PEACE IN DEATH - A SHARED MOMENT OF MY LOVE FOR MY FATHER

I wanted to preface this post by saying that I have wanted to write about the following topic for sometime but I have never had a forum to do so. It sometimes is an emotional one for me but I think you will understand why upon the post's conclusion. It is about my father's battle with cancer and his eventual death. Death is not always the easiest issue to handle. In fact most people are terrified of it, placing its whole context aside until they absolutely must face it themselves in a very personal way. I had actually emailed much of this post's content to a fellow blogger I had a connection with in his experiences with his mother's death. I hope he reads my post today. He is a person I still believe in.

So I begin my revisit with death yet again...

My thoughts suddenly flash back nearly four years to the day my father passed away. He had battled two types of cancer, lymphoma and esophageal, for two years prior. The first year it was lymphoma. This was in early October, 2000. It all started with the doctor noticing a small cyst in my dad's groin area during a physical examination. It was extremely small but nonetheless, the doctor had told him to monitor it. Well pop's memory sort of lapsed on that element until one day he started to feel discomfort in said region. He arranged another appointment and was advised that the cyst was nearly three times as large. Naturally the scans and MRIs began. The doctor gave him the bad news. My dad had lymphoma. I can remember all too clearly the reaction that came as we were told one by one. Not dad! Dad comes from sturdy bloodline. See Nonna and Nonno, his parents, lived well into their mid-90s. The treatment began. Dad underwent chemo, radiation, and a series
of experimental drugs.

In early August, 2001, the doctor had given him a clean bill of health. The family was ecstatic. The emotional rollercoaster had all seemed worth it, or so it seemed. Over the next two months dad started to complain about his throat feeling scratchy and by the end of the two months he was complaining of discomfort when swallowing. Yet another visit to the doctor's office. It is late September 2001. The bombshell! The doctor came back with a diagnosis of esophogeal cancer. More chemo to start with and a decision to hold on the radiation therapy. Another two months went by and the doctor saw no improvement or rather reduction effects on the size of the lump in my dad's throat. The doctor ordered another MRI, this time a full body scan. He discovered that there was a cancerous growth in the liver, and fairly progressed. He initiated radiation treatment but let my dad know that the prognosis was not looking good. The doctor had hoped to reduce the growth in my father's throat to make it easier for him to eat with comfort.

Another month went by. The follow-up scans continued to show progression of the cancers both in the esophagus and the liver. My dad was really having a hard time holding down food, and we saw him throwing up his food within five minutes of him eating it - with more frequency. It was scaring us. Another visit to the oncologist. Unfortunately the news was not much better. The 'doc' decided it was in my dad's best interest, for comfort and proper nourishment, to obtain a tracheotomy. My dad conceded. It helped for awhile but as the cancer continued to progress, the throwing up continued due to the effort to swallow. One thing during his almost-bi-monthly visits to the oncologist which remained constant - he would not give up hope. His words upon his progress failing the second go around with cancer were always, "So what's next doc? What can we try?" While I believe a large portion of this attitude was genuine I also inherently sensed dad had a bit of fear over death. Maybe not.

I will say this, amazingly, while dad had his moments of discomfort, he retained an appearance that was not suggestive of a cancer patient. What a blessing! His general health and tenacity literally blew away his treating doctors. I do not remember ever really thinking my dad was ill with such a life-threatening disease. He just looked too damn healthy the whole time. The only real effect seen was his loss of hair while undergoing his treatments. But his overall health changed dramatically, the day the doctors told him they could do no more and to get his affairs in order. For the next two months, October through early November 2002, came the ups and downs of depression which had not existed during any of his treatment.

Then at the beginning of November, his strength finally showed signs of diminishing. I first initiated a letter to my dad to share with him how much I loved and appreciated him, to express what I had gained from his example as a father, and to express my fondest memories of him. I chose this route as I knew I would never be able to express all of what I wanted to share with him without being an emotional wreck. Thankfully mom took on the task of reading it to him, to be there for moral support if dad had needed it. Then I found myself faced with another decision to make - do I take family leave in order to help my mom facilitate the necessary care for my dad or do I simply continue on with work? To this day, I am grateful for having found the strength to take the needed time off work. I had about 12 days with my dad. I was blown away at how fast he deteriorated in that time frame. I saw a man go from being able to tentatively move about, to bed-ridden and requiring assistance to the restroom, and well, to loss of bodily function in the end. But I somehow found peace amongst this agonizing set of circumstances. During the last four days of my dad's life, all six of my brothers and sisters, spent some portion of that time on overnight stays visiting, talking to my dad, even when he slipped into a comatose state the last 36 hours. And perhaps the most amazing, revealing moment of my life was having ALL 8 family members present as we watched our father in the final moment's of his life. Mind you, we were prepared. Both my mom and one of my three sisters are RNs. They had been monitoring his pulse and letting us know what to expect.

It was Friday, November 22 (2002), 7:30am, one day before my sister's and brother's birthday (twins), six days before Thanksgiving. Dad had lied still until his last breath, eyes closed, unresponsive. With one sudden deep breath, he lunged upward and sat up, his eyes opening for the first time in thirty-six hours, he expelled that last breath of life, and then he collapsed back into my mother's arms, all of us caught of guard. He had this peaceful momentary look on his face before collapsing back and closing his eyes. It was almost as if he had been looking at someone, though none of us. All eight of us broke down and wailed. For but a moment, I maintained this stoic front, taking in all this emotion, my right hand holding, squeezing, caressing my dad's right hand, feeling the warmth within his fingertips leaving them. And then no more...I cried like I have never cried before, to the point that there were several moments I was gasping for breath. I can vaguely remember one of my sisters, weeping as hard as me, finding the strength to reach over to me and offer a shoulder to cry on.

We cried, held each other, and merely stared at my father's lifeless body for almost a half an hour. But in the end I felt this incredible sense of peace, almost a cleansing. We all did. For us, witnessing my father's battle, my father's courage even amidst his fear, and ultimately my father's death brought a new perspective on life and took away the inherent fear of our own mortality.

And when that half hour of quiet time with dad was over, we moved on. We began the celebration of his life. A poignant reminder that life comes full circle.

AS I HAVE SAID DAILY TO YOU DAD, I MISS YOU, I LOVE YOU, AND YOU'RE ALWAYS IN MY HEART!

****To my readers out there, thanks for hearing me through on this post. I hope it gives you a better understanding of me, of my upbringing, and of the importance of family. For those of you who may have separated from your fathers because of differences, I hope there will be a renewal to gain them back in your lives. If not, to at least forgive them in your heart, and express it to them. It is better to move on with that sense of peace in your heart than to leave a bit of bitterness still within. Hugs to all of you!****