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2010-06-01 10:14:00

An email from Dad – part one

So, what’s new this month?

As I say each month, "I’m always glad to be asked." This month I have something that I’m sure will prove to be controversial. Most people don’t talk about stuff like this. I do. I have found over the years that much of what I write in this column alienates some folks nearly every month. This article certainly has all of the ingredients to alienate some as well, but my hope is that it will find more support than alienation.

As you may know from being a reader of this column, I grew up and attended school in Sharon, KS, a small town about 70 miles southwest of Wichita. In the Fall of ’66, as a Junior in high school I hurt my knee in football. A good friend of mine had hurt his knee too. Neither of us went out for basketball that year, but we would go to the out-of-town games together. In mid-December we played Hardtner. We went to the game. I drove. I had a ’64 Chevelle Mailbu, Super Sport, 2 Door Hardtop…a pretty hot car back then. At the half, we were well in command of the game. We left the game and went to a local beer joint. We were pretty good sized, so as was the case much of time back in those days, if you didn’t wear a letter jacket and you looked 18, you weren’t asked for an ID. We had "a couple of beers"…or maybe more. We stayed there until we figured the game was over. We left and followed the Sharon school buses on their way back to Sharon, through Kiowa. I passed them just before coming to Hazelton. As soon as we turned on the road going North to Sharon, I sped up to more than 90 miles per hour. I promise you…we were not in a hurry. It was just to show off…as I did far too many times back in those days. Within less than a mile, I hit an ice spot at the top of a hill. My car skidded sideways, went into the air, hit half way up a telephone pole, where it was turned around, proceeded to clip across eight or ten hedge posts in a fence line, then kicked off the last one, sending it out in a pasture 130 yards from the highway. Neither of us were wearing seat belts. I’m not even sure if there were such things back then, but if there were, we weren’t wearing them. The car looked to be totaled. It was smashed into a box roughly half the size of what it was. No one could believe two people could have still been inside. When the car finally came to a stop, we looked at each other…not believing what had just happened. We pushed open the caved in doors. Neither of us had a scratch…not even a scratch! We walked around and surveyed the damage. A football field and a half away, the school buses went by. They had not seen what had happened. Numbly, we walked to a farm house to call for help.

One of my classmates died a couple of years ago from hitting her head after falling from an 8 foot step ladder. Another classmate was killed in a freak accident in an oilfield about 30 years ago. Our son Dusty, at the age of 25, was killed instantly November 4, 2001, after hitting his head on a bridge abutment, while veering to miss a rider in front of him who lost control of his motorcycle, in the middle of a parade on South Broadway for Toys For Tots. So many people are killed and did nothing as stupid and as reckless as what I did. There is no way we should have lived, unless God willed it. I think about this often. I have always believed He had something He wanted me to do for Him before I died. Maybe sharing this column with you is it.

I have done many things wrong throughout my life. I am sure more things than most. I still do many things wrong. I confess them, along with the bad examples I may have given, with a most sincere and contrite heart. I receive absolution from the priest. I say my penance. I try to do better. So please understand...this message is not from a "holier than anyone." It is from me. Whether or not I am the one to bring you this message should not be the issue. The issue should be…the message.

The other day I was thumbing through a file folder I keep by my computer, looking for a document. I came across my Dad’s obituary. I have kept it in this folder since he died. It has turned golden in color with its age. I read it again, as I do each time I see it.

Sharon Francis A. Traffas, 76, farmer, stockman, died Monday, Oct. 23, 1989. Rosary 7:30 p.m. today; service 10 a.m Thursday, both at St. Boniface Catholic Church. Survivors: wife, Betty; sons Charlie of Wichita, Tim, Rory, both of Sharon; daughters, Gloria Bayer of Wichita, Kathleen Dohm of Sharon, Mary Leah Ryan of Lincoln, Neb.; brothers Bill of Hutchinson, Mike of Amarillo, Texas, Vincent of Sharon, the Rev. Larry of Kansas City, Mo.; sisters, Mary Depenbusch of Anthony, Loretta Spencer, Bertha Mans, Agnes Eck, all of Sharon, Sister Silveria of Hamond, Ind., Anne Bohrer of Willowdale, Sister Vincetta of Mishawaka, Ind.; 27 grandchildren. Memorial has been established with the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Fisher Funeral Home, Kiowa.

