Today marks the anniversary of when my Dad decided to die five years ago. I was between coaching gigs at the time (when Sebastian River High School fired the football staff) and I was blogging about what life was like for a fired football coach sitting in the bleachers. Looking back on it now, I realized that getting fired was a true blessing in my life, because I was able to spend some quality time with my old man in Kentucky before he died. I truly believe Dad planned the exact time he was going to die, and the whole thing went down very quickly. This posting is copied EXACTLY how I originally wrote it five years ago. My emotions were pretty raw (still are) Here is a copy of the original blog link Thanks for reading. https://thedistantreplay.blogspot.com/
Coach Dad
Don C. Zaleuke 2010
Dad to Nurse: "This Morning I woke up and my feet were all black"
Nurse to Dad: "Oh that's not good"
Dad to Nurse: "Then I realized I had my socks on!"
I know, it's corny. But this is how my Dad lived his life. He was joking and making light of his grave condition until the very end. I laughed like I always did...even though I probably heard him tell the joke 852 times in my lifetime. I decided right then and there that I was going to take my father out exactly like he lived.....joking and laughing!
When I was in college, I took a Communications class called Creative Writing. I thought this would be a good class to earn and easy 3 points toward the 12 points needed to meet the graduation requirements. I was very surprised to find that I loved the class. I found writing (essay or blog) was a great release for me. However, I struggled with one particular part of my writing....actually naming or titling my written word. Nothing ever seemed to fit just right. My instructor loved my writing, and she knew I struggled with this chore. Finally, she suggested that I not name my essay until the very end....because: "You don't know where you are until you know where you have been." This blog was the exception for me. I knew immediately what I needed to call this blog entry...."Coach Dad"
I have so much to say. I have been thinking about this entry since my Pop died last Thursday at 7pm. The memories have been flooding me for days now. Sometimes I get so emotional that warm tears (without warning) stream down my face soaking my shirt . Sometimes I laugh and smile while thinking about a favorite memory of my Father. My trip home from Kentucky was an adventure....people must have thought I was crazy if they followed me on the highway, laughing and crying at the same time. What is wrong with me?
This blog entry is not so much a story of my Dad's life, because doing so would be difficult without writing a complete novel. There would be no way to condense his 77 years into this little blog, so I will tell the story using some of my earliest memories. Hey, my Father was no saint, and I will not paint him in that light....but then again, who is a saint? Certainly not me. I am going to write about my Dad's death exactly how it happened. If you don't want to know the story, then stop reading. Some people may find it insulting. Some people may find it sad. Other people may find it interesting. More people may find it beautiful. I don't know...but I will tell you this. I made damn sure Pop went out with dignity while keeping his wishes. Pop faced his death like the man he was, and we kept joking and laughing until the very end.....I made sure of it.
The Early Days
When I was very young, I remember we lived on Blue Bonnet off Dixie Hwy in Valley station, KY. I was about three years old, but I vividly remember Dad walking into the house with crutches. He had surgery to remove a bleeding ulcer from his stomach, and they cut him open from his sternum to his navel. Me and my sisters Cathy and Debbie were under orders not to touch my Dad as he entered the back screen door. I remember standing there with our hands behind our back waiting for Dad to enter. I remember being scared when he showed me his scar from surgery. Mom used to yell at him for scaring me. Dad used to laugh at my reaction. I know where I get my sense of humor from now!
Even back then, Dad used to put pressure on me about sports and competition. I was a pretty good sized kid for my age, so I was expected to be tough. When I was about 4 years old, I got a pair of boxing gloves for Christmas.....and my Dd got him a pair too. I vividly remember boxing with my Father, and he would knock the hell out of me....even at that age. Of course he would always allow me to "WIN" the boxing match, every evening. I remember both of us standing in the living room ring going toe to toe. Dad would say INSIDE, INSIDE. I would hit him with an uppercut and he would fall down ..... "Knocked Out" One time we were fighting and I actually hit him square in the nuts and he went down to his knees. I yelled "I WIN, I WIN!" I remember my Mom laughing her ass off at my Dad. I can still hear my Dad say: "Don't ever hit a man there!" I guess I really did win that day! LOL. I was only 4 or 5 years old.
