The Hardest Goodbye

My Hero

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On June 29th I lost the first man I ever laid eyes on, the first man I ever loved, my hero... My Dad.

Those of you who know me, know of his long hard struggle with Cancer over the past 7 years.  Everytime it popped up he beat it down into remission.  He always told us as kids that he was invincible, he was Superman to us. 

We had all just returned from a roadtrip back from California on Thursday afternoon.  He was calling us all the way home trying to guess where we were.  He always did that, it was a game we played while on the road.  He always seemed to call us around his hometown of Eugene, Oregon at one particular rest area just north of there.  So I'd sit and take a rest from the driving and listen to him tell me about all his teenage exploits running around that neck of the woods.  The road will be more lonely without his calls.

I had brought my niece with me for this trip down, we spent time horseback riding, hanging out on the beaches and checking in with Mom and Dad to let them know where we were and that we were having fun.  Mom kept us informed that after all the tests Dad had suffered through they finally determined that his cancer was coming from the lungs and that he would finally start his aggressive chemo and radiation treatments, after waiting 3 months worth of tests, on Friday.  My parents have raised my niece, so she asked me if I could keep her until Friday night.  I said, you bet.  I thought I would plan on bringing down some food to barbeque and celebrate Dad's road to recovery.

Friday morning came.
I didn't get alot of sleep, maybe about 5 hours, when I sprang from bed around 8:30am.  I had that feeling you have when you are late for work and overslept.  I rushed around the house with a sense of urgency... what did I have to do today?   I  went outside and I looked at the giant flower basket that my Dad gave me on Memorial Day, a basket of pink impatients.   The phone rang about 8:45am.

I ran into the house but didn't get to it in time, so I checked the caller ID, it was Mom.  I wondered why is she calling me so early... then my heart sunk.

I dialed the phone and she answered, sobbing  and panicked.  He's not breathing, she told me.  Then she fell silent and I could hear the paramedics in the background, firing questions at her and yelling orders at each other.  I said "Mom talk to me."  she said "Kelly... what do you want me to say."  Then her voice got so quiet and small, and I heard her begging him, pleading "Please Gary breathe, just breathe Gary."

My turn for silence while I listened, my heart broke and emptied every bit of happiness and filled back up with pain and the sorrow.  The deepest sorrow I have ever felt in my life.

She asked me to come, but she didn't have to ask.  She said with a voice a little more relieved that they got him breathing again and in that same small voice asked me if I could come to her.  There's my Superman, I thought, just hang in there Dad.  She didn't have to ask, I was already getting dressed shirt on inside out, barely able to see through the tears that just would not stop coming.  I woke Rasmus, my words were blunt and stunted... I didn't know what to say.  We had to go now.  My niece, what do I tell her, how do I tell her.  Iw oke her up and tried to be as gentle as possible, but let her know that she had to hurry and hurry now, we had to go.

We got into the car and we drove.  I drove as fast as I could wishing for once I did not live an hour drive away from my Parents, then my brother called me around Boeing Field at 9:13am.  I've never heard my brother's voice filled with so much pain.  "He didn't make it."  All I could say was "No, please no", over and over.  He cried for me, "Sis where are you, please come."  I sobbed hard and told him between breaths I am coming.

When I got there 15 minutes later, there were cop cars parked outside, but no ambulance anymore.  There were so many cars in front that I had to park a house away across the street.  When I entered the yard, it was filled with old family friends and some new ones from their church.  As I passed them, I saw their faces looking back at me filled with sadness.  I asked someone to take my niece, I had to get to my Mother and I had no idea what was beyond the front door, so I didn't want her to be traumatized.  One of the ladies there took hold of her and I ran for the door.

When I entered, the living room was full of people.  A police Chaplin was present and took my arm and told me that I needed to leave.  I looked at him and told him "This is my DAD!", and Rasmus informed him "She just got here."  He released me and the sea of people parted.

What I saw, I will never forget.  My Mother on a wooden chair, slumped over my father, who lied still on the floor.  Everything within me began to shake and I cried.  I cried until my face hurt and my body ached.  I went to her side and she clasped my hand in hers, our tear filled eyes met and we sobbed while I grabbed her and held her head close to my chest and we cried together.  My Brother came to us, we all embraced and we cried, all of us in pain yet trying to comfort each other when the only thing we had to share was the sadness of our loss.

After the initial shock, the cops left.  I did not leave, nor did my Mother or my Brother.  My Mother got up from the chair and I sat in it next to my Dad, held his still warm hand in mine and talked to him.  They left him there,  breathing mouthpiece still in his mouth and his eyes staring open.   I asked out loud "Why did they leave him this way, why didn't they close his eyes."   I looked into his face,  his eyes were scared, he looked small and frail to me now.  He was not my Superman how I knew him, he no longer looked invincible.  I wept. 

They told us that they could not move or touch him until the coroner gave the word.  We waited for what seemed to be an eternity, at least an 1 1/2 hours had passed when our family friend who is a retired Pierce County Sheriff came in and told us that it was okay to remove the gear the paramedics left behind.  I knelt over his head while our family friend remove the equipment in his mouth, I closed his eyes for him and felt his last tears on my fingertips as we helped him finally be at rest.  We took a sheet and covered him and waited for them to come and pick him up.

The rest of that day is a bit of a blur.  My Mother spoke to the Doctor and from what she had described and how fast he went he said that it was likely that a blod clot from his lungs restricted his airway.  That would have explained why the paramedics could not get any air into him despite giving him 4 shots of adrenaline, breathing for him, trying to shock him and CPR.  She was told that even in a hospital, there would have been little they could have done to change the outcome. 

