I’m now back in St. Louis after spending an unexpected week in Virginia for my dad’s funeral. I really appreciate the support and words of wisdom I received on my post about grieving earlier this week.
Before I close out the week, I wanted to share with you just how fast things happened last Thursday, as I’m still processing just how sudden it was. Perhaps it’ll help you be more prepared than I was.
My dad was diagnosed and treated for colon cancer last February/March. A few months later, a follow-up scan revealed a massive, rapidly growing tumor on his liver (of all places–my dad didn’t drink much at all, and non-alcoholic O’Doul’s was one of his favorite beers).
He proceeded to fight the cancer with 6 rounds of intense chemo over the next few months. When I saw him at Christmas, he was looking much better than in August and over Facetime. At the time, his biggest challenge was the impact of the various medications that were trying to help him heal post-chemo (and potentially prepare his body for more chemo); his heart in particular was really weak.
So when I got a text from my mom last Wednesday night saying that she’d had a rough day with my dad, I mostly figured it wasn’t all that different from the many other rough days they’ve experienced over the last 10 months. Still concerning, still heartbreaking, still difficult, but he’d get over the hump and be okay in a few days.
However, that night I fell asleep with two thoughts on my mind: One, that I hoped my dad wasn’t in too much pain and that I could take on the pain he was feeling, and two, that I should write a eulogy for my dad while he was still alive. The latter thought may sound a bit morbid, but it’s something I’ve thought about in general (not just for my dad) for years–why do we eulogize people only after they can no longer hear us?
I woke up to a text from my mom saying that dad was in the hospital. He’d been there for a few hours, and he was headed to the ICU. I was still concerned, but Dad’s been in the ICU several times this year, so I still didn’t know that something bigger was happening.
This is when things started happening really fast. My dad coded, and they revived him. My sister and brother rushed to the hospital–they all live in Richmond near my parents, while I’m in St. Louis–and soon my sister was in the room and called me.
Emily was sobbing, which made me start to cry too. She said that things were going downhill quickly. I could hear a loud sound in the background every other second–so methodical I thought it was a machine, like a ventilator. It was my dad, moaning in pain. His body was shutting down.
I went over to Megan (who was waking up) and told her that I was going to pack and leave for the 15-hour drive to Virginia. We stumbled around for a few minutes figuring out what that meant, and then Megan decided she wanted to go too, so within an hour we did all the things we’d normally do over the course of a few days (including finding a catsitter).
In the midst of this, I got another call, the final call from my dad’s phone. My mom had dialed me so I could talk to Dad for the last time, and I could still hear him moaning in pain.
But when my mom told Dad it was me, he did as he always did when I made my weekly call home: He put on a chipper voice to greet me and ask how I was doing. This is coming from a man who was literally losing all control of his body. I told him that I was grateful for him, that I loved him, and that I’m so happy that he’s my dad. And then I said goodbye.
Megan and I were 45 minutes outside of St. Louis when we got the call that Dad was gone. After all that pain, the only way to describe it is that he was at peace. I learned that before his life support was removed, not only were my mom, sister, and brother in the room, but also their spouses and even my oldest niece. Even as fast as it was, we’re so lucky that Dad could be surrounded by loved ones in his final moments–I don’t take for granted, as I’m sure there are many who can’t say the same due to even more sudden circumstances.
We arrived in Virginia at 2:00 am, and thus began all of the logistics I mentioned in my previous post this week.
So that’s how fast something like this can happen. Again, I know there are much faster deaths. This just struck me a bit because the whole battle against cancer wasn’t all that fast–we went from months to mere hours. When a body decides it’s time to shut down, none of that prior context matters.
Thanks for letting me process this in writing, and maybe there’s a small chance it’ll help you someday in the unfortunate situation that someone you care about enters a battle with cancer. I’m really glad I went home for Christmas.
Before I go, I’ll add that one of the most surreal aspects of the last few days is that this life-size cardboard cutout of my dad–a present at his retirement–was present in the dining room the entire time. Surreal, but also nice. I think it would have made my dad smile (in fact, I’m nearly positive it would, as years ago he wrote on the back of the standee that he wanted it at his funeral. His wish came true).
Jamey, I’m so sorry for loss and can’t imagine the emotions you have felt this past week and continue to feel. You’ve shared stories about your family before and they have always touched me in ways that are hard to explain. This one was no different as I’ve gone through quite a few life changes recently which have led me to feel overwhelmed lately. There is a lot I would love to say, but just know I appreciate your honesty and vulnerability in sharing so much of yourself. You’ve helped me a lot in different ways over the years. I’m sorry again that this happened so quickly, I wish you and your family well. I’ll be thinking about you!
Thank you, Aaron–I appreciate you reading these posts, and hopefully in some way they can help you in this overwhelming time.
I am struggling to know what to say. I’ve started and deleted this post a couple of times. Everything seems a bit trite. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m glad you got to say good-bye. I wish you, and yours, all the best.
Thank you. I’m starting to realize that in times like these (i.e., death), it isn’t so much what you say, but rather the fact that you took the time to say something. I appreciate that.
Jamey, losing a parent is a significantly painful event and I’ll keep you firmly in my thoughts and prayers in the days and weeks ahead. Thank you for sharing your story as I’m sure it will prove incredibly valuable to someone in the community.
