn’t been conscious for days!
Oh Dan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea or I never would have called him to fix these pumps”
Just then, the door to the lab swung open, and Dad walked in. Not the sick, frail, broken-bodied Dad of the last few weeks, but Dad from his prime, Dad from say 1975 before his back surgeries and the other pains and burdens of his life had started to make him stoop. Tall and handsome, a headful of jet-black hair slicked back away from his deeply tanned forehead, biceps straining against the short sleeves of his work shirt, a smile on his face, a small pouch of tools grasped in his right hand.
He walked up to Mark and they discussed different repair options, and Dad said “Dan, pull the inspection plates off those four pumps and I’ll take some measurements.”
I knelt down and easily got the inspection plates off the first three pumps and Dad knelt beside me with his calipers and other gauges. As he was taking his measurements, I was struggling with the fourth pump which was sitting at an odd angle and was partially under another piece of machinery. Dad said, “That ones tricky, left me show you.” He put his hand over mine and his large, strong hand enveloped both my hand and the wrench I held and he rolled my hand over slightly to match the angle of the inspection plate to find the retaining bolt. Just then a bell began sounding over the loudspeaker:
Ring ring – ring ring – ring ring.
Dad cocked his head and said, “That’s for me. I have to go” and stood up, gathered up his tool bag, and with several long strides made his way across the floor of the lab. When he got to the door, he turned back to me and said “You finish that up for me, okay?”, then the door swung shut and he was gone.
I woke up from my dream but the bell was still sounding:
Ring ring – ring ring – ring ring
I realized the cell phone beside my head was ringing and as I reached to pick it up saw 3:34 am and my sister’s name on the display.
“Hi Deb
Dan, he’s gone
Yes, I know. I’m on my way”
I cried most of the drive to Crockertown, but not just because my dad is gone, but mostly because he cared enough to find a way to say goodbye to me before he stepped out the door.
Rest in Peace Dad.
Searle V. Crocker 2/2/1936 – 10/25/2020
