Rob Babcock
Head Chef
I'm sad to say that my dad passed away this morning. His health had been deteriorating the last couple years and the last one was especially bad. It appeared that maybe there was a crack in the clouds but on Monday he was admitted to the ER with a high fever. It appears that he may have developed pneumonia. In the course of treatment his heart stopped twice. His very dedicated doctors & nurses revived him but after years of fighting his body just couldn't take any more; his kidneys had completely failed and his heart, already weakened from a heart attack and congestive heart failure, just couldn't bear the strain of dialysis any longer. With no viable medical options and no chance of a decent quality of life, we were forced to conclude that we loved him too much to put him through any more suffering.
My only consolation is that there was time to gather the entire family to his bedside. He passed quietly in his sleep, surrounded by his loving wife of 43 years, three adoring children, his brother and his wife & many grandkids & nephews. He was ready to go, he just didn't want to go alone. And he didn't.
Dad wasn't much of a cook (depending on if you asked him or us
) but he was a life-long sportsman. He was a fanatical fishermen, expert handloader and crack marksmen. He was also an expert sharpener; I think his knife collection (which I will sort thru) contains over 200 very fine blades. Dad forgot more about hunting, fishing and general woods-lore than most people will ever know. His skin was weathered brown like old leather, and a roof never seemed to suit him. He always felt he was born a century too late. He felt the call of nature deep down in his bones. I sorely wish he could have breathed his last under a canopy of stars or knee-deep in a mountain stream holding a fly rod instead of in a hospital bed.
No man that knew him ever had a truer friend and no son or daughter ever had a better father.
The pain is fresh and his loss will no doubt only grow more acute as it sinks in. I was never much for faith, but Dad was. If it's your way I humbly ask for your prayers for him. Please keep him in your thoughts. I know that he's not really gone; his essence will be with me and those who loved him, for as long as we live. I think I finally get that now.
I will close by offering a favorite poem up to Dad. Don't worry, Dad. I won't stand by your grave and weep. You're not in there, you're in my heart.
_________________________ _________________________ ___
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die
_________________________ _________________________ ___
My only consolation is that there was time to gather the entire family to his bedside. He passed quietly in his sleep, surrounded by his loving wife of 43 years, three adoring children, his brother and his wife & many grandkids & nephews. He was ready to go, he just didn't want to go alone. And he didn't.
Dad wasn't much of a cook (depending on if you asked him or us
) but he was a life-long sportsman. He was a fanatical fishermen, expert handloader and crack marksmen. He was also an expert sharpener; I think his knife collection (which I will sort thru) contains over 200 very fine blades. Dad forgot more about hunting, fishing and general woods-lore than most people will ever know. His skin was weathered brown like old leather, and a roof never seemed to suit him. He always felt he was born a century too late. He felt the call of nature deep down in his bones. I sorely wish he could have breathed his last under a canopy of stars or knee-deep in a mountain stream holding a fly rod instead of in a hospital bed.No man that knew him ever had a truer friend and no son or daughter ever had a better father.
The pain is fresh and his loss will no doubt only grow more acute as it sinks in. I was never much for faith, but Dad was. If it's your way I humbly ask for your prayers for him. Please keep him in your thoughts. I know that he's not really gone; his essence will be with me and those who loved him, for as long as we live. I think I finally get that now.
I will close by offering a favorite poem up to Dad. Don't worry, Dad. I won't stand by your grave and weep. You're not in there, you're in my heart.
_________________________ _________________________ ___
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die
_________________________ _________________________ ___
