Thank you to everyone who has expressed condolences and sympathies both privately and publicly upon the death of my father. I regret I have not had the time nor the Internet access to acknowledge them all, but please know that each and every one is indeed appreciated by my family and me.

Unfortunately, I still have limited Internet access due to another router going on the fritz (do I have some kind of ElectroMagnetic Pulse field that destroys router chips? I haven’t had much luck with them lately), and I will also be spending the next week helping my Mom in her new life and following up on all the financial consequences of my father’s death. I will return to Austin in a week, and I hope to be able to write more then.

In the interim, if I can get a copy and permission to publish it, I would like to post what my brother said at the funeral today. He did our father proud.

Thanks again to all.

A brief note for those who wish to make a gesture to honor my father, my family is asking that in lieu of flowers to please make donations to either the Salvation Army or the American Cancer Society in memorial of William Martin Grant.

Thank you to all who have expressed their condolences and sympathies either online or in private emails. The good thoughts and prayers for my family are greatly appreciated even though I do not have the time at the moment to respond to all of the messages and posts individually.

I wrote this on 1 April 2004, shortly after my father had first been diagnosed with cancer:

I have a hammer

I have a hammer. It is an old tool, the rubber cap on the end of the wooden handle is cracked and split from age. There are scratches in the claw head and a few scuffs in the handle from a half century of use. This hammer has been used to repair houses, to build sheds, to hang pictures, to do work. This hammer belonged to my grandfather, a man who took care of his tools with almost as much attention as he devoted to providing for his family. This hammer passed on to my father when my grandfather died after a three year battle with cancer that wasted him from a healthy man down to a thin frail ghost. He had smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes for 30 years, and the reaper came to collect his toll in the form of lung cancer. I was only seven at the time, and I did not understand why my grandfather spent all his time in bed.

The night my grandfather died was the only time I saw my father come close to crying. Both my parents came to get my brother and me from the neighbor’s house where we had been taken abruptly after a phone call during dinner. That night was the last time that my father ever carried me in his arms. When we came out of the house into the darkness, my father picked me up and spoke to me about how my grandfather, who my brother and I called Gran gran, had passed away. There was a quaver in his voice that I had never heard before and have not heard since. My father carried me over to our house while my mother carried my brother, who was four years younger than me. My brother was crying; he did not understand what was happening. His distress was from the change in routine rather than from any comprehension of what loss we had sustained.

My father inherited my grandfather’s tools and the responsibilities that came with being the head of a family in the South. He cared for the tools he inherited as well as he cared for the tools that he had bought with money earned from his own work. My father worked to earn everything in his life, and he worked even harder to give his children more than he ever had. My father has borne the burden of family responsibilities for years, and those responsibilities only increased when my uncle, my father’s brother, abandoned his family several years ago. That betrayal of family hurt my father almost as much as the death of his father.

When I became old enough to properly use tools, my father gave me the hammer my grandfather had passed down to him. I have used that hammer for 27 years. It is the only reminder I have of my grandfather.

Now, my life is turning upside-down. I’m in the midst of moving to another country for a three year expatriate assignment, and I get news that my father has cancer in his bladder.

I have a hammer. It is an old tool that belonged to my grandfather, who passed it down to my father, who gave it to me. I don’t want my father to suffer the same wasting death that my grandfather endured. I don’t want my father’s tools to pass down to me, not now.

My father never smoked cigarettes.

My father lived a very healthy life. Over and over again those health care professionals who worked on him would say that he looked more like a man 15 or 20 years younger than he was.

The reaper came anyway.

I now have my father’s hammer and the rest of his tools, along with his responsibilities.

I hope I can live up to the example he has left for me, a shining light guiding my life.

Technorati Tags: personal

From a dear, dear friend who had met my Dad before he had cancer, in memorial to him:

A kind man
with a sad smile
sitting on a bench
looking at his sun
son
wildflowers rustle
in the
Texas breeze.

Technorati Tags: personal, photography, photos, photos of Europe, photos of Grenoble, pictures

While searching through my father’s closet for the right shirt and suit for his burial, I realized yet again how lucky I have been that my Dad let me get to know him as a man in addition to being my father.

Going through another man’s closet reveals a lot about his small habits and idiosyncrasies, and today instead of being filled with sadness and regret during my search, I was happy to learn more about my father as I shuffled the clothing around and chose the right tie and belt for him.

I had no unresolved issues with my Dad, and I have no regrets, other than we did not have the time to spend together as father and son in the retirement that for him never came.

I will write a fitting memorial to him soon, when I’m not completely occupied with the details that modern life imposes even upon death, but until then, music from my favorite artist will serve to convey my loss:

Father, Son by Peter Gabriel

This is an MP3 file that should open your default player. Please don’t save the file, but instead buy the albumfrom Amazon if you like it.

At 11:20PM on 25 December 2005, I signed the do-not-resuscitate order.

At 4:25AM on 26 December 2005, William Martin Grant, my father and the best man I will ever have the honor to know, died.

