I am not the first person to have lost a parent and I certainly won’t be the last. Experiencing grief is not exactly something that makes you special. Regardless, when you lose a person you love, that feeling of loss is so powerful that for some people, you never really recover. In writing about my own loss I hope that it helps me to heal.
My father passed away due to colon cancer this year. My family and I first found out he had cancer the year before, right after Father’s Day. We were stumped. He exhibited no signs of illness, but he hadn’t been able to produce stool in days, even after being given laxatives. Who would have expected it would turn out to be the “C” word? Yet, it was. I was with my mother at the hospital when the doctor showed us pictures of the tumors. I was numb. Or maybe I was in denial. Why was this happening?
The doctor told us that it was still in the early stages. As a result of his diagnosis, my dad went through chemotherapy. The side effects were horrible; he constantly felt nauseated and did not have an appetite, so he lost a lot of weight. His big belly got smaller. He almost quit before his last session of chemo, but we encouraged him to push through. He did. The cancer left and he went into remission. He declined the doctor’s advice to continue extra chemo and said he would accept it if it came back because he’d lived a long life, rather than go through that process again.
We rejoiced upon hearing the good news that the cancer was gone. My mother’s birthday had also just passed, so we decided to take a family portrait to celebrate. It turned out so well and we were pleased. We had no idea that it would be one of the last times we’d have a picture with him. As you can obviously tell, the cancer came back. When he got sick again we were initially told that he had gallstones. He had surgery to remove them. But he didn’t get better, so he went to the hospital again. That’s when the oncologist told us the grim news. The cancer was back and this time it had spread aggressively. When we found out it was around Mother’s Day.
Dad was at the hospital for a while and couldn’t have any visitors due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Being stuck in a hospital without having anyone come visit you is one of the saddest, loneliest things that can happen to a person. The hospital only allowed us to visit once he had a scare and they thought he was going to pass. They called my mom at work and the message wasn’t very clear, so those of us who were closer in distance rushed there. His hemoglobin count was low and they had coded him.
My heart dropped to my stomach and I wailed once I got inside his room. I was overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions and thoughts cycling through me. I was not ready to let him go. It was too soon. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. No, not my dad. I still need him.
I remember the first time around when we found out he had cancer I told myself to be prepared that this could be it; he may not recover. In the back of my mind there was a possibility that he wouldn’t make it. Maybe it was pessimism, but I considered it being realistic because it’s cancer and my dad wasn’t exactly young.
There was no more chance for chemo, so the other option was for palliative care. It was either at home or hospice, but we all decided we would rather my dad be comfortable at home surrounded by his clan. The pandemic was partially a blessing in that it allowed me to telecommute. I decided to work from my parents’ house to be around my dad. My siblings lived nearby, so the house was packed every day. It was the first time in a very long time that our family was united. I would even say we got closer from it and put aside any differences towards each other for my dad.
Occasionally, a doctor and a nurse stopped by to check on his wounds and a caregiver gave him baths, but it was mostly a united effort on the part of my mom and some of my siblings (who have medical experience) to care for him. He had fistulas that had to be drained and a colostomy bag that had to be replaced. I felt useless. I could only turn up my nose at the smell that permeated throughout the house during wound care and bag changes. I thought to myself, “This is what the smell of death is like” and I was angry with myself for being bratty and thinking that.
My dad was frail. He needed assistance to move. He couldn’t walk on his own. He could never get comfortable sleeping and every so often he had to be adjusted. His butt would hurt because there wasn’t really any more fat there as cushion. He would barely eat because he said it was painful to do so. He had lost so much weight. I saw him shrinking before my eyes. It hurt me to see him like that because I couldn’t take his pain away. He put on a brave face for us and he barely complained. He only ever raised his voice once at my mom out of frustration.
It wasn’t too long after he was discharged from the hospital that my dad passed away at home. I watched him take his last breath. He had said before this that he was ready to go and we were fortunate enough that he had advanced directives and a plan set in motion for when the inevitable would happen. Not everyone gets that.
I miss him every day. I go to the memorial park almost weekly to visit him and I still cry every time. I was definitely a “Daddy’s girl” when I was younger, so besides my mom, I think it hit me the hardest, although I can’t speak for my siblings. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day will never be the same because of the events that occurred during those times of the year. I am glad my dad is no longer suffering, but I am also selfish in that I still want him around. He won’t be there to walk me down the aisle or dance with me on my wedding day. He won’t be able to see my children. Still, I am very blessed, lucky, and privileged that I had a great father who was around. For that I am very grateful.