Happy Birthday, Dad (oh, and eff you, C-word)
(Just to be clear, the C-word is cancer in the title)
I will never forget getting the call from my Mom that my Dad was taken to the hospital after suffering a seizure on the pool deck of the YMCA near Midland.
After tests were run and imaging taken, we were told he had brain cancer. It was a sizable tumor that would need removing immediately.
Talk about changing the lives of a family in an instant.
After trying to stay positive and recover from the shock, we were then told that there was no way to get all the tumor through surgery and that post surgery, it was time to try and maintain and/or shrink the tumor with a concoction of radiation and chemo.
The plan was so manufactured. Had it worked for others with the same illness? Think Ted Kennedy...no, not many at all. I forgot the exact survival rate for stage IV Glioblastoma, but it was bleak. Thanks for the free copy of your book though, Dr. Oncologist whose hyphenated name I have forgotten. (She was so damn optimistic all the time which I loved and hated her for.) I'm never reading your book.
There is a kind of emotional numbness that develops when caring for a sick, loved one. I am no doctor or scientist, but I believe this numbness must occur in order to put your mind in a place that can get past the utter hell of everything that is happening and allow you to stay focused enough to care for said loved one. You end up dealing with things you never knew you were equipped to handle. Everyday life became robotic that year, and we just went through the motions of our lives. I was concentrated solely on finding ways to be there for my Dad and making sure that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he was going out, he was going out loved beyond words.
V and I got engaged, planned a wedding and got married in less than 8 weeks so that my Dad could see it. Was that selfish of me? Maybe, but I wasn't myself and I wanted more than anything to have him there and time was running out. I love Vivek so much for going with the flow of things and letting us share that happy day with sadness too. I, the daughter, kind of walked my father down the aisle and it was a perfect day for marriage and for my extended family to visit with and secretly say goodbye to their son-in-law, nephew-in-law, brother-in-law, uncle, and friend.
3 months later, he passed; it took a little over a year total after being diagnosed.
I still can't really talk about him to anyone to this day, even though it's been six years since his passing. I can tell one story or so, but if I try two, I choke up. I miss him so much.
Here are some things that I can write about my Dad though...
Being the only adopted child in my family, he and my Mom made sure that I never felt like I was being treated different in any way. I have a very vivid memory of sitting at the breakfast table at my Dad's parents' house at about 10 or 11 years old. I was eating bacon like a boss and after watching me disapprovingly for several minutes, my Dad's step mom (I will never claim any relation to her... Not even 'step'...for several reasons other than this) said, "Better watch it, Jenny, you're going to be fat." Then she proceeded to tell me why my sister wouldn't ever have to worry about that and how beautiful she was. She told me, at least I was smart. My Dad quickly intervened and told her that I also didn't need to worry about that and handed me more bacon. Thanks, Dad. It turns out I do have to worry about it a little, but eff her, right? I'll never tell her that you drove 50 feet to their pond just to create a barrier with your truck between you and her window so she couldn't see you fish after she told you not to ;)
My Dad was always there to support me, even when I didn't want him there. (Think swim meets and school award ceremonies). I mean, missing work to see me get the 6th grade blue team reading award was dedication.
Sorry you traveled all over the metroplex for 6 years and never saw me break a 1:07.every combination of tenths and hundredths of milliseconds in the 100 Butterfly. (1:07.51, 1:07.45, 1:07.71, etc. forever...) I just couldn't do it. We deserve t-shirts that say, "All I got were these man shoulders" and there would be arrows pointing to our man shoulders.
He came in my room every night to say 'goodnight' and 'I love you'. I remember these nights most when it was 11 PM the night before a project or paper was due. I would be in crazy, panic mode complete with hysterics because of course, I waited until literally the night before and he wouldn't even say, "well, how long have you known about this?" He would just reassure me that I would get it done.
When I became a dramatic, sullen teenager, he would try and be there for me even when I pushed him away. No need for an example here...let's just say I watched a lot of Dawson's Creek.
I was a homebody even as a teenager and would come home at or well before midnight on the weekends. I thought I was lying pretty well to my friends who asked me to spend the night when I told them I couldn't because I had stuff to do that next day early. Turns out they knew I just wanted to wake up at home and were accepting. Anyway, I would come home and my Dad would be in the kitchen microwaving ACT butter popcorn and pouring himself a caffeine-free coke. I would jump up on the counter and re-hash or analyze the night's events with him. Some of our best talks happened on those nights.
I stood on the cul-de-sac of my freshman dorm at A&M and cried like a baby when he drove off after helping me move in. I'm pretty sure he did too as he drove away. I cried a little less the remaining three years on moving day.