As I finished reading, I put my head between my hands and closed my eyes. My mind raced back to that early Monday morning in October of 1989 that I got a call from Gloria, my sister. It was about 2 AM. She said that Dad had fallen, was real bad and had been taken to the hospital in Medicine Lodge. She said she was driving down and asked if I wanted to ride down with her. I told her to come by and I would take my car and drive us down. She did. We talked about a lot of things as we made the two-hour drive…what had happened with Dad and many other memories. Before we knew it, we were there. When we walked in, we saw Mom, John and Kathy (my sister and brother-in-law), Tim and Rory (my brothers), along with Vince, Bill, Agnes, Birdie and Loretta (some of Dad’s brothers and sisters). There were others there too, but I can’t remember all of them. Dad had been discharged from St. Joseph Hospital in Wichita on the previous Friday afternoon. I had gone to see him that morning. He was looking forward to getting out as he had been in the hospital for quite some time, having had his bladder removed because of cancer. He had gone home and was becoming acclimated to the care he needed and the change of dressings that were required. All was going okay, until Sunday evening. Apparently he had an infection when he was discharged from the hospital. By Sunday night, it had taken its toll. He had fallen. I don’t really know what happened between his fall and when he was taken to the hospital, but I know when we arrived, he was unconscious. It didn’t take us but a few minutes before we gathered around his bed and began saying the Rosary. I led while holding Dad’s hand. I remember, the machine showed his pulse at 39 when we began. As we prayed, we watched the machine show his pulse steadily decrease. Just as we finished, his pulse was down to nothing. Within a few seconds…that awful sound came from the machine. We all cried. A nurse came in and checked him. Dad had died. The nurse unhooked the machine. While I have yet to experience a lot of other deaths, his death was as peaceful as I could ever imagine.

It was very somber. None of us could move or say anything for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, we all went out into the lobby to visit with the people that were there and to thank them for coming. After a few minutes, I slipped back just outside the room where Dad was. The nurse had put a sheet over him. I sat in a chair in the hall, watching him. I thought how, at that very moment, his particular judgment was taking place. I begged our Lord to have mercy on him, saying, "Lord Jesus Christ, please have mercy on him. Please grant him eternal Salvation. He was such a good man."

After a few more minutes I got up and joined the others, hoping beyond anything I had ever hoped for in my life that Dad’s soul was being admitted to Heaven.

Although I had gone through a process similar to this most every time I had come across his obituary, and then went on with my work, this time…somehow…it was different. I couldn’t let go of it. That same weekend, Mary (another sister of mine who lives in Lincoln, NE) had come to stay with us while she had come down to visit Mom, who is in an assisted living residence. When she did, she said she had recently gone through some of Mom’s things she had before Mom moved to assisted living, and found Dad’s Rosary. She thought I would like to have it. She also brought Brenda (my wife) and I a bottle of Holy Water from Our Lady of Lourdes that she had received from her parish in Lincoln. Maybe it was the obituary. Maybe it was the Rosary…or the Holy Water…or…maybe it was that I was named Francis, after Dad, even though it is a name I don’t use but for legal purposes. Maybe it was all of these things…or just a dream. I don’t know…but here’s what happened…or what I think happened…as I was considering all that taken place the morning Dad died.

Voice: "Charlie."

Voice: "Charlie."

Me: "What? Who’s that?"

Voice: "It’s Dad."

Me: "Dad? Whose Dad?"

Voice: "Your Dad."

Me: "My Dad? How can you be my Dad? My Dad died…more than 20 years ago."

Voice: "I know, but it’s me."

Me: "How do I know it’s you?"

Voice: "Do you want me to prove it?"

Me: "I must be dreaming. Yes, please do."

Voice: "Do you remember those buffalo nickels I use to keep in that small cardboard box with the red lid on it, in the metal box, on the top shelf, in the bathroom, at the farm?"

Me: "Yes."

Voice: "Do you remember when I asked Betty (my mother and what Dad always called her) and all you kids where most of them had gone when I found them missing?"

