The Man Who Made Sense of It All
My father Edward Joseph Anthony Wictor died at 2:00 a.m. on February 23, 2013. He was eighty-four years old, in hospice, and in a coma, but his death took all the nurses and the chaplain by surprise. They’d never seen anyone die so fast. I wasn’t surprised, because when Dad did things, he jumped in with both feet. He gave everything his all. And how.
When he smoked, he smoked five packs of cigarettes a day. When he drank, he drank up to two quarts of scotch a day. A cheese addict, he ate hunks of cheddar the length and width of a credit card but two inches thick. His diet consisted mainly of ham, cheddar and Swiss cheese, salami, French bread, ice cream, cookies, cake, pie, steaks, roasts, baked beans, and enough bacon to flesh out a herd of pigs that would’ve blanketed half the continent, like the buffalos did two centuries ago. Nobody told Dad what to do, not even his diabetes or his quintuply bypassed heart.