It was late August, 1995, and my dad was at home. Only he wasn’t puttering around, working on some household project. He wasn’t sitting at the breakfast table with his large-print Bible and magnifying glass, his glaucoma-strained eyes poring over God’s word. He wasn’t dozing in the recliner, snoring to the accompaniment of an A-Team re-run.
He was lying in a hospital bed set up in the TV room, asleep. In a coma, actually. He’d been fighting cancer for three long years and was spending his final days of the battle at home. The home where he and my mom had raised their two children. The home where he made dinner several nights a week, as he and mom traded evenings working at the ice cream store. The old farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania where my childhood memories were formed.
Dad (top right) and some of his army buddiesI’d been married for a year and a half and was living in Virginia with Chad. But when Mom called me with the news that Dad wouldn’t be with us much longer, I packed a suitcase and drove the six hours home. I’d seen dad a few weeks earlier, at a quick weekend meet-up with my family. He was weak, frustrated with all he could no longer do, and more than ready for some peace. So when I got home and saw him resting quietly, in a way, I was happy for him. There was no grimace of pain on his face. He simply slept.
Mom still had to keep the ice cream store running, since it was her only source of income. So I spent days by Dad’s bedside and nights working at the store so Mom could be home with Dad. I was in the process of re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia, so I’d read to Dad about Aslan and Lucy and the dwarves and the fauns. The hospice nurses would come and take care of his basic needs, and make sure that he was okay. Mom was focused on getting through each day – caring for her teenage son who still needed a father, keeping the store going, and watching her husband fade away.
My family at my high school graduationA few days after I got home, our pastor came to visit. He talked with me, made sure I was doing all right. Then he spent some time with Dad. As Dad lay quietly, his chest rising and falling with each breath, I could hear Pastor McMinn telling Dad that everything was going to be okay. “It’s all right, Bill. Your family is taken care of, they’re going to be fine. You can let go. It’s okay.”
The next night, August 24th, I served cones and sundaes to people eager for some relief from the summer heat. As the evening wound down, the bell on the front door jingled and a family friend entered the store. My first thought was, “Oh – it’s Nancy. I haven’t seen her in a long time.” But not even a second later, I realized that of course she wasn’t here for a frozen treat. She didn’t even have to tell me. I knew. And I knew Mom wouldn’t want me to hear it over the phone. She’d want someone there with me.
I locked up the store early that night and drove home behind Nancy. Although I felt the beginnings of grief, I was also flooded with relief for my father. Dad’s battle with cancer was over. And God had won – my dad was Home. Whole.
The next few days are a blur in my mind. My wonderful husband came up from Virginia the next day and did whatever was needed for my mom. He even took over my dad’s role of making ice cream cakes. Chad would tell you that they weren’t as nice-looking as my dad’s. But it wasn’t the evenness of the layers that counted – it was the kindness of Chad’s heart, his willingness to do whatever it took to help us get through. As far as I’m concerned, those ice cream cakes were perfect.
Walking me down the aisleHe’d been dealing with cancer for more than a year by this point
There’s so much more I could write. We got through the funeral. And we got through the days afterward. It’s been eleven years now, eleven years without my dad. I miss him, yes. I wouldn’t have wished a long, painful life for him, though – better that he is in a place without even a hint of cancer, a place where his eyes once again see perfectly, a place where he has energy and joy and most of all…the Lord. Right there, in person.
But the one thing that breaks my heart, the one thing that I think of in the late days of August every year…is that my kids won’t have the joy of knowing him in this life. And oh, how he would have loved them. He would have bounced them on his knee, told them corny jokes, tossed them giggling onto the bed long after I asked him to stop. He would have coaxed a giggle from L.. And he would have absolutely loved C.’s analytical, inquisitive mind, and the hilarious things that come out of his mouth. And I just know that my boys would have adored their Grandpa.
I don’t claim to know exactly how things are handled in Heaven. But I like to think that Dad can check on us every now and then. I like to think that he chuckled when C. told me I need to write better posts. And that he beamed on May 25th, when L. made his way into this world.
And Dad, if you happen to have a chance to peek over my shoulder at this, I just want you to know, I love you.
* This post was originally published on August 24, 2006. It’s now been 13 years. Miss you and love you, Dad!
