November...

Dad, as I told you... you made me cry. I had written alittle something to get my thoughts out, but it's very rough and I'm too scared to share it at this point. All in due time. But, I realized tonight... Thanksgiving is coming sooner than we think. This might be a good place to start thinking about what we should do to honor Grampie. Is Karen on this blog? I think it's time to brainstorm.

love,
Annie

Roger Hatch 2009

You always hear the stories about your in laws but in my case, I was blessed with Big Rog. When I married his only daughter, he put the fear of God into me. But over the years, we earned a mutual respect and friendship. My own Dad died when I was in my 20's. Rog became my surrogate Dad. I worked hard to earn that respect professionally, personally and with my family.

Rog lost his wife, Miriam, almost 15 years ago. He cared for her personally during her last years as she struggled with the aging process. It wore him down but he managed.

She was a legend in her own right. She was not happy with our marriage. I had not earned her daughter, in her mind. And she let me know it. But over time we reached a mutual respect and love of one another. And I worked hard to earn her respect. She was a great cook. She took cooking to a new level of perfection. Dinner was a production and she executed it well. She was a special person.

When she passed away, he continued on his own. He always made his home available to us and to our children creating a wonderful family vacation home in New Hampshire. Every year we journeyed to Silver Lake. Two weeks of vacation. He never asked that we do anything other than enjoy ourselves. It was his gift to us each year.

During the past years, we tried to reciprocate. Many years in the Spring and Fall we would take a trip, sometimes out to California to visit his sister and brother, some times to Arizona, sometimes down the eastern Atlantic coast. Each time we would work in a little golf. We had some amazing games. Rog loved golf. And he was a competitor. In his last years he could not hit it far but he could hit it straight. And once he was close to the green, look out. Strokes were exchanged to keep it balanced. He always played quarter/quarter/quarter. A quarter on the front nine, a quarter on the back nine and a quarter overall. The winner bought the drinks and a good time was had by all. It broke his heart when he had to give up the game at age 90. He still broke 100 that year, the record will show. But you could always get him going with a golf story. He had an infinite list of stories and memories.

He had a great life, always in good health, never in the hospital until 85. A no BS guy, he quickly filtered any conversation down to the basics. His favorite expression was:”That’s a bunch of crap”!

I lost my father-in-law last week at the age of 92. am blessed to have married his only daughter. In his final days, he whispered hoarsely to me that he was giving her to me to take care of now. I looked blankly at him unsure of what to say. He looked up at me and said: “Say it!” I mumbled something stupid, unable to adequately express myself. But I think he knew that I loved him.

The night before he passed, he said “I am a dead man” and later took off his oxygen. I tried to get him to put it back on but he refused. I finally called the nurse to help put it back on. He was not happy about that but after she put it back on he looked up at her and said “Thank you for helping me”. Always a gentleman.

His son, Chuck, was planning to come down from Massachusetts. Fearing the end was near, we had encouraged him to make the trip sooner rather than later. He planned on coming on Sunday but changed his flight to come Saturday.

Rog never want to be kept alive my machines. But to the end he fought for life. He wanted to go to the hospital just in case there was a chance. The night before he died they took him to the hospital. But there was nothing to be done. Margaret and I went there but he was almost gone, just a blank stare and very difficult breathing. They sent him back to the transition unit. Margaret rode with him and I followed in the car. We got him back in his room and back to peace and quiet. She slept in the chair. I slept on the floor. We were waken several times as he fought off the devil. But morning came and he was still with us.

We told him that Chuck was on the way. That morning, we took turns holding his hand and sometimes talking, sometimes dreaming about the wonderful life. Mid morning I asked him if he wanted the bed raised up. And he opened his eyes wider and nodded yes. He was still with us. After lunch, Chuck called that he had landed at BWI and was on his way over. Then he called again and said he was stuck in traffic. Finally he came in the door came over and gave his dad a hug saying "I love you, Dad". Big Rog, laying there quietly now, with that stare suddenly looked up, eye brows raised high and gave a smile.

A few hours later, everyone exhausted, Roger resting peacefully, we said Good Night and went home for dinner and a good nights sleep. About 3AM the power went off, for no apparent reason. We understand a car hit a power pole, a mile away and knocked out the power to the neighborhood. At 4AM, Roger passed away. They tried to call but without power we never heard. When we woke, we called and found out what had transpired.

Roger Hatch died at age 92 and nine months. He led a life that all would envy. And he did it humbly, alway a hard worker, always frugal, always honest, never expecting something in return. He gave us love and comfort, occasional advice, some nudges, some hints. But he expected you to live your life and make your way in the world. We always knew he was there if we needed him.

Roger Hatch, father-in-law, friend, advisor, golf partner, supporter, friend, Dad.