Kathy, No, I am not tired of you telling us about your life. I am sorry that 
your Dad will soon be dying. You gave a great tribute to him.

Please write when you can,

take care,

Love,
Malcolm.
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Kathy Du Bois" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Saturday, January 13, 2007 2:47 AM
Subject: a tribute to a heero


> Hi guys,
>
> Okay, I hope that you guys aren't getting tired of hearing about my
> life, but I thought that I'd send you an update since this may be the
> last one for a while.
> My Dad is definitely going home tomorrow to die.  They have moved him
> out of I.C.U. into a private room, and I know, from other situations,
> that that means his situation is terminal.  Hospice will be taking
> him back home on Saturday.  Two of my brothers are coming over to
> move out most of the furniture in the living room to make room for a
> hospital bed, but the difference is not expected to last for
> long.  Dialysis did not go well for my Dad today.  In fact, we
> thought that he was going to slip away today.  His heart rate went
> down to 32 and his breathing was irregular, but my brother told us
> that when he learned that we were coming, he rallied.
> I talked to Mom tonight and I assured her that me, with my guitar,
> was on the way.  She sounds so tired, but resigned to the reality of
> the situation.  She has been a good wife and he has been a great
> Dad.  He had a lot on his plate that most people wouldn't even think
> of.  How would you handle being the father of seven children, knowing
> that two of them were blind.  How would you deal with having to give
> up farming, something in your blood, and being retrained, in your 30s
> so that you could keep putting bread on the table.
> I'll have to write a tribute to this man, soon, but whatever I say
> will fall short of the true man.  I was up before sunrise to go for
> two-hour horseback rides with this man.  I experimented on this man
> with my first attempts at cooking, and he survived!  He did offer
> some to the birds though.  HMMM!  He took me canoeing and taught me
> how to harvest oats by hand to give treats to the horses.  He
> assigned me chores, just like everybody else.  I had to collect the
> eggs and slop the pigs, just as my older siblings had before me.
> His heart begged him to protect me, but his head told him to teach me
> about life.  I am so blessed that his head ruled and that I had the
> life I had.  He even modified an old station wagon so that my older
> brother, who is also blind, could feel what it was like to handle a
> car.  After the hay was harvested, we would pile into the station
> wagon and let Terry have the wheel.  Terry would drive all over the
> hay fields to the shouts of, left, right, Break!  Ahhhh!
> I didn't get out of haying either.  I had to learn to drive the
> tractor and the same, left, right principle applied to me, but I know
> that I made the job easier by allowing the boys and Dad to wrestle
> the hay bales.  It's a good thing that ivory soap floats because,
> after the hay was in, we'd all head down to Bass Lake for a wash and
> a swim.  Thank the Lord that the E.P.A. wasn't around at the time.  I
> suppose that they wouldn't have thought much of my Dad for making
> Bass Lake a bath tub, but we kids had fun.
> My Dad taught me how to stack wood, and I had to do it
> too.  Blindness didn't work for much of an excuse in our house,
> though I know, with his father's heart, he would have given up his
> sight if I could have gained mine.
>     He insisted that I get good grades, but he was also committed to
> creating as much family life, especially for Terry and myself, as he
> could.  When Terry and I reached the age of five, we each had to
> attend a boarding school about 400 miles away.  My Dad made many
> round trips, breaking the speed limit, I'll admit, to try to get us
> home for weekends as much as possible.  Even though we were far away,
> we never doubted how much we were loved.  We were never coddled and
> we were never excused from behaving well and being upright and moral.
> Of most importance, Dad lived putting Christ first.  When the farm
> failed, when he was laid off, when his children went astray, when
> things were hard, God was never blamed for the difficulty, but
> appealed to for strength to get us through.
> I'm going home to say goodbye to my hero.  Thanks Dad, for
> everything!  You were the best Dad that I could have had.  Thanks for
> believing in me, for putting up with me through the terrible teens,
> and for loving me even when I was not a very nice person in
> return.  Thanks for horseback rides and fresh Christmas
> trees.  Thanks for taking me fishing.  Sorry that I never got into
> cleaning very well.  Thanks for letting me keep all those cats.  I
> think we had 16, at one time.  They did help keep the mice away from
> the grain, didn't they?  Thanks for rowing the boat across the lake
> and back so that I could swim.  Do you remember how I learned to call
> the loons?  Thank you most for appreciating my music.  It is the gift
> that I enjoy the most.  I love you Dad, and I'll miss you.  I'm so
> grateful that this goodbye isn't forever, for I will see you again,
> soon; sooner than we know, and we will have eternity together.
> Bubbles
>