Even in those days, everything was a competition. Dad taught me to arm wrestle at an early age. I would have to arm wrestle all his friends and all their kids. Pops taught me how to throw a baseball about this time too. Notice I said BASEBALL, not a tennis ball, not a rubber ball, but a hardball. I remember getting hit in the mouth more than once while he taught me to catch a ball at the same time. I look back on it now, and Dad taught me to be competitive and be the best at what I do. He was teaching me a
"Lesson in Life" even at that age.
www.coach-george.blogspot.com
When I was about 6 years old, the family moved to Prairie Village in Valley Station. We lived on Sedalia Court. This single move to the suburbs proved to be some of the best memories of my life. This neighborhood was new, and it was loaded with young families. I developed long lasting friendships I still keep today. The families include: The Nichols, The Neufelders, The Vogles, The Beards, The Taylors, The Wrays, The Duftons, The Bornemans, The Davis' and on and on. If I am forgetting someone, please forgive me....but it was a great place to grow up. Our next door neighbors were the Nichols. I remember that the oldest boys (Andy and Kevin) played little league baseball down at the school, and their Dad ("Coach" Carlos Nichols") was the coach. They were called the Braves. I wanted to be a Brave so bad...but I was too young. You had to be 7 years old to play. I practiced with them, but I could not play. The very next year, my Dad got involved, and he went to a league meeting with Coach Nichols. The next morning, I ran into my Dad's bedroom screaming: "DAD, am I a Brave?" He said : "NO, you are a Phillie, it's 5am, go back to bed." I was devastated. What the hell is a Phillie? I found out that the league had expanded, they gave my Dad an expansion team called the Phillies. "COACH" Don Zaleuke was born that day in 1966.
"COACH" Don Zaleuke
The Phillies actually won the league 2 years in a row....which is unusual for an expansion team. I was a terrible player the first half of the season. At home, I was very good at hitting, and throwing, and catching the ball, but during the games I would be so nervous I could not do anything. I struck out 17 straight times. I never knew which way the ball was going when it left my hand. My Dad applied more pressure on me....and it just made things worse. I was terrified to make a mistake...I started stuttering badly. I was a real mess....at 7 years old. One day things changed. We were playing the Braves, and Damont Drake was pitching. He blew the first two pitches right by me. I was swinging at anything by then. Then it happened. I made contact with the ball and it flew into right field. My first hit ever. I remember this made my Dad so happy...I quickly realized that doing well in sports sure made my life easier. I never struck out again that year. I ended up moving to 3rd base and pitching (because I always threw very hard) and we won the league. The players loved my Dad and how he motivated them. Pop was a tough coach, and he expected me to be the best and applied the pressure to make sure I was a pretty sound player. At the time I hated playing, but I look back on it now and realize what Dad was doing....he was teaching me not to accept failure.
The Packers
Our area of the city did not have little league football. A few of the coaches from the baseball league decided to form a youth football league from scratch: thus, Prairie Village Youth Football was born. The league formed with only 4 teams (PACKERS, RAMS, GIANTS, COLTS) All ages played together (ages 8-12 years) which is unheard of today. We were The Packers, and my Dad and Coach Nichols coached us. This is where my Dad really started rolling as a coach. Dad clearly modeled himself after Vince Lombardi, and I think he was just as tough. Our teams were unreal...very physical even then. My Dad would work us to death during the practice week; then the games became easy. Coach Zaleuke was a tyrant on the field, but his kids absolutely adored him. Some of the stuff he pulled back then would never be allowed in today's game....and its a shame really. We would practice until it was dark.....then the parents would circle their cars on the field and turn on their lights. This always meant"MEAT GRINDER" time. Oh shit....excuse my French.
