Ernest London

2/25/1932 – 2/3/2022

My father was a man who always looked forward and never behind.  The glass is half-full, not half-empty sort-of-guy.  Forever smiling and fast to tell a joke.  He loved an audience and loved to make people laugh.  Gregarious and light hearted and quick to make a friend.  A man who everyone liked because of his good-nature.  A man who never had a foe.

He was the apple of his English-born mother's eye and likely the favorite of her four children.  She referred to him always as "My-Ernie," so much so that my Uncle Kenny initially thought that was his real name.   He was charming, and oh-so-handsome…. and knew just how to use those traits to get whatever he needed in life.

After being stationed in Japan during the Korean war, he married my mother, Maxine, when she was 17 and he was 23.   They lived in Indiana for a little while and then moved to the Philippines for almost 2 years where my father worked as an engineering contractor for the US government at Clark Air Base.  The marriage produced two children, my brother Ron in 1958 and me in 1962.  As many marriages that start out so young, it didn't last and they divorced in 1972.  Though my father told me recently that my mother had always been the one true love of his life.

He married Ruth not long after his divorce and in Ruth he found a partner who shared his vision of making lemonade out of the lemons they were handed in life. They always had a scheme to make money and would sell trinkets, jewelry, etc. to their friends, family and coworkers to make some extra cash.  In addition to my father's job as a plant manager at Standard Motors and Ruth's job at MetLife, they invested in real estate and eventually purchased a card shoppe as a second income while they lived in Queens until they moved to their lavish home in Boca Raton.  Truth be told, they didn't belong in Boca, but as my father once told me, moving there was the pinnacle of his dreams.  He was finally inside the world he previously felt he was only permitted to view from the outside.

And he loved it!  With incredible pride, he showed his friends and family every inch of the Boca Raton Country Club where he was a member.  When he drove up to the entrance of the club in his dented Honda Accord among all the expensive luxury vehicles, he didn't care at all, as the attendant saluted him just like any other member. He knew everything about Boca's history and plans for future development and I often wondered if he was going to run for political office or become a real estate sales agent to satisfy his love of the place.

He and Ruth had a booth at the local flea market where they sold silver jewelry and other items to help pay for their extravagant life style.  He flourished there in the spot light, chatting with other sellers and bargaining with patrons.  Everyone knew and loved Ernie.  Eventually, the flea market business dried up. My father had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease around this time and it was starting to interfere with his walking.  In January, 2015, while my father was in rehab convalescing from a broken hip after a fall, Ruth became ill and died suddenly.

After years of caring for an ailing wife, my father now needed assistance himself.  I moved him into assisted living in Boca after he completed rehab.  Within a year, he had improved and I moved him into independent living in Delray Beach.  In both places he was the perpetual Prom King known for his good looks and jovial personality.   He loved the entertainment and the activities and was up and dressed at the crack of dawn each day so as not to miss a single thing.

The staff were all enamored with him as he charmed everyone with his jokes and sweet personality. When anyone told him he was handsome he would feign denial and say "really? I don't see it."   Despite his Parkinson's disease, the minute the music started playing, my father's disease vanished and he was once again a young man showing off his dance moves. The ladies all fought over him and he had several relationships.  Unfortunately, the pandemic put an end to his dancing days and the isolation was detrimental to his wellbeing. For the first time in his life, he experienced depression and loneliness.

Due to his worsening condition, on December 30 ^th , I arranged for him to be transported to New York by air ambulance to a nursing home in the same complex in which I work as the director of an inpatient hospice.  On February 1 ^st , my father had a stroke at the nursing home and he was moved to my hospice facility where he died 36 hours later on February 3 ^rd .

My father was not a complex man.  He was straightforward and to me he often appeared one dimensional.  But he was also a dichotomy of a man.  He was fanatically frugal to a fault, but extravagant with other things.   Nothing gave him more pleasure than a $5.95 all you could eat meal or a 70% off sale at a department store.   I often wondered if he actually owned a wallet as he never offered to pay for a meal any time, we went out together.  Yet, I was keenly aware of his generosity with others who he felt needed his help.  He talked with his mouth full, and he was a bad driver who would often turn his head to speak to someone in the passenger seat or even worse - the back seat - as he drove.

He and Ruth were a self-absorbed team and it was all about them.  Their house was filled with dozens of framed photos of the two of them from the club, various vacations, cruises, etc.  While there were a few other photos of my brother and his family, as well as pictures of Ruth's family, one would never have suspected that my father actually had two sons if you were in his home, as pictures of me were nowhere to be found.  I believe the reasoning behind this had no malintent, and I learned to laugh about it years later.  My father never dwelled on the past.   When my brother died, he grieved for a short time, then seldom mentioned his name again.

He was a dedicated caregiver to Ruth and when she became ill, he lovingly doted on her without complaint.  But after she died, he also rarely spoke of her.  He lived in the "now" and not in the past.  He was obsessed about keeping his blood pressure and his glucose readings under control and would happily share what those numbers were with anyone who would care to listen.  My father was an enthusiastic conversationalist and could talk one's ear off for hours on end.   He was the type of man who asked questions, but never really heard the responses, as his mind was already formulating the next sentence that was going to come out of his mouth.

For the past 7 years, I took care of my father's every need.  I made sure his bills were paid and that he had everything he desired and that he was safe and well cared for.  I had hoped during this time I might get to know the real man inside this happy guy's head.  But try as I may, that never happened.  I never learned what made him tick, what his insecurities were, or what he was really all about.   I learned to forgive that he never knew how old I was or when my birthday was or that he never delved into what made me tick.

What I did learn was that he was a good man who just wanted to have a good time and enjoy life to its fullest each and every day.  And that there wasn't a mean bone in his body.  And that he loved me and was proud of me in his own way.  And while he never told me that directly, I knew that he told others of my accomplishments and his appreciation of all that I had done for him.  And l eventually learned to accept whatever he was capable of giving to me as being enough.  And I learned to pardon him for his faults and to just love him as my father and not the father I wanted him to be.  And for that I am grateful - as I finally found peace with our relationship several years ago. We both knew that I had done all I could to make him happy these past years.  And that while we loved differently, it no longer mattered that it wasn't the type of love that I thought I needed from him before I became his caregiver.  And today I find solace as I know I was a good son and that he is at peace once again. And that he is dancing to the music once more - and still pretending he doesn't know how truly handsome he is.