A Bittersweet Deer Season Memory

This picture was taken in November, 1967. It is a small deer but Dad said back in the day, "there just weren't that many deer".

 39 years ago today. Saturday, the 16th of November, 1985, my Dad didn't go with us deer hunting on opening morning. He said he "just didn't feel like it". While my brother Ralph and I were gone to the deer woods, Dad carried a bucket of fertilizer down the driveway to put on some grass he had sown. When he came back to the house, he told Mom that he was hurting in his chest and down his arms. It took a little bit of persuading, but she finally got him to the hospital. When we came in from hunting, there was a note on the table letting us know where they were at. We hoofed it to West Plains Memorial Hospital and found him in a room, clothed and aggravated that they wanted to keep him overnight for observation. It was a good thing that they did.

About 10 o'clock that evening, while I was working at the church, someone informed me that Dad had just had a massive heart attack (remember, this was before cell phones and we didn't have a telephone at the church).

Dad was in ICU when Ralph and I arrived, things looked pretty grim. He eventually was moved to a room but they said 80% of his heart was destroyed. He stayed at the West Plains hospital for a little over two weeks and then was transferred to St. Johns (now Mercy) in Springfield, MO. On Sunday the 7th of December, 1985, a blood clot moved into his heart and he graduated from earth to the Glory World.

The first day of every deer season, is a bittersweet day for me. I now hunt with my son-in-law, two of my grandsons and occasionally, My brother and my niece, Claire. I sit in the deer stand and tell stories to my Grandboys, Lucas and Liam - And today - I told them this story.

I am so glad I have good memories of my Dad. He taught me well and I hope I can pass it on down the line....