"Papa... I was talking with my friends... and they said if they died... they want the others to do something fun to commemorate their life and not be sad, but to laugh and have a big party instead... At my funeral, I want everyone to sit around and cry!" "Yah, me too, Erica."
It's been 6 months since my dad was diagnosed. It's been 3 since his death. It's crazy. My life feels divided now, before his death and after. Before cancer and after. When I had him, and now that I don't. I feel most lonely in large groups... somehow feeling like an outcast. Thinking, look at all this life going on, without him. I feel most vulnerable, when I am one on one with someone. You can definitely count on me crying if you ask me "how are you?" Work has been harder. Watching patients and their families receive the colon cancer diagnosis strikes a different cord then it used too. Knowing the path they are just about to travel down makes me sad. Will that patient see a light at the end of the tunnel or will this terrible scum of a cancer take them?
I have been going back and forth about writing a blog post about this sensitive subject. Even if only my 9 blog followers read it. I will write it and I will print it, and I will put it in a box labeled, Pop, along with all else that I have left of him.
I kept a written journal and email journal already documenting everything up unto his death to his friends and to his family. But for those that might not know, cancer ravaged my dad's body. It started in the colon, worked it's way to the liver, and then ended it's viciousness in his brain, pushing on his optic nerve, affecting his vision. The series of events happened so quickly, and it's only now that I can sit back with all that has happened and even process it. I am mad about it. My dad lived a good life. But it's length, well, he got cheated. Why didn't he get to live long like his mother and father, and his aunts. Why him? Why this way? Why after religiously going for routine colon cancer screenings did he get colon cancer? Why did it move so fast? Why? I am told not to dwell on the why. But it's hard not too.
My dad did not want to die at home. He didn't want to leave that memory on us. He told us this. He told us he wanted to die in the hospital with his family all around, "just like on his birthday." (Side note, my dad's last birthday was spent in the hospital with my mom, my siblings, and our spouses, all watching his birthday video made by all his family and friends, and overall favorite people. He was so proud to tell all the nurses and techs that walked in, that "this is my whole family, here for my birthday.") But the next day I went to the hospital, that tune changed after speaking with my mom, and them deciding together that he would actually come home and that his mind was changed. Fact is, where ever my dad died. It would be terrible. It would be a lasting memory. It would affect us all. My dad had not been home in weeks leading up to going home on hospice. And I am so glad he made it there. Even for less than 48 hours. As a nurse, I knew it wouldn't be long based on my assessment skills of his body and spirit. But I never could imagine after bringing him home Friday afternoon, spending the entire rest of the day and night at his bedside and leaving Saturday at 6pm, he would leave me that night. I wanted there to be more strawberry milkshakes, more requests of Coke, more warm visits from family and his friends, I wanted there to be just a little more time. But in the end his request in the hospital came true. After a week of asking about Christopher, my brother finally arrived from Colorado Saturday morning, he was the last and missing piece of my dad's puzzle. Saturday we were all at his bedside. The look he gave Chris, the way he put out his hand to shake it. Doing the same for Jeff. And then just gazing at us all can send a shiver down my spine like nothing else can. It didn't mean much at the time, but now, it means everything. It was then that he let go. It was just like his "birthday party." I left to go back home. I hadn't slept in over 24 hours, and I just couldn't function anymore. We quickly came up with a phone tree... Chris will call Erica, Erica will call Camille, Camille will call Jeff. I instructed Chris and mom how to administer medication. Chris was nervous, I could tell. And I left my dad for the last time.
My dad took his last breath around 1am on Sunday, December 13th. There wasn't a struggle, there wasn't a gasp, or a yell. Mom and Chris said it was peaceful. Instead of calling me, Chris called Adam. And my very sweet husband, just told me, straight up, with no nonsense. We sat at the side of the bed for a few minutes before I could get myself up and going. We got to the house, and I walked in, and I went straight to my dad. Nothing prepares you for this. I remember just putting my head on his chest and whispering, "it's good," over and over again. I am no stranger to being around a dead body. While I don't deal with it often anymore, I have been in the room when a person has passed. And it's eerie. Because you feel it. You feel the silence. And you feel them, there, and then you feel them, gone. It's hard to explain. And I felt my dad, gone. Not like earlier when I felt him, there. You won't ever know what I am talking about until you find yourself in that situation. And maybe I am wrong, but that's just my experience. The hospice nurse was there. And she was great. We told her she could go, as we were still waiting on Jeff and Camille to arrive. But before she did, I asked her about Last Rites. where she informed me that it was too late for those... I had it on my to do list for the next day... but again, that "time" thing.... however she did offer to pray with us and we took her up on that. Simon sat on my lap while I sat next to my dad too. And one of the sweetest moments was when Simon placed his paw on my dad's hand, proving the strong bond between man and dog. I didn't say anything to my brother or Adam about this until days later... and they confirmed they both saw it happen as well. If coming home on hospice did anything at all, it let my dad be nose to nose with his pup, it allowed him to see the Christmas tree Camille set up for him, it allowed him to have just a few more hours of no pokes and prods, and fluorescent lighting, no beeps, no vital signs. Just the hum of the heat going on, the clock chiming on the hour, and the general comfort of being home. Good decision, Mom.
