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| Version | User | Scope of changes |
|---|---|---|
| Feb 23 2006, 4:13 PM EST (current) | wetpaint | 1 word added, 1 word deleted |
| Feb 23 2006, 3:40 PM EST | wetpaint | 54 words added, 19 words deleted |
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A friend remembers
I remember when I heard that Heather's Dad had cancer. I didn't really know what it meant -- I certainly didn't know it would be fatal. I didn't really get it UNTIL he went into remission, at which point I knew he was operating on bonus points.
Heather was a star at work through all that. I remember at her Dad's funeral how she came through, how composed she was and how she did such a brilliant job of expressing who he was. I remember thinking, "I wonder if my daughters will say such nice things at my funeral." He was so loved and admired. -- Heather's Friend
The best dad ever
Jack York. That is my dad's name. He was absolutely, without a doubt, the best dad anyone could hope for. What I want people to know was that through the course of living with cancer, my dad taught me a tremdendous amount about courage, strength, and living my life without regret.
Mostly he taught me grace. He never once complained. He never expressed anger; in fact, the opposite. He often said, "I've had a fabulous life. I'm not ready to go, but I have no regrets. Every day that I get up, rain or shine, and see my friends or talk to my family, is another blessed day." How's that for a man facing the end of his life?
I knew from the beginning that "statistically" my dad didn't have a lot of time. See, there's this pesky thing called the internet. I logged on (foolish!) and read about this fairly unknown cancer. There wasn't a lot of information, but what I read wasn't good.
Not enough time was all I could think. Not enough time to see me married, know my future children, teach them to fish. Not enough time to make up for my rebellious teenage years. Maybe enough time for him to see that I would be ok. That he raised me well with a good head on my shoulders.
My dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma and within a year had had a stem cell pull (not bad for a guy in his 70's!) and a week after my honeymoon, a stem cell tranplant. Things were really serious and Dad was not looking too good. But what a fighter!
During that time the little pleasures in life took on new meaning. Watching the baseball game, drinking a non-alcoholic beer, an afternoon BBQ with family. We had some really good conversations. He embraced every day of life. He lived it with normalcy. No heading off, but rather relishing in the blessings of the average day.
The end for my dad came as quite a surprise. Yes we knew there was a lump. It reared its ugly head just before my parent's 46th wedding anniversary. We had quite the party for them. A wonderful brunch. I could tell my dad didn't feel well. He couldn't sit, couldn't walk to the second floor buffet room. But he grinned and soldiered on.
A terrible phone call came a week later. Dad was in ICU. Then the words that for almost three-and-a-half years, I'd hoped I'd never hear: No longer a candidate for treatment. Six months left. Hospice. Less than three weeks later my dad was gone.
It all happened the way it was supposed to. My mom wasn't alone with him, and I wasn't there. It happened quickly, just like my dad wanted. He was himself until his last breath. Always full of pride and careful of appearence, he was lifting weights (3-pound(three-pound dumbells) in his lazy-boy the day before he died.
That was my dad. Forever the optimist. Hell, they were only three pounds today, but tomorrow he thought, maybe it would be five.
I loved my dad more than words can describe. My favorite memories are of times when we'd load up the camper and head to California. My mom HATED the camper. But we'd stop at hotels and my dad and I would spend the afternoon swimming.
I hope my son, Jack, has wonderful memories of his childhood like I do. I hope we create a space on this earth for him that is filled with wonderment and possiblity. I hope he believes his dad can fix anything. I always thought my dad could fix anything. Even when I knew better, I still believed.
Because of my dad, I'm a little kinder. I try to savor the little pleasures more. I try to live "in tune" with my life. I hope I have grace.
See also
I remember when I heard that Heather's Dad had cancer. I didn't really know what it meant -- I certainly didn't know it would be fatal. I didn't really get it UNTIL he went into remission, at which point I knew he was operating on bonus points.
Heather was a star at work through all that. I remember at her Dad's funeral how she came through, how composed she was and how she did such a brilliant job of expressing who he was. I remember thinking, "I wonder if my daughters will say such nice things at my funeral." He was so loved and admired. -- Heather's Friend
The best dad ever
Jack York. That is my dad's name. He was absolutely, without a doubt, the best dad anyone could hope for. What I want people to know was that through the course of living with cancer, my dad taught me a tremdendous amount about courage, strength, and living my life without regret.
Mostly he taught me grace. He never once complained. He never expressed anger; in fact, the opposite. He often said, "I've had a fabulous life. I'm not ready to go, but I have no regrets. Every day that I get up, rain or shine, and see my friends or talk to my family, is another blessed day." How's that for a man facing the end of his life?
I knew from the beginning that "statistically" my dad didn't have a lot of time. See, there's this pesky thing called the internet. I logged on (foolish!) and read about this fairly unknown cancer. There wasn't a lot of information, but what I read wasn't good.
Not enough time was all I could think. Not enough time to see me married, know my future children, teach them to fish. Not enough time to make up for my rebellious teenage years. Maybe enough time for him to see that I would be ok. That he raised me well with a good head on my shoulders.
My dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma and within a year had had a stem cell pull (not bad for a guy in his 70's!) and a week after my honeymoon, a stem cell tranplant. Things were really serious and Dad was not looking too good. But what a fighter!
During that time the little pleasures in life took on new meaning. Watching the baseball game, drinking a non-alcoholic beer, an afternoon BBQ with family. We had some really good conversations. He embraced every day of life. He lived it with normalcy. No heading off, but rather relishing in the blessings of the average day.
The end for my dad came as quite a surprise. Yes we knew there was a lump. It reared its ugly head just before my parent's 46th wedding anniversary. We had quite the party for them. A wonderful brunch. I could tell my dad didn't feel well. He couldn't sit, couldn't walk to the second floor buffet room. But he grinned and soldiered on.
A terrible phone call came a week later. Dad was in ICU. Then the words that for almost three-and-a-half years, I'd hoped I'd never hear: No longer a candidate for treatment. Six months left. Hospice. Less than three weeks later my dad was gone.
It all happened the way it was supposed to. My mom wasn't alone with him, and I wasn't there. It happened quickly, just like my dad wanted. He was himself until his last breath. Always full of pride and careful of appearence, he was lifting weights (3-pound(three-pound dumbells) in his lazy-boy the day before he died.
That was my dad. Forever the optimist. Hell, they were only three pounds today, but tomorrow he thought, maybe it would be five.
I loved my dad more than words can describe. My favorite memories are of times when we'd load up the camper and head to California. My mom HATED the camper. But we'd stop at hotels and my dad and I would spend the afternoon swimming.
I hope my son, Jack, has wonderful memories of his childhood like I do. I hope we create a space on this earth for him that is filled with wonderment and possiblity. I hope he believes his dad can fix anything. I always thought my dad could fix anything. Even when I knew better, I still believed.
Because of my dad, I'm a little kinder. I try to savor the little pleasures more. I try to live "in tune" with my life. I hope I have grace.
See also
