My Dad, William Charles Hall

On Thursday, October 22nd, 2009, my Dad, William (Bill) Charles Hall died, his body no longer able to continue to fight the good fight. Ten years ago, Bill had a massive stroke after heart surgery that ultimately left him fully paralyzed on the right-hand side, and aphasic. He struggled to regain a semblance of life, finally settling in and lived the last eight years or so with dignity, grace and surrounded by love. I have always adored everything about my Dad, and he always adored everything about me, even when we were totally annoyed with each other. An example of this? As a 21-year-old bride-to-be my parents thought I was much too young to be getting married, but of course, I knew better (and almost thirty years later, I guess I've shown them!). My Father decided to deal with it in his usual timely manner. So there we were walking down the aisle of the church, in front of all our family and friends, my husband-to-be waiting expectantly at the alter, when my loving father leaned down and whispered in my ear: "You know Cals, I can still get you out of this. If you want we could turn around right now and get on a plane and go anywhere you want." Honestly? I could have killed him! But that was my Dad. Growing up, our parents always instilled in my brother and I a "can do" work ethic that has carried us through our working lives. There was nothing my Father could not build or fix, and he could always do it extraordinarily well. He was an engineer by trade but became an artist when he retired. He worked with clay, silver and after his stroke, with paints. Always, since as far back as I can remember, he and my mother used to tell me "You can do and be anything you want. Always remember that, anything you want." All his life, my father was an attractive man, and the ladies just loved him. As a young man, my Grandmother said to her eldest son: "You just think you are a movie star." My Dad had curly blond hair that used to blow in the wind while he toodled around town in his Humber Hawk. I think his Mother thought he was getting a little too full of himself. Grandma Hall was a staunch Church of England Anglican and may have felt that being vain was one of the seven deadliest sins! I honestly believe he had most, if not all, of the caregivers at Belmont House, his home for the last eight years, wrapped around his little finger. As they passed by him in the hall, there'd be the words "Oh, hello Mr. Hall." and always a little hug or a small pat as they went by. My Father would acknowledge them with his lovely smile and a slight nod, you know in the royal "Windsor" way! There were only certain staff who my Dad were permit giving him a bath and at night, some of them would come down to his room, listen to his music and dance with him. We know that he was loved and and we know he loved them back, making it all the much easier for all us to live our lives. Dad would also crash all the staff parties ... and they just let him! My Mother and I were constantly horrified when we came in and were told all about so and so's birthday get together which "Mr. Hall attended." My Dad would never, ever miss a party, a musical event or social activity. Dad and I shared many similarities in our lives. Both of us had lost the ability to speak and over the last few years and our conversations must have been a sight for some to see. We would smirk, smile, shrug our shoulders, wag and/or point our finger at whatever was bothering us, make horrible faces at each other and smile away with a glazed look in our eyes when we just did not want to listen. My Mother must have the patience of a saint, I tell you, when dealing with either of us. Trying to decipher what it is that we are thinking, while the two of us get more and more annoyed and therefore less and less clear to those trying to understand what it is we need or want. Pointing and yelling out "NO" (the one word my Father was capable of saying) while Mom was driving to the point of her skimming a concrete post because Dad was being a busybody telling her where to park. We also shared an aversion to medications, my Father would inspect the pills he was given each day and if there was something unfamiliar or foreign, he'd quickly pluck it out of his cup and put it aside. The exasperated staff would have to get my Mother to sit down with Dad and explain exactly why he had to take the pill and when. So, the leonine love of my life has passed on to another place; just where that place is, we will never know. I choose to believe he is dancing happily away somewhere under the stars, waiting for that great day, I hope, when we meet once again to be able to talk to each other, laugh and most of all dance.