September 6, 1955 – July 6, 2009
Written by Amy Jones
(Please read previous posts to find out more about Rod)
After a 6-month long battle with a rare and aggressive thyroid cancer, Rod McAtee took his last breath at Ventura County Hospital surrounded by his steadfast and loving daughters, Brandy and Jami who never left his side.
His workplace family at Ventura LIFE Magazine lovingly refereed to Rod as “our Harley-Santa-Burly-Burl-Man” and we simply adored him. We had the great honor and privilege of sharing his last two years and watching him blossom creatively.
The twilight of his life was spent helping and supporting his family, co-workers and any stranger in need. Rod’s warm smiles and courtesy were freely extended to all who crossed his path.
Rod knew the joy of sacrifice and service, and went well beyond performing his professional functions to helping with all manner of personal challenges from chauffeuring parents and pets to the doctor to buying groceries and so much more that we could never repay him for with dollars or a thousand kindnesses. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help, and he was absolutely trustworthy and reliable.
A true and humble community asset, Rod helped to hang numerous local art shows, worked street fair booths, assisted in the set up of charity events, and was always happy to lend a hand to people with glitchy computers.
Rod was a multi-faceted man, who was proud to be a social justice seeking liberal. He attended Villanova Preparatory School in Ojai and once had dreams of being a Catholic priest. A member of the Operating Engineers Local 12th labor union, Rod operated monster-sized earth-moving equipment for many years.
He was a blue jeans and t-shirts kinda guy who loved overnight horse back rides with his children, jaunts to Mexico, following NASCAR races and planning virtual airplane excursions. He loved walking Ventura beaches and the tangle of the Ojai Valley’s ancient Oak trees and meandering creek beds where he once worked as a ranch foreman overseeing horses and avocado orchards.
Rod had a brilliant mind and spoke easily about a wide range of global topics and issues. He was well known and liked by all during his years of helping his family run the Ojai bowling alley.
His last two years were spent at Ventura LIFE Magazine where he was absolutely loved as part of the family from the first introduction. He hand delivered hundreds of thousands of magazines and discovered his talent for taking photographs. He enjoyed attending Ventura festivals and cultural events, capturing beautiful images, many of which were published in several editions.
Rod. You, my dear, made the world a better place. You loved your neighbor as yourself and made humanity your chief business. Every day was a good day to hang out with you to enjoy your silver hair and bushy beard, your funny and kind nature. You will be sorely missed and will live on in the hearts of those who loved you.
Rod McAtee is survived by his daughters Brandy & Jami McAtee, his son Dale Hurt, his seven grandchildren: Dallas, Alexandra, Shayleen, Austin, Dylan, Tosh and Ismael, and his sister Judge Linda McAtee. A celebration of his life will take place on July 24th from 6-9 p.m. at Serra Park (formerly known as Grant Park) where the historic mission cross looks over the city. Rod loved to go to Serra Park at sunset to take pictures and to remember the special times he shared with his kids there when they were young. All are welcome. Please rsvp by sending an email to: dina@451media.com.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
SWEET MAN GONE FISHING
Rod Mcatee. July 6, 2009. He has peace. He is taking his last gentle, shallow breaths. He got into a boat and road out to the middle of a lake and dropped his line in early this morning. Left his barely functioning body behind. He was not scared. He was ready to go. He told me so yesterday.
He said "goodbye" through the hole in his neck...we know not how he even made the sound. He said "I love you" through the tubes protrudung from his lungs...we have no idea from which power the vibrations came. He squeezed my hand and arm so hard and with such strength, I have no idea from where such power came. It came from within. it came from beyond.
Rod gave me a gift yesterday. His daughter, brandy did too. They let me hang out and wipe his face. Hold his hand. Speak to him. He would mouth silently and nod. Or squint when in pain. It was anaplastic thyroid cancer and it moved very, very fast. The tumor became quite a burden. A lot of pain.
He would shrug and wiggle. Silent groans. And a lot of merciful sleep. He was very thirsty. I call it "the big thirst". It seems to happen on the last 2 days of life when one has a terminal illness. The big thirst comes just before the big sleep. That comes right before the last breath. He was in the ICU. Machines going. Fan going. Pumps and beeps and all kinds of ambient noise. There is so much ambient noise with medical stuff...