Years ago, when I was in graduate school, I developed a habit of going for a drive late at night on Christmas Eve, usually late enough that I was in the midst of my random, goal-less journey when Christmas Eve transitioned into Christmas Day. When I lived in Phoenix, there was not the cold in the air that people associate with the season, but there were still lights decorating houses. During one drive I saw a house standing alone out in the flat desert with not even a saguaro cactus standing nearby, the colored lights cheerfully forlorn in the desolate isolation.

Later in my life, when I lived in Portland, Oregon, I would go driving up the north side of the Columbia River Gorge, playing a game of rounding the corners at double the posted speed on the yellow signs warning of tight curves ahead. I had a Mitsubishi 3000 GT VR4, which had all-wheel-drive so it held the road very well, but was extremely unforgiving in poor road conditions because the car was heavy. The toughest curves where those marked as 40 and 45 mph, because the lateral g-forces at 90 mph made it tough to say in the seat, even with the seat-belt and supposed contoured seat-back. I would eventually reach a small town about 30 or 40 miles east of Portland, where I would cross the Columbia River and begin my drive west back to my house. The south side of the gorge was not quite as fun a drive, but it has a series of waterfalls that are very beautiful. I have some photos I took at night of the waterfalls that I am very proud of. Often I would stop and hike the short distance from the parking area to the Latourell Falls to watch the stars through the mist thrown up by the crashing of the water into the pool below.

After I divorced and moved to Austin I traveled to spend my Christmas in Memphis, where I grew up and where my parents still live. I would still go for a drive over midnight on Christmas Eve, usually going to the Mississippi River to gaze out over that mighty expanse of water as it flowed by.

All of these drives were taken alone, not even a voice on the radio for company but instead a CD of either the music from the “Charlie Brown Christmas” soundtrack or various instrumental versions of Christmas music in a minor key such as Carol of the Bells.

This year, I sit in my parents’ house and the presence of my father, which was usually so prominent even when he was away, is missing. Tonight my Dad lies in a hospital bed in Intensive Care, surrounded by apparatus quietly whirring as they pump different fluids into his ravaged body and other machines beeping in apparent impatience when he does not breathe deeply enough. My mother is upstairs sleeping, trying to recover enough of the energy that was prodigiously spent in our overnight Emergency Room vigil watching as more and more tubes were inserted in my father as the staff struggled to keep him alive and ran out of hooks for the IV bags and bottles.

In about an hour we will go for the last allowed visiting time of today in the ICU. I spent most of last night sitting where my father could see me so that every time he opened his eyes he would see that someone from his family was with him, and during the times he was out I would go sit with my mother as she allowed herself to cry out of sight of my Dad because she refuses to cry where he can see.

This Christmas Eve will be the first in 15 years I will not take my lonely drive.

Three months ago I was living in France, expecting to live there for another year and one-half with plans made accordingly.

Two months ago on my birthday my Dad was admitted to the hospital for a severe stomach problem.

One and one-half months ago I was told that a large tumor had been found in my father’s abdomen, and my plans changed.

When you gather for that incredibly exasperating reunion with family, the next time your Uncle says something to deliberately get a rise out of someone, or your Aunt gossips meanly about relatives that are not at your celebration, before you roll your eyes in exasperation take a moment remember how different your holiday, and your life, can be and can change in a moment.

No one has to take a drive alone.

Technorati Tags: Christmas, Christmas Eve

There is another update on my Dad at jmgrant.net for those who are interested.

For those who get frustrated with my stubbornness, there is some insight there as to where that characteristic in me comes from as well.

Also, for all of those who have left comments there, thank you very much for your good thoughts and kind words. Unfortunately, the server there has not been sending the email notifications for your comments, so I haven’t had time to manually copy emails to make replies. I do want to thank you for taking the time during your holidays to offer your support. I appreciate it more than I can describe.

Those interested in the latest news on my father can find it at my personal weblog jmgrant.net.

Those interested in the latest news on my father can find it at my personal weblog jmgrant.net.

Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves.
   -William Pitt

Technorati Tags: quotes

That seems to be the modus operandi of the current administration.

Michael Reynolds, at The Mighty Middle, articulates in one post what I have been trying to state in several, condensing the current state of war down to the vital essentials, and as he does so the errors we are making are laid bare.

Technorati Tags: commentary, opinion, patterns in the white noise, recommended reading

TeaFizz at his eponymous weblog discusses why he is sad, very sad.

I feel the same way.

To summarize:

Once is happenstance.

Twice is coincidence.

Three occurrences and it is time to look closely and not simply accept things as presented.

Technorati Tags: commentary, opinion, patterns in the white noise, recommended reading

For those interested, the latest update on my father is at my personal weblog, jmgrant.net.

Jennifer, at Jennifer’s History and Stuff, is preparing a gift-basket of Iowa Hawkeye stuff for the referrer of her 250,000th visitor.

No word on what the visitor themselves gets…

Technorati Tags: blogs, weblogs

I arrived in my parents’ home this evening, amid the disarray of a home upset by the serious illness of a family member, with a noisy oxygen generator in the corner wheezing and bubbling, sounding like something out of a comedy skit that is in very poor taste, seeing my rail thin father come in shuffling slowly as if he were 90 and not 62, all of this coming after walking out of the secured area at the airport and having my mother burst into tears at the sight of me because she has been dealing with seeing her husband so weak for so long and feeling completely helpless about it.

