It was December of 1987, the same year that Progressive Dairyman made its debut as a viable dairy publication (in March). My 82-year-old dad was gradually losing his strength as the effects of cancer were completing their merciless attacks upon his once-healthy body.
The chemo treatments earlier in the fall only delayed the inevitable, and he was released from the hospital in early December to return to his home west of Homedale, Idaho.
My sister Nina and brother Keith were the primary caregivers, as they lived nearby on the same farmland our family had acquired 44 years earlier. My sister Elaine had arrived from Oregon by the second week of December. They kept us other siblings, my two brothers and I, advised as to Dad’s status, as his imminent demise was close at hand.
In the afternoon of December 24, my brother Henry arrived from Arizona, and the family determined that Dad was more than halfway between third base and home plate, and it was the bottom of the ninth. Henry and I left Jerome after supper to travel to our childhood home, reminiscing along the way about our upbringing by our devoted parents.
Dad’s breathing was slower than normal, his fingertips cold and slightly blue, and he was unconscious. Our remaining brother, Laurel D., was with us on the phone intermittently as we waited out the remaining hours.
About 1:30 a.m. Christmas morning, he graduated from this mortal sphere, ever so gently, ever so quietly, ever so peacefully. Yes, his passing was difficult for us, yet we were overjoyed that now, at last, he was reunited with Mom on the “other side,” for she had passed away in March.
By this time I was completely exhausted. After the sheriff and coroner came and took Dad’s body to the funeral home, Henry turned to me and said, “Leon, it’s Christmas morning. Let’s go back to Jerome!” I replied that I was not up to it.
He responded, “No problem. I’ll do the driving!” I began to protest, but he insisted, so I plopped into the back seat. The next thing I recall is that we were in our driveway with Henry exclaiming, “Let’s go celebrate Christmas morning with your family!” And so we did.
Jane and the kids were overjoyed that we were there. It was unbelievable! Henry followed the Savior’s counsel about “Doing unto others what you would have them do unto you.” He didn’t just teach it; he lived it.
For me, it was a Christmas never to be forgotten. PD
Leon Leavitt
Publisher Emeritus
Progressive Dairyman