I told Rod I would NEVER forget him. I told him will think about him every day. He squeezed my hand harder. I told Rod I would take care of his family. He squeezed me even harder and would not let go. I told rod yesterday, that if he chose to get on the boat and leave, to visit me in the night. He held on tight. He looked at me with open eyes...he started to mouth but sound came out "Thank you. I love you. I will find Hank..." I kissed his cool, hairy belly. He held on tight.
He will not have to search very hard, because my dad will find HIM. My dad said he would never forget my staying with him when his transition was upon him. He would never forget the things I did for him. Even after he passed, he said he would never forget.
I asked my dad to find Rod. I aksed god to give him peace. I prayed for the 7th sense...that final blessing of strength and shedding of fear so one is truly ready to go. Rod had that in him yesterday. I felt it in his grasp and and saw it in his eyes. I heard it in that strange,raspy sound that came out of his throat that was a tangle of tubes and blood.
So our Burly Burl is taking his last. His dear daughter Brandy just called. His daughter Brandy and Jami are with him now. His skin cold. His lips blue...slowing down. Machines off. Quiet. Peaceful. His daughter just confirmed. He took his last gentle breath. He has been released.
My mother and deirdre prayed a vigil for him last night. They parayed for peace. I thank them for that. All my brothers and sisters knew rod. they all loved him. They all prayed. For peace.
All my friends prayed last night. My whole world of loved ones. They all prayed. For peace.
What a beautiful thing when you see a man feel that energy. When you see him tell you he is ready. Not scared. And then it hapens. Peace exuding from him. Peace filling the room. The body at rest. The soul released.
Thank you all for your prayers. Rod and his girls have peace. He was spilling over yesterday with that 7th sense. And today he has been released. From a body that so broke down in the end...was such a prison of pain. He now has peace.
So catch the big cahuna my burly burl. My big guy. My dear dear friend. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Stretch your wings...swoop down low over the lake for me. And fly like a bird...fly with my dad. Little birds, little birds.
But don't leave just yet. Not all the way. Your girls Brandy and jami, and your stepson, Dale...need you. Your grandkids love you. They are still scared. Keep your arms around them just until they have a bit more time to adjust not having your big-guyness around them. Whisper in their ears even if they think it is just a tingle of memory or the slight rustle of a past experience. Squeeze their hands hard and help guide them to the knowledge and wisdom that you are not "gone"...just not all the way "here". And visit them in their dreams as my father does. With that big bearded grin and wild white hair...or perhaps a bit younger...a bit leaner. Whatever form you take...visit us all in our dreams.
I love you rod. Thanks for making our communty and my life better and more blessed just for being a part of it all. Your heart is as big as your belly was, your mind as sharp as the razors you shunned to don that big ole beard. And your soul will make as much clamour and soar as fast and far as the best engine at the daytona 500.
He said "goodbye" through the hole in his neck...we know not how he even made the sound. He said "I love you" through the tubes protrudung from his lungs...we have no idea from which power the vibrations came. He squeezed my hand and arm so hard and with such strength, I have no idea from where such power came. It came from within. it came from beyond.
Rod gave me a gift yesterday. His daughter, brandy did too. They let me hang out and wipe his face. Hold his hand. Speak to him. He would mouth silently and nod. Or squint when in pain. It was anaplastic thyroid cancer and it moved very, very fast. The tumor became quite a burden. A lot of pain.
He would shrug and wiggle. Silent groans. And a lot of merciful sleep. He was very thirsty. I call it "the big thirst". It seems to happen on the last 2 days of life when one has a terminal illness. The big thirst comes just before the big sleep. That comes right before the last breath. He was in the ICU. Machines going. Fan going. Pumps and beeps and all kinds of ambient noise. There is so much ambient noise with medical stuff...
I told Rod I would NEVER forget him. I told him will think about him every day. He squeezed my hand harder. I told Rod I would take care of his family. He squeezed me even harder and would not let go. I told rod yesterday, that if he chose to get on the boat and leave, to visit me in the night. He held on tight. He looked at me with open eyes...he started to mouth but sound came out "Thank you. I love you. I will find Hank..." I kissed his cool, hairy belly. He held on tight.
