One Year Ago....
Okay, so first off, I should say that I am clearly not off to a good start here on the whole "blogging" thing...but, inspired by my friend good Malia, who seems to be able to find a few moments each day to jot down a little something, I am going to do my best to get back on track here. And, speaking of Malia, she also provides a bit of a segue into my entry for today.
I was talking to my Mom as I was walking to rehearsal for the improv team on Tuesday and she asked me a question.
"Do you know what today is?"
"Oh my God," I thought. "Did I forget a birthday? Anniversary?"
"It's been a year," she said. And then it hit me. It was a year ago, Tuesday (September 27th) that I made the trip from Wayside, where I was immersed in the run of Lee & Brown: Lighting the Fuse, to Lewisburg, WV. It was the day that we took Pop Pop off of the vent that had kept him going for just over 2 weeks.
Memories and images came flooding back in a way that I wasn't quite prepared for...the day we decided to put him on the vent (which he was not happy about), when I sat with him and he laughed with me, told me he had a song that was going to make us famous, told me that he was certain I was going to "make it". He was down, but promised me he would keep his spirits up.
The next week, seeing him unable to talk, but very much still responding. I sat with him, talked to him and he smiled and nodded. He was not happy, but still fighting. His arms were in restraints now as he had tried to pull the tube out on several occasions, angry that he was stuck there. They decided to sedate him so that he could rest and, as I stood in the doorway, as week as he was, he raised his arm to wave at me. "I love you," I said. He nodded in reply. That was the last I saw him truly awake.
I came back to see him a few days later. He responded to my voice, trying to open his eyes through the haze of the medication, but that's an impossible fight to win. He gripped my hand, letting me know he knew I was there as I sat and talked. A week later, the decision was made. It was time to let him go. I couldn't bear to be in the room...I went outside with Dad, who was a wreck. But, Mom said it was quick. Two big breaths and it was over.
Some speak of fate, others "Divine Providence", but someone put me in Middletown last summer for a reason. He was able to see me onstage for the first time, I was able to be there when he got sick, be there when we took him off the vent and be there when we put him in the ground.
Pop Pop was the kind of man I will always strive to be, a role model in every sense of the word. He was a gentleman, a hillbilly, a man of faith and conviction, an artist, a scholar...a simple man with a world of complexity. Soemtimes I still think about calling him. His number is still in my phone and I don't know that I will ever take it out. I have to believe that he is still with me in some way and that, if he has anything to say about it, I will find success in this crazy business.
I love you, Pop Pop.
Pershing "Percy" Arbogast
Dec. 20th, 1917 - Sept. 27, 2004
I was talking to my Mom as I was walking to rehearsal for the improv team on Tuesday and she asked me a question.
"Do you know what today is?"
"Oh my God," I thought. "Did I forget a birthday? Anniversary?"
"It's been a year," she said. And then it hit me. It was a year ago, Tuesday (September 27th) that I made the trip from Wayside, where I was immersed in the run of Lee & Brown: Lighting the Fuse, to Lewisburg, WV. It was the day that we took Pop Pop off of the vent that had kept him going for just over 2 weeks.
Memories and images came flooding back in a way that I wasn't quite prepared for...the day we decided to put him on the vent (which he was not happy about), when I sat with him and he laughed with me, told me he had a song that was going to make us famous, told me that he was certain I was going to "make it". He was down, but promised me he would keep his spirits up.
The next week, seeing him unable to talk, but very much still responding. I sat with him, talked to him and he smiled and nodded. He was not happy, but still fighting. His arms were in restraints now as he had tried to pull the tube out on several occasions, angry that he was stuck there. They decided to sedate him so that he could rest and, as I stood in the doorway, as week as he was, he raised his arm to wave at me. "I love you," I said. He nodded in reply. That was the last I saw him truly awake.
I came back to see him a few days later. He responded to my voice, trying to open his eyes through the haze of the medication, but that's an impossible fight to win. He gripped my hand, letting me know he knew I was there as I sat and talked. A week later, the decision was made. It was time to let him go. I couldn't bear to be in the room...I went outside with Dad, who was a wreck. But, Mom said it was quick. Two big breaths and it was over.
Some speak of fate, others "Divine Providence", but someone put me in Middletown last summer for a reason. He was able to see me onstage for the first time, I was able to be there when he got sick, be there when we took him off the vent and be there when we put him in the ground.
Pop Pop was the kind of man I will always strive to be, a role model in every sense of the word. He was a gentleman, a hillbilly, a man of faith and conviction, an artist, a scholar...a simple man with a world of complexity. Soemtimes I still think about calling him. His number is still in my phone and I don't know that I will ever take it out. I have to believe that he is still with me in some way and that, if he has anything to say about it, I will find success in this crazy business.
I love you, Pop Pop.
Pershing "Percy" Arbogast
Dec. 20th, 1917 - Sept. 27, 2004
posted by J.T. at 12:19 AM
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