It comes as no surprise to anyone who follows us on facebook that I lost my father in the early hours on Jan 15th. His death came quickly, unexpected really. He started bleeding continuously after his surgery in the beginning of January, before that really, and we were frustrated that no one could give us solid answers as to why. His surgeons said it was from the cancer whereas his oncologist said it was from the surgery.
It was a moot point at the end of the day because bottom line was he was bleeding, they couldn't stop it, and his bone marrow stopped producing red blood cells to replenish what he was losing.
On my way to work on Friday the 11th my mother called me to say that they were making the decision to stop all treatments. An ultrasound revealed the cancer had spread to his liver and that his pelvic area was so damaged that there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding because he wouldn't heal. His body had started to blow up with water and he wasn't even able to stand on his legs anymore. I sat in my work parking lot as her words of "He will only have days to weeks left" echoed through my head. I walked blinded by tears into my office and straight into my boss's office. He took one look at my face and without hesitation jumped up from his chair and pulled me into his arms. He cradled me as he would one of his children as I heaved sobs into his chest as I choked out that my father only would have days left. He told me to leave, to be with my father and take the following week off to spend with my family. I nodded my head in understanding then had the painful job of filling in my co-workers.
It was a moot point at the end of the day because bottom line was he was bleeding, they couldn't stop it, and his bone marrow stopped producing red blood cells to replenish what he was losing.
On my way to work on Friday the 11th my mother called me to say that they were making the decision to stop all treatments. An ultrasound revealed the cancer had spread to his liver and that his pelvic area was so damaged that there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding because he wouldn't heal. His body had started to blow up with water and he wasn't even able to stand on his legs anymore. I sat in my work parking lot as her words of "He will only have days to weeks left" echoed through my head. I walked blinded by tears into my office and straight into my boss's office. He took one look at my face and without hesitation jumped up from his chair and pulled me into his arms. He cradled me as he would one of his children as I heaved sobs into his chest as I choked out that my father only would have days left. He told me to leave, to be with my father and take the following week off to spend with my family. I nodded my head in understanding then had the painful job of filling in my co-workers.
I left minutes later racing for the hospital trying to compose myself. I did not want my father to see me this upset, it would have scared him. I walked into my father's hospital room and plastered a smile on my face as I greeted him warmly, he was pleasantly surprised to see me there as it was a work day. I gave him the weak excuse that my boss was generous enough to let me off for that day and all of the next week so I could spend it with him. He never questioned and looked at me with his kind brown eyes and took my words at face value. The following hours were a blur of meeting with a palliative care doctor, a hospice nurse, and residents who had the unfortunate job to come into the room, ask him the same bullshit questions of "How do you feel today?"
In a family meeting room down the hall with my two sisters and my mother we met with the palliative care doctor who was so very kind but delivered what we all feared, that it will most likely be a few days rather than weeks. What would happen is he would slowly bleed out, he would become very tired and maybe a little confused until he fell asleep and then would never wake up.
She left us in the room to process and grieve separate from my father while she went to talk to him about it. He had to sign a DNR and agree that he didn't want to be put on a respirator or have CPR performed. She came back and had said that she explained to my father what exactly what was happening, what he was facing, and asked him if he wanted to be resuscitated. At that point, there would be nothing to resuscitate him for. His quality of life was gone and all that would happen is they would prolong the inevitable and make all of us suffer to see him on breathing machines. She said he said he understood and had agreed to sign a DNR. Later while just my sister Maria and I were in the room he asked us "So what did you take away from your meeting with Dr. ****?"
I glanced nervously at Maria and she calmly asked "What did you think she was saying?"
He said "Well, she asked if I wanted CPR and for them to pump on my chest. I absolutely want that. I want a second chance."
I had to dip my head down below the bed and bite my tongue to stop the tears. Maria continued and asked what he thought that would do to us, to see him on breathing machines and how that would scare us. He thought about it for a second and said unconvinced, "Yeah, I guess so."
A few uncomfortable minutes passed before he spoke again. He told us of a "dream" he had been having for a few days. The weather here had been so cold and cloudy every single day that my father hadn't seen the sun in days. He had been in the hospital for nearly three weeks and hadn't breathed in any fresh air. He described that he sees back at The Land (land where his family grew up) the open field where the large pond is. He said it's sunny and warm and he can hear the fountain rippling the water. There is a flat rock on one end of the pond and he told us that he can see Jesus on that rock and he sees himself kneeling in front of him. He said "But he doesn't say anything or reach out to me. I don't think he wants me yet."