He taught me how to camp, how to keep score at baseball games (which I still do when I'm not stuffing my face with food..."eating a sandwich" written down the 1st inning boxes...), how to change a flat tire, but most importantly, he taught me to be kind and empathetic toward all people, no matter how they treated you first. Keeping your mouth shut to keep the peace is not a cowardly move. (unless, everyone is like, "Hey! Let's go kill this person...or something like that) We found humor together in almost every situation, no matter how un-funny it was.
I am the perfect example that nurture wins over nature. It gives me great confidence as I raise Alex and start my own modern family.
As I sat in my parents bed and talked to my Dad for the last time, we cried together and I told him that I couldn't imagine my life with him gone. I was thinking of my future children missing the chance to meet such a great man, and wondering how my family (especially my Mom) would pick up the pieces of our life and move on. I told him that I would miss him dearly, and that he would live forever in the person he'd helped me become. I thanked him for being the most wonderful, caring father that I could ever have hoped to have and apologized for the times I made him feel sad or unappreciated (damn, those teenage years!) Lastly, I gave him permission to leave us. It seemed like he was holding on, through all his pain, for fear of leaving us alone. I assured him that we would be okay and that it was alright for him to go.*
*Confession: I might of also asked him to be my spirit guide and watch over me until we met again. Maybe I also asked him to give me signs in the future to let me know he was here and tried to work out this after-life plan... but this part totally ruins the moment. I'm good at that.
He whispered "I love you" and fell asleep.
And no, not the big sleep, people...it wasn't Hollywood scripted.
My parents were still living in Midland and I was traveling to India (*cough) I mean the panhandle to get married...Indian style! It was there, three days later that I got the call that he passed, in true Bollywood style.
My Dad would have been 64 years old today.
He would have been a proud paw paw (or whatever he would want to go by...probably Pappy, knowing him).
In a world where I often woke up feeling out of place, searching for where I belonged, he never made me feel different. He was patient, and empathetic through the years when I was self-centered and unappreciative. His greatest accomplishment was teaching me what unconditional love feels like and I am better in every way for it.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
I will never forget getting the call from my Mom that my Dad was taken to the hospital after suffering a seizure on the pool deck of the YMCA near Midland.
After tests were run and imaging taken, we were told he had brain cancer. It was a sizable tumor that would need removing immediately.
Talk about changing the lives of a family in an instant.
After trying to stay positive and recover from the shock, we were then told that there was no way to get all the tumor through surgery and that post surgery, it was time to try and maintain and/or shrink the tumor with a concoction of radiation and chemo.
The plan was so manufactured. Had it worked for others with the same illness? Think Ted Kennedy...no, not many at all. I forgot the exact survival rate for stage IV Glioblastoma, but it was bleak. Thanks for the free copy of your book though, Dr. Oncologist whose hyphenated name I have forgotten. (She was so damn optimistic all the time which I loved and hated her for.) I'm never reading your book.
 |
| After an intense family meeting about what our treatment plan was going to be...smiling is such a trained act. |
There is a kind of emotional numbness that develops when caring for a sick, loved one. I am no doctor or scientist, but I believe this numbness must occur in order to put your mind in a place that can get past the utter hell of everything that is happening and allow you to stay focused enough to care for said loved one. You end up dealing with things you never knew you were equipped to handle. Everyday life became robotic that year, and we just went through the motions of our lives. I was concentrated solely on finding ways to be there for my Dad and making sure that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he was going out, he was going out loved beyond words.
V and I got engaged, planned a wedding and got married in less than 8 weeks so that my Dad could see it. Was that selfish of me? Maybe, but I wasn't myself and I wanted more than anything to have him there and time was running out. I love Vivek so much for going with the flow of things and letting us share that happy day with sadness too. I, the daughter, kind of walked my father down the aisle and it was a perfect day for marriage and for my extended family to visit with and secretly say goodbye to their son-in-law, nephew-in-law, brother-in-law, uncle, and friend.
3 months later, he passed; it took a little over a year total after being diagnosed.
I still can't really talk about him to anyone to this day, even though it's been six years since his passing. I can tell one story or so, but if I try two, I choke up. I miss him so much.
Here are some things that I can write about my Dad though...