The Meat Grinder was a brutal and very effective way to teach the fundamentals of blocking and tackling. Every practice would end with 30 minutes to 1 hour of this nasty drill. There were several different versions of Dad's Meat Grinder drills: One on one, two on one, three on one, 4 on 4 and so forth. The idea of the drills were to be physical and destroy the person in front of you. Dad would monitor the drill series, and if a player messed up, the player would have to go again and again and again until he got it right. I remember Pops being very animated even back then...yelling at us for doing something wrong, but being just as vocal when we did something good. All we wanted to do was to please the coaches, and we often sacrificed our bodies to do so. Dad's teams were known to be tough and physical, and very disciplined. After all, we were PACKERS....and still are. PACKERS WIN!! Right Pop?
Over the next several years, Pop's coaching style never changed....he was a tough, hard-nosed coach who demanded the best of his players. I remember his offensive or defensive teams were not fancy, but we would just beat the crap out of our opponents until they gave in.....all accept for the Rams....they always gave us trouble. Pops coached at several different levels over the next several years, including a stint at Jesse Stuart High School. Dad was very hard on me during this time, but I now realize that the "Lessons in Life" he was teaching us back then would stick with us well into adulthood. Dad was a beloved coach, and he will be missed by anyone who played for him. The old players STILL talk about him today.
Away From the Field
My Dad was a hard worker...he had to be. My parents had five kids to feed. Dad always provided us with everything we needed....there were no fancy vacations or anything like that, but I remember we lived a pretty good lifestyle for the times. In the early days, my Dad and his friends partied pretty hard (especially after football games.) The parties would go on for two days sometimes..I wish I has a dime for every beverage that was consumed in our basement over the years. Many of my friends reading this blog will know (and remember) these early days. These days are still talked about today by some of us. But it was a different time. I guess if I had five kids to raise I would have a beverage or two myself. One thing about the old man, he always worked hard for his kids.
After I got out of school, the family moved down to Florida. Dad started a family business selling custom-made Draperies, Blinds, Shutters, etc...and it was very successful. I had never seen my Dad so happy...and he flourished in the financial success of his endeavor. Pops made some awesome changes in his life, and a new man was born 25 years ago. We worked the business together until he retired in 1998. Unfortunately, my parents did not make it, and they divorced the same year. Dad decided to move back to Kentucky and retire. He always told me: "I want to go back home, buy a house in the mountains, get a pontoon boat, and go fishing. Then I want to go home and sit on my front porch." And you know what? That is exactly what he did. He met my stepmother and took off.
Life In Kentucky
Big Catfish 2006
Big Crappie
Dad and Judy moved to Hazard, Kentucky and retired. Pops loved retirement, and as you can see from the photos, he fished quite a bit from his boat. They had a nice big yard, and he kept busy taking care of his property and fishing. I hardly recognized the man in the mountains. He was always so at ease and enjoyed life to the fullest. I spent many hours with the old man just floating around in the boat, fishing and talking. Our relationship flourished. I usually tried to make the 16 hour trip once a year. During football season, I usually could not make the trip unless we had an off week in our schedule, but I did manage to get up there several times a year. Dad would say: "Man, take care of your team and see me after the season!" Spoken like a true football coach.
Over the past several years, Dad's health started slipping....I could see it. I needed to make the trip in early Spring to get his boat all set up, and get his house ready for the summer. I would reverse the process in the fall to prepare for the winter. I did not want Dad anywhere near a ladder. His eyesight and balance was slowly failing, and I became worried about everything he did. In fact, he did not use his boat at all in 2012. I closed the boat down and winterized her in early October.
After we were fired from coaching earlier this year, I turned down a few job offers stating that I wanted to spend time with my Pops. My first trip in early April was quite different. It was obvious that Dad was slipping badly. I again got his boat ready for summer use...but I knew it would probably not be used again this year. I helped the old man down to his boat, set him on the bench seat and went for a ride. We talked and talked that day....about anything and everything. We laughed and joked and teased one another like we always did. But this was different.....he wanted to talk about his death and what I was supposed to do. He relayed his wishes to me, and made me promise a few things to him. I agreed and said: "Pop, lets just chill out for awhile" I knew Dad would not be here much longer.