This is written very nicely. I lost both of my parents to cancer in the last 5 years. I know a little what this feels like. You can read my story and many others at http://www.lostthem.net/?page_id=13
Awesome, Katrina, as usual! *sniff, sniff* You done your daddy proud! *wink*
Just want you to know I am sitting here speechless. This is beautiful and if I were not on the way to work I would be bawling my eyes out, but I am holding it in best I can.
Hugs.
Hugs to you.
So heartfelt Katrina. Thanks for showing such love and for remembering your dad this way. I too lost my dad to cancer, but what a joy to know I will see him one day again.
I was reading this post as if it was brand new. I kept thinking that the pictures were familiar, but I thought that it was a new post, and I was thinking how hard and how therapeutic it must be to write.
Thanks for sharing it — again. I’m praying for you and your family.
Wow, Katrina. That’s beautiful.
13 years ago today, the very day that your Dad died, my son was transferred for surgery to the Hospital for Sick Children. I always remember this day, too. He died September 4.
I actually have something I wrote about grief up on my blog right now–you can read it here.
I’m sorry your children never knew their grandfather. It sounds like he was a wonderful person, and I’m so glad that he was so close to God on this earth that he will be able to be even closer in heaven!
My children never really knew their brother, but it makes them long for heaven all the more.
Visit To Love, Honor and Vacuum today!
What a poignant post. I lost my mom over two years ago — she was only 68, and it seemed much, much too early, except that God’s time is perfect. Her health was deteriorating, and I am glad she didn’t have to experience a further slow decline — she hated hospitals. But I do so miss her.
Katrina, I never read the original of this, but I sobbed my way thru it this AM. It was such a difficult time, but God was so good to us. Bill passed over painfree and quietly. I was hoping I could see the angels that came to bear his soul, but I did not. I had dozed off. Where did you get the first picture? I don’t remember ever seeing it. Love, Mom
What a beautiful post. Hope you can find some peace today ((hugs))
What a wonderful tribute to your father! I lost my dead in August also, but it’s been 31 years for me. It’s amazing how much I still miss him at times… and how you forget all the bad and sad times and only recall the good.
cjh
Katrina, this is a wonderful tribute to your Dad. He was a beautiful, God-fearing man and didn’t hesitate to share his faith. I’m so glad that Gerald and I got to know your family and that your Mom and I have remained good friends to this day. Your family means a lot to me. Thanks for writing this wonderful tribute.
Love you, Millie
Thanks for sharing Katrina – I can see that C. looks like you dad.
That was very heart-felt, Katrina. I know how you feel about not having your dad around to enjoy your kids. I miss my dad too. But your dad is in heaven with our Father and you will see him again in heaven. Blessings!
Katrina,
What a wonderful post — thank you for sharing. My father passed away five years ago in July. My son was 5 weeks old at the time. Had he been born on his due date, he and my dad would have missed each other by 2 days. I too hope that he can check in on us — I know that he would love to see what the kids are doing and that he would be so proud. I miss him and know that I always will. Again, thank you for sharing. What an amazing post.
Lisa
Katrina- what a tender and precious post! Thanks for sharing a part of your Dad with us!
Katrina, this is beautiful. I’m so sorry you lost your dad so early. I want to say so much more, but I don’t have the words.
I too am amazed at the resemblance between C. and your dad. I feel for your boys, not getting to meet your wonderful dad, but I’m sure you have many stories to share with them.
A beautiful tribute, Katrina. A precious and poignant reminder that we do not grieve as those with no hope because of the hope we have in Christ!
Katrina – what a beautiful post. I remember your father and family as part of my long time life as a child and teenager. Gail D
Katrina, This was such a loving post. I read with many tears. We lost my mother just over a year ago to cancer–she, too fought for three years. While she didn’t die at home, a lot of what you wrote covers what happened in our situation. It’s hard knowing my mom won’t see how my children grow up and they really didn’t get to have very many of her “fun” years.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Your dad must’ve been a wonderful person.
Peace,
Julie
This was a beautiful tribute to your father. And to the legacy of faith and family he has left behind.
Hi Katrina!
This is my first visit to your blog and when I read this post I just had to comment. I can really relate to what you’ve written, I lost my dad to cancer in April of 1993. Thanks for sharing your story!
Velvia