"How do you feel when you're kneeling in front of Jesus?" Maria asked in silent awe.
My father tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Warm. And calm."
In my head I thought He sees Jesus. He may not be reaching out to him yet, but he will soon.
We were there for hours on Friday and every day until he died. On average I spent close to 9-10 hours a day with him as did my mother. Both my sisters were there as much as they could be and my brother too. On Saturday morning I packed up my suitcase with enough clothes to stay a week at my mothers and blindly packed outfits for a wake and funeral. Saturday night my oldest sister Ruthann and I had a wonderful idea that his diabetes be damned, we are going to cook one hell of a meal for my father and give him whatever he wants. We filled him with cake, and peppermint hot chocolate, I made him fillet mignon and he had his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream. I rubbed his swollen feet and calves while Ruthann washed his hair and rubbed his shoulders.
I had purchased him a laptop so those last few days he was able to skype with his family, he was able to see his grandchildren and it made him so unbelievably happy. When we left the hospital at night we would all conference call and skype when we got home. I stayed with my mother every night and took care of her and my brother spent Saturday night with my father. He never really understood what was going on, maybe he did on some level but my father did.not.want.to.die. He swore he'd be fine, he'd start crying and say he wanted 20 more years, he had moments of being so angry that this cancer was killing his body.
But he still smiled, and joked, and laughed. He wasn't alone for a second. We never let a moment go by without telling him how much we loved him, or how he kind and generous and gentle he was. How he always showed us, even if he never could understand it, undying love and selflessness. He was constantly touched, and hugged, and kissed.
One night as I was holding his hand I asked him if he could comprehend how much he was loved and he point blankly said "No, I don't think I know how to love."
In a family meeting room down the hall with my two sisters and my mother we met with the palliative care doctor who was so very kind but delivered what we all feared, that it will most likely be a few days rather than weeks. What would happen is he would slowly bleed out, he would become very tired and maybe a little confused until he fell asleep and then would never wake up.
She left us in the room to process and grieve separate from my father while she went to talk to him about it. He had to sign a DNR and agree that he didn't want to be put on a respirator or have CPR performed. She came back and had said that she explained to my father what exactly what was happening, what he was facing, and asked him if he wanted to be resuscitated. At that point, there would be nothing to resuscitate him for. His quality of life was gone and all that would happen is they would prolong the inevitable and make all of us suffer to see him on breathing machines. She said he said he understood and had agreed to sign a DNR. Later while just my sister Maria and I were in the room he asked us "So what did you take away from your meeting with Dr. ****?"
I glanced nervously at Maria and she calmly asked "What did you think she was saying?"
He said "Well, she asked if I wanted CPR and for them to pump on my chest. I absolutely want that. I want a second chance."
I had to dip my head down below the bed and bite my tongue to stop the tears. Maria continued and asked what he thought that would do to us, to see him on breathing machines and how that would scare us. He thought about it for a second and said unconvinced, "Yeah, I guess so."
A few uncomfortable minutes passed before he spoke again. He told us of a "dream" he had been having for a few days. The weather here had been so cold and cloudy every single day that my father hadn't seen the sun in days. He had been in the hospital for nearly three weeks and hadn't breathed in any fresh air. He described that he sees back at The Land (land where his family grew up) the open field where the large pond is. He said it's sunny and warm and he can hear the fountain rippling the water. There is a flat rock on one end of the pond and he told us that he can see Jesus on that rock and he sees himself kneeling in front of him. He said "But he doesn't say anything or reach out to me. I don't think he wants me yet."
"How do you feel when you're kneeling in front of Jesus?" Maria asked in silent awe.
My father tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Warm. And calm."
In my head I thought He sees Jesus. He may not be reaching out to him yet, but he will soon.
We were there for hours on Friday and every day until he died. On average I spent close to 9-10 hours a day with him as did my mother. Both my sisters were there as much as they could be and my brother too. On Saturday morning I packed up my suitcase with enough clothes to stay a week at my mothers and blindly packed outfits for a wake and funeral. Saturday night my oldest sister Ruthann and I had a wonderful idea that his diabetes be damned, we are going to cook one hell of a meal for my father and give him whatever he wants. We filled him with cake, and peppermint hot chocolate, I made him fillet mignon and he had his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream. I rubbed his swollen feet and calves while Ruthann washed his hair and rubbed his shoulders.
