The date of this week's newspaper - our August 24 edition - brings with it a very special and very emotional significance for yours truly.
You see, my father passed away a decade ago this week. On Monday, August 26, 2013, Jack Ruttle left this world at the age of 80 while he was living in the long-term health care facility in the village of Dinsmore.
However, the last day that I saw my dad alive was 48 hours earlier on Saturday, August 24. It was the day after I turned 28 years old, and it being the weekend, I wanted to cruise down to Dinsmore to see Dad and watch the Rider game with him. My older brother Perry had originally made plans to see him earlier that day, but a road mishap on what I can still remember was "glorious" old Highway 42 back then resulted in his truck losing its cargo in the back - a BBQ that spilled out of the truck and exploded on the road. Having to clean up that mess resulted in what can only be called rightful frustration for my brother, and he elected not to continue to Dinsmore, perhaps knowing that I was already going to be heading down for the afternoon.
It was a sunny day on a typically warm late-August weekend. I brought Dad and I a couple of drinks and I saw that he was wearing his Rider green upon entering his room. JR wasn't the only one - the entire staff was decked out in Saskatchewan's colours, as were a few other residents. We sat and watched the game, we talked about the farmers and their upcoming harvest season, we talked about horses, and he sat in amazement as I told him of my recent trip to Las Vegas a week earlier. Admittedly, that amazement may have been for the sheer fact that I chose to go down south in the middle of freaking August, but I digress.
It was one of those, "Yeah, there's something on the TV, but who really cares, right?" kind of visits. Those really are the best kind of visits because you find yourself immersed in conversation with someone and the time just manages to fly by without a moment's notice. Once in a while, we'd stare at the TV and saw that the Riders were doing just fine, so it was back to conversation. Stories about work, stories about home, things that were coming up in everyone's lives. My sister and her husband were looking forward to hosting a 25th wedding anniversary the following month, and there was talk of having Dad there for the day to take in the festivities.
Soon enough - perhaps too soon - the Rider game was over and it was supper time for everyone, so I wheeled Dad out to the dining area and got him settled in. His supper came, and we shared a final few words as I put my right hand on the back of his neck. I leaned over and told him that I'd be back on Monday after I was done work. He said, 'Okay, sounds good', and stuck out his large, calloused, I've-experienced-everything-under-the-sun hand. I shook it, wished him well, and told him to have a great rest of the day. Now, I didn't know this until after the events that came later the following week, but I was told that apparently I was the only person whose hand Dad made a point to shake every time I was set to leave. I didn't think all that much of it at the time; we're big Irish men, so a hearty handshake now and then just seemed right.
Oh, and the Rider game? Saskatchewan just managed to trounce Edmonton in the Eskimos' home stadium at a score of 30-27. (Uh-oh, I used that former team name! Better cancel me!)
Of course, the events of two days later changed our family's course. I was at work when it happened and I got a phone call from Perry, telling me that the facility in Dinsmore had just called and that Dad was "on his way out" and that we were to get down there as quick as humanly possible if we hoped to see him in his final moments. He, my mom, and Brendon were still in Conquest while I was here at the office, and after I hung up, I struggled to find the words to tell my coworker Delwyn that I needed to go, right then and now. I ended up bursting into tears and he knew right away, telling me to go and be with my family. My apologies if you met me on both Highways 15 and 42 that morning, because I was driving like a bat out of Hell, which of course wasn't smart because I was running on pure emotion, but this was literally one of those "Time is running out" scenarios.
As I skidded to a stop in the parking lot, I met everyone outside as they'd just arrived too and we went in, and that's when we learned that Dad had indeed passed. We were too late. There were tears and hugs offered by facility staff, who could not have been more kind and caring in a moment like that. But the song remained the same - Jack Ruttle, Dad, was no longer here with us.
The circumstances of my dad's life in those remaining months weren't ones that everyone liked, but they were ones that we had to learn to accept. And we learned to make it work; I'd visit on this and this day, while Mom and Brendon would come for this and this day, and Perry would visit on this and this day. We were surprised to be told by staff that we were a family who visited their relative so much more often than other families visiting other relatives. That's both a happy and sad revelation, when you think about it.
My dad wasn't a complicated man. He grew up in Ontario, worked pretty much every single day of his life, loved horses and the sport of horse racing (harness), got married to two women who he adored and from those marriages came all seven of us Ruttle kids. He liked Molson Canadian beer. He absolutely LOVED popcorn. He enjoyed playing cards, especially the game of Uno. He was a giving man, arguably to a fault. And man, do I miss him so terribly.
He was the greatest man I'll ever know in all my days on this earth.
I watch my brothers and sisters go about their lives today, with a decade having passed since Dad breathed his last breath, and I smile at the fact that so many of Jack's traits are ones that have been passed on to each of us Ruttle kids. He really does live on in each of us.
I also think about those handshakes that he would give me on each of our visits. And I believe I've come to understand why he would do so. I believe that Dad was appreciative that he had a kid who wasn't disgusted or afraid of the not-so-glamorous side of getting older in life. Dad's body was essentially breaking down, and as everyone can guess, with that comes all sorts of 'fun' things such as changing clothes, changing bed sheets, helping someone bathe, you get the picture. The God's honest truth is that I was really the only person for the job. Mom couldn't lift Dad, and both Brendon and Perry either couldn't tolerate the specifics or weren't available, so it fell on me. But I didn't mind because that sort of stuff doesn't bother me. It's a fact, people - we get older as the years wear on, and as those years wear on, our bodies might lose the ability to do this or that.
The short answer is very simple: He was my dad, and he did this kind of stuff for me when I was a baby, so I guess it was only right that I help him with this kind of stuff when he was older.
A decade has passed since I last talked to my dad. It both does and doesn't surprise me that so much time has passed. The world is different. People are different. I'm somewhat different.
But some things in life just never change, including the love a son has for his father.
I love you, Dad.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