Two guys from the funeral home came to take my dad when everyone was ready. I stayed in the TV room. The funeral director, Tim couldn't have been nicer and so began the first to offer their condolences. He told us to get some sleep and call him later that morning to start making plans. And so we did. We all went to the funeral home... "the Polish mafia," and we designed each detail of my dad's funeral. Before this we each individually started to notify family and friends. It was evident, even though we knew he was in bad shape, the amount of sadness that can be felt over the phone. The silence and the questions of why? The consoling of each other on a man who prematurely left this Earth.
The wake was scheduled for a Tuesday and the funeral Wednesday. All I can say is that I floated right on through those next few days. Monday was spent getting Chris proper funeral attire, as he did not bring anything along, and going to the church to get things straightened out, finding old pictures for the photo boards, and doing all sorts of small tasks. And if nothing prepares you to see your dad shortly after he died, nothing prepares you to see your dad in a coffin. They let us in first to see him, and my goodness, it's hard. My mom chose his outfit, including his blue windbreaker that he wore to all occasions. It even had the added addition of food stuck to the front, which I had to laugh at... Mom didn't think to wash it, and said when I scolded her..."well he always had food on the front." The room was full of multiple bouquets of flowers and plants sent from multiple friends and family, and the flowers that were on top of his casket were just the most beautiful arrangement I had ever seen.
There were hundreds of people there that day. So needless to say we were all busy. My mom, my siblings, and my Uncle Bill and his family all took different spots around the room. We were told multiple times that the parking lot was full and we smiled because of it. My co-workers came to pay their respects and all my best friends and their parents. His friends stood in the corner of the room, laughing hysterically at some points because they were reminiscing about the good old days. Family that I had never met before came, his doctors, his nurses, his old bosses were all present. It was nice to hear old stories, but overall I overheard a lot of, "I thought I had more time to come and see him." "I didn't realize he was that sick." "This just goes to show you you have to call when you are thinking of someone and not just say you'll do it tomorrow."
The funeral was the next day. Prayers started at the funeral home, and then the part I always forget about, the worst part of any funeral, ever, when everyone passes the casket one last time. I never really had a front row seat to that. The emotion you feel from everyone elses emotion upon seeing Big Al will be engraved in my memory. My face was just buried in Camille's shoulder. The funeral processional was quite long and we did get to go thru a red light... he'd be proud... the funeral director made a small detour onto Elroy and stopped the hearse right in front of the house... another emotional moment for me. It really was a classy move on behalf of the funeral home. My brother states, had we known, we would have left his lawnmower out. His pride and joy had always been his lawn.
Pulling into the church, a lot of people were already there. The mass was nice and lead by a super old Priest. I was quite shocked he did not set himself on fire, as he was not steady on his feet and the lit candles were only centimeters from his robe. He seriously had me worried the entire mass. Chris and I picked all the readings and the music and everything went well. The Priest spoke kind words of my dad. His friends, Micky, Jimmy, Vito, Lenny, Bill, and my cousin Bill carried his casket, and I am forever grateful to them because I just think my dad would be so proud to have had them do that for him.
After the funeral we had a luncheon at St. Andrew's Golf Course. The food was delicious and it was decorated beautifully for the Christmas season. We made centerpieces on the tables of golf balls and tees in a vase, with flowers in each one. Pam got up and made good on a promise to my dad by giving his Eulogy. Her words were from the heart and so very kind. Micky was up next and gave us the comic relief. And then myself. I had something prepared in case no one stood up. I owed it to my dad to do that for him. I was nervous as I always am to give a speech. But I did okay and was pretty proud I did it, never worrying, are these words good enough?
And then it was time to go home, and start a true life without him physically in it. The holidays were okay, we got thru them, but I was really quite glad they were over. I continue to get thru the days, one moment at a time, because I am finding the smallest things set me off crying. I never really realized how much I actually talked to him, now that I can't anymore. That's the part that hurts my heart the most. I have been rudely reminded in the last 3 months, that there is no one to call and tell you made it thru security at the airport with out being frisked or questioned who actually cares, there is no one to call who would laugh as much as he would when the asinine things that happen to me in my daily life happen, like getting stuck in the car wash because the actual car wash broke down. And I had my first birthday come and go with out him announcing he was showing up to wish me a happy day in person or him just being the first to call... because everyone deserves a call on their birthday, not a text or just a card. Life without him is hard and not right, and no where close to getting better. But I know one day it will be. I just wish that day would come sooner.
