Father and Sons: My father, Michael Sarvas, behind the wheel of his beloved 1950 MG-TD, circa 1992.
My father passed away peacefully on Wednesday, March 25, 2009 at 10:34 p.m. He had decided nine days earlier to end the dialysis that had kept him alive for the last 13 years. He was blind in one eye, deaf in one ear, and had a pacemaker. He was lucid, serene and surrounded by his family almost until the very last moment. He was free of pain, and had ample time to say everything that needed to be said. To say goodbye to a parent and to leave no unfinished business is no small thing. He was born in Budapest in 1927. He was 81.
When I walked into the hospital room, the very first thing he said to me – after his face lit up with happiness at the sight of me (I would see that expression again several times over the next week whenever he woke up to see his family) – was how proud he was of me. He spoke of his particular pride at seeing my novel published in so many different countries. And he was proud of this blog, and impressed by all the gracious readers who frequent it. (He was surprised and moved four years ago at the outpouring of kind comments when I wrote about his heart problems. “I don’t have that many friends,” he joked.)
As for me, there were many things I got to say to him, but the most important thing I wanted to say was simply “Thank you.” He looked at me a little surprised. “For what?” he asked. “For giving me life,” I said. “For raising me. For providing for our family. For everything you did for all of us.” The “For what?” seems so typical of my father – one simply did what one was required to do, no fuss. But I could see he was moved.
Since he died (how strange to type those words), I’ve been looking at old photos, mostly of him as a young man new to these shores, and have been listening to the stories of those who knew him, and trying to reconcile my parent with this other person. I’m struck by how little we sometimes seem to see of those who are in our view every day. It is impossible to reduce the life of a parent into a single blog post, and I won’t even try. But I can tell you that, in addition to being a father, a grandfather and a husband, he was a collector (with the largest collection of MG toy cars in the world); he was a Master Plumber (it took him three tries to pass the NY exam, burned and cursing each time); he was a card player (when I was a kid, he would leave five dollars at my bedside when he’d had a good night); he was a speed skater (who might have been Olympics-bound but for the 1956 Hungarian Revolution); he had a temper but was generous; he could be blunt, brusque and politically incorrect; but he could also be kindhearted, understanding and fiercely loyal; he was many things to many people, as I’m learning now, as words like “courage” and “inspirational” keep turning up in email after email from his friends.
I sat with my father that last night, almost until the end, just the two of us. I watched him for hours as he lay in a deep sleep, his lips pursing and puffing as if trying to coax a note from a defective trumpet. I spoke to him in those last hours, though he did not wake, told him that it was all right for him to go, it was ok to be finished, that we would be fine and we would look out for one another. An incipient migraine sent me to my parents’ home around 9:30 and when the phone rang at 11:00, I knew he was gone. I find myself wishing I had just stayed a little longer, but the hospice nurse advised me that it's common for people to hold on to life while family is there, slipping quietly away only once they are alone.
I am grateful to all the friends who have been in touch while this unfolded over the past week. My mother, my sister and I will be fine but it will take time. For more than forty years of my life, the world has been configured one way, defined by his seemingly immutable presence, and now, all at once, it is unrecognizably another. I’m ineffably saddened that I will never again hear him call me “Kisfiu,” pronounced kish-FEE-you, a Hungarian endearment which means, literally, “little boy.” When I first moved to California more than 20 years ago, and we talked on the phone, he rarely responded when I said “I love you" - that was a bit too touch-feely for him - but after his renal failure which nearly took his life 13 years ago, he said it every time. I will very much miss hearing that.
Always back to books, I found comfort in those last days reading through Frederick Seidel’s Poems: 1959-2009, and I leave you with this one, “Fall Snowfall”, until literary news resumes in these parts in another day or two:
The book of nothingness begins
At birth.
The pages turn and there
Is far.
There is far from where
They start.
The pages turns into
The book.
And everything and everyone and
What is happening
Is blood in urine.
Ask the trees
The leaves leave.
They are left.
They remove their wigs.
They turn themselves in.
They stand here blank.
The now falls
On the fields white.
The smell of wood smoke stares and
The no falls,
Radios
Of blank now
On the fields.
A black crow shakes the no off.
Merrily we
Go circling around
The drain, life is but a dream.
The doctors in their white
No
Fall
On the fields.
(From The Cosmos Trilogy.)
My condolences, Mark.
Posted by: stephan | March 30, 2009 at 07:56 PM
Condolences, Mark. And thanks for such a wonderful post, that make him real for all of us who never met him... It is not an easy art.
