Obituary of Nicholas Michael Charles Farkas

Nicholas Michael Charles Stephen Farkas, or just Nick for short, was born August 1st, 1943 and passed away at 65 years of age, the morning of May 1st, 2009. He was born in Sussex, England to Bela Oswald Farkas (who went by the name of Charles), and Joan Mary (Craven) Farkas. He was the middle of three children. Christine (born 1940), who moved to Australia and Christopher (born 1947) who stayed in England. He had one child, Darrell Farkas (born 1962), with his first wife, Pamela. He attended a Catholic school, Leighton House School. In those days in England, one graduated from the basic school system at an earlier age. He followed this with further education at Birmingham College of Arts and Crafts (1958-1962), located in Birmingham, England. His major was Product Design/Interior Design and he obtained a National Design Diploma. Nick was married to Pamela Wilkinson in 1962 and they emigrated to the United States, landing in Chicago on leap year day, February 29, 1964. They came to the United States in hopes of better opportunities. Upon arrival in Chicago, they flew to Los Angeles, California. They arrived with a few suitcases and no money. Friends, who had attended their wedding, Iris and Roy Bish, had already moved to Los Angeles and hosted them until they could get out on their own. Nick, Pamela and Darrell lived in Los Angeles for three years, then went to Illinois for three or four months, then went back to Los Angeles until 1968. They left Los Angeles on New Year’s Day in 1968. From there they went to Vancouver, Washington where they lived for ten months before moving into the Rainier District in Seattle for a short time. From there they moved to a rental on 13th Avenue just north of Des Moines, Washington. He had worked for himself for awhile in remodeling, laying carpet, fixing formica, but later worked at Judson Park Retirement Home in Zenith, Washington in the maintenance department. About the time of his leaving Judson, he was divorced from Pamela in 1978. From Judson, he began his 30 years of employment as the supervisor of the maintenance department at Schick Shadel Hospital in Burien, Washington. He retired from Schick at the end of February, 2009. His home was in Federal Way, Washington. Nick was also married to Cham Thi Nguyen (Vietnamese) in 1979. Though she was in many ways different to my mother, Pamela, in many other ways, she was similar. They are both wonderful women. Nick was married to Cham until their divorce in 1992. After this, Nick remained single. His interests included hunting, motorcycling, shooting, fishing, boating, camping and travel. He had his hands into almost every activity. Above all was his love of all things British. He surrounded himself with British curios down to putting stickers of the Union Jack on his motorcycle and helmet. He always wove his conversation with his special humor, of which you will find a sample in the letter included at the end of this article. He loved practical jokes, and his imagination seemed to have little limitation in this area. He had a great fondness for dogs, playing tug-of-war or throwing-the-ball type interaction. He loved the romance of such as Lord Nelson and the British seamanship of bygone days. His dress often reflected the charm of that era, wearing a cravat on special occasions. His wish was to be cremated and have his ashes scattered at either Ocean Shores, Washington or up in the mountains. One of his good friends, Lee, will complete the task Nick asked for, in taking him to one of his favorite hunting spots up in the Canadian mountains. The friends my dad knew at Schick were almost a family to him. We held the memorial service in the auditorium at Schick. From their expressions of love, I can see he will be missed by many who hold fond memories of my dad. During his life, one would not say my dad was a religious man by any means. I had talked with him often about the subject of Christianity. He simply said he could not have faith. For about the last fifteen years of his life I had been praying, almost without missing a day, for my dad’s salvation. Every man has his freedom of choice, but I knew God would not let him die without giving him a good opportunity to turn to the Lord Christ Jesus. I got the email that my dad was just sent to the hospice. I lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming at the time. My wife and I drove out immediately to be with him his last few days. Over his remaining week, I watched as his friends and others came to visit with him. As he got weaker, he was less capable of responding, but I could tell he was always aware and understood. Near the end, it occurred to me he had been given a type of “This is your life, Nick Farkas”. He had been given the week to see and consider his life while he stood on the brink of entering eternity. Probably within an hour of the end, I felt the Lord move me to respond to an issue of faith he had brought up once. Next I knew to present the hope of that wonderful promise given to the dying thief next to Jesus. That thief had lived his life with no grounds to have any hope. He had no personal merit to count upon. He knew he was worthy of the death