We all stayed with my Mother until the 12th hour.  Many times in silence, other times reliving what we had just been through, sitting and questioning our actions, if there was anything we could have done, why did this happen when he was one hour away and filled with hope for his first appoinment for  chemo and radiation treatments  for his lungs.

We don't have any answers, we still don't.  We are trying to figure things out and make sense of it all.  The "It's the way of life and it is natural" just doesn't seem to cut it.  Maybe in time, maybe.

My Dad left this life unprepared.  My Mother was besides herself with the loss of her soul mate, and had nothing.  My parents were never rich people, often times when we were children they would go a couple days without eating to make sure my brother and I were fed.  While I didn't grow up with alot of nice things, a silver spoon in my mouth and wore alot of hand-me-downs, I was rich with one thing, the most important thing of all and that was Love.  Never a day in my life growing up in our shabby little run down house, shabbiest on the block, did I ever feel like I was missing out on anything the other kids could have and had,  because of the love and support of my wonderful parents.

My Brother and I shouldered the responsibility of seeing to his final needs.  For once we both miraculously had surplus enough to handle it.  I will not ever forget sitting in the funeral home, my Mother scared of what she was going to do when the funeral director handed her cost sheet.  My brother got up from the couch and went to his car and got his checkbook.  As the pen touched the checkbook, he broke.  My heart sunk and I cried for him, I cried for us. 
This was really it. 

My mother expressed his final wishes, he wanted a bagpiper to play Amazing Grace at his graveside, they had both already picked out a headstone at the memorial park that they both liked... one with roses, their flower.  We had an obituary to write and we needed flowers for the service.  It was my turn to step forward, and I did so like my Brother before me, without a thought of anything but giving him everything he wanted.  I spent 2 days picking the flowers, I wanted them to be glorious and huge like all the flowers he had ever showered me and my Mother with while he was with us.  I chose all white.  White roses, lilies, orchids, carnations, mums, daisies stock and trailing ferns.  There was only one flower of color.  Amidst the lavish of white roses a single red rose in the middle of the casket spray was placed symbolically for my mother and father's love... the red rose was their special flower.   After searching and searching I finally found a bagpiper who was the right one.  Among his impressive accolades, he played with the Seattle Symphony and when I spoke to him, the first questions out of his mouth where "I'm sorry for your loss" and he spoke of the passing of his own father and we talked more about mine.  This was the Piper for my Dad. 

We asked Dad's best friend whom he worked 11 years with to play at the services, he readily accepted and he also asked if he could play the interlude music as people were ushered into the service, he said he wanted to do this for him and we could not refuse such a generous and heart felt offer.  My Brother had picked the Pallbearers, all family and friends, no one refused.

While we sat speaking with the Bishop of my Parents church, who was presiding over the service and is that same family friend who was there the day of his passing, he asked us about the Eulogy.  He said if we did not have anyone, that he could arrange a speaker from the church to get up and say a few words.  I had just spoken with Ras about this the night before.  I told him that I didn't feel that my Mother would be able to handle such a task and he agreed that the widow should be allowed to grieve.  I knew my Brother did not like speaking in front of crowds so that left me.  I felt so strongly that it had to be someone from his family, someone who knew him like no friend or stand-in asked to speak on on the families behalf, but I didn't think that I could do it either.

It was as if someone pushed me off the couch from within and before I could reason with myself, I spoke up.  "I will do it."  The Bishop, my Brother, my Mother and Rasmus all turned their eyes to me.  Rasmus asked me "Are you sure?  You were just saying that you didn't think you could do it."  I was scared as hell inside, I looked at my Brother and my Mother and at my Husband and I found strength.  "I have to do it, it feels like the right thing to do."

My next days were spent thinking on the way to properly say goodbye and pay tribute to my sweet, wonderful and sometimes quirky Father.  I wanted it to be right, I wanted it to speak to those who knew him and I wanted it to reflect everything about my Father that made him the special guy he was.  His humor, his willingness to give you the shirt off his back, his love, his warmth, his stupid flannel shirts and caps, his ability to laugh at himself, his ability to make every person he met love and adore him.

I wanted to handwirte the Eulogy.  I felt a need to feel it, from my heart to the pen and to the paper.  Rasmus bought me a special moleskine journal and I filled it with outlines, quips, ideas, poems, memories and the start of a rough draft.  I recopied the draft and polished it up so that I could read my own handwriting, I made the print large so that I could read it through the inevitable tears that would come.

Friday, a week after he passed the funeral home held a private viewing for the family.  I went to see him with Rasmus, my Mother had arrived early and given him his last haircut and my Brother was already there when we arrived.    I cried again, he finally looked at peace.  Rasmus left me alone with him and I whispered through tears words only for him.  I pressed my cheek against his, like we always used to do, for the last time and kissed him on the forehead.  No more tests, no more pain.  He is free and at peace now.

Yesterday we laid my Dad to rest.  The service came, and it was time for my words to carry the tribute, honor, recognition, friendship and love of all those sitting before me to my Father, who I know was there yesterday standing next to me listening.  I have never before stood before one single person, let alone a crowd of over 50, and open myself to the barest part of my heart and soul.  But I did, I stood before them and looked down at my Father lying a few feet away and I honored him.  We were reminded of his jokes, the qualities that we all admired, the empty place in life he left behind that can never ever be replaced or filled.  It was the hardest goodbye.  I handed my Mother the book of thoughts and the eulogy that I wrote for her to keep when I stepped down from the podium.  I was told during the loving embraces after the service that it was beautiful and that he would have been happy, I felt at peace inside, that I do feel he was happy. 

All those who were there, his family and his friends, we all laughed through our tears, clutched those dear next to us and remembered my Hero, my Friend, my Father.

I love you, Dad.
I will miss you until I see you again.