This blog has traditionally been a lighthearted look at things going on in our life. I have tried to keep it cheerful, as we all want to try to remember the good times in life as much as possible. I would, however like to take some time to dedicate a post to my father, who died one year ago today. Photos are below.
Peter Körner was born in Hungary on May 1, 1942 to Frank and Maria. His sister, Maria (who would become known as Maya) was born about a year later, and the family of four lived in Hungary until the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. Peter had a knack for electronics and was helping repair radios for Radio Free Europe as the revolution was occurring. He was missing for two weeks, with the Soviet army apparently looking for him. His family had no knowledge of his whereabouts. He finally turned up, and his parents immediately made the decision to escape. They escaped on foot into Austria on the night of 31 December 1956 only carrying a few suitcases. Peter was 14 years old. They migrated to the USA approximately 7 months later.
After arriving in the US, they eventually landed in Minnesota. Over time they dropped the umlauts over the “o” in Körner, and eventually we have come to change the pronunciation from “Kerner” to “Korner”. Peter was very intelligent, and made up a lost year of school due to their migration by doing two years of studies at the same time, and graduated High School in 3 years. In the early 60’s he moved out to Los Angeles to escape the cold of Minnesota.
On a trip back to Minnesota in 1968, he met Kathie Nichols, and they would marry in December 1969. They had a bouncing baby boy in November 1972 and named him Steven. They bought a house in South Gate, a suburb of Los Angeles in 1973. In 1974, their marriage ended, and I lived with my mother. However, I saw my father virtually every weekend, where we would often go to local coffee shops to eat and chat. I learned numbers by playing games watching the waitress call numbers that coffee shops used to have. We would play endless math and spelling games on countless napkins while hanging out at our coffee shops. I also spent many summers on the lake in Minnesota with him at Grandpa and Grandma Korner’s house.
In 1982, Dad remarried a nice lady named Rena, and I went to live with them (I was 9). She was very nice, and they had what seemed to a kid a good marriage. Unfortunately they weren’t able to make it last, and Dad was divorced again. This time, I stayed with him through my junior and senior high school years. I suppose I had a bit of a different experience growing up, with just the two of us in the house. But Dad was always there, and while he was not the warm and fuzzy type, I always knew I could count on him. These were my formative years and I truly believe those years are what made me into the man I am today (for better or worse).
The early to mid 90’s were a bit difficult, as Dad was laid off from his job after 20 years of service. He was able to make do on savings for a time, but eventually was lucky enough to find work working with a small import company working on photo imaging machines. Always the tinkerer.
When I moved to Dallas in 1999, Dad came out to visit periodically, and we eventually formed a different sort of relationship. He saw me grow into an independent man, and was very happy that I found Iliana to share my life with. I think he loved her even more than he loved me. He would threaten me with bodily harm if I ever didn’t treat her right. We were lucky enough to have him at our wedding, and it was a wonderful time.
On New Year’s Day 2005, Dad was in town for a visit and we were in the garage working on a car project. Iliana was about 8.5 months pregnant, but not due for a couple of weeks. Sure enough, Iliana went into labor, and Matthew was born. Even though we didn’t plan it, Dad got to meet Matt when he was just an hour or two old. It was wonderful to experience.
Over the past couple of years, Dad stayed busy at home. He eventually retired, but he kept going into work anyway. He would just get too bored. He came out for Sofia’s 1st birthday, and we had a great time. One of my fondest memories of this time was that I was able to take him to the race track I used to drive my car on. I got to take him on the track as a passenger, and drive as fast as I was capable of. Dad had the biggest smile on his face when we finished. He had an absolute blast, and it was a treat for me to be able to share that experience with him.
In October 2010, Dad told me he was buying a car in West Virginia. He wanted to fly out to Dallas and we would road trip to West Virginia and back to Dallas to get it, and he would drive the car home. It seemed like a crazy idea, but it meant some quality time with my Dad that I had missed having for a couple of years. We spent many hours chatting in the car on the way up, and he was super excited about the car, a 1986 BMW Diesel. The car was running pretty rough, and we barely made it back to Dallas. He stayed with us for another 2 weeks while we worked on it trying to get it running well enough to get him back to California. He eventually did get it home, barely. But it was good to have him here for a couple of weeks to let the kids spend some time with him. We had no way of knowing it would be the last time they would get to see him.
In late November 2010, I got a call from the people he worked with. They cared for him deeply, and they called me against his wishes to tell me that Dad had been in the hospital with kidney failure. I called Dad to find out what was going on. He didn’t want them to call me because he felt there was nothing I could do, and didn’t want to burden me with it. At this point, they didn’t know the cause of the failure, but he would have to go to dialysis 3 times a week. It was not a good situation, but the doctors hadn’t diagnosed anything terminal.
I called him everyday during that time period to check on him, and he was clearly not getting any better. He went back into the hospital just before Christmas, and they found two tumors, one in his esophagus and one in his bladder. I was on the phone with him when one of his doctors came to tell him that they were both malignant with cancer, and that he had maybe 6 months to live. The first flight I could get was two days later, the day after Christmas to try to make arrangements for hospice care.
When I arrived, I realized that his situation was even worse than I had realized. I could see him deteriorate by the hour, and felt he only had days to live. The doctors recommended taking him into hospice where he would be cared for 24/7 to pass peacefully. This was the decision I went with. We took him to my Mother’s home on December 29th to make it easier to facilitate the hospice care, and nurses rotated in to take care of him. He lost consciousness for the last time around 9:00 pm on the 30th, and stopped breathing mid day on the 31st.
It is a terrible thing to watch someone you love die. I felt so helpless not being able to fix him. He carried a screwdriver in his pocket all the time, and could fix everything. But I couldn’t fix him, and I couldn’t do anything but pray for his peaceful transition into death. I am not one to pray very often, but I did pray that day.
Peter Korner was a good man. He was incredibly intelligent. A genius with anything electronics or computer related. He loved the peace of fishing on the lake in Minnesota. He loved to watch car racing. He could be stubborn and set in his ways, but he loved peace. Nobody knows what he experienced in those two weeks he was missing when he was 14 in Budapest. I can only imagine he experienced some horrific things, and I think it would shape him in a number of ways in his life. He was a man who hated conflict. He always tried to avoid it when he could, and would prefer to walk away from a petty argument than pursue it. He did tend to hold grudges when he felt wronged, but in talking to him in his final days, we discussed how holding a grudge was pointless. He came to realize that it didn’t benefit anyone, and only caused hurt. He was able to forgive any perceived slights in his mind, and I wish he would have had the time to communicate with those he had issues with. I can only express the thought that from his point of view, everything was forgiven. Right or wrong, he wanted peace. I can only hope that anyone who may feel a sense loss in not repairing their relationship with him can be at ease that he had thoughts of reconciliation in the end.
I miss my Dad. I think about him everyday. It hurts to relive those final days in my mind, but it gets easier with time. I feel his presence in Matthew and Sofia. I only hope they had enough time with him to remember him when they get older. The other day Sofia told me “I am sad Grandpa died – he made the best sandwiches.” Only a four year old could come up with something like that. When I think of him, I hug my kids a little tighter, I tell them a story about him, and I keep on living. The past year has been a difficult one, dealing with his death, and dealing with putting closure to his life and possessions. The material part of his life is pretty much dealt with. Now it is time to carry on with life and take care of my family, and to make sure my kids know I love them as much as I always knew he loved me.
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