BM
Posted by: béatrice Mousli | March 30, 2009 at 08:10 PM
I send thoughts of peace to you and your family. May the spirit of your father always live in your heart.
Emerson Z. Hamsa
Posted by: Emerson Zora | March 30, 2009 at 08:14 PM
My best to you and your family....
Posted by: Mo | March 30, 2009 at 08:50 PM
My deepest condolences. And thank you for sharing part of his story with us.
Posted by: BC Silvia | March 30, 2009 at 08:53 PM
My condolences, Mark, it sounds like your dad was a real mentsch. His son, too.
Posted by: Ken Rudman | March 30, 2009 at 09:12 PM
That is a wonderful photo of your dad with the sports car. My thoughts are with you and your family, Mark.
Posted by: Daniel Olivas | March 30, 2009 at 09:19 PM
My condolences, Mark. And thank you for sharing this post, which if i may guess must have felt quite strange and intimate at the same time while writing it.
Posted by: vasilis | March 31, 2009 at 12:55 AM
So sorry to hear this. Thanks for telling us about him, and his fine end. Take care, Mark.
Posted by: genevieve | March 31, 2009 at 02:17 AM
Thinking of you Mark.
Posted by: Robert Stuart | March 31, 2009 at 03:36 AM
Mark,
I am just a sporadic visitor to your wonderful blog. It has sent me towards Josh Ferris (exceptional), Benjamin Black (Banville should stick to what he does best) and Rob Riemen (which remains, shamefully, buried in my to-read pile).
I offer my sorrow to you on your great loss, and congratulate you for putting the essence of a relationship into so few words. It, like live and everything else, is a gift.
Shane
Posted by: Shane Breslin | March 31, 2009 at 03:42 AM
My deepest condolences, Mark. It sounds as though your father passed on knowing he was loved, and in peace. This may be little consolation to you and your family at the moment, but it's to the credit of all of you.
Posted by: Niall | March 31, 2009 at 04:09 AM
I'm very sorry to hear of your loss. Best wishes.
Posted by: Sarah | March 31, 2009 at 04:24 AM
I am so sorry for your loss, Mark.
Posted by: Sarah | March 31, 2009 at 05:06 AM
I'm so sorry about your father, Mark. Thinking of you, here in Paris.
Posted by: lauren | March 31, 2009 at 05:12 AM
I am so sorry. I lost my mother recently, on February 12. It sounds as if your father passed peacefully.
Posted by: beverlyanne | March 31, 2009 at 05:35 AM
Thank you, Mark, for posting so generously about your father. The pictures are lovely. I am so sorry he has left you, but so glad that he was able to go without pain and with some measure of choice (and with such love around him). Be well.
Posted by: Pamela | March 31, 2009 at 06:16 AM
I'm very sorry for your loss, Mark. You've written a beautiful memorial and your father was lucky to have you all--as you were lucky to have him. Take care.
Posted by: Martha Southgate | March 31, 2009 at 07:03 AM
You and your family have my deepest sympathy, Mark. What you have written is lovely.
Posted by: Frank Wilson | March 31, 2009 at 07:21 AM
There's a haunting piece of music by Samuel Barber I would commend to you called "Knoxville: Summer of 1915" that is in many ways about children and their parents. I'm very sorry to hear about your father, and hope this portion of its text, written by James Agee, can offer some comfort:
"By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away."
Posted by: Michael O'D | March 31, 2009 at 07:23 AM
I'm so sorry for your loss, Mark. I'm glad you were able to be with him. Take care of yourself.
Posted by: David | March 31, 2009 at 07:35 AM
Your dad would have felt honored by everything about this post.
All my love to you and your family, Mark. I look forward to your next visit, under happier circumstances.
Posted by: Maud | March 31, 2009 at 08:06 AM
My thoughts are with you, Mark, and my deepest regrets.
Posted by: Carolyn Kellogg | March 31, 2009 at 08:10 AM
Mark, you pay such tribute to your father that you move us all. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
Posted by: Cindy and Luis Urrea | March 31, 2009 at 08:12 AM
My sympathies, Mark, for such a loss. Take care of yourself.
Posted by: Gwenda | March 31, 2009 at 08:21 AM
"We are our parent's continuation. Whenever we miss one of our parents, we need only look into our own hands and we will see them there."
-Thich Nhat Hahn
Posted by: Rene | March 31, 2009 at 08:21 AM
A beautiful and moving tribute. Well done.
My condolences.
Posted by: Kristina Riggle | March 31, 2009 at 08:28 AM
My condolences to you and your family, Mark. Thanks for a beautiful post.
