March 25, 2025
I started writing this in March of 2024 and never finished. I put it down for over a year, but I think it’s time for me to finish it.
I don't particularly enjoy writing anymore, but I feel compelled to write this. I haven't been able to stop drafting it in my head for days despite my best efforts to push it aside and distract with art, games or cleaning. Compounding on my general dislike for writing is the fact that this is not the typical content that I post on this website. It’s not cute, it’s not fun. Maybe it’ll help me. If you’d like to bail, here’s your warning. I’m about to write about my dad’s death.
My dad died on March 6th, 10, 11, 12, 18 384 days ago as of the time I'm writing this. I found out my dad was sick with stage 4 lung cancer in July of 2023. Even though this was an advanced stage cancer, my mother assured me that we still had time. The doctors said that it was only considered stage 4 because it had spread and the outlook on treatment was favorable. It was concerning but I remained positive. We were told that many people live for years after cancer treatment. My parents live 1,400 miles away. I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like. My mom called me every time he had an appointment. They kept me up to date on treatments and the status.
I got married in September 2023 and was so happy my parents could attend. My dad was somewhat weakened by chemo treatments, but he and my mother still had a great time. He and I danced to Unknown Legend by Neil Young. This was his favorite song and he named his first boat after it. When I visited for Christmas, he seemed so much better. He looked healthy, his hair was growing back, and he had even gained a little weight. Things were trending upwards; the next step was radiation to address the lesions on his brain.
The radiation started early 2024, he was hospitalized a few weeks after for an unrelated infection from his weakened immune system. While in the hospital he was told that no cancer was present in his lungs in the chest x-ray. Three weeks after he went back into the hospital after my mother found him barely responsive on the floor. She called me that day in tears explaining that the doctors were discussing intubation due to a severe case of pneumonia. He was treated with antibiotics, and they decided not to intubate him after he started improving. Three days before he died the hospital had moved him out the ICU and the plan had been for my father to be transferred to a nursing facility to regain strength before he returned home.
Seemingly out of nowhere, his body started deteriorating rapidly. My mother called me on the morning of March 5th explaining that she had just been told my dad would not make it through the weekend. He was “cocooning”, stopped eating and drinking, getting ready to die. I had never heard the use of that word in this context. I was able to catch a flight at midnight. I had this delusional outlook on the situation prior to arriving to the hospital. I thought that if we were all there, he would get better again and everything would be ok, I could get a few more years with my dad.
The following day was one of the worst of my life. Seeing a loved one suffering like that is something that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. As I sat in his hospital room with my mother, brother, sister-in-law and a close friend from my childhood. I had to face the fact that my father was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
When I had that realization, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room. His condition began to worsen so quickly. He was barely able to talk when I arrived at 8am and after 2 hours he wasn't lucid anymore. Have you ever heard a death rattle? I sure hope you never have to. I hate seeing my mother cry and it destroyed me to know how badly she was hurting. This was her husband; they were married for 41 years, and she still wears her wedding ring.
The hospice nurse arrived sometime in the afternoon to explain the difference between the current inpatient level of care and options for hospice. I had always thought that hospice was an in-home service but apparently there's an option for hospice within an inpatient hospitalization. My dad clearly would not have survived the trip home and likely would have been in more pain. We made the obvious choice for hospice service within the hospital. Which essentially meant that he would receive medication for pain and anxiety on a regular basis to keep him comfortable. I’m grateful for that nurse, she was kind, and it was easier to accept what was happening with the knowledge that there was someone on staff who cared.
About an hour later, the staff wheeled in a cart with apples, water, granola bars, a carafe of coffee and a cardboard tent thing with a dove graphic on it and the words “our hearts are with you in these difficult times”. I really hated this. I know the hospital does that as a warm gesture to families but looking at it made me feel ill.
We made the difficult decision to head home around 5pm. I told my dad I loved him and would see him the next day. Those are the last words I ever said to him. My mom got the call at 7:20pm. The hospital told her all the nurses were in the room when he passed. I don’t know if this is something they tell all the families, but at least it brought some peace in the moment.
The following day and subsequent week would be a blur. All the post death activities are so draining. Making calls to the funeral home, cemetery, gravestone store, going to appointments with all those places. Then all the other calls to notify relatives, cancelling medical appointments, calling the pharmacy. My mom and I tackled these tasks together.
Because of the timing of my dad's death, a mandatory waiting period for cremation and the crematorium hours of operation we had to wait about a week to bury him. My family would spend that time together. My friend and I would make the composition for etching for the gravestone. My brother, SIL and my husband all cooked meals. My husband also helped my mother make a desert. I mention this specifically because she had purchased the ingredients to make it for my dad when he “got better”. Being able to share this together was cathartic.
I would be lying if I said that I didn't have a lot of heartfelt moments with my family during this time. I don’t want to discount that. However, grief is cruel and unpredictable. I felt like a ghost sometimes, like a shell. I got so angry about little things. I know people are generally sincere with condolences and there’s never a perfect thing to say, but at first, I would get annoyed with anyone who gave me some sort of advice or gave a general statement. Sometimes I could forget and feel normal for a little bit until this voice pops in my brain to say, “your dad’s dead.” This still happens sometimes in the current day, and it sucks.
I regret not calling my dad more, not watching things he recommended. I regret checking out when he told the same stories over and over again. My dad was a great storyteller. I did not appreciate this enough. Even though our relationship was far from perfect, most of all, I regret not telling him I love him enough. It hasn’t really been common for my family to say that out loud. My brother even references this in his eulogy. I can only hope that he heard my last words to him. I hope he knew that I love him. I’m going to end on a cliche, try to enjoy the moments with your family while you have them.
I love you dad.
