My Journey Through Grief: Part One

"Grief is the price we pay for love." ~Queen Elizabeth II

Let me begin by saying, I’m a daddy’s girl. I always have been, and I always will be. My dad was always my #1 supporter and never gave up on me, even though I put him through a lot (especially in my teenage years!). Honestly, I put him through hell!

(November 1991)

(My wedding day July 2012)

Last March, my dad finally retired after driving a truck for 53 years. He started out at the age of seventeen and ended his career at the age of sixty-nine. He never did cross-county trucking, but he drove just about every other kind of truck. Instead of taking it easy, he decided he wanted to come to my house to help my husband and I fix it up. He spent from April to September doing just that. Let me just tell you, it was a magical summer.

(Dad cutting down some of my overgrown trees)

(His favorite spot to rest on my back porch)

Towards the end of September dad got really sick all of a sudden. He went from being able to work around my house to staying in bed. My dad was a “work from sunup to sundown” kind of guy. At this point we knew that something was really wrong. After a few doctors visits it was discovered that he had multiple lesions throughout his liver. They wanted to do a biopsy and see what was going on. On October 3, 2017, we got the news no one wants to hear. We learned that my dad had cancer. Not only did he have cancer, but it had metastasized.

The next six months were a struggle. I was driving around 900 miles a week traveling between my house, their house, and his doctors’ appointments. I live 100 miles round trip from them and 230 miles round trip from his doctors. I did this daily, only taking a few days off during those six months.

(They were married 48 years!)

One particular doctors visit was three days before Christmas 2017. I had come to take him to a regular chemo check-up (he went twice a week), and he could barely even walk to the car. By the time we got home they called us with his bloodwork, and said he was losing a massive amount of blood and that we needed to take him to the hospital. My mom is disabled, and I knew it would be difficult for her to stay overnight (it was already late evening and I knew we wouldn’t be back that night), so I told her I would take him and call as soon as I knew something. I ended up staying awake with him all night in the emergency department. As sad as it was, I was able to bond with my dad. He told me lots of stories from his childhood on up to becoming my dad. We got to bring him home from the hospital on Christmas Eve.

After that, mom did not want to spend any nights apart from him and stayed overnight with him the next four hospital visits; I do not know how she got through all her pain. His last hospital visit was in March 2018. He ended up receiving his twelfth pint of blood since the Christmas visit. My strong father was withering away into a skeleton. One particular evening, I could tell something was wrong. They finally told me… the cancer had spread into his pelvis and spine. It was now in the bone and the doctors were giving him six months to live. Dad had decided he did not want to keep taking chemo and going in and out of the hospital. He decided he wanted quality not quantity. In the end, he decided he wanted to go home from the hospital with hospice.

(They always took care of one another)

We got to bring dad home on March 17, 2018. He was so happy to be in his own bed and not having to travel back and forth so much. He did not have much of an appetite, but he would eat anything I fixed him. I loved being able to cook whatever he requested. We frequently all ate dinner while sitting on his giant king size bed together. At night I would come home, but before I left I would always give him a head massage with his favorite lotion; he always liked to smell good. I do not know why I started doing this, but it became our ritual, and he wouldn’t let anyone else do it.

(These picture were taken less than 90 days apart)

On April 10, 2018, my mom called me early in the morning and told me he had slipped into a coma. I got ready and was out the door in ten minutes. However, when I got to my car, my tire had completely split and wasn’t going to take me anywhere. Panicked, I called my husband at work and told him I did not know what to do. He calmly told me he would be right there. Within an hour we were on the road to my parents. I did not know how much of a blessing that tire was.

When we got there, I knew that it was bad. He was completely unresponsive and was breathing heavily. This went on for a few hours, until he started really laboring to breathe. We knew at this point it was only a matter of time. My dad loved Otis Redding. He was my dad’s favorite artist and was the only one he listened to after getting sick. So, I got his iPod and started playing Otis Redding on shuffle. At 6:50 p.m., my father took his last breath listening to his favorite song, “Old Man Trouble.” It was a moment of beauty during a dark time.

I think of him every day. Sometimes it is the most random event or thing that makes me think of him. I don’t cry every time anymore, but I still cry. Going through the diagnosis and losing my dad in such an ugly way has left a hole in my heart that will never go away.

(The last picture I took of dad 4 days before he died)