Happy Six-Month Anniversary

Dear Dad,

So much has happened in the past 6 months -- things I would have liked for you to have been here for, things I felt like you were here for, and so much more.

My car has had problems lately, and every time I take it to the shop I think of you. You asking what's wrong with it, where I'm taking it, how much they're charging me.... I asked Mom's husband some questions, and he's really great, but it wasn't the same. I missed your input. I think that the mechanic thought I had lost it when I teared up as she told me I needed repairs. Sure, it was going to be expensive, but really I just wanted my Dad.

School's been rough, too. I've been pretty unmotivated. And all I can think of is what you'd tell me. You'd be a little gruff and tell me just to get to work. Maybe you'd tell me about times you were having trouble getting a proposal going. Maybe you'd tell me that I'd be so happy and have time to relax when the PhD is all over. But mostly I think you'd just tell me to get off my rear and get to it already. Then you'd send me some goofy card to make me feel better about it all, telling me that you just wanted to see me with all of those stripes.

Sometimes I try to imagine how you'd handle me during my grieving if you could be here now. It's one thing I can't wrap my head around. The only part I can be sure of is that you'd give me a big hug. And you'd call to check up on me. And if you didn't get me on the phone you'd leave me some dorky message saying "Tag! You're it!" or "Hello, 443-365-XXXX, this is 334-774-XXXX. Call me." And I'd smile when I got the voice mail. I can't believe I used to delete those. I wish I had just one of those now so I could hear your voice.

I did find the pictures we took in February, the last time I saw you while you were fully conscious. For months, I couldn't find them. They didn't seem to be stored on my camera (the one you gave me last year). But the other day I downloaded pictures to my computer, and there they were. One with me and one with Sheryl (things with she and I are going really well, by the way). I had almost come to terms with not having them, but when they popped onto my screen, I got so excited. Then, of course, I got a bit sad. You looked so rough. You were so thin, and yellow, and hollowed out. But there was a look of serenity on your face, and you were smiling, and I could tell that you meant that smile. And the real kicker was that in the photo, you were comforting me. The guy who had lost over 50 pounds, who couldn't make it down the hall because his feet were so swollen, who had been through so much in the previous three months, and who had only a little more than 2 weeks left to live had his arm around me, comforting me the day before I left to come home. I value that time with you so much.

Dad, mostly what I want to say is that I miss you. I love you. And I'm so proud of you. I can only hope to make you as proud of me. Thanks for being my dad.

Not goodbye, but see you later,

Keri

long time, no update

well, i've been consistently inconsistent with my blogging. i don't know how people blog through such difficult times. i wanted to be able to have this blog later, as a reminder of the minutia. instead, i have it as a reminder of the big moments, the trying times.

my dad passed away on march 17th, 2007 at 8:45 pm on the nose. he was surrounded by family and comfortable under the effects of fenatanyl and a myriad of other drugs. prior to his passing, we were able to spend a good bit of the afternoon talking to him (he was on a respirator and mildly sedated). it was good to be able to say our goodbyes. and to have him be able to acknowledge hearing them by nodding his head very slightly and moving his eyes and hands. and it was heartbreaking. so heartbreaking.

so here it is, 2 months later, and i've reverted to shock. i can't process the idea that my dad is dead. gone. forever. dead. so strange and unwelcome. there's been a fair amount of crying. mostly random tearing up and spilling over. unpredictable. but i suppose that's to be expected.

the next month promises to be treacherous territory. my brother is riding in the team in training century ride at lake tahoe on the 1st sunday in june, benefiting the leukemia lymphoma society, and i'll be in the crowds cheering him on. the next sunday is dad's birthday. the sunday after that is father's day. and comps are the thursday of that week. a tough month ahead. and no dad to lean on for support. wish me luck.

not in the handbook

so, he's dying. chemo hasn't been effective. has hardly touched his leukemic cells. this, after he's travelled to mayo clinic in jacksonville (end of jan 07) and undergone a 2nd round. the drug called ara-c resulted in terrible neurologic side effects -- stumbling, mumbling, fine and gross motor issues. other side effects this time around included so many mouth sores that he couldn't eat or speak, loss of his voice (due to sloughing of cells in the throat?). it's hard to tell what's the leukemia and what's the chemo. down to 200 pounds (45 pound total loss). unable to tell when he's about to urinate or void. having to get my dad clean, dry pants. cleaning spilt urine off of the floor. asking techs to change his bed. seeing him depressed. hearing him say that he can't do this again unless he's guaranteed success. and now, bone marrow biopsies tell a different story. no need to face chemo again. get some rest. spend time with your family. wait for infection. his response: i just wanted to see you (me) with all of the stripes on your robe (phd in 1 1/2 years). me, too, dad. me telling him that i had no way to express how much i loved him, and him saying that my hand on his shoulder said it all. i'll miss him. i can't imagine not having him. i can't imagine watching him be sick anymore, though, so i hope he goes quickly. why don't they teach us how to deal with this in school? it's not in the handbook.