March 2013 - The Final Ride
I made the trip a couple more times over the summer for a day or two. Dad could still ride on his John Deere Mower, so I was constantly working on it to make sure it was running well for him. Dad loved riding on that mower, and it was about the only thing he could do anymore by himself. We would laugh and joke together like we always did. His personality was still there for sure. During my visit in August, I noticed Dad looked frail and thin. I knew he was slipping, but then again, he always seemed to recover somewhat. I stated I would be back in October to button him up for the winter. For some reason, Pop obsessed on when I was coming back. The end was near.....I just did not know it.
Facing Death in The Eye:
This next chapter is going to be hard to write. For some, it may be hard to read. Please understand that I HAVE to write what happened....I can't sugar coat it. If you can't take the heat, jump off right now.
I had planned to visit my dad on October 28th. The trip had been planned for several weeks. I came up early to visit the Grand kids the weekend before. On Sunday the 27th, I got a call from Judy: "George, your Father fell, and I had trouble getting him up. He is disoriented, and confused. He is asking for you. Get here as soon as you can." I headed for Kentucky early Monday morning.
I walked in his back door and about fell over. My Dad was sitting at the dining room table waiting for me....he looked horrible. His face was sagging, he had an ashy grey and yellow color to him. He slurred his speech. He was seeing things...he was confused. I said: "Pop, whats up?" He mumbled something about having a stroke...that made him fall. I knew he was in trouble. I offered to carry him out to the car by throwing him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pop laughed and said he would walk. I called him a sissy and told him to tough up. He laughed again....and together we made it to the car.
We arrived at the medical clinic. Judy rushed into the facility to get a wheelchair. Dad tugged at my sweatshirt and said: "I need to walk in there" Tears flooded my eyes as I said: "No problem Pop, lets go" I stood him up and tucked in his shirt. I tuned him around, and grabbed his belt. Step by step we slowly walked into the clinic. I whispered to him: "Don't worry Pop, I got you. You will not fall." We walked into the clinic together....he walked like the man he was....trying to hold his head up high.
The nurses started examining him. Dad started flirting and telling them these damn old jokes he has been telling for years. His blood pressure was 71 over 50. They immediately put him on oxygen. He was delusional. The Doctor said: "Don, I don't know how you are conscience, you should be out of it" The clinic called for an ambulance. They were at the clinic door almost instantly. The paramedics came into the examination room to get my Dad....who looked me in the eyes and said: "Please help me walk to the stretcher" I backed off the paramedics, grabbed my Dad by the belt, and stood him up to make the final 5 or 6 steps to the stretcher. This was the last time my father ever walked. Again, he walked out like a man. I was proud to be his son that day.
We followed Pop to the hospital. Upon entering the hospital, they immediately found him a room and started testing to find out exactly what was going on. There was a long line of testing which lasted well into the night. Dad was still out of it, but I felt pretty safe that he was in good hands. At least they stabilized him for awhile. He was sleeping soundly as they finally ran us out of the place around 10pm. The next day, Judy went down to the hospital early, and I stayed behind to do all the things I came up there to do.....I never really thought he was in real trouble at that time. I fixed his lawn mower and winterized it. I winterized his boat, I cleaned his gutters, I worked on his van. I got him ready for the winter just like I promised I would do. Judy came home crying saying Dad had turned very mean and started yelling at everyone. I knew....I had to go down to the hospital. At 5pm, I walked into his room. He was half out of it. He saw me and settled right down. I jumped him (sort of) about being mean to the people trying to help him. He tried to pull out his IV's. Again, I told him to "STOP that Pop" He finally settled down and stared at me out of half-closed eyes. Then, I turned on the University of Kentucky Blue/White Basketball game on TV. We both LOVE the Cats, and we watched the game together. I talked and talked to him all game long. I am not sure if he even saw the game, but I am sure he heard me and heard the game. He was trying to squeeze my finger.