Silence…

Me: "Yes."

Voice: "…and how you didn’t say a word?"

Me: "Yes."

Voice: "I know now, you took them."

Silence…

Voice: "Do you want me to tell you more?"

Me: "No."

Voice: "But that’s okay. I didn’t come here to tell you this. I just brought this up so you would know it’s me."

Silence…

Me: "Okay. So why are you here?"

Voice: "I need you to send an e-mail."

Me: "An e-mail? How do you know about e-mail?

Voice: "Email? We pretty well know about everything that is going on…and all that has gone on."

Me: "Really? Everything?"

Voice: "Yes…just about everything."

Me: "But why me?"

Voice: "Betty and I always did think you fell on your head once too hard when you were little. There was nothing you wouldn’t do as a youngster if someone dared you to do it…and most of the time…it didn’t take a dare. Most of the time what you did was much to your detriment, like those four accidents you had in less than a year in that Chevelle; driving across that teacher’s lawn; the outhouse you put on the train going through town that Halloween night; shooting out the street lights; and all of the others. You know you still make as many or more mistakes as anyone, but there isn’t much that makes you shy away from saying things that you feel need to be said. What I’m going to ask you to do is probably going to get you a lot of scorn from a lot of folks, but I think you can do it. Will you?"

Silence…

Me: "This is unreal. It feels like a dream. You have to tell me more. Do you know about things that are going to happen?"

Voice: "No, we’re not privy to that. We just know what is happening and what has happened."

Me: "Dad, I never remember you talking like this. You are talking so fluent. You’re using words I never heard you use. You are not hesitating at all. What happened?"

Voice: "I have been given a much higher degree of understanding than I ever had when I was alive. I didn’t get to finish school. I had to quit to help out at home, so you might imagine what it means to me. Every soul…whether in Heaven or Hell…gets this. What’s more…each soul gets the same degree of this higher understanding. Those who are in Heaven use it for their greater glory, worshipping God, honoring the Blessed Virgin Mary and appreciation for the eternal happiness they enjoy. It is a curse however, for those who are in Hell, as it heightens all of their pain and suffering to the utmost degree."

Me: "I don’t think I’ve ever heard this before."

Voice: "Trust me…there are many things you will come to know."

Me: "Where are you?"

Voice: "I can’t tell you that."

Me: "Why is that?"

Voice: "This was the first part of my deal. I can’t tell you where I am. The second part of my deal is that I can use this higher understanding to provide information to you."

Me: "Deal? Deal with whom?"

Voice: "This is not for you to know. Dives asked Abraham to have Lazarus go back and tell his five brothers to change their ways and avoid Hell. His wish was not granted. Abraham told him if his brothers would not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they would not listen to him. Those alive today not only have Moses and the Prophets, but they also have the Bible, Jesus, the New Covenant, the Sacraments, the Church, the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Saints. I got my deal. Dives didn’t. Mine is different."

Silence…

Me: "If this is really you, there is so much I want to know and ask. Will you answer some questions?"

Voice: "Maybe…and in due time. You would not be able to handle it if I were to tell you everything."

Me: "Really?"

Voice: "Yes."

Me: "Well tell me…what is this email you want me to send?"

As I stated previously, whether I dreamed all of this or I actually got something, I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that I continued to type what I was getting (or dreaming) without hesitation…and without interruption. From this point forward, I got a long message specifically related to myself and each member of our family. I have already sent this message to each of them. The second part of what I received was a message for everyone else, regardless of their faith…or lack of it. You might want to keep this issue and read it again for review, before you read the second part…next month.

Charlie Traffas has been involved in media, marketing, publishing and insurance for more than 38 years in Wichita. In addition to being fully licensed as a life, health, property and casualty agent, he is also President and Owner of Chart Marketing, Inc. (CMI), a full-service advertising agency, marketing firm and publishing company. CMI operates and markets a varied assortment of business products and services, including publishing The Q&A Times Journal and several B2B and B2C publications throughout the country. You may contact Charlie by phone at (316) 721-9200, by e-mail at ctraffas@chartmarketing.com, or you may visit at www.chartmarketing.com.