A Tribute to my Dad

The month of March just ended and it brought to mind the passing of my dad in 2016 in March. I was in Guatemala and my family advised me that he was in hospice. He had fallen and broken his leg in late 2015. I came home for a month and stayed with him. He seemed to be healing well when I returned to Guatemala. He was receiving excellent care but he developed a sore on his heaes that would not heal. The wound was opened and gangrene was present. There was talk of amputation but that came off of the table because there was no guarentee how widespread the gangrene was. My father's dad was an amputee because of diabetes. My father rejected the thought of an amputation.

He went to hospice and I came home on the 1st of march, went directly to the hospice and he died within minutes of my telling him, "Daddy, I'm home." He waited for me.

shared by Myra at the funeral

April 7, 2016 ·

You cannot talk about Nathaniel Green without mentioning his “Teeney”. They were complete opposites that God made a pair. She was and still is a lady. He was a diamond in the rough. She liked to read and he liked to visit and socialize. He could be standing on a corner with five perfect strangers waiting for a bus and within 5 minutes he’d be talking to everyone… and they would all be smiling.

With my mom, they raised 5 beautiful daughters. Janice was his favorite. She was his beautiful girl. Sheila was his challenge who became his greatest blessing when he needed it the most. I was the baby until the last two, Robyn and Terry came along late in his life. These two traveled with him to the union halls and even down to the waterfront. He took them everywhere with him during the day while his “Teeny” worked. He didn’t want anyone else caring for his two little chicks. When my mom came home from work, he slept and later rose to work the night shift so he could care for his treasures. I helped too, but not with as much love and enthusiasm as Daddy. I was only 11 when Robyn was born.

I had the privilege to spend a month sitting by his bed when he, at 92 fell, broke a leg, and with determination recovered last year. I relish that time with him because, even though I saw him weak and sometimes afraid, I admired his determination to get out of that bed. He even allowed me to rub his arm and hold his hand until he told me “that’s enough”.

Today, we say goodbye to our last surviving parent who is 92 going on 93. A hard working man, who quit school in the 8th grade to work to care for his mother, who was a domestic, and his father who was an amputee and blind. He had a car at 14 and paid someone to drive him to work. He was a brick layer, a tailor, a railroad worker and a longshoreman on the Baltimore docks. He labored hard but played hard too. He laughed often.

He built a life and was a good example of a hardworking man for his five daughters, 17 grandchildren, and countless great and great, great grandchildren.

Personally, for me, he was my dad who gave few compliments but learned later in life to say “I love you” to all of his girls. A love he had only been able to express by working hard and providing for his family because that’s all he knew.

I am thankful to God for my dad. I miss him and his stories. I have a hope in Christ that I will see him again, laughing with his “Teeney” with a twinkle in his eyes.