Why Lemonade is Sour

“When life hands you lemons, make lemonade”

That saying has been in use for a long time. It forgets, however, to tell you to add sugar. In our family, the sugar is Humor.

We all have to face death at one time or another and such was the sad case when both of my parents died suddenly within five months of each other.

My mother contracted a rare blood disease after my parents returned from a wonderful fortieth anniversary trip to Hawaii. When they got the news from the doctor I received a phone call from my mother asking me:

“Would you be so kind as to come over to the house? I need to talk to you about something”

The sight that met me was of my mother seated elegantly in her favorite chair while my father was slumped over in his chair sobbing uncontrollably.

“Would you please read this to your father?” my mother asked before I could inquire as to the nature of this visit.

She handed me her Bible that was turned to the fourth chapter of Philippians with verses six and seven highlighted.

“Do not be anxious over anything,” I read “ but in everything by prayer and supplication along with thanksgiving let YOUR petitions be made known to God; and the peace of God that excels all thought will guard YOUR hearts and YOUR mental powers by means of Christ Jesus.”

I handed the Bible back to my mother as she related to me the phone call from the doctor. I asked her the prognosis and she replied that this particular disease is very rare and apparently incurable. The doctor told her she had about 6 – 12 months left.

What do you do in such a situation? What do you say? The only thing I could think of was to ask my mother:

“By chance, mother dearest, is it hereditary?”

This caused a little smile to cross her face, the very thing she needed, as she replied in the negative.

“Oh, good, that’s a relief.” I said.

She survived for eight months and passed away with grace and dignity along with a good dose of the British sarcastic humor.

“So how are we today, Mrs. Young?” the doctor asked as he came into the room on my mother’s final visit to the hospital.

“Well, according to you, I’m dying.” my mother replied with a sweet smile and steady stare at the now uncomfortable doctor.

At my mother’s request all her dear friends came by to visit her during her final week. They all came with sad faces and broken hearts and left smiling and encouraged because mother made sure of it. Her last words were in praise of God and she died eight hours later while I held her hand and said a prayer out loud.

She was just 60 years old. To this day I am still approached by people who want to tell me how my mother influenced their lives. I knowingly smile as I am very well aware of the great gift my mother left with all she met and particularly with me. I carry her wonderful outlook and sense of humor with pride.

My father, however, was quite the different story. When mother died he, as with many couples, just gave up. He stopped taking his medications that was keeping the prostate cancer in check for the last four years. In five months and seven days he died.

Pops, as I called him, went out in his own particular style. Being the accomplished con man all his life he found various and interesting ways to even take advantage of dying. Granted, Pops had straightened out his life for the last ten years and had finally given up his old gambling affliction, but as the saying goes “You can’t take the farm boy far from the farm”

Before he died he went on a spending spree that puzzled me as I knew what his income was. We were in business together at that time. When I asked him about this new level of spending he replied in good old Pops fashion
“Don’t worry about it son”. So I didn’t.

Even though I knew of his past he was able to con even the son of a con man. After his death I received several phone calls from all his credit card companies. I seemed that he had maxed out all his cards sending his children on trips, giving gifts to his friends and living in the grand style he was accustomed to.

I’m sure it had something to do with the effect the brain tumor was having of his personality and actions. I doubt it was because he might have discovered that if there is no surviving mate all the unsecured credit card debt is erased as uncollectable. That is, only if the estate was too small for probate, which at that time was less than sixty thousand dollars in value. Strangely, before he died, he gave all his things away. Jewelry, cars and valuables were generously handed out with flare and style. No…. Can’t be…….

Speaking of the personality change that Pops had, for the last month or so of his life he inherited the hormones of a teenager. By this time we were taking turns staying with him to help in his care and I repeatedly had to turn off the Bikini Babes Volley Ball Championship Tournament he found on late night cable. Angie was afraid to come into the house with anything phallic like. Bananas, curling irons and the like were off limits unless you wanted to hear an inappropriate comment from a sixty six year old teenager.

During this time my father requested that my brother, David, and I take him out for a hot dog at his favorite diner. Not wanting to deny a dying man his wish, we nervously set out for Nathan’s Hot Dogs. As my brother parked the car and started helping Pops out I ran ahead to warn the staff. I told them of my dad’s sad condition and that he might utter a few inappropriate comments about the meal due to his brain tumor. The hostess assured me that they will be prepared for anything and commended me and my brother for taking “such good care of your father”.

Much to our surprise Pops was the perfect gentleman and politely greeted the staff and behaved with class and style. David and I stared at each other wondering who this guy was and what did he do with our crazy father? His behavior was so good that David and I received glares from the hostess as she was now of the opinion that we were a couple of low class freaks who tried to besmirch the integrity of this nice old man.

Angie and David’s wife, Tammy, also had their experiences with him. He wanted to take them out to lunch, no doubt on one of his credit cards, and get his favorite meal, a steak sandwich. During one of his many professions my father had in his life was that of chief chef in a swanky resort in Northern California in the early 1950’s. This led to his unpleasant habit of calling out the chef at any restaurant he was dining in and giving him a good scolding in front of everyone if the fare was not to his expectations. That was the reason all us kids would get a severe case of indigestion if he declared that the family was going out for dinner. So when Angie and Tammy saw a hair sitting in plain sight right on top of his steak sandwich they froze and didn’t say a thing as he happily devoured his meal.

In typical Leo G. Young fashion Pops final words were unfortunately not in praise of God as were my mother’s. No, it was more along the lines of commenting on the amount of sun that shines on the beaches of Florida. The initials would be S.O.B..

When I was at the funeral home arraigning his cremation the funeral director asked me what I wanted to do with his ashes. This reminded me of the last time I was in this room. That was with Pops when we were arranging Mother’s cremation. The director asked my father this very same question. Pops asked:

“What are the options?”

“Well,” replied the funeral director “we can package the ashes in an urn for you to take or we can arrange interment in a mausoleum and the third option is to have them spread out at sea.”

My father inquired further about the sea option and was told that the captain of the boat would go two miles offshore and spread the ashes while reciting the 23rd Psalm. This option cost $60.00

At the mention of $60.00 my father loudly erupted with shock and outrage at this obvious unethical financial rape of all bereaved families and after chewing out the poor man he coldly stated that we’ll take mom “to go”. I crawled out from under my chair, apologized to the now shaky funeral director and led Pops out of the office.

So when the same director asked me what I would like to do with my father’s ashes I asked him with a smile,

“Do you still have the spreading at sea option?”

He replied in the affirmative and assured me that the price that was still the same. I smiled to myself as I took out Pop’s old check book and wrote the man the check for $60.00 from his account, knowing in my heart, that mother would greatly approve.