Posted by: Edan Lepucki | March 31, 2009 at 08:32 AM
Condolences, my friend.
Posted by: Jim | March 31, 2009 at 08:37 AM
Peace be with you, Mark.
Posted by: stephen | March 31, 2009 at 08:56 AM
Wishing you and the family courage and strength in this sad time. Celebrate your father's life, and make sure to keep some of the clothes/objects you associate with him. These mementos become more important with time.
Posted by: Tony Eprile | March 31, 2009 at 08:58 AM
I am so sorry to hear about this, Mark. Losing a parent -- or any family member -- is the hardest thing in the world, even if they have lived a long life. How wonderful that he got to see your novel published. You wrote a beautiful post. My deepest condolences.
Posted by: Tonya | March 31, 2009 at 09:02 AM
Mark, so sorry about your father. This is a very moving tribute to him. My thoughts go out to you and your family.
Posted by: Kim | March 31, 2009 at 09:07 AM
A beautiful post, Mark. Especially significant to me as my father is also 81, born in 1927, and went from the ER to the ICU yesterday...
My thoughts are with you.
Posted by: Antoine Wilson | March 31, 2009 at 09:14 AM
my condolences Mark.
It's never easy losing a family member, take solace in the fact that you got to say goodbye.
Posted by: Philip Smithers | March 31, 2009 at 09:14 AM
My deepest condolences Mark.
Posted by: Michael | March 31, 2009 at 09:34 AM
Mark, I am very sorry for your loss, but how wonderful that you were able to spend those last moments together. My father passed away several years ago without my being able to tell him everything he meant to me, which I'll always regret.
Posted by: Pete | March 31, 2009 at 09:35 AM
Mark, I have been lurking on your blog for some time, thanks to Google Reader. My condolences to you and your family at this sad time. This post is a wonderful tribute to your father.
Posted by: Beth | March 31, 2009 at 09:49 AM
I am very sorry for your loss, Mark, and I thank you for the tribute to your dad that you have posted here and shared with us.
Posted by: Erika D. | March 31, 2009 at 09:58 AM
Mark,
You said it so well: "to say everything that needed to be said." There's great comfort in the thought that we live our lives and pass on, leaving no unresolved conflicts with or for our loved ones—in peace. Never take that for granted. Condolences.
Best,
Jim H.
Posted by: Jim H. | March 31, 2009 at 10:23 AM
Lovely post, wonderfully vivid photos. An immense loss indeed. I'm so sorry.
Posted by: Leslie | March 31, 2009 at 10:24 AM
What a moving and beautiful portrait. My thoughts are with you, Mark. Take care of yourself.
Posted by: E. Christopher Clark | March 31, 2009 at 10:31 AM
My condolences to you.
Posted by: Matt | March 31, 2009 at 11:01 AM
I'm sorry to hear this. This post was a lovely tribute - thank you for sharing some of your father and family life with us.
Posted by: MJ | March 31, 2009 at 11:18 AM
I am so sorry for your loss, Mark. This post is a brave, glorious tribute to your father's life.
Thanks for sharing this with everyone.
Posted by: Dennis | March 31, 2009 at 11:53 AM
Alas, I have little to offer save a reiteration of what others have said, including condolences and sympathy. I don't know why, but your posts reminds me of this passage from a book you will probably recognize:
"Life, authentic life, is supposed to be all about struggle, unflagging action and affirmation, the will butting its blunt head against the world's wall, suchlike, but when I look back I see that the greater part of my energies was always given over to the simple search for shelter, for comfort, for, yes, I admit it, for cosiness."
Perhaps the commenters here will give you some measure of comfort.
Posted by: Jake | March 31, 2009 at 12:29 PM
I'm very sorry Mark, though I'm glad you shared those thoughts about your father. You, your father, and your family are in my prayers.
Posted by: Duncan Murrell | March 31, 2009 at 12:45 PM
I am so sorry for your loss.What a wonderful relationshp!Peace.
Posted by: Warren Stewart | March 31, 2009 at 12:52 PM
Condolences Mark. My own dear Dad died five years ago on March 30th, very suddenly by accident, and I wish I could have had some time to say good-bye or to prepare. I'm glad you got that time with yours.
x
Rachael
Posted by: Rachael King | March 31, 2009 at 12:53 PM
My sympathies, may he rest in peace.
Posted by: Manny | March 31, 2009 at 01:39 PM
A moving tribute. Condolences, Mark.
