Two Christmas Truths

Pat Fule
Fule for Thought

 

Life doesn’t always give people a “Hallmark Christmas.”
Sometimes, tragedies happen. At the same time we celebrate Christ’s birth, we sometimes also have to lose people.
We have lost three people this Christmas season: two family friends, and my much loved uncle. Luckily, my family got to visit with Uncle Poldi one last time before Christmas. Two days before his death, he told my aunt to “go downstairs and bring beer for Pat.”
She actually had to pretend to leave, and when she returned, he whispered for her to get more! Now before you start thinking I drink a ton of beer, he was still trying to be a good host, even in his hospital room! On his last evening, he was weakened by cancer, and barely able to respond, but I tried my hardest to make him smile. Talking out loud about his fishing trips with my dad, did bring a slight smile to appear, and I could see him relax, too. Later that night, the truth we had to face: my uncle had passed away.
It has been a strange time for us all. A funeral has to occur so fast, it’s almost like having a major function, like a wedding, come together in only a few days! Life also doesn’t stop, and even though we lost three people, Christmas planning and final shopping, still had to occur. I was privileged to deliver the eulogy for my uncle, and although difficult, his story and that of my aunt, needed to be told. His funeral was on Dec. 23, and the irony of such a sad day just before a happy celebration was on my mind. The funeral also brought relatives and friends together again, and my own family pulled together so well!
There was another great sadness in store for me, and it was to come on a social outing with my cousin and her husband. We were reminiscing about childhood in Canmore, where they lived across the street. We talked of how her old dog loved hanging around with our dog and my friends’ adventures. I mentioned that it was terrible that our dog Rusty disappeared when I was 15. I said my friends and I searched for days on bikes to try and find him … to no avail.
“You don’t know, do you?” she asked.
When I replied “no,” she hesitated, as if she didn’t want to continue. After some reassurances that I could handle it, she hit me with a bombshell.
“Your dad put him down, that’s what he told my parents. He got complaints from neighbours about barking, and Rusty jumping the fence to roam, so he put him down.”
I felt a mix of rage, sickness, and sadness!
How could my dad have done this? We had Rusty since he was a pup, and he’d only been five when he disappeared! I loved that dog so much, even though I always knew my brother was his favorite! How could Dad have killed my own dog? Don’t get me wrong, I mean killed … an old Hungarian guy like my dad wouldn’t have gotten a vet, and Canmore didn’t even have one in 1975!
So many thoughts ran through my head: why did he think killing the dog I loved, was the only answer? Why didn’t he tell us about the neighbours, and see if we could keep Rusty in the yard more? Did Rusty get scared before he died … did someone just take him in the woods and shoot him? Why did he let my friends and I search for days when he was the one responsible? Why, in the next 22 years, did he not confess … isn’t that what we Catholics are supposed to do?
I know this happened 40 years ago, but the true story is brand new to me now! The dad I believed in, has let me down terribly. With his death in 1997, I can’t even get his answer, or tell him how I feel!
Just before my uncle’s funeral, I had planned to transfer an old vinyl Polka record to my iTunes library, to reminisce about my old family days. I don’t want to anymore. I think I need to be mad, and sad, for a while. The mystery of my lost dog is solved, but has led me to another question. If my dad was able to do this terrible act, what else about him, won’t I ever know?
Instead of a “Merry Christmas,” it’s been a melancholy one. There’s a line from a Christian hymn called “Holy Holy Holy” that states “God and sinners reconcile.”
I’m not ready to reconcile with my dad’s memory right now. Besides mourning the people we’ve lost, I’m also mad at that memory, and I mourn for a little border collie, and a 15-year-old boy who lost his best friend.
Lastly, I mourn for something that’s now lost between my dad and me.

(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)