STRUGGLES

The Death Hole

I Miss You Dad.

My Dad died eleven years ago. He was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma in 2007. One of the very first things I learned is that cancer really sucks. It sucks bad. The second thing I learned is that chemo sucks almost as much. Three years of chemotherapy. Mouth sores. No appetite. In and out of the hospital. Blood transfusions, platelet transfusions, bone marrow biopsies. All of them eventually leading down the very same path..

You see your Dad sick. You watch him decline and there is not a damn thing you can do about it. It’s like being in a packed movie theater and watching a tragically sad movie. You know how it’s going to end, but you can’t get up to leave your seat. The moment Dad died; a giant hole opened up. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone, just like that. There is no in-between. It’s not like you get a practice run. You’ve never known your life without them. One day they are here, the next day they are not. It’s both just as simple and as complicated as that.

Life as I Knew It

Dad was healthy, strong, 6’4” tall, and always on the go. One of his favorite past times was cooking on the grill. I still recall a time when I was about six years old, there were really heavy storms during the night. We woke up to no power and a stove that wasn’t working. Dad went outside and fired up the barbecue. By 8 a.m. that morning, we had a complete gourmet barbecue breakfast. Eggs, toast, potatoes, and bacon. Best breakfast I have ever had to this day.

When I was nine, I spent a lot of time recovering from multiple bouts of strep throat. It soon became time to have my tonsils removed. I was such a skinny kid, and I can still remember Dad being so concerned. Homemade soups, mashed potatoes, and puddings. For an entire week, he whipped up his famous milkshakes every single night. Anything to fatten me up.

Dad was one of a kind and had a heart of gold. He could fix any car. He loved art museums. He would never ask for directions when driving. He had a quick wit and cursed a lot. He had the best sense of humor. One thing I loved the most is that he would never hesitate to help anybody, at any time.

Goodbye To Everything

Dad was the strongest person I have ever known. After various chemotherapy cocktails and a failed bone marrow transplant, it became very clear nothing was going to work. About a week before he died, Dad became extremely weak. The oncologist suggested admitting him to the hospital, but there were no guarantees. Otherwise, it would be hospice. Dad hated the hospital with a fiery passion, and I know he sensed something at that moment. His eyes met mine, and he looked at me in a way I had never seen before. Dad was tired. Tired of hospitals. Tired of illness. The time had come to stay at home. It was time for hospice.

For the last three days of his life, he was mostly not conscious. Dad was just too weak. On the last night, his breathing became distinctly harsh. The end was coming nearer. I sat with him and held his hand, taking in every last detail of him. Trying to imprint him perfectly into my memories. His thick black hair. Strong hands. The man I had never known my life without. I was lost in thought when he squeezed my hand with a strength he hadn’t had in months. I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. Dad peeled his eyes open and croaked out three words- “I love you.” He never spoke again after that and died six hours later. I cried what felt like many lifetimes of tears all over his pajamas.

Something New

I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot lately. On how much my life has changed since he died. How much I have changed. And how I can no longer share that with him. We are a lot alike and sometimes I wonder if I am becoming him. I find myself saying and doing things exactly as he did. Didn’t we say we would never become our parents?

Over the years, I have noticed my grief morphing and changing. Sometimes taking on different forms. But that grief permanently remains a shadow deep inside my heart. The great grief shapeshifter.

I realize I miss my dad in some way, shape, or form, every single day. Some days I miss him just a little bit. Some days I miss him in the middle. Some days I miss him in everything. The older I get, the more I miss him in different ways. I miss what was. I miss what could have been. The relationship we could have had. I often wonder, what advice would he give to me now?

A few months ago, I became quite sick and ended up in the hospital. I was sitting in my room, feeling generally pissed off at life and that’s when it happened. I felt Dad. I felt his scent. I felt my childhood. I felt comforted in a way I hadn’t since before he died. And I cried.

But that’s when I knew, without a shadow of a doubt. They still love us. They’ve become like the wind. Nothing in this life is forever. Maybe that is part of what makes life so special?