Posted by: Karen | March 31, 2009 at 02:02 PM
A proud father rests easy, I believe. When we do our parents proud, there's little else left to do, but carry on.
Take heart in being a good son who did his father proud.
Posted by: JW | March 31, 2009 at 02:07 PM
may you be blessed with fond memories and experiences.
Posted by: bert hirsch | March 31, 2009 at 02:45 PM
Condolences, Mark.
Posted by: Mark Barr | March 31, 2009 at 02:59 PM
My thoughts and sympathies are with you, Mark! I am very sorry for your loss. This post is a very well-written memorial, and would make your dad proud.
Posted by: Brad | March 31, 2009 at 05:22 PM
I'm so sorry about your loss, Mark. You and yours are in my thoughts.
Posted by: Sabra | March 31, 2009 at 05:35 PM
Cry a bit, Mark. Maybe a lot. We're all smaller when our fathers die. All the best.
Posted by: John Shannon | March 31, 2009 at 06:23 PM
My father, too, had renal failure and was on dialysis for seven years. He was blessed with a new kidney four years ago, but knows his time will again come. I understand what it's like to see a parent struggling and deteriorating while waiting for a transplant. I don't yet know though, what it is like to lose a parent. Thank you for telling us about your father, and my deepest sympathies.
Angela Meyer
Posted by: LiteraryMinded | March 31, 2009 at 07:23 PM
Dear Mark,
I've never once commented here on TEV, though I do check this blog out faithfully each and every day, and often enjoy what you write/post.
But checking in to see if you had been able to return to posting yet, I found your "In Memoriam" this evening, and just wanted to offer a few feeble, but deeply felt, words. My condolences to you and your family.
Having recently watched Synecdoche, New York, and facing my own incipient middle age (along with the retirement of my parents, etc. etc. etc.), I find myself contemplating death more often lately. Your tribute here to your father is simply lovely, and obviously holds deep, deep meaning and true sincerity.
Somehow I also find myself thinking of the last words of the final story in David Foster Wallace's Girl With Curious Hair: "You are loved."
Peace,
RH
Posted by: Richard | March 31, 2009 at 08:32 PM
Condolences, Mark. A beautiful, beautifully written eulogy.
Posted by: Stephen | March 31, 2009 at 08:35 PM
Mark,
My thoughts are with you and your family. My mother was on dialysis for several years before she passed away, so I know what it's like. I know when my mother died I was just thankful that she was at peace, that she wasn't in pain anymore.
Posted by: Esther | March 31, 2009 at 09:02 PM
Many, many thanks to every one of you who has left wishes here. I'm deeply moved by your comments and wish I could acknowledge each one individually - I hope I will be forgiven a blanket thank you, but I am touched beyond words.
Posted by: TEV | April 01, 2009 at 12:13 AM
Thank you for sharing this moment with us in such a beautiful way. My condolences to you and your family.
Madeleine, Switzerland
Posted by: Madeleine | April 01, 2009 at 12:37 AM
My deepest condolences to you and your family. Thank you for the beautiful photos and touching words.
Posted by: Annarita | April 01, 2009 at 01:46 AM
The hospice says it happens all the time. They wait to be alone, and for the moon.
Posted by: PaulSweeney | April 01, 2009 at 05:14 AM
My condolences. Your father sounds like a great man.
Posted by: Mike | April 01, 2009 at 07:08 AM
I'm very sorry to hear it, Mark, but I'm glad you had a chance to say goodbye the way you did. Like you said, no small thing.
Posted by: JMW | April 01, 2009 at 09:47 AM
Sincere condolences Mark. What a lovely tribute.
Posted by: Sinéad Gleeson | April 01, 2009 at 09:47 AM
My deepest of condolences, Mark.
Posted by: Brian | April 01, 2009 at 11:35 AM
My best wishes to you and your family Mark. I hope that the photos of your father and his car make you smile though, as they've made me smile here -- to think of the joy the MG and certain aspects of his life (you, for instance) must have brought him. Gone, but never gone.
Posted by: Carl | April 01, 2009 at 02:57 PM
Such a lovely, moving tribute. And a great photo. I send you condolences, Mark.
Posted by: Michelle Huneven | April 01, 2009 at 04:59 PM
No matter how much foreknowledge you have, loss of someone you love is inevitably new and surprising. I wish you many memories while you mourn, and my deep sympathy.
Posted by: ted | April 01, 2009 at 06:30 PM
What a fine tribute, Mark. I'm very sorry for your loss. Your father sounded like a fine man.