Being the only adopted child in my family, he and my Mom made sure that I never felt like I was being treated different in any way. I have a very vivid memory of sitting at the breakfast table at my Dad's parents' house at about 10 or 11 years old. I was eating bacon like a boss and after watching me disapprovingly for several minutes, my Dad's step mom (I will never claim any relation to her... Not even 'step'...for several reasons other than this) said, "Better watch it, Jenny, you're going to be fat." Then she proceeded to tell me why my sister wouldn't ever have to worry about that and how beautiful she was. She told me, at least I was smart. My Dad quickly intervened and told her that I also didn't need to worry about that and handed me more bacon. Thanks, Dad. It turns out I do have to worry about it a little, but eff her, right? I'll never tell her that you drove 50 feet to their pond just to create a barrier with your truck between you and her window so she couldn't see you fish after she told you not to ;)
 |
| Who's adopted (and apparently asleep) in this picture? |
My Dad was always there to support me, even when I didn't want him there. (Think swim meets and school award ceremonies). I mean, missing work to see me get the 6th grade blue team reading award was dedication.
Sorry you traveled all over the metroplex for 6 years and never saw me break a 1:07.every combination of tenths and hundredths of milliseconds in the 100 Butterfly. (1:07.51, 1:07.45, 1:07.71, etc. forever...) I just couldn't do it. We deserve t-shirts that say, "All I got were these man shoulders" and there would be arrows pointing to our man shoulders.
He came in my room every night to say 'goodnight' and 'I love you'. I remember these nights most when it was 11 PM the night before a project or paper was due. I would be in crazy, panic mode complete with hysterics because of course, I waited until literally the night before and he wouldn't even say, "well, how long have you known about this?" He would just reassure me that I would get it done.
When I became a dramatic, sullen teenager, he would try and be there for me even when I pushed him away. No need for an example here...let's just say I watched a lot of Dawson's Creek.
I was a homebody even as a teenager and would come home at or well before midnight on the weekends. I thought I was lying pretty well to my friends who asked me to spend the night when I told them I couldn't because I had stuff to do that next day early. Turns out they knew I just wanted to wake up at home and were accepting. Anyway, I would come home and my Dad would be in the kitchen microwaving ACT butter popcorn and pouring himself a caffeine-free coke. I would jump up on the counter and re-hash or analyze the night's events with him. Some of our best talks happened on those nights.
I stood on the cul-de-sac of my freshman dorm at A&M and cried like a baby when he drove off after helping me move in. I'm pretty sure he did too as he drove away. I cried a little less the remaining three years on moving day.
 |
| A homemade Valentine he sent to me my first year out of college. It's a canoe made out of tree bark and he used fire to "age" the back of it. He's so goofy and probably did this on company time. One of the many tokens he sent to me while away at school. |
He taught me how to camp, how to keep score at baseball games (which I still do when I'm not stuffing my face with food..."eating a sandwich" written down the 1st inning boxes...), how to change a flat tire, but most importantly, he taught me to be kind and empathetic toward all people, no matter how they treated you first. Keeping your mouth shut to keep the peace is not a cowardly move. (unless, everyone is like, "Hey! Let's go kill this person...or something like that) We found humor together in almost every situation, no matter how un-funny it was.
I am the perfect example that nurture wins over nature. It gives me great confidence as I raise Alex and start my own modern family.
As I sat in my parents bed and talked to my Dad for the last time, we cried together and I told him that I couldn't imagine my life with him gone. I was thinking of my future children missing the chance to meet such a great man, and wondering how my family (especially my Mom) would pick up the pieces of our life and move on. I told him that I would miss him dearly, and that he would live forever in the person he'd helped me become. I thanked him for being the most wonderful, caring father that I could ever have hoped to have and apologized for the times I made him feel sad or unappreciated (damn, those teenage years!) Lastly, I gave him permission to leave us. It seemed like he was holding on, through all his pain, for fear of leaving us alone. I assured him that we would be okay and that it was alright for him to go.*
*Confession: I might of also asked him to be my spirit guide and watch over me until we met again. Maybe I also asked him to give me signs in the future to let me know he was here and tried to work out this after-life plan... but this part totally ruins the moment. I'm good at that.
He whispered "I love you" and fell asleep.
And no, not the big sleep, people...it wasn't Hollywood scripted.
 |
| I love you, Jenny |
My parents were still living in Midland and I was traveling to India (*cough) I mean the panhandle to get married...Indian style! It was there, three days later that I got the call that he passed, in true Bollywood style.
My Dad would have been 64 years old today.
He would have been a proud paw paw (or whatever he would want to go by...probably Pappy, knowing him).
In a world where I often woke up feeling out of place, searching for where I belonged, he never made me feel different. He was patient, and empathetic through the years when I was self-centered and unappreciative. His greatest accomplishment was teaching me what unconditional love feels like and I am better in every way for it.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
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