Mom answers telephone; Dad was in a fatal accident, His heart stopped for 30 minutes, he was pronounced dead, then while the lumberjacks waited for help he started breathing again.

After Dad came home from the army he was much different than the excited young man that started out. His stories of this time were sad and hard for him. He talked of his own reagent and because he was taller and broad at chest was appointed as MP, "meaning his was responsible was to police," his own men, dragging them out of bars and enforcing rules.
Mom talked of seeing his scars from army men throwing knives at him, he brought home many knives, deadly and beautiful. I recall him telling us that the danger he faced was often the soldier in the bed beside him, so he slept with an eye open and gun in hand.
He talked about being on the islands, giving starving native children his food because they were searching through the garbage. He talked about the native women, their grass skirts and bare upper-bodies. He thought once to aid them, so he purchased "T-shirts" giving them to the women, when they came back proudly wearing the shirts with holes cut out to display assets he gave up trying to change them.
He never revealed to us that he was a hero, having saved his platoon. We learned at his funeral at 64 years old, then only because of his army salute.
I recall just before he died mom made an insinuation that dad had been close to a native gal, how close I do not know.
One story of dad was a time when he was directing army traffic, General Patton was traveling, expecting to be treated according to his rank and dad refused to him the right of way.

Dad was one of the tallest men I knew, attractive and always drawing attention. From when I was small I recall women admiring him, even old ladies loved him, one dignified old lady seeing him for the first time in years, screeched as dad picked her up twirling her around.

He had a short temper, but was more often gentle. I was told he danced and sang beautifully.

Before his Accident he had understandings with more than one young woman to marry, mom was just the first.

The year of his accident was 1954, "I was just four years old."
I often spent time with my mom as she sat by dad's bed-side, over the next five months.
He looked like a mummy with his head swathed in white wrappings. He was not expected to wake.
One morning he was found staggering around the hospital room, he had eaten a banana and was raving about "That black devil." Saying "He won't get me," One of his first words was "Bullshit."

When he came home he was weak and struggling to survive, but still big enough that it was a struggle to control him. He had headaches making him roar with pain.
As he became stronger and began working on small jobs, he often tried to explain his experience. Through the years I listened and tried to comprehend his stories.

His accident was while he was on the job he took after the army, He was a lumberjack, going deep into the forest logging.
This day they were cutting trees, one tree they were trying to fell was on a hill, dad volunteered to cut it. He was as I was told the best man for the job. He cut the tree, but as the tree fell it hit a hidden log dad was standing on, throwing him 30 feet into the air, he came down splitting his head on a rock with the top half of his skull falling over the bottom. He was pronounced dead, they were far away from civilization so someone went for help, 30 minutes later his heart started beating. In the hospital the doctors lifted the fallen part of his skull securing it with a metal plate.

Because of the brain damage, parts of his memory were gone, and his paths of thought were interrupted, he would think one thing, such as a name of something or some one but it would come out something else.
I was called "The other girl," my big sister was "The older one," and one was called "The red one." Sometimes hammer came out piano.
Such trouble just trying to communicate made his headaches worse.
The interesting thing about the speaking process was that when he sang, words he was unable to speak were easily sang. His favorite song was "A poor wayfaring man of grief."

As I grew up and many children were added to our family, we listened to his stories, for myself; each time he suffered I did also. When he described "Shock Treatment," I watched him shudder, desperate to never be put through this again.
He told of his death experience.
He was a devoted follower of the Mormon leader Joseph Smith.
His grandfather and father were bodyguards of this polygamist leader.
He grew up on stories from his father, he told of his crippled father getting so excited that he rose from the ground when telling of a vision that Joseph Smith experienced.
Dad's father and grandfather were also polygamists, his mother had just four children, dad, brother John and two sisters. All were tall and large not overweight but broad of shoulder, with huge booming voices. When they came to our home they acted like children, laughing, teasing each other and running over the beds and through the house.

When Dad's heart stopped he believed he visited his father and Joseph Smith, seeing heaven, the beautiful gardens with bushes having many different types and colors on one. The women with long flowing hair and red flowers (red his favorite color).
The peace that pulled him back, the longing in his eyes to return wrenched at my heart.
Sometimes he talked of the battle of good and evil, the horrible battles to come, his fear was in his eyes.

Now I think that when a body dies their brain waves show what they believe in, each persons heaven is according to their belief.
Sadly also if their belief in evil is strong enough and they feel they have been evil they may see this hell.

My mother struggled with his illness, protecting him and concealing his violent times from us.
It was just before she died, that she told me some things.
The times he stripped her, dragging her around with her pleading to him not to let the kids see. As the years passed he learned to realize when his headaches were starting and try to get away from people he could hurt.
At five I remember watching him leave, going towards a group of tree's away from the house, he stayed for a long time there, as the evening came I watched the light above, come down over his head, as darkness came he returned calm saying he had talked with his father.
At my young age I believed the ball of light lowering above him was God.

The young women meaning to become wives to him, married elsewhere because of his disability.
One young woman, came often to our home, to help mom. Then began staying, she had been already forced with her sister to marry a very old man, she was with dad a lot and as a child I saw my mothers pain. Then this young woman disappeared. Often over the years dad wondered about her. Just months before he died he disappeared for a short time, he told me he found her and they spent time together, he seemed overjoyed.

Mom told me before this, that when dad came home he was thrust into a family he did not know, the part of his life, his love for mom and children was damaged, his brain never recovered this. The young girl was someone new, he loved her and so she was sent away by the leaders. When they met again they were both old, having lived different lives. My memory of her was that she was kind to me.

Dad was from old teaching, believing that a man must be strong tough and able to protect women.
After the accident he lost control over some of this, he never hurt me, in fact as my illness came he often nursed me, I recall one time, I was ten and blind my face blew up like a balloon, he carried me to appointments until I could see again. When very small I recall him hiking miles carrying me on his shoulders because the truck broke down.

As he became older he worked in rest homes, he was gentle and strong enough to lift patients. If someone in town had a child in a wheel chair he often helped.

Some brothers, and sisters were not as kindly treated, the boys especially were handled with violence, men felt that boys should be taught to be strong and tough. He often beat them so that I felt they would not survive, because he knew or thought they lied or stole.
My only big brother, when quite small was terrified of the chain saw dad used in building fences, dad would start the loud motor and Con would run for the house climbing as far under the bed as possible, dad would drag him out and try again. I don't believe dad ever managed to convince Con that the saw was safe. My brothers were as stubborn as dad was and would rather have been beaten to death than give in.
As they had children of their own, they also disciplined their children in this abusive way.

For awhile dad worked building fences, the uncle running the company had a hammer made, heaver and larger to fit his hands. Everything he used was huge, Just having him hold my hand while walking was exhausting, one step of his was running ten for me to avoid being dragged.

Dad's beliefs were often confusing, his mother was important and often in the middle of the night he would rise from bed, waking us all because he was upset saying "Maw" needed him, traveling across town to answer her call.
He was a "Momma's boy."

Since his death, many years ago I still imagine I feel him beside me at times when I think of him, a warm reassuring feeling.