My Dad

 It’s that time of year again.  i just happened to be watching a highlight piece of Murdough’s trial today in which forensic experts including crime scene cleanup testified.  It just brought back so many memories from 2001.  It was (and I fervently hope that it remains)  one of my worst experiences.  Nothing can prepare you for walking into a house and finding the five day old corpse of your Father.  It was beyond bad.  The house had to be cleaned by Crime Scene Cleanup of Charlotte.  I’m very thankful that my Mom and family were there to help me on the journey of all that would follow.

The smell is terrible.  I can still bring it to my olfactory when the memories invade my life.  I broke my hand trying to knock down the door.  While in the ambulance I wailed and cried so hard.  I wouldn’t let them take me to the hospital, I just couldn’t bare to not be there when he left my childhood home one last time.  It would be two weeks before a doctor treated me for it.  It required surgery too, but I wouldn’t allow that for several years.

He had been gone for five days.  Yes - I checked on him frequently but not daily.  

As I ponder the year - 2023 - I realize that I will become the age that he was when he passed.   I’ve always done my best and that’s all anyone can ask.

I had to ‘fake’ a casket for my Grandfather.  I didn’t want him to know the true condition of the body - which defies description by me.   I’m not really clear on how we did the ‘graveside’ but maybe my Aunt took him back to the retirement home before that.  I do, however, have very clear memories of the funeral and the closed casket placed at the front of the chapel.

There are 7 of us kids.  The oldest died shortly after birth - RAB.  I often imagine how life might have unfolded differently had he lived.  I feel his presence often as do my Dad’s.

My Dad, grandparents and great-grandparents are buried at Independence Hill Baptist Church not too far from my Bradley family and close to my high school.  It was where the first declaration of independence was drafted.  Somehow it’s fitting for my family.  I got permission to place my Dad’s ashes in the casket with my Grandfather and a footstone on my Grandmother’s grave to mark his life.

My Dad loved to cook.  He loved his Grandchildren. He loved creating.  He loved traveling.  He loved being a truck driver and loved even more being a tour bus driver.  He loved music.

He played the trumpet and so do I.  He tried to teach my daughter to play and she did at least get some sound out of my trumpet.  When he was in his 20’s he formed the ‘Mack Bradley Review’ which included Maurice Williams.  He found me when all of this happened and expressed his deepest condolences.  My Mom had met my Dad at the booking agency she worked at.

He took me on my first trip to Mexico.  It was epic.  But we all got very sick.  When he found out that I loved science he got me a chemistry kit.  He was so proud of my skating career.  When I asked him to pick up Chrissy at school for weeks and take her to my Mom’s house 45” away - he never - not once asked me why.  He trusted that I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t really, really important and if you know me very well you know why.

He taught me the trick of soaking new boots in water then wearing them all day from sunrise to bedtime to break them in.

He always dressed properly - by that I mean no jeans and no shorts and no cover-alls.  For the record neither did my grandfathers, or uncles.

He was an ambulance driver when my oldest surviving brother was to be born.  Mom says that he came and got her, but put her suitcase in the back and her in the front with him.  LOL.  I can definitely imagine this.

He always gave directions - like how to get from one place to another.  Several years after his death he imprinted on my mind saying “This is the last time I can give you directions”.

He also was creative.  He had a business where he used sand etching to personalize glassware.  He made a plaque for me when (actually I don’t remember when) but he had misspelled our last name and was embarrassed - to me it was endearing.  I love it.

When I arrived at the Charlotte Coliseum for my undergraduate graduation I was terrified.  We did not know whether we would be graduating or not because we had to check our final grades.  I remember walking in and hearing him VERY LOUDLY yelling T I N A.  There he was beaming from ear to ear.

My surviving oldest brother bears his name.  When he finally came back East and I took him to the grave he got quite and misty eye.  I hugged him and asked if he needed time alone.  He said ‘no - it’s just wierd seeing my name on a grave marker’.   

My youngest sister helped me with everything that had to be done.  I couldn’t have done it without her.  When I called her she was on her way to the airport to catch a flight for her work.  I asked her to pull over - after some convincing she did.  She didn’t go on her trip, instead she came to Charlotte to help me.

One of my fondest memories is when he sent my older brother and I ‘cowboy’ sets from Texas where he was in his third marriage.  Mine was pink.  

He had a scar on his forehead - the story goes that he was running through the woods and he got a limb imbedded into his face.  My grandmother told me that he came home with it still in there.  Can you imagine that conversation?

The song that I had played for my Dad was “I Did It My Way” because that typified him.  Perhaps I got my courage to live the way I please from my family.  Thank you Dad.  You are remembered.  The hole in my heart is still there and I know I’ll see you, maw-maw, paw-paw, Grumpas, Cleo and Rab again.  Thanks for being you.