Since the beginning of my short blogging life, I have had the goal of writing about things that made me feel. Good, bad, happy - whatever. If it made me feel something, I wanted to write about it. But the subject of my dad has been a hard one to sit and write about. Other than Neisan, this subject gives me the most feeling. But different feelings than what I have for Neisan. They aren't always good. My dad, his life, and his death were and are huge parts of my life. These things molded me into the person I am today. And I think it's time to write about him.
When I sit and think about my dad and the things I know about him, I have to think if they are actual memories of him, or something I was told. I don't remember him being well. He was diagnosed with cancer - a brain tumor - when I was 6 years old. I remember the first time he had a seizure like it was yesterday. My best friend Sarah and her mom were dropping me off at my house. When we got to the door, my mom was running towards us with a blanket in her hands. I still don't know why she had the blanket, or even why I remember her having it, but that blue fleece monstrosity always stands out to me. Sarah's mom was a nurse. We ran into the kitchen where my dad was lying on the floor, shaking. Convulsing more like it. Sarah's mom started CPR on him and kept it up until the ambulance got there. I remember seeing my brother Jake standing in the kitchen, not saying a word. I was looking at him for reassurance, but nobody had any to give. I really don't remember much else about that day...
This was just the first of many seizures I would see or hear throughout my childhood. I remember lying in bed and hearing my mom sort of yelling at him out of fear. I remember hearing her give him a bath because he had a seizure and lost control of his bladder. I can't even begin to know what that must have felt like for her. Or him for that matter. They were high school sweethearts. She was his world, and he was hers. The humiliation for him and the fear for her in that situation is something I can't even fathom. I was terrified to stay home alone with him. I was so afraid he would have a seizure when my mom wasn't there. I would cry hysterically when my mom left for work. I just didn't know what I would have done had something happened.
While I have some scary memories of my dad, there are so many good ones. He lived his life for his family, and would have given the shirt off his back to anyone in need. He was always thinking about fun things to do with me. His favorite? Stealing things from the hospital rooms to play with once we were home. Syringes made amazing water guns. Rubber gloves were great balloons. If you filled them with water and poked a tiny hole in each finger tip, you could "milk a cow". He even tried to take a stethoscope when the nurse left the room because "Annie would love this!". I remember making houses out of playing cards then taking rubber bands and shooting them all down. One of my favorites is when he would give me my bath. He would give me a razor with the blade taken out and tons of bubbles in the bath. He'd put them on my face like a beard, and I'd shave them all off. And holidays at our house were the best! He got so in to them. Every year on Halloween, he made a dummy out of newspaper for stuffing and some of his old clothes. And a creepy old man mask. His name was Ralph. Ralph would be perched up on the front porch on a chair, my dad hiding behind him. Every little trick - or- treater who came to the door got the living crap scared out of them as my dad jumped up with Ralph in his arms. Every year on Easter morning, we would follow the trail of easter bunny turds - aka Cocoa Puffs - to our baskets. I totally believed that damn bunny pooped in my house. Or the 4th of July. It was his favorite. He and my papa would sneak away when nobody was paying attention and set off a cannon. A real life, louder than hell cannon. Every year all the unsuspecting family jumped a mile when that thing went off. All you could hear after the screams was laughter coming from his hiding place. That day is always a little sad without the cannon.
He lived for four years with cancer. He was told when he was diagnosed that he only had a few months left. But he was a fighter. And I am so thankful he was. Like I said, I don't remember him before he was sick. While some of my memories are scary and hard to think about, had he not fought, I wouldn't remember him at all. He passed away in October of 1994. That same month I turned 11. I replay that day often in my head. He had been in the hospital for about a week. My grandma brought me there so I could see him, which wasn't different from any other time he was hospitalized. But when I got there, it was different. Our priest, Father Chuck was there which wasn't like the other times. I remember thinking something wasn't right. It was getting late, so my mom told me to go in and say goodbye to him. I had no idea it would be the last time I would talk to him. He hadn't said anything in days. He was on a ventilator. I walked in his room like I had done so many times before. I held his hand and bent down to give him a hug and to tell him bye. As I bent down, he squeezed my hand. He hugged me with the other one, and whispered "Bye A.J., I love you". "I love you too, Dad". I ran out of his room ecstatic to tell my mom that he talked to me. I left that night thinking for sure that he was getting better.
I stayed the night with my Aunt Diane that night. The next morning, instead of my mom coming to get me, it was my grandma. When we got in the car, I asked her how my dad was doing. "He's resting" she told me. "Good", I said, "he needs his rest". When I got home, my brothers and mom were sitting on the couch, not saying much at all. The house was quiet. My mom held her arms out to me and told me to come sit by her. She sat me down next to her and hugged me. "Daddy died this morning". I didn't know what to do. I cried. I had no idea in my young life the severity of his disease. He had been through the hospital routine so many times and come back home. I was completely unprepared. I remember asking my mom if I could call my best friend, Sarah. She cried with me while I tried to figure out what had happened.
So many people came to his funeral. He had a ton of friends. So many people loved him. He was a good man. An amazing father. A loving husband. Friend. Brother. Son. I remember going with my mom to pick out his casket. I wanted him to have a wooden one. The metal ones seemed so cold. I went with my aunt Diane to pick out a sweater for him to wear. He wore a hat with my brothers and my pictures on it. He was barefoot. Just socks. That was his favorite way to be.
When I think about his life now, and the way it ended, it seems so unfair. He was so young. He didn't get to see his kids graduate high school. He never got to meet his grandkids. But the legacy he has left behind and the amazingly good memories I have of him are so important to who I am today. I miss him terribly, especially on days like today. But he is no longer in pain. Our lives have gone on, knowing that one day we will meet him again. His short life taught me to give Neisan happy memories every chance I get. Because when one day he has to go on without me, I want him to have no doubt in his mind the love I have for him. I talk about my dad to Neisan every day. I show him pictures, tell him stories. The people my dad left behind will continue to tell stories of him so that he can continue to live in our hearts and minds.
"What makes greatness is starting something that lives after you." - Ralph Stockman
I love you dad.
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