I had purchased him a laptop so those last few days he was able to skype with his family, he was able to see his grandchildren and it made him so unbelievably happy. When we left the hospital at night we would all conference call and skype when we got home. I stayed with my mother every night and took care of her and my brother spent Saturday night with my father. He never really understood what was going on, maybe he did on some level but my father did.not.want.to.die. He swore he'd be fine, he'd start crying and say he wanted 20 more years, he had moments of being so angry that this cancer was killing his body.
But he still smiled, and joked, and laughed. He wasn't alone for a second. We never let a moment go by without telling him how much we loved him, or how he kind and generous and gentle he was. How he always showed us, even if he never could understand it, undying love and selflessness. He was constantly touched, and hugged, and kissed.
One night as I was holding his hand I asked him if he could comprehend how much he was loved and he point blankly said "No, I don't think I know how to love."
I said "Daddy, how can you even say that? Everything you have ever done has been out of love!"
And he told me again the story of some girl who broke up with him back in the 60's and she said "Joe, you don't know how to love." And that has stuck with him even after 40 years of marriage and 4 devoted children. I told him "Don't you DARE let some insignificant person who has had no impact on your life whatsoever taint what you are. You are the model of generosity and love. Never, and I mean never have I ever doubted a day in my life that you didn't love us." And I was angry in that moment, angry at that young girl who said something so casually that stuck with my father until the day he died.
I got to the hospital late Monday morning. Ruthann had been there already and helped him eat a hearty breakfast but she said he quickly went to sleep afterwards and hadn't really woken up too much since then. She was exhausted and said she was going to go home and nap for a few hours and then come back later. My mother was speaking with doctors and my father was having his colostomy bag changed. He was being futzed with and in his weakened state that took a toll on his body. After the stoma nurse left the temp in my father's room started to climb. I was holding his hand and his body started shaking and he looked at me with such panic in his eyes. Because of his body swelling with the water he was on oxygen and found it very hard to catch his breath.
Between the way he was shaking, his breathing, and the unresponsiveness of his eyes I knew at that moment that we could maybe only have hours left. Patrick wasn't due to get to the hospital until after work, Maria wasn't planning on coming at all that day, and Ruthann had just left to go home. My father's right hand gripped tightly on to mine while he started shaking uncontrollably and I had to even my breathing to remain calm. He was starting to gasp for air and I had to sooth him by reminding him to take deep breaths in through his nose where the oxygen was and out through his mouth. My mother came back into the room and I told her in a harsh whisper to tell everyone to get there NOW. There was no way in hell that his children weren't going to be here to say their last goodbyes. I called his nurse trying to hide my panic and told her that we needed something to calm him down immediately.
My father closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. I kept repeating over and over softly that he was alright, we were here with him, and he just had to focus on taking deep breaths in and out. He kept repeating "I'm Ok...I'll be fine....I'll be fine.....I'll be fine..." His nurse came to give him some morphine which helps take away the need to gasp for air. What seemed like hours but was probably just minutes after getting the morphine his body stopped shaking and his breathing became more even. He slowly fell asleep as I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.
Maria and Ruthann showed up soon after that. My father never really did wake up. Sometimes he'd have a few seconds of lucidness where he'd talk with us but for the most part he just slept. My mother put down the arms of the bed and snuggled into his neck. He'd smile and tilt his head closer to hers and they'd lay there for a few minutes like that. Patrick showed up at 4 PM with his overnight bag in tow. My father didn't even open his eyes when Patrick bounded into the room, seemingly unbelieving that I called them here with the knowledge that this would be the last time we'd see him alive. We took our turns while he was sleeping to reassure him that we would take care of Mom, that soon he would be whole, that soon he would feel the sun. While my mother and Patrick were skyping with his daughters I had tried to hug my father as best as I could. With my ear right next to his mouth he whispered to me "Take care of them, keep the family together." I cried "I will Daddy, I promise."
And he told me again the story of some girl who broke up with him back in the 60's and she said "Joe, you don't know how to love." And that has stuck with him even after 40 years of marriage and 4 devoted children. I told him "Don't you DARE let some insignificant person who has had no impact on your life whatsoever taint what you are. You are the model of generosity and love. Never, and I mean never have I ever doubted a day in my life that you didn't love us." And I was angry in that moment, angry at that young girl who said something so casually that stuck with my father until the day he died.
