My father, Jim Sunshine, died on December 27 at the age of 99. He was active, healthy, and sharp up to mid-November. His final illness was brief and he was spared a long decline; for this I am grateful.
I have learned a great deal in the past month. I had never seen active dying; now I have. I have learned what it feels like to sit beside someone you love, stroking their arms and face and waiting for that last breath.
I have learned the complexity of winding up a life in legal, financial, and practical terms. No matter how much you plan ahead, it’s not enough. And I have realized the challenge of curating someone’s legacy: notifying friends near and far, writing obituaries, writing a eulogy, and planning services, all of which need to capture the scope and richness of the person’s life, and all of which must be done under pressure, even as you are grieving.
Most of all, I have learned about my father. The messages from his friends and former colleagues have revealed dimensions of his life that I knew little about.
His lifelong career as a newspaperman, for one. Joining the staff of the Providence Journal in 1951, he rose from cub reporter to award-winning education writer to deputy executive editor of the paper. On occasion he’d hinted to me, mischievously, that he’d enjoyed barking orders at underlings. This turns out to be nonsense. Instead, younger colleagues remember his patient mentoring during a time in their careers when others were hectoring them mercilessly. “In my eight years at the ProJo, your Dad never showed me anything but kindness and support,” one wrote.
I will have more to say in due time. Every death is different, but there are things I wish I’d known, and know now, that may help others who are accompanying a family member into deep old age. Meanwhile, here are links to an obituary and to several past posts that feature my dad.
James K. Sunshine obit on Legacy.com
The World War Two narratives:
Part 1 - From Ohio to Utah Beach
Part 2 - Across Europe into Germany
On road tripping with Dad:
On planting his garden:
A special person, and a special loss to you. Thank you for sharing his stories (and your memories) with me. I feel honored.
Cathy, I am very sad.
You know, because of what he did in Normandy, he was a kind of hero for me.
Kisses and kisses again from France.
Olivier