Dad LOVED Kentucky Basketball
I got home that evening about 10 PM. I was exhausted. At 3am, the phone rings. Dad had coded and tried to die. They brought him back, but wanted us to go come quickly. So, off we go. We walked into his room at 3:30 am and it looked like a war zone. Blood on the floor, papers and tubes laying everywhere. The "Paddles of Life" were laying on his bed. The doctors were hooking him up to all kinds of machines trying to save his life. The oxygen tube went down his throat and I yelled at him: "DAD, you have to fight! Help yourself out a little!" Problem was, they still did not know what was wrong. They continued to give him medication to raise his blood pressure. His blood work was all messed up. His kidneys were shutting down. He needed dialysis. It was a real mess. Dad was not conscious at this time.
One by one, the doctors began filtering into his room the next morning. The brain doctor said the brain was not involved this time, but he was shocked to find my father was not sedated....he was in a coma. The kidney doctor decided to run dialysis to clean his blood. They continued to pump medication into his veins. My Dad's arms were turning black and blue from all the needles. The Lung doctor was supposed to see him later in the day. I sent Judy home, and stayed near my father the rest of the day. I finally went home at 8pm. Again, I was exhausted.
The next day, Both Judy and I were at the hospital early. I really thought Dad would look better after the dialysis. But, if anything...he looked worse. I was shocked. The Lung doctor reported his findings. Strep Pneumonia in both lungs. He was also Septic. Kidneys were shut down. They immediately put him on heavy antibiotics. The last fight was on. Dad was in a real battle....but he was losing the fight. I sent Judy home at noon so she could get some rest. I spoke to his doctor. I said: "Look, Dad and I are both football coaches, and I need to know where my Dad is on the field. Do we punt or what?" I wanted an honest answer. Don't sugar coat anything, just tell me I asked. Finally, Dr Jones said Dad is not going to get better. He was maxed out on the medication for his blood pressure. He could not hold a blood pressure on his own. He was breathing very little on his own. His kidneys were shutting completely down. Plus, he had a very serious case of strep pneumonia, and he was septic. I got choked up and asked: "If I would shut down his oxygen unit, how long would he live?" Just minutes he answered. Well, that was enough for me. I had to speak with Judy. Enough is enough. I did not want to torture him any longer.
I drove back to my Dad's house about 30 minutes away to speak with Judy. By the time I got back to the house, we got a call. Dad had coded again, and he was trying to check out. Again, they got him back long enough for us to get there. Dad had made the decision for us. We decided to remove his machines and let him die in peace. No more pain. QUIT poking him with needles. QUIT making him bleed. JUST STOP! LEAVE MY DADDY ALONE!
Before removing the machines, I went into his room by myself. Without going into great detail, I said my goodbyes to my Dad. I apologized for letting him lay there against his wishes, but I also knew he was a fighter, and I wanted to give his a chance to fight out of this situation. I told him he could stop worrying about Judy. Stop worrying about everything, because I got it all handled. It was OK to go. I said: "You see that light out there?" "Your Mom and Dad" are waiting for you right there. Go ahead and go Pop." "I heard it's beautiful there"
Then Judy said her Goodbyes.
The nurses quickly removed the machines. Judy and I walked in together. I immediately started teasing him. "Man, whats up with your dog? He likes to run!" "What color are your feet Dad? I may have told him a joke or two. I was laughing at old memories. Twelve (12) minutes later my Dad passed away peacefully. He died laughing and joking...and loving.
I sent Judy home after it was all over. I wanted to stay with his body until they came to pick up my Dad. At 9:30pm. the funeral home arrives and I helped load my dad into the van and closed the doors. I had just kept my promise. Dad was cremated within 24 hours.
So, now you have it. This is how It went down. I am really going to miss my Dad, and I am really going to miss speaking with him., He was really a good guy. I'm going to miss him so much.
Thanks to everyone who helped me get through this.