I got to the hospital late Monday morning. Ruthann had been there already and helped him eat a hearty breakfast but she said he quickly went to sleep afterwards and hadn't really woken up too much since then. She was exhausted and said she was going to go home and nap for a few hours and then come back later. My mother was speaking with doctors and my father was having his colostomy bag changed. He was being futzed with and in his weakened state that took a toll on his body. After the stoma nurse left the temp in my father's room started to climb. I was holding his hand and his body started shaking and he looked at me with such panic in his eyes. Because of his body swelling with the water he was on oxygen and found it very hard to catch his breath.
Between the way he was shaking, his breathing, and the unresponsiveness of his eyes I knew at that moment that we could maybe only have hours left. Patrick wasn't due to get to the hospital until after work, Maria wasn't planning on coming at all that day, and Ruthann had just left to go home. My father's right hand gripped tightly on to mine while he started shaking uncontrollably and I had to even my breathing to remain calm. He was starting to gasp for air and I had to sooth him by reminding him to take deep breaths in through his nose where the oxygen was and out through his mouth. My mother came back into the room and I told her in a harsh whisper to tell everyone to get there NOW. There was no way in hell that his children weren't going to be here to say their last goodbyes. I called his nurse trying to hide my panic and told her that we needed something to calm him down immediately.
My father closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. I kept repeating over and over softly that he was alright, we were here with him, and he just had to focus on taking deep breaths in and out. He kept repeating "I'm Ok...I'll be fine....I'll be fine.....I'll be fine..." His nurse came to give him some morphine which helps take away the need to gasp for air. What seemed like hours but was probably just minutes after getting the morphine his body stopped shaking and his breathing became more even. He slowly fell asleep as I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.
Maria and Ruthann showed up soon after that. My father never really did wake up. Sometimes he'd have a few seconds of lucidness where he'd talk with us but for the most part he just slept. My mother put down the arms of the bed and snuggled into his neck. He'd smile and tilt his head closer to hers and they'd lay there for a few minutes like that. Patrick showed up at 4 PM with his overnight bag in tow. My father didn't even open his eyes when Patrick bounded into the room, seemingly unbelieving that I called them here with the knowledge that this would be the last time we'd see him alive. We took our turns while he was sleeping to reassure him that we would take care of Mom, that soon he would be whole, that soon he would feel the sun. While my mother and Patrick were skyping with his daughters I had tried to hug my father as best as I could. With my ear right next to his mouth he whispered to me "Take care of them, keep the family together." I cried "I will Daddy, I promise."
We were comforted knowing that my brother was going to be there. Eventually Maria went home, Ruthann stayed with mom that night so I could go home and take care of my cat. I didn't want to leave but Patrick was shuffling me out of the room. I draped myself over my father for one last hug and he weakly lifted his right arm to wrap around me and pat my back. I kissed his forehead and promised him that I will see him in the morning and that I loved him so incredibly much. With me standing on his left side and my brother holding his right hand he said in his best gruff voice "I'm staying here tonight Pops so you won't be alone." His voice caught and I saw tears well up in his eyes as he continued "No, you will never be alone."
I hugged my brother tight and whispered "Thank you." Thank you for stepping up like none of us could. We all knew that he would die that night.
When I got home I cried to Sheri until I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to take some advil PM but I knew that I would be woken up in the middle of the night.
Around 4 in the morning I woke up with a start. I glanced at the clock with apprehension and saw the time and thought "Maybe I was wrong." I got up to pee and that's when it happened. My phone started ringing and I saw it was Ruthann. I answered "He's gone, isn't he." It wasn't a question. It was a matter of fact.
"Yeah, it just happened. PJ was holding his hand."
"Ok," I exhaled. "I love you. We'll get through this."
After we hung up the phone I immediately called Sheri who groggily picked up the phone. I choked out "He's gone." A text came through from Ruthann that said she and mom were going up to the hospital to see him one last time. I was torn. I wanted to go and be there for them, but I didn't want to see my father like that. I didn't want to see his shell. I went back and forth in a short struggle. Sheri said "I couldn't do it with Doreen. I couldn't go there after."
I made a decision. I would go because that's what Dad would do. He never would have left our sides and he would have been there for us when we took our last breath. And I promised him that I'd see him in the morning.
