Easter 2007
My thoughts are all on you now. It is early morning on Easter Sunday. Passover began last Monday. Your face is so clear and bright in my memories of these celebrations. Did you know that Jeremy can sing some of the Hebrew prayers by heart (just from his memories of your voice in family celebrations?) I am hoping he will teach Jesse and me. Rosanne said she will teach me the meaning of your Seder plate. The Hebrew teachings and Judaism itself are the basis for so many faiths including ours. We would have been busy at St. Mary’s this weekend except for that we are just starting to recover from the flu. Also, I need quiet time with loved ones to cushion the solemn knowledge that we won’t be seeing you today. I wish our family was gathered together at Rosanne and Alphonse’s home still and that we all had a few months to stay there together. Our time there was very precious.
I miss Rosanne who is carrying all of us in so many ways. I am sure that Rosanne is one of the strongest women I will ever know. She has so much love in her heart for others. She is amazing and we are so lucky to have her especially in times like this. I am glad that you had her as a best friend, Dad. I remember many times when you spoke of good, long, meaningful conversations with her. She is so brave, so strong, so understanding, so caring; you must be so proud of your sister, Dad.
I miss Grandmom who understands your death with absolute clarity. I know that you wondered if she understood your illness and worried about how she would take your death. The image of her determination as she pushed herself out of her wheelchair, stood, walked to the podium, and spoke of you at the memorial service shook everyone there. Tears flowed at that moment. I think her words were (I think-but may need some input here) “He was a sweet kid and he (at this point she gestured towards us) had sweet children”. Then she cried with all the love of a mother who has lost her child, her son. I think I am very glad now that you were not sure she would understand as I fear it would have broken your sensitive heart to know how she would cry. But we do not get to pick how and when we die Dad, and you know you did everything you could to give us all the time and love that you could possibly fit in.
I can’t even fathom how much it hurt your body (especially since you never complained) when you stood at the stove time and again trying to teach me how to cook. You continued even when your feet were so swollen that you could not fit into the 4x wide slippers we had found .(the steroid meds temporarily shut down your adrenals and then the cancer shut them down permanently). Thank you, Dad.
I remember you still trying to give Jesse a cranial treatment to help with his teething even as your left hand now trembled slightly most of the time and even though you had to stop because your arms began to shake from the weight of his little head.
I remember you facing your fears and accepting the inevitable side effects from undergoing radiation in the spine to help slow the metastasized cancer so we could have you with us for longer.
I remember your amazing hope and will to live after you survived your first seizure (after which the MICU resident on call that night told us that you might not wake up from and that even if you did there was no medicine or treatment that could prevent another seizure from occurring because the cancer had spread into your brain now.
I remember how you agreed to radiation of your brain because the doctors told you it was the only treatment left that might give you just a little more time: at the very most six months (even taking into account the fact that you had already outlived the oncologist’s life expectancy and prediction of your body’s deterioration rate several times so much so that he inquired about the homeopathic and mistletoe treatments you were taking at home). Without the brain radiation treatments I don’t think the hospital would have been authorized to send you home due to the uncontrollable/unpredictable seizure activity you were having.
You were so, so brave and strong to go through the brain radiation. You had to stay in Dayton Hospice for daily transport by ambulance to Kettering Cancer center even though you really wanted to go home. You took daily ambulance rides that were uncomfortable (cancer throughout your bones on a hard, portable bed for a few hours) then faced claustrophobia as you wore a constrictive head helmet and lay in the radiation chamber. You never complained to me about these things though. I heard of your rough days from the concerned nurse who brought your medications. When I got worried you just reassured me that it was all o.k..
You taught me so much about never giving up hope or the desire (will) to live Dad. You taught me how important it is to fight for every moment of time with family and friends even when that fight is fraught with struggle. I hail your bravery Dad as you faced increasing body pain and the sometimes daily loss of your independent lifestyle.
I remember talking to you on the phone about how at it was at times difficult adjusting to life with a new baby. You were so comforting to me and then you admitted that you were having adjustment issues too. Earlier that morning on a grocery run your motorized wheelchair cart had stopped at the same time (low store scooter batteries I’ve since realized is a common problem for disabled shoppers) as the side effects of your medications had hit and you had been unable to get to the restroom in time. I remember thinking then that I would eagerly choose caring for a few more newborns that choose to take on cancer. It only took a day or two before you were back at the store trying again.
Your courage Dad is something I will always strive for. You had more faith in your body than I ever did and with admiration I watched as you appreciated and worked with your body throughout the entire illness. You seemed to trust that your body still contained within it the strength and adaptability to get you as far as you needed to go. You and your body triumphed Dad. You fully lived every bit of life that was left in you, never wasting a minute. You also succeeded in making it home where you so clearly wanted to be. It was your favorite place to spend time together socializing, to celebrate holidays and special events, and to rest and relax (especially growing plants and trees outside). It was the place where you wished to die.
I miss you Dad. I am only beginning to become aware of all that you taught us in your entire life and through the last few years. I am full of gratitude for your love, your strength, and your hope. You were a fantastic teacher Dad, and you definitely taught by example. Happy Easter Dad. All my love, your daughter