He will not have to search very hard, because my dad will find HIM. My dad said he would never forget my staying with him when his transition was upon him. He would never forget the things I did for him. Even after he passed, he said he would never forget.
I asked my dad to find Rod. I aksed god to give him peace. I prayed for the 7th sense...that final blessing of strength and shedding of fear so one is truly ready to go. Rod had that in him yesterday. I felt it in his grasp and and saw it in his eyes. I heard it in that strange,raspy sound that came out of his throat that was a tangle of tubes and blood.
So our Burly Burl is taking his last. His dear daughter Brandy just called. His daughter Brandy and Jami are with him now. His skin cold. His lips blue...slowing down. Machines off. Quiet. Peaceful. His daughter just confirmed. He took his last gentle breath. He has been released.
My mother and deirdre prayed a vigil for him last night. They parayed for peace. I thank them for that. All my brothers and sisters knew rod. they all loved him. They all prayed. For peace.
All my friends prayed last night. My whole world of loved ones. They all prayed. For peace.
What a beautiful thing when you see a man feel that energy. When you see him tell you he is ready. Not scared. And then it hapens. Peace exuding from him. Peace filling the room. The body at rest. The soul released.
Thank you all for your prayers. Rod and his girls have peace. He was spilling over yesterday with that 7th sense. And today he has been released. From a body that so broke down in the end...was such a prison of pain. He now has peace.
So catch the big cahuna my burly burl. My big guy. My dear dear friend. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Stretch your wings...swoop down low over the lake for me. And fly like a bird...fly with my dad. Little birds, little birds.
But don't leave just yet. Not all the way. Your girls Brandy and jami, and your stepson, Dale...need you. Your grandkids love you. They are still scared. Keep your arms around them just until they have a bit more time to adjust not having your big-guyness around them. Whisper in their ears even if they think it is just a tingle of memory or the slight rustle of a past experience. Squeeze their hands hard and help guide them to the knowledge and wisdom that you are not "gone"...just not all the way "here". And visit them in their dreams as my father does. With that big bearded grin and wild white hair...or perhaps a bit younger...a bit leaner. Whatever form you take...visit us all in our dreams.
I love you rod. Thanks for making our communty and my life better and more blessed just for being a part of it all. Your heart is as big as your belly was, your mind as sharp as the razors you shunned to don that big ole beard. And your soul will make as much clamour and soar as fast and far as the best engine at the daytona 500.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
GIVE ROD THE 7th SENSE
Rod woke up. He is struggling to stay in this world very, very hard. It looks like labor.
The day before he went into surgery, he asked me to help him get a priest. I called my sister, Deirdre, who seems to be linked to every human being in Ventura. She contacted Father Mike at the San Buenaventura Mission. He called me. He has known my mom and dad for many years. He presided over my father's funeral last December and also gave my father his last rites. I liked him the moment I met him. When he called me a few days ago, we talked for quite a long time. I told him that Rod did not want to go anywhere. He wants to live. He wants more time. He is scared. Father Mike told me that he has witnessed, time and time again, a "final grace". A peace that comes over someone just prior to passing. He described it as a blessing from God. He said that he felt that even in the most horrific circumstances of passing, where, looking in, those of us who are still living are angered or shocked, the soul passing is not alone, and not afraid. Somethng happens. It is a final gift.
I said "father Mike...I just had a thought. There are our five senses. Everyone agrees about that. Then there is our 6th sense. Some of us know that exists. Those of us that have had experiences to excericise that 6th sense. Perhaps the grace you speak of is, in essence, a 7th sense. Only used in our time of passing. Perhaps we are given that 7th sense, and it lies dormant until it is OUR time of passing. A channel to our God. To our next world. It gives us calm. Understanding."
Father Mike pasued...and then said "I like that". He then said he was sure he would pass before me...and perhaps would be able to let me know. I laughed and said "perhaps I can use my 6th sense to contact you, in order to find out if the 7th sense exists". We both laughed...but our inner minds said "hmmmm".