So at 5 in the morning I drove to the hospital. I was there in a matter of minutes and I was amazed that not one person questioned why I was walking through the halls at such an ungodly hour. Maybe it was my haggard look or my tear stained face. I got to my father's room and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. My brother rose to his feet and glided across the room to wrap me in a hug. I again whispered "Thank you for being here."
I don't think I could ever truly express my gratitude to him.
I glanced at my father's body lying on the bed just as I had left him a few hours earlier. I tentatively touched his arm and relaxed when I found it to still be soft and warm. "He died around 4:50" my brother's voice said from behind me. "It was very peaceful. His breath started to get shallower and slower around 4. He breathed out, and then just never took another breath in."
I nodded in understanding and offered him a weak smile when I said for the upteenth time "I'm so glad he wasn't alone."
We started to collect his things when the door opened and his doctor walked in. He looked crestfallen as he strode towards me with his arms opened wide and embraced me. "I'm so sorry," he said in his thick polish accent.
I cried softly and managed to say "I wanted you to be wrong."
"Believe me, so did I."
I sat down on the bench in his room and watched him look over my father's body. He lightly touched his forehead, his arm, and then I saw something that I never thought I'd see a doctor do....he blessed him. I marveled in the light way he made the sign of the cross on my father's chest before he looked up at my brother and I and said "I will be out in the hallway if you need anything. Take as much time as you need."
No sooner did he leave did my mother and Ruthann enter the room. My mother's face contorted into tears as she placed her head next to his. She cried and kissed him, asking him to be her Guardian Angel and to come back for her in thirty years because she wants to watch their grandbabies grow. Ruthann sat to his right and held his hand and rubbed it against her face. She never uttered a word.
We were in the room for about an hour with him. I saw his hands start to lose their color and his forehead was becoming colder. It was time to leave. We all gave him one final glance before we left the room to go back to my mother's house where we now needed to plan everything.
By 7 am my mother's house was filled with people. Maria was able to come over, my aunt and my cousin was there before we even got home. My mother's brother drove over an hour to stay with her while my mother's neighbor spotted all the cars and offered his assistance with preparing the food for our family who would be traveling in the upcoming days.
It was overwhelming, and exhausting. For the most part there was so many people to keep our minds occupied, but there would be those few moments of silence were we would all break down and wail.
At 1 PM we all as a united family made the dreaded trip over to the funeral home. The funeral director was a parent of a student in my mother's class who was so incredibly gentle and helpful. We had no plans made at all, not even a plot. My father refused to address anything about his health and possible death because he swore he would live another 20 years. Unfortunately that meant that on the day he died we had to make plans for everything. Thankfully with the help of the funeral director and his connections he made the process easy. We were there for about two hours picking out the casket, and the mass cards. Everything fell into place beautifully. From the funeral home we went to the cemetery across town to pick out his gravesite which ended up being in a beautiful location surrounded by trees. There's a newly planted tree with a bench underneath it diagonal from his plot so we can sit there when we come to visit. From there it was to the florist to pick out the flowers for the wake.
By the time all was said and done it was a little after 4 pm. We were all exhausted and dropping like flies. Patrick and Ruthann left from the funeral home leaving Maria, my mother, and me to pick out the rest. After we got home Maria was the next to leave and then Mom's friends started coming over. Around 8:30 I had to excuse myself to take a shower and try to calm myself down as I felt panic starting to bubble in my chest. Soon the house began to empty and quiet down and it was just my mother and myself. We cried and I held her. She took an ambien and I took xanax and shortly after we went to bed beyond emotionally and physically exhausted.
The rest of the week we were preparing travel arrangements for our family, writing my father's obituary, and being a revolving door of people visiting and bringing food. I returned to sleep at my apartment Thursday night because I needed a good night's sleep in my own bed and I had to take care of my cat whom had been alone for almost a week. Friday morning I woke early to get ready to go back to my mother's house to get ready for the wake.
We had to be there by 1:30 to have our alone time with him, to see him and help set up the room before the family started to filter in. My mother walked in first and I winced until I hear her shout "Oh he looks so good!" I grasped Sheri's hand and we walked into the room where I cried out upon seeing him in the casket. In my hands was a stack of father's day and birthday cards that he had kept throughout the years that we decided to bury with him. He could always have written proof to show how much he was loved.
Friday and Saturday went by in a blink of an eye. My entire family on both sides literally welcomed Sheri with open arms. My cousins from New England have known about her for years (thank you facebook) and always were so supportive of me. My one cousin without even saying a word came up to us and wrapped her arms around both of us. After she broke free I was able to introduce them properly. Sheri stood by my side, with her unwavering strength keeping me up. If I started to lose it she placed a hand on the small of my back and told me to breathe, that it would be OK.