Posted by: David Worsley | April 01, 2009 at 08:12 PM
I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm glad that your father was able to say everything he needed to say to you and your family.
Posted by: Vasilly | April 01, 2009 at 08:46 PM
Sad news, mark. I'll raise a pint of Guinness to Michael Sarvas in Dublin tonight.
Posted by: Andrew | April 02, 2009 at 12:49 AM
Mark,
My deepest sympathies to you and your family.
Larry Olson
Posted by: Larry Olson | April 02, 2009 at 03:16 AM
Condolences, Mark.
Posted by: Grierson Huffman | April 02, 2009 at 08:05 AM
My condolences Mark. I am very sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Jon | April 02, 2009 at 08:37 AM
I was so sorry to learn of your father's passing today at the bridge club where I knew, and occasionally played bridge with him. He was a lovely man, a true gentleman and more than worthy of the beautiful tribute you wrote about him. Everyone was sorry to hear the sad news.
My condolences to you and your family. May you be comforted by happy memories.
Florence Halbright
Posted by: Florence Halbright | April 02, 2009 at 05:06 PM
Sincere condolences.
Posted by: Nikola Lukanc | April 03, 2009 at 12:42 AM
My Condolences, I wept for you mate.
Posted by: Nikesh Murali | April 03, 2009 at 02:10 AM
How very sad and yet how very inspiring at the same time.
Posted by: Brady Westwater | April 03, 2009 at 11:31 AM
Mark, you write, "For more than forty years of my life, the world has been configured one way, defined by his seemingly immutable presence, and now, all at once, it is unrecognizably another." It is also unalterably another. It is one of the metamorphoses, and you are forever changed. My best to you and your family.
AJA
Posted by: A. Jay Adler | April 04, 2009 at 12:37 PM
Mark,
I sat vigil over my father during his last hours, quietly saying, as you did, "It's all right, go in peace and rest." He slipped away when I stepped out of the room.
Thank you for your post, and my condolences.
Fred
Posted by: fred | April 04, 2009 at 03:06 PM
I'm so sorry, my friend. Thoughts are with you and your family.
Posted by: Kevin Smokler | April 06, 2009 at 09:56 AM
I'm deeply saddened to hear this Mark -- my condolences to you and your family.
Posted by: John Freeman | April 06, 2009 at 11:11 AM
You never knows who will touch you.
Strangely enough, it might be the plumber!
Thank you for sharing a little bit of Michael's life with us. I will miss him too.
Posted by: rand gartman | April 17, 2009 at 04:56 AM
My condolences Mr. Sarvas.
Posted by: Alvy Singer | April 20, 2009 at 05:35 PM
Mark,
I received a letter from Mike Caltrider earlier today informing me of your father's passing, and I was very saddened. Like your father, I too collected MG toy cars, but I only focused on MGAs. I did quite a bit of trading with your father, and I certainly learned a lot from him. There were times when we made each other very angry as we were fighting over the same car, but I always respected him and haven't got anything but good things to say about him.
I met your parents one weekend when several collectors were invited to the family house in NY to admire and drool over the largest collection in the world. It was my only time meeting him in person (although we spoke many, many times on the phone), but I got to enjoy breakfast and a very lovely day - he also sold me a few cars as well!
In closing, I'd like to express my condolences to you and the rest of your family, and I'd also like to tell you that the influence of your father certainly reached me here in Canada.
Troy Guindon
Posted by: Troy Guindon | April 21, 2009 at 05:06 PM
Dear Mark,
I remember you and yoursister - Monika?- from Fresh Meadows when you played with Daniel and Debbie. Please accept my condolences. It is wonderful that you had a chance to talk and say goodbye. That is why many years ago I simply told my mom that I loved her - no occasion, no reason, just to say it. She turned 90 and every day is a gift. Cherish your memories and be there for each other.
Joy Perla
Posted by: joy perla | May 05, 2009 at 06:24 AM
I met your father at the Hershey auto show and I had quit a long period of negotations
with him.
When I first walked into his area I spoted a
model of an MG-TD much like the one I had just completed, and had seen the write up in the MG Enthusiast [May 1993] where his collection was reviewed.
That is when the back and forth began.He wanted $70 and I offered $50.
I left the area several times hoping that near days end he would accept my offer.
HE DIDN'T
I still own the model along with the MG magizine discribing it's build.
I am saddened to hear of his passing and will always remember the good natured negiotations we had.
I will place the model in my hi-lite spot which will make me smile and my day a little brighter.
Don Haynam
Posted by: Don Haynam | March 01, 2010 at 08:35 AM