We met at the Hospital. He spent a very long time with Rod and his family. When he left, I gave him a long hug. He is a Ventura gem. If you get a chance - go and see Father Mike at the Mission...and say "dina sent me".
When I went back into Rod's room after he left, Rod said, "I was out of it. I woke up and the priest was looking over me and it scared me. I had an instantaneous hallucination that I looked into a bowl of bullets and he was the 8th bullet". I said "what the hell does that mean?" Rod said "I dunno. But when my head cleared, and I saw the father, I was glad. I was calmed by him."
Father Mike told me when Rod came to, he grasped him by the hand and would not let go. He stared into father's eyes for a long time. Father Mike saw God in there.
So here we are. Rod struggling to stay here. He has asked if Father Mike would come back and see him. I will see if we can make that happen today. I cannot help but think about the numbers of this essay. 6th sense. 7th sense. 8th bullet. Odd huh?
Here is my hope and prayer: that God give Rod the blessing of the 7th sense. That Rod finds that calm and peace...that other-wordly knowledge. Let fear give way to it!
Read the previous post to get caught up on Rod's story. And pray. Think. Meditate. Project. My wish, hope, my prayer is that we all survive just long enough to awaken the 7th sense. And live what is left here for us in serenity and wisdom. And we do not fear what is next. Afterall...this is the waiting room. What is next is the party. Dearest Rod...it will come. You will have peace of mind. I am sure of that.
The day before he went into surgery, he asked me to help him get a priest. I called my sister, Deirdre, who seems to be linked to every human being in Ventura. She contacted Father Mike at the San Buenaventura Mission. He called me. He has known my mom and dad for many years. He presided over my father's funeral last December and also gave my father his last rites. I liked him the moment I met him. When he called me a few days ago, we talked for quite a long time. I told him that Rod did not want to go anywhere. He wants to live. He wants more time. He is scared. Father Mike told me that he has witnessed, time and time again, a "final grace". A peace that comes over someone just prior to passing. He described it as a blessing from God. He said that he felt that even in the most horrific circumstances of passing, where, looking in, those of us who are still living are angered or shocked, the soul passing is not alone, and not afraid. Somethng happens. It is a final gift.
I said "father Mike...I just had a thought. There are our five senses. Everyone agrees about that. Then there is our 6th sense. Some of us know that exists. Those of us that have had experiences to excericise that 6th sense. Perhaps the grace you speak of is, in essence, a 7th sense. Only used in our time of passing. Perhaps we are given that 7th sense, and it lies dormant until it is OUR time of passing. A channel to our God. To our next world. It gives us calm. Understanding."
Father Mike pasued...and then said "I like that". He then said he was sure he would pass before me...and perhaps would be able to let me know. I laughed and said "perhaps I can use my 6th sense to contact you, in order to find out if the 7th sense exists". We both laughed...but our inner minds said "hmmmm".
We met at the Hospital. He spent a very long time with Rod and his family. When he left, I gave him a long hug. He is a Ventura gem. If you get a chance - go and see Father Mike at the Mission...and say "dina sent me".
When I went back into Rod's room after he left, Rod said, "I was out of it. I woke up and the priest was looking over me and it scared me. I had an instantaneous hallucination that I looked into a bowl of bullets and he was the 8th bullet". I said "what the hell does that mean?" Rod said "I dunno. But when my head cleared, and I saw the father, I was glad. I was calmed by him."
Father Mike told me when Rod came to, he grasped him by the hand and would not let go. He stared into father's eyes for a long time. Father Mike saw God in there.
So here we are. Rod struggling to stay here. He has asked if Father Mike would come back and see him. I will see if we can make that happen today. I cannot help but think about the numbers of this essay. 6th sense. 7th sense. 8th bullet. Odd huh?
Here is my hope and prayer: that God give Rod the blessing of the 7th sense. That Rod finds that calm and peace...that other-wordly knowledge. Let fear give way to it!
Read the previous post to get caught up on Rod's story. And pray. Think. Meditate. Project. My wish, hope, my prayer is that we all survive just long enough to awaken the 7th sense. And live what is left here for us in serenity and wisdom. And we do not fear what is next. Afterall...this is the waiting room. What is next is the party. Dearest Rod...it will come. You will have peace of mind. I am sure of that.
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