I knew Saturday would be the harder day. I knew the actual burial would be brutal.
Thankfully the Roman Catholic Church my parents belong to allowed my uncle and cousins who are priests to do a traditional Byzantine Catholic service. It's a deeply solemn mass that we grew up in and my father revered. As recently as Christmas told my mother that it upset him that none of his children attended a Byzantine Church (that's only because the closest one is nearly an hour away). We knew under no circumstances was he to have anything less than a Byzantine Burial. We chanted our hymns while my mother's side of the family kept up as best they could. I closed my eyes and smiled because I knew my father would have been elated to hear his brothers and sisters sing in harmony. He would have stood there with his broad shoulders back, hands clasped behind him as he sang in his rich tenor voice up to the heavens. And my father had a beautiful voice.
The burial was hard as we sat there in front of his casket. He had a military burial and when the two officers played The Chaps and folded the flag to present to my mother it was unbelievably difficult. And when my uncle was blessing the casket with holy water the reality that he was blessing his brother caught up to him and he lost his words and my cousin had to step in.
It was also the reality that he was presiding over a second brother's funeral in two weeks as my Uncle Paul had passed away on New Year's Eve.
It was a momentous site to see my parents' house bursting at the seems with family from both sides after the repast. What amazed me even more was how Sheri did interacting with my family. Everyone was so kind to her, never once even batted an eye when they found out we were engaged, never once questioned us about our age difference. I realized that I had just buried my father but I felt so much love that day. I knew that we did my father proud, and I loved Sheri that much more for being by my side the entire time.
Once everyone went home and I came back to my apartment it's been a struggle. Yesterday was my mother's birthday and my sister and I did our best to keep her occupied. I was with her for nearly 12 hours and when I left her to come home last night I cried. I cried so hard because I miss my father immensely but my heart breaks for my mother who's life as she knew it is over. We walked through the aisles of Home Depot yesterday to purchase time automatic timers for her lights and when she turned to face me she looked like a broken little child. She started to cry right there at how much her heart hurt and I hate that I can't protect her from that.
I cried on my way home from work today, my first day back. I cried because just a month ago it was Christmas Eve and my father wasted no opportunity to wrap us into hugs. I cried because now that everything is starting to return to normal it is clear that my father really is gone. I cried because I am dreading the remainder of this year-Father's Day, his birthday, the holidays. And I cried because the only thing I have now of my father to remember him by is pictures and videos. And I cried because I'm exhausted because every time I close my eyes at night I am reliving the final days of my father's life.
I know that this will take time, and I know that we had a lot more than other people get. We had days with him, we had a chance to say our goodbyes. I had 29 years with my father. Some people, like my cousin, was only 5 when his father died. My mother had 42 years with him. Some people don't get that time. Some don't get to say goodbye. And I know my father is in a better place. He saw Jesus. He appeared to my mother the night he died. I know he has the sun on his face and that he is whole. There are no tubes, no bags, no bleeding and no cancer. But I miss him. I want to make him proud, and I will keep my promise to keep this family together and to take care of my mother.
Joseph Victor-truly a VICTOR in this life. I know you wanted more time but you couldn't be with us in the capacity that you wanted to be with how aggressive your cancer was. I hope you can feel now how much you were...no...ARE loved. You taught me so many things, from driving in the center lane when it rains to folding a fitted sheet. I hear your voice in my head "Jennifer.....placate your mother!" It doesn't seem real, you not being here. But I know that you will never truly leave us. You will watch over us, guide us in the way only you can, and I WILL see you again. Rest in peace Dad. You left one hell of a legacy.
I hugged my brother tight and whispered "Thank you." Thank you for stepping up like none of us could. We all knew that he would die that night.
When I got home I cried to Sheri until I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to take some advil PM but I knew that I would be woken up in the middle of the night.
Around 4 in the morning I woke up with a start. I glanced at the clock with apprehension and saw the time and thought "Maybe I was wrong." I got up to pee and that's when it happened. My phone started ringing and I saw it was Ruthann. I answered "He's gone, isn't he." It wasn't a question. It was a matter of fact.
"Yeah, it just happened. PJ was holding his hand."
"Ok," I exhaled. "I love you. We'll get through this."
