Wednesday 1/19
He's gone. My dad is gone. I cannot believe it still. I kept clutching my heart between sobs after finding out yesterday. I contined to do so all day, behind a mask at the airport, trying to get to him. I was too late. Thank God, my stepmom was there with him. I'm glad I did not learn of his passing alone in an airport. Instead I fell to my knees, with my hand over my heart and folded myself up into the fetal position with John's arms wrapped around me. In all my experiences of loss my cousin Jeff, my mom and now this I have always reverted to this position upon tragic news. It's such an instrinsic response. Not allowing your body to be vulnerable and exposed but protected by your own limbs and sometimes those of others.
My dad's throat cancer had come back even after the laryngectomy and chemo/rad treatments in November. The absess in his neck led to him losing too much blood. From what I know, he was not in pain. He actually stood up with indignation before taking his last breath. Alicia and my dad shared tender silent moments before he passed. He was in good hands. Thank God he was not alone. I am beyond grateful for this. He was her everything. She needed to be there. He loved her so. 30 years of marriage full of adventures and so many medical hurdles starting with his first diagnosis of leukemia in 2004. Not only did he survive that after months in the hospital of chemotherapy, when it came back he endured a bone marrow transplant. The doctors gave him 5% chance of survival.
As Alicia and I reminisce I started to connect some dots. After his transplant, he was no longer able to work because of chronic fatigue syndrome. Luckily he was well versed in the stock market and made a living that led to road trips to see family, check off bucket list items, and to be among the wildlife in Yellowstone National Park. Not only did he beat leukemia twice, he was able to have the energy later on that allowed him to road trip all over the country. All of the time. Impact family, friends, strangers, and wolves.
Some times he would plan a trip to see family and friends in Cali and AZ. He started driving further east once I moved to Michigan. He would jot down things to stop and see on his way out to me. He was really into Diners, Drive-ins and Dives for a while. He would go to a car show, a museum, an art festival. Solo. Just living the dream. Not the way you think of 'living the dream' that everything was cupcakes and rainbows. The man had some serious recovery obstacles but followed up each season of cancer with epic trips around the USA. Once he fell in love with Yellowstone, it was all over. I do believe I see the park as another female in his life- one of his three favorite 'women.' If he wasn't in Yellowstone he was with me or Alicia or on his way to/from one of those. His love and passion ran so deep. He was never afraid to show that tenderness. I've seen my dad tear up over many things like my babies, animals, 9/11, world tragedies,a sentimental memory... He brought that sensitivity (Alicia thinks its from his Italian side) to the advocacy of wolves where he employed his Irish fighting mentality to speak for those without a voice. Not only did he stand up for wolves when he could talk, he continued finding outlets when he was without a voice.
I'm here, in his office, after coming across beautiful scrapbook journals he made about his recovery road trips after leukemeia. They have brought me to my knees. I am full of gratitude and so much heartbreak. This man was one of a kind. His spirit, his playfulness, his sharpness with numbers... I could go on. He has left me so many handwritten journals and photbooks (like before you could do shutterfly ones) that fill my soul. Looking at his handwriting is like medicine for my aching heart. To be transported to better days is an understatement and not the best phrase. I suppose. He hasn't been perfectly healthy for almost 20 years but he sure made the best of his life. The last time I visited him in November we listened to
Learning to Fly by Tom Petty on the way to radiation. He shed tears after the lyrics "The good ole days may not return" and wrote 'that line makes me very sad.' It was so raw. He held nothing back. Nothing was in the way of sharing vulnerability. I loved that about him. Trust me, he was manly in a lot of ways, but this tender hearted man shared his heart with so many!
1/20 or "Two days after my dad died" is how I am trying to keep track of the days...
Here I am again in the middle of reading notebooks of his challenges, his hopes and dreams and sometimes strong opinions about the government and life in general. I am amazed at his foresight in writing some things down. Granted, he had no voice but he was always talking deep stuff. He could do the small talk but we mostly cut right to it. It was never like fatherly lectures but real deal conversation. It's almost like he didn't ever want to waste time. Took advantage of every opportunity to stop and visit a friend, catch up with people and just be present in the moment.
I sob when reading about his frustrations, his 'why me?' moments and his anger at his bouts with cancer. His cancer journey started years ago and realy only waxed and waned until 2 days ago. I don't know how he mustered up the courage to face the days. He's done more than 400 hours of chemotherapy in his life! I read that stat in his book in complete shock. I cannot comprehend his strength. Super human. My dad was a superhero and will always be someone who eptiomizes a 'seize the day' atittude amongst the most depressing news. Luckily, his recent baptism offered a different kind of comfort, one only from God.
I've come to the conclusion that this is Part I. My father's life just cannot be surmised into a single blog. He deserves more and I need heart and head space to process right now.
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