Peace,
Joe
Thank you, Joe–I’m grateful for you too.
I’m sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your experience—It’s a powerful reminder of the impermanence of life. When caught up in the daily habits and flows of the day, it’s easy to overlook those around you. Thanks for reminding us all of that.
Thank you, Dallas. That’s a good reminder to me too.
Thank you for sharing both posts Jamey and condolences on the loss of your dad. We lost a work colleague suddenly this week and your words have been very helpful. Take care of yourselves.
I’m so sorry to hear that, Rupert.
Your dads battle sounds eeringly similar to my dads from 2017. Started in the colon then spread to the liver. We found out around Easter of the diagnosis and he was gone by September. He had his ups and downs throughout the year and in and out of the hospital. His last week he went from doing okay to rapidly getting worse daily. It was a Saturday morning I’ll never forget when my Mom said I should probably come say my final goodbye. And sure enough his body started to give out, that groaning you mentioned started coming and we all gave him one last hug and said our final goodbyes. While it was so hard to see him go, knowing his pain was now gone helped a ton.
I’m so very sorry to hear about your dad. He was such a great man and he truly help shaped all of us Pocoshocks boys and helped guide us through those always strange teenage years. He will be greatly missed but I know you and your siblings will carry on his legacy!
Thanks for sharing this, Nick. That is indeed eerily similar. I’m glad you were able to be with him at the end, and I hear you about the end to the physical pain.
Dad loved being a part of our soccer team! 🙂
Thank you Jamie for your beautiful writing. We had limited exposure to your dad since Washington is a far trip to the East coast. That being said, it was always fun to see him. The first time I met him was when he visited as a kid with Uncle Buck. Even then I remember him as a kind and gentle soul. Then in 1972, Rita snd I spent a week in Falls Church. We had a blast with Frank and Jay…it was a week I will always remember over the years. Each time I saw your dad, he always exuded love for his wife and family. I know you realize what a gift Jay was (and Margot) and I hope that your memories are joy filled snd numerous.
Thanks for your note, Rose. I’m glad you have such happy memories with my dad (as do I).
Hi Jamie. I am very sorry to hear about your loss. It sounds like your dad was a really great man, and that you had a very good relationship with him. I hope that your memories of him will help you to get through these difficult times. I have also lost both of my parents and, although time dulls the pain, it is something you never get over. I think it is great that you are very open about your feelings and about what you are going through.
I am sure that each country has their own customs about how to deal with death. In Ireland, family and friends gather around and things are kind of crazy for about a week. It is really wonderful to have so many people there to support you, and for me it was lovely to hear stories about my mom or my dad when they were younger from the people who knew them back then. We try to put more emphasis on the celebration of the deceased person’s life, and there tends to be a lot of laughter and visits to the pub that they used to frequent, though of course there is a lot of sadness because of their passing. Then suddenly, after about a week, things get very quiet and that is when you get time alone to think about what has just happened. I do like that there is a week of busyness to give you a chance to get used to the idea that your loved one is gone. You also get to see how much everyone cared for the deceased person and that gave me a feeling of pride, that my mom and dad were so loved, cherished and respected by so many people.
I was very saddened to read about your final phone call with your dad. It must have been such a difficult moment when you said goodbye to him. And yet, I wish that I had had that opportunity with my mom and dad. My mom died quite suddenly from a heart attack caused by her chemo treatment for lung cancer, and my dad went into a coma for about a week from which he never woke up. I didn’t get to say goodbye to either of them. I live in Japan now, so like yourself I had to make a very long and difficult journey to get home. There are so many things that I would like to say to both of my parents, and I would give anything just for one more hour with them. Although I know that they knew I loved them very much, I wish I had taken more opportunities to tell them in words – we were very close but never good at discussing emotions.
Now that you are back in St. Louis, I hope you have had the time to yourself that you were craving to process everything and grieve in your own way. I hope that you can find comfort in remembering all the great times that you had with your dad. I wish you and your family all the best during these difficult times and any time you feel like writing about how you are feeling, if this helps you, please know that there is a great community here who cares and is here to support you.
Pat: I really appreciate you sharing the Irish tradition (which is somewhat similar to what happened last week for us, as my family is part Irish) and your story. I’m so sorry that you didn’t get to say goodbye to either of your parents.
I am sure your dad got a good send off so, with a nice gathering of friends and family to pay their respects. You have some Irish roots? Very nice! What is the connection, if you don’t mind my asking?
Both my mom and Dad’s sides of the family have Irish ancestral roots, but only partial (my mom’s side is more French, and my dad’s side more German).
Lovely! I do hope you get a chance some day to visit Ireland (if you haven’t already!) to get in touch with that part of your roots. There are some beautiful spots and I think Irish people are very welcoming!
I completely agree! I had the pleasure of spending a few days in Clontarf 10 or so years ago. I’d like to return to see more of the country.
Oh very nice! Next time, I recommend that you head west. Galway is a very cool city and there are lots of things to see and do all down the west coast, or the Wild Atlantic Way as they call it. Hopefully we are coming near to the end of this pandemic and we can get back to enjoying travelling as normal.