After we hung up the phone I immediately called Sheri who groggily picked up the phone. I choked out "He's gone." A text came through from Ruthann that said she and mom were going up to the hospital to see him one last time. I was torn. I wanted to go and be there for them, but I didn't want to see my father like that. I didn't want to see his shell. I went back and forth in a short struggle. Sheri said "I couldn't do it with Doreen. I couldn't go there after."
I made a decision. I would go because that's what Dad would do. He never would have left our sides and he would have been there for us when we took our last breath. And I promised him that I'd see him in the morning.
So at 5 in the morning I drove to the hospital. I was there in a matter of minutes and I was amazed that not one person questioned why I was walking through the halls at such an ungodly hour. Maybe it was my haggard look or my tear stained face. I got to my father's room and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. My brother rose to his feet and glided across the room to wrap me in a hug. I again whispered "Thank you for being here."
I don't think I could ever truly express my gratitude to him.
I glanced at my father's body lying on the bed just as I had left him a few hours earlier. I tentatively touched his arm and relaxed when I found it to still be soft and warm. "He died around 4:50" my brother's voice said from behind me. "It was very peaceful. His breath started to get shallower and slower around 4. He breathed out, and then just never took another breath in."
I nodded in understanding and offered him a weak smile when I said for the upteenth time "I'm so glad he wasn't alone."
We started to collect his things when the door opened and his doctor walked in. He looked crestfallen as he strode towards me with his arms opened wide and embraced me. "I'm so sorry," he said in his thick polish accent.
I cried softly and managed to say "I wanted you to be wrong."
"Believe me, so did I."
I sat down on the bench in his room and watched him look over my father's body. He lightly touched his forehead, his arm, and then I saw something that I never thought I'd see a doctor do....he blessed him. I marveled in the light way he made the sign of the cross on my father's chest before he looked up at my brother and I and said "I will be out in the hallway if you need anything. Take as much time as you need."
No sooner did he leave did my mother and Ruthann enter the room. My mother's face contorted into tears as she placed her head next to his. She cried and kissed him, asking him to be her Guardian Angel and to come back for her in thirty years because she wants to watch their grandbabies grow. Ruthann sat to his right and held his hand and rubbed it against her face. She never uttered a word.
We were in the room for about an hour with him. I saw his hands start to lose their color and his forehead was becoming colder. It was time to leave. We all gave him one final glance before we left the room to go back to my mother's house where we now needed to plan everything.
By 7 am my mother's house was filled with people. Maria was able to come over, my aunt and my cousin was there before we even got home. My mother's brother drove over an hour to stay with her while my mother's neighbor spotted all the cars and offered his assistance with preparing the food for our family who would be traveling in the upcoming days.
It was overwhelming, and exhausting. For the most part there was so many people to keep our minds occupied, but there would be those few moments of silence were we would all break down and wail.
At 1 PM we all as a united family made the dreaded trip over to the funeral home. The funeral director was a parent of a student in my mother's class who was so incredibly gentle and helpful. We had no plans made at all, not even a plot. My father refused to address anything about his health and possible death because he swore he would live another 20 years. Unfortunately that meant that on the day he died we had to make plans for everything. Thankfully with the help of the funeral director and his connections he made the process easy. We were there for about two hours picking out the casket, and the mass cards. Everything fell into place beautifully. From the funeral home we went to the cemetery across town to pick out his gravesite which ended up being in a beautiful location surrounded by trees. There's a newly planted tree with a bench underneath it diagonal from his plot so we can sit there when we come to visit. From there it was to the florist to pick out the flowers for the wake.
By the time all was said and done it was a little after 4 pm. We were all exhausted and dropping like flies. Patrick and Ruthann left from the funeral home leaving Maria, my mother, and me to pick out the rest. After we got home Maria was the next to leave and then Mom's friends started coming over. Around 8:30 I had to excuse myself to take a shower and try to calm myself down as I felt panic starting to bubble in my chest. Soon the house began to empty and quiet down and it was just my mother and myself. We cried and I held her. She took an ambien and I took xanax and shortly after we went to bed beyond emotionally and physically exhausted.
The rest of the week we were preparing travel arrangements for our family, writing my father's obituary, and being a revolving door of people visiting and bringing food. I returned to sleep at my apartment Thursday night because I needed a good night's sleep in my own bed and I had to take care of my cat whom had been alone for almost a week. Friday morning I woke early to get ready to go back to my mother's house to get ready for the wake.
