My Dad

My father passed away one week ago today. Over the last couple of months, I thought about blogging the experience of watching a parent fight cancer. I thought it might be cathartic for me or even helpful for someone else in a “we’re in this together” kind of way. Looking back, I knew the journey of my dad’s glioblastoma grade 4 tumor (GBM), the most aggressive of all brain cancers, wasn’t going to encourage anyone. So I didn’t write.. and I’m glad I didn’t..but I can write now.
..Simply because you need to know that the world lost an amazing man last Friday evening and his struggle with a disease that seemed intent on ravaging him until the bitter end didn’t ultimately win. Yes, my dad lost his battle with cancer. BUT my dad leaves behind memories that cancer can’t steal from me.

My dad and I weren’t particularly mushy with one another until I moved away to Pensacola with Wayne and Devon for flight school back in 1988. It was then, as he was giving me a good-bye hug on his driveway, that I heard him swallow. Hard. My heart just melted and from that day on, every hug we shared as we parted ways was wrenched with my tears and his hard swallows to keep his own tears from falling. Our last shared hug was on December 23rd as I promised him I’d be back in two weeks. As it turned out, two of my sisters took over duties to help my mom during my dad’s declining health and my turn had slid to this coming Sunday. We shared our last hugs and our last tears right in his living room and my next opportunity to see him was on a breathing tube last week.
It’s just not the same when you’re hugging someone who can’t hug back.

This horrific cancer gave my dad exactly 8 weeks from diagnosis to his last breath. The last breath that my brother and I watched and were thankful for. His suffering had been heartbreaking from the brain surgery to the chemo to the radiation to the final seizure that stole him from us. I was grateful that my dad was spared from any more suffering and will tell you without reservation that those 8 weeks are not how I will remember him. This larger than life man with the most beautiful green eyes surrounded by gold flecks I have ever seen will be tucked inside of my heart for as long as I live. Every funny story, every ridiculous argument, every piece of advice and every hug when he’d leave from a visit and I’d hear him swallow hard… it’s all tucked away. 

My sweet daughter had flown in to visit her beloved grandfather (affectional known as Ho Ho) and he literally had a seizure and never regained consciousness in her presence. Thank God she had about 45 minutes with him. She was the apple of his eye.  My son had a very upbeat, coherent conversation with my dad just 2 days before his seizure and they instinctively said their good-byes. My dad was crazy about that boy and their golf game together in the mountains of Georgia a couple of years ago is so clear to me now. And my husband. What can I say about my husband except that my dad would be so proud of that man. He stood at the memorial service and eloquently said what the rest of us could not. He told people how amazing my dad was… I will never be able to adequately explain my appreciation or admiration.

Since I began blogging, I’ve mentioned my dad several times in different posts but if you missed them or just wonder who he was, I’d love for you to read some excerpts below. It’s important to me that you know how he lived. 

From my blog just over 4 years ago on my dad’s birthday:
The first week of October is a weird and wacky one in my family. First there is my wedding anniversary and the next day is my parents anniversary (today is their 51st) and then, the very next day, is my dads birthday. This year, he’s 72. That’s a lot of potential cake eating for a 3 day period of time!

So, as a little “shout out” to my dad, I thought I’d recognize some pretty cool things I remember over the years.

When I was little, he’d always take me with him on errands to the store. Those errands always involved a Hostess cupcake and chocolate milk and hidden wrappers from my mom.

We played some amazing war games in the basement of my house that involved dart guns. My dad called them stopper guns but who knows if that’s an actual name~probably not. It was an all day event that started with some  intense fort building behind furniture and pillows because those guns didn’t play. I remember peaking out from behind many a chair and getting a rubber stopper between the eyes. Let these guns serve as proof that parents in the 60′s didn’t care about their kids…they definitely left a mark! This picture shows a more “safe” version.

He coached my softball team for 3 years. That required a lot of patience so God must have been trying to teach him a thing or two ~ my dad is not a patient man. He had to remind one girl not to take out her makeup compact and check her hair on 2nd base. He had to deal with hurt feelings and gossip in the dugout. He had to deal with my attitude if I wasn’t the starting pitcher. He had to deal with most of us girls being more interested in the boys who were spectators than the actual game. This may be the reason he made the switch to coaching my brother.

He made a huge deal of covering the Christmas tree with ridiculous amounts of tinsel every year. Boxes and boxes of the stuff because it was “our” thing to finalize the decorations. My mom hated the tinsel but he remained steadfast.

He’d defend me to the end. To teachers, deans, parents….and, no, I didn’t always deserve his defense. But I love that he always believed the best in me.

He was my “GO TO” guy. About everything. Questions about finances, jobs, homework, trivia, etc. I truly thought my dad was one of the most brilliant people on Earth. It wasn’t until I could challenge him to a good game of Jeopardy that I decided maybe he didn’t actually know everything.

He tries to pay every time we’re out somewhere. It’s a game ~ we both try to casually slip the waitress or whomever our debit card without the other one seeing. He used to win until I became super sleuthy. Once or twice, he actually took the money he was going to pay with, tossed it on the restaurant floor and walked away. Of course, I’d have to grab it before people thought it was some kind of bizarre give-away.

Thinking about these things and so many others makes me smile. Years and years later. Happy Birthday, Dad. May you enjoy many, many more.

 From my blog on Valentines Day 2013:   I spent last week with my parents in Ohio. Initially, I went because my mom was experiencing some health issues and there was a lot of concern about the possible diagnosis but God removed those fears and the diagnosis, which finally came yesterday, is easily treated. So the week that I expected to have~ supporting my dad and helping my mom~ was replaced with an energetic mom who suggested a couple of movie nights, some dinners out and a trip to a museum. It was a truly wonderful week with just the 3 of us. Many laughs and good talks… as they interacted in their daily routines, I often forgot that they’re in the mid 70′s. And, then, I’d have to wait up for my dad as he got out of the van and walked into the grocery store (his absolute favorite past-time is grocery shopping for nothing in particular) or my mom would want to watch some show on tv that only old folks could relate to.

I learned the meaning of the word cherish last week. My time with them was cherished…all of their individual “ism’s” that make them unique and special no longer irritated me as they so often have in the past. I loved that we could be doing the breakfast dishes while deciding where to eat for lunch. Or that my dad still tries to cheat when we play Rummy. Or that I had to teach them how to import photos from their camera. Or that my mother has a house suitable for Better Homes and Gardens and is thinking of selling and starting over. Or that my dad knocks on my bedroom door at 10:30 one night to ask if I want to order a pizza.

 From my Father’s Day blog in 2014: 
To MY dad….thanks for taking me on errands when I was a toddler up until the time I thought my time was too valuable to spend running around town with you. Thank you for understanding that I was a little too big for my britches. Thank you for coaching my softball teams. Thank you for sitting in the limo with me on my wedding day and telling me it would still be okay to come home. I thought you were crazy but you just wanted me to know I’d always be your girl. Thank you for loving my kids the way you do. Thank you for every sacrifice you ever made for me.

Thank you, dad. I’ll love you forever and ever.