Not a holly-jolly Christmas time this year.

What a fine phrase, “breathtaking inanity“…

It applies to so much more than those pushing the so-called “theory” of intelligent design, the potential nominees for applications of that phrase are as innumerable as the depth of their ingenuousness.

One might almost call it “high treason” against the “liberal tradition” of wide-ranging thought.

Technorati Tags: amber and cruelty, commentary, evolution, intelligent design

Today I travel to Memphis to visit my family, so do not be alarmed if you see no new posts for a while.

I’ve been trying to reconcile the recent revelation regarding the authorization given by the President of the United States for the National Security Agency (aka the NSA) to monitor communications by US citizens without warrants, even those authorized by the FISA courts, which are almost notorious in their refusal to deny permissions for wiretaps.

To me this flies in the face of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, regardless of any legal infrastructure of thought built up since the time of the approval of those documents. I regard the original documents and thinking as supreme unless Constitutional Amendments have been approved to over-ride them, and as near as I can tell, none have for the issue at hand.

Regardless of the fundamentals, the usual suspects are presenting their usually supsect arguments, with those on the right-wing attacking the messengers, calling it “high treason” in their typical shallow thinking, regardless of the actual crimes being reported upon, and those on the left-wing attacking the administration, jumping the gun and calling for impeachment before all the facts are in and evaluated.

I have wanted to write something meaningful that would influence this imbroglio, but then I read what was posted recently at Velociworld:

I don’t want to piss on anyone’s parade, but I’ve been having the sinking feeling, for some time now, that the vaunted Blogosphere is a sickly puppy, the runt of the litter with rickets, and scabies.

Hear me out: when the World was relatively small, there was much interaction. Give, take, everyone knew everyone. Maybe didn’t like everyone, but knew them. Now there are Pajama parties with huge fucking budgets, one is In or Out, it is a fucking abortion of a thing.

All of this, I think, is driven by two things: number one: some people think there is money to be made here. Okay. Maybe for a few lucky enough to have enough traffic to generate ad monies. Have at it, folks.

Number two: many bloggers tend to forget they are amateurs. A little traffic, we are Dickens. Bullshit. We are fucking amateurs. This is the minor leagues. Worse. Pony League. No salaries at all here.

That is why this is titled “Post #1759″ because that is the post number that came up when I started writing this.

Even though I feel this recent revelation of how the Bush administration apparently completely skipped the Civics class that I thought we all were required to take in the 9th grade is tremendously important, and how they have no compunction in asserting the power of the executive branch with no oversight despite the principles written into our Constitution over 200 years ago is extremely dangerous, my opinions don’t really matter because I am indeed a fucking amateur in the minor league.

Who will listen to what I have to say on this?

I am doomed to watch as the founding principles of the nation I love are trampled upon and discarded, and all I can do is cry out on a weblog that is read by perhaps 200 people a day, if I am lucky.

My influence? Hell, I would probably give more folks the common cold than change their minds about this issue…

So, here is Post #1759, for what it is worth.

Amid all the sound and fury over the revelation of NSA monitoring of international communications of US citizens without warrants, something fundamental is being overlooked as the usual suspects give their usually suspect blatherings that are more predictible than the rising of the sun in the east every morning.

The situation is summarized best by Lt. Col Rick Francona, USAF (Retired) a military analyst for MSNBC in “NSA - Spying on Americans?” at Hardblogger on the MSNBC web site:

The governing document for this situation is United States Signals Intelligence Directive (USSID) 18. I worked in the U.S. SIGINT System for many years — this directive is taken seriously. From what I have observed, violation of USSID 18 is a career-ending event. NSA requires that its officers and military personnel assigned there to complete annual USSID 18 training.

The long-established mechanism to authorize the intercept of internal or U.S.-entity communications is via a federal warrant issued under the provisions of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA), most often referred to as “a FISA warrant.” It is the FISA court that provides oversight to ensure that NSA’s actions are in fact necessary and in keeping with U.S. law. USSID 18 also permits collection of these U.S. communications when authorized by the Attorney General in exceptional circumstances (emergencies, imminent danger, threat to life, etc.).

—

My question: Was an Executive Order needed? Were the existing provisions of FISA not sufficient to authorize NSA collection of these communications? Since very few FISA requests are turned down, what special situations arose that were not covered by the FISA?

This is the key question that has been in my mind ever since the story first appeared.

This question needs to be answered, but until then it should be noted that this administration has not shown a tendency towards preserving the individual freedoms enshrined in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. To the contrary, the administration appears to be trying to circumvent the checks-and-balances system in order to allow the executive branch to operate without any restraints. Because of that history, I view this executive order with extreme suspicion.

To quote correctly (rather than mangle it as President George W. Bush once did): Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Patterns are important, and reveal more than the actors creating the patterns realize.

Once is happenstance.

Twice is coincidence.

Three occurrances? Time to look more closely, boys and girls.