he was suffering. He simply looked to Jesus for remembrance when He came into His Kingdom. From that position, Jesus gave him the promise of being with Him in heaven. I’m sure I went on more than that, but you get the jist. At a time when my wife and I had no reason for joy, we were both suddenly filled with the joy of the Lord. (Something only those who have truly become Christians can really know.) Though my dad was unable to speak, I believe he responded as that dying thief and became one of God’s redeemed. Though that joy could have been from my getting the Gospel message to my dad one last time, I believe the joy we sensed was more than that. Like Jesus said about the lost sheep, when that one lost sheep is found and safely returned, there is rejoicing in heaven. So I believe we were sensing that rejoicing joy that only heaven could assuredly know of when my father could no longer speak. Shortly after this, my dad opened his eyes and tried to say something, which I couldn’t figure out, then he peacefully passed away. I have grounds for hope that the Lord was able to answer my prayers. I would like to conclude this with a letter my dad wrote after the death of his mother. It gives a real taste of my dad’s personality: Dear Mum, ....it was suggested I write a letter to you, telling you the things I would liked to have told you while you were here. I said that I didn’t leave anything to tell you that I didn’t tell when you were with us and I thought to myself, no matter how much I write, it won’t bring you back. But then yesterday I thought that I could at least thank you for a few things, mostly the memories that you and Dad have given us three children as you would put it. (Funny, but when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a child looking back at me!) But not a day goes by that I don’t think about the times we had in the past, all the way back to 29 St. Swians Road. (You might remember we were smaller then.) But things like going to the beach, Carroc Lake, Gosport, the Isle of White or Lilly and Tom’s, or Verroccias for Knickerbocker Glory’s. And by the way, I don’t hold a grudge for the time you bathed me, dressed me up, packed me a suitcase and took me to the bus stop to send me to the “Naughty Boys” Home (Didn’t seem so funny at the time!) and thanks for interceding at times to stop Dad from “Knocking our blocks off.” You probably could have interceded more, because I distinctly remember a number of times getting my block knocked off and the fun times we had at Trafalgar Road, even if Dad nearly caused Christopher to get injured by coming down the garden path at the wrong time, or when Dad single handedly risked wiping out the entire family by letting us build bonfires on top of a fuel dump. Wow, Dad was kind of dangerous, wasn’t he? But I do owe him an apology for telling Jim Barnett that he couldn’t borrow our rake because Dad didn’t trust him to bring the tools back. (That probably involved one of those “block knocking” incidents) and as long as I’m apologizing, I suppose I should apologize for taking the gentleman’s car apart that boarded it in our garage, although I don’t remember doing that, I think it must have been Christine and Christopher. In fact, I’m sure of it! And Mum, if you run into Toby my tortoise up there, tell him I’m sorry about the hibernation thing, I didn’t realize they had to hibernate themselves. Thanks for your patience, which must have been tested at times, also your great sense of humor. (I often find myself smiling while thinking back on things you have said or done, you sure have a way with words. Most recent, “the explosion at the orange juice factory”) Also for your values, which you instilled in us, mostly by example. A great many people have and will benefit from this. Just Monday I talked to Pam and she said there was part of you where she lives because of what she learned from you. Your giving ways, your concern for others and all your other annoying habits, and for making us feel protected, well not all the time - like when I almost drowned in Hungary and you just told me to go and do it again, or at times like when we would suddenly have Grandma Craven’s wrinkled finger coated with frosting or the like shoved into our mouth - like it was a treat and we were expected to lick it clean! I still find myself correcting my own speech - for example: “I hadn’t ought to do that”. And I hear this voice saying “Ought not to do that”. I didn’t always understand the differences. For example: iron and press. If I would tell you not to bother ironing my socks, you would say, “Oh I’m not ironing them, just giving a quick press.” But that is because you were smarter than I. For instance: I could never grasp the concept of ironing everything that came out of the washer and dryer. Even the stuff that they label non-iron, I get it! That must be the stuff you have to press! But you must know the reason. Anyway, Mum, thanks for all the good times and the wonderful memories. And thank you God for giving our family the best wife/mother that we could have ever hoped for. And thanks Dad for choosing her and visa-versa. P.S. If I ever make it up your way, don’t introduce me as Nicky - Just call me Farkas.