On February 12, 1942, Gerry returned home from school at three o’clock. He was driving the family pickup truck now because his father’s health was rapidly deteriorating. Gus was being administered morphine to counter the agony from the bone cancer, which had spread throughout his midsection. He wanted to remain at home in his final days, and a full-time nurse had been assigned to care for him. Across the hallway, in a bedroom of her own, Henriette was also bedridden. Her heartbeat had become erratic, and she needed complete bed rest in the hope that her heart rhythm would settle down. Hopefully, the medication she was taking would help.
As Gerry parked the truck in the side driveway of the tenement house, he noticed another car parked in the front of the house. When he entered the apartment, he came face to face with Fr. Paul Desrosiers from St. Joseph’s Church in Woonsocket, an old family friend. Gerry’s mother had called the priest at the recommendation of the attending nurse, informing her that Gus would not make it through the night.
Gerry rushed into his father’s bedroom and saw that his father was peacefully sleeping. He sat at the edge of the bed and grabbed his hand into both of his own and held on. As if by instinct, Gus’s eyes opened, and he just smiled at Gerry for a few seconds before he closed his eyes again. Henriette called the nurse, and insisted that she place her in the wheel chair and bring her to her husband’s bedside. The nurse reluctantly complied.
Henriette did the same as Gerry had just done. She grabbed his hand and placed it between both of hers. Again, Gus opened his eyes for a few seconds and smiled. He then closed his eyes forever. This was his way of saying goodbye to the two most important people in his life.
“You know you meant the world to him. There is no one who could have made him prouder,” his mother turned and told Gerry. “He wanted me to give you this after he was gone.”
She asked the nurse to reach under the bed to retrieve the box that was there. The nurse gave the box to Henriette, who gave it to Gerry. He opened the box and pulled out the item inside. It was a silver metal model of a B-17 bomber.
“Your father knew how much you loved planes, and I think this was his way of telling you to do what your heart tells you to, and not to worry about me. I’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”
Gerry wept as he held the model plane and said goodbye to his father. Ironically, Gus Papineau would be buried in St. Jean the Baptist Cemetery, the former site of the Papineau farm. He had made arrangements with the diocese for the family to have two plots, side by side, exactly on the site the farm had stood.
During the month that followed, Gerry pushed himself in school so that he could graduate that June. But his mind was completely on the Army and specifically the Army’s Air corps. Henriette had settled comfortably in her apartment, and Henry made sure she had everything she needed. Her heart condition seemed to be under control, and she started to make friends through her church group in Lincoln.