Losing My Beloved Dad
By: Billy Bush
Tags: Losing A Loved One, Billy Bush, Dads, Death And Dying

Losing My Beloved Dad

By Billy Bush

It was 11:25pm, just 35 minutes before my dad’s 90th birthday, and I was sitting in a chair 10 feet away from his bed. He hadn’t spoken all day but the nurses had him comfortable; he was in no pain. Right then, something changed, there was an unmistakable shift in the energy of the room. I said out loud, “you just left, didn’t you?”.

My parents, Jonathan and Jody Bush have lived in Florida for the last 12 years as dad eased his way towards retirement. Before that, it was New York and Connecticut, lifelong east coasters. Compared to my Boston based brother, I had felt out of touch a little, having lived in LA the last 17 years. It crushed me to be so far apart from my father…it’s no secret to anyone, friends, family, TV viewers and especially Instagram followers, I worshipped my dad. He represented the ideals and values from that bygone generation, which hasn’t garnered the best press lately, that are good. Really good. He was a devoted father and loving husband, a gentleman with good manners. He shared his money and possessions with God and those less fortunate. He was a dancer, a singer and a world class joke teller. He had a magical quality to him…he sprinkled a little of his pixie dust on everyone he encountered: he was almost whimsical with his grandchildren. When the kids were little and visiting my folks in Connecticut, dad announced he was going to the market to get some items and he’d be back in an hour. That was my brother’s and my cue to get our kids ready for a walk in the woods. I will never forget the looks on their faces when half-way into the walk, there in the distance, standing majestically on a rock was a proud and stoic Indian Chief in full headdress and cloak. He turned and walked slowly away. They were floored and couldn’t wait to get home to tell their grandpa all about it. As you might imagine, he listened intently to their story and pleaded for more details.

Dad also had a pet mouse named Herman who lived in the back of his shoe closet. If the lights were low and a grandchild could get a piece of cheese from the fridge as bait, Herman could be coaxed out for a visit. That little plastic finger puppet brought so much joy to my curious kids. Funny they could never find Herman on their own.

On a serious note, my father espoused to me and my brothers that we are all born with a compass inside us that will sound an alarm when we’re headed in the wrong direction. He said If we listened to our conscience in those moments of uncertainty or sin, we could right the course and ease the mind. He was right and it has served me (mostly) well.

It had been rough for my dad lately…a broken hip in each of the last two years on top of a condition that had severely affected his heart’s ability to pump blood. When my mother called me Sunday morning, May 2nd, I was on the golf course with friends. She told me that around 3am, dad had suffered a heart attack, his heart had stopped, and that he had been resuscitated by nurses but was stable in the ICU. I knew we were not going up from here. I flew to Florida that night and by 3am I was asleep in the recliner next to his bed. I never left his side from that point until he departed 3 days later. We talked about everything: he told me how proud he was of me for weathering the brutal takedown by NBC 5 years ago. He was worried I would never recover emotionally or professionally. I did, but never could have without his love and support. Then, like an air traffic controller, I set about the task of tracking down each of his 9 grandchildren for some facetime with their “Bops”. I read him texts from friends and family.

The doctors told us the only way dad could survive much longer was if he were connected to a blood pressure stabilizing device but that had to be closely monitored in the ICU. With his 90th birthday 3 days away, we presented him with the facts. He slept on it. At this point 10 minute catnaps took up 90% of his day, so it wasn’t long before he woke up and said, “I have a plan”. He called mom and me over and proceeded to tell us he’d like to go home the next day (Tuesday), get washed up, change into a comfortable shirt then have a nice meal and do “something fun with mom”. He did not want his last act with his wife of 54 years to have anything to do with her caring for him. It was a show of love; it was deeply respectful. I said, “dad, that is an excellent plan. Let’s do it”. His exit would be as graceful and elegant as the man himself.

The next day the ambulance delivered us home and dad executed that plan to a tee. We even had a martini toast — he always said 100 shakes, no more no less, made for the perfect ‘tini — I followed orders. That night he and mom went to bed with hospice nurses outside the room with strict do not resuscitate orders, his orders. Dad’s final day began with the sweet arrival of his 10th and final grandchild, a boy who would bare his name, Johnny!! Dad wasn’t alert enough to greet him but they did share a facetime session. I joked to my brother, “whisper in the baby’s ear, ‘back so soon’?” The bright light in my father was dimming quickly so I moved up his 90th birthday zoom party with the grandkids by 24 hours…everybody dropped what they were doing to share their favorite stories about their beloved old grandfather. The hospice nurses assured us the last thing to go is the hearing, so while his eyes were closed he heard all the jokes, the songs and hopefully felt the love and gratitude we all have for him.

Later that night, the head nurse told me, my brother Jamaine and my mom that if we wanted to share any last words with dad, maybe it was a good time. I had something I needed to unload: I went in, asked my mom to stay, and knelt by his bed, holding his hand. I began to cry really hard. I told him I knew my divorce had really upset him and that I was sorry for giving up. Failing in marriage was the one, most obvious way, I couldn’t be like the man I respected most. My mother assured me Dad understood entirely and supported me fully. I’m not sure about “fully”, but I appreciated mom’s words.

Alone in the room with my father, hours later, with mom and nurse Jim in the kitchen clanking about, I felt as if the energy in the room had shifted. Dad looked different, empty. With curious indignation, I said “you just left, didn’t you?”… but he hadn’t, entirely. I calmly walked over to his bedside and as I lay my hand on his heart, he took a last final quarter breath and then he was gone. But the amazing part is, I watched his spirit leave him. I felt it to my core. The light didn’t go out, it went somewhere else. I believe it’s heaven but whatever you call it, I’m here to testify that “it” isn’t over.

I feel blessed to be the son of Jonathan Bush. Years of anguish and guilt and therapy have been avoided because I dropped my busy life to be by his side from decline through departure. We covered everything, no stones were left unturned. I had complete closure. He was crystal clear in his values and beliefs so going forward in life I will always have his counsel…it’s hard wired in me. To be certain, I don’t ALWAYS agree…but I do mostly.

To all those whose parents died alone in the last 14 months due to protocols surrounding this horrible pandemic, my heart bleeds for you. Although you didn’t get to say goodbye, I am pleased to inform you they are not gone…they are just somewhere else.