We had to be there by 1:30 to have our alone time with him, to see him and help set up the room before the family started to filter in. My mother walked in first and I winced until I hear her shout "Oh he looks so good!" I grasped Sheri's hand and we walked into the room where I cried out upon seeing him in the casket. In my hands was a stack of father's day and birthday cards that he had kept throughout the years that we decided to bury with him. He could always have written proof to show how much he was loved.
Friday and Saturday went by in a blink of an eye. My entire family on both sides literally welcomed Sheri with open arms. My cousins from New England have known about her for years (thank you facebook) and always were so supportive of me. My one cousin without even saying a word came up to us and wrapped her arms around both of us. After she broke free I was able to introduce them properly. Sheri stood by my side, with her unwavering strength keeping me up. If I started to lose it she placed a hand on the small of my back and told me to breathe, that it would be OK.
I knew Saturday would be the harder day. I knew the actual burial would be brutal.
Thankfully the Roman Catholic Church my parents belong to allowed my uncle and cousins who are priests to do a traditional Byzantine Catholic service. It's a deeply solemn mass that we grew up in and my father revered. As recently as Christmas told my mother that it upset him that none of his children attended a Byzantine Church (that's only because the closest one is nearly an hour away). We knew under no circumstances was he to have anything less than a Byzantine Burial. We chanted our hymns while my mother's side of the family kept up as best they could. I closed my eyes and smiled because I knew my father would have been elated to hear his brothers and sisters sing in harmony. He would have stood there with his broad shoulders back, hands clasped behind him as he sang in his rich tenor voice up to the heavens. And my father had a beautiful voice.
The burial was hard as we sat there in front of his casket. He had a military burial and when the two officers played The Chaps and folded the flag to present to my mother it was unbelievably difficult. And when my uncle was blessing the casket with holy water the reality that he was blessing his brother caught up to him and he lost his words and my cousin had to step in.
It was also the reality that he was presiding over a second brother's funeral in two weeks as my Uncle Paul had passed away on New Year's Eve.
It was a momentous site to see my parents' house bursting at the seems with family from both sides after the repast. What amazed me even more was how Sheri did interacting with my family. Everyone was so kind to her, never once even batted an eye when they found out we were engaged, never once questioned us about our age difference. I realized that I had just buried my father but I felt so much love that day. I knew that we did my father proud, and I loved Sheri that much more for being by my side the entire time.
Once everyone went home and I came back to my apartment it's been a struggle. Yesterday was my mother's birthday and my sister and I did our best to keep her occupied. I was with her for nearly 12 hours and when I left her to come home last night I cried. I cried so hard because I miss my father immensely but my heart breaks for my mother who's life as she knew it is over. We walked through the aisles of Home Depot yesterday to purchase time automatic timers for her lights and when she turned to face me she looked like a broken little child. She started to cry right there at how much her heart hurt and I hate that I can't protect her from that.
I cried on my way home from work today, my first day back. I cried because just a month ago it was Christmas Eve and my father wasted no opportunity to wrap us into hugs. I cried because now that everything is starting to return to normal it is clear that my father really is gone. I cried because I am dreading the remainder of this year-Father's Day, his birthday, the holidays. And I cried because the only thing I have now of my father to remember him by is pictures and videos. And I cried because I'm exhausted because every time I close my eyes at night I am reliving the final days of my father's life.
I know that this will take time, and I know that we had a lot more than other people get. We had days with him, we had a chance to say our goodbyes. I had 29 years with my father. Some people, like my cousin, was only 5 when his father died. My mother had 42 years with him. Some people don't get that time. Some don't get to say goodbye. And I know my father is in a better place. He saw Jesus. He appeared to my mother the night he died. I know he has the sun on his face and that he is whole. There are no tubes, no bags, no bleeding and no cancer. But I miss him. I want to make him proud, and I will keep my promise to keep this family together and to take care of my mother.
Joseph Victor-truly a VICTOR in this life. I know you wanted more time but you couldn't be with us in the capacity that you wanted to be with how aggressive your cancer was. I hope you can feel now how much you were...no...ARE loved. You taught me so many things, from driving in the center lane when it rains to folding a fitted sheet. I hear your voice in my head "Jennifer.....placate your mother!" It doesn't seem real, you not being here. But I know that you will never truly leave us. You will watch over us, guide us in the way only you can, and I WILL see you again. Rest in peace Dad. You left one hell of a legacy.
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