The Summer of 2012

It has been five years since the summer of 2012.

For me that summer is mostly defined by my father's death. At the start of every summer since then I have to repress the melancholy feeling in the pit of my stomach at remembering everything that happened.

It actually started a month before - in May - when my dad called to say that he decided not to continue with any more chemo treatments as they just didn't seem to be doing anything.

A few weeks after that we were in Denmark - a trip that was probably planned a year in advance. While we were there I got word that my dad was in a bad place and no one knew what was going on or if he would still be with us when we got back from Denmark. Thankfully he was; he had some excruciating pain and finally was admitted to hospice but eventually went back home with a morphine drip and a nurse who would check in on him.

A few days after we got back from Denmark we were in Florida to visit with my dad. I will never forget as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle he grabbed me up in a big hug and started crying and said to me, "I thought I would never see you again." There was no way I could maintain my composure after that, even though I tried to keep it together.

The day after we arrived he developed a blood clot in his leg and was back in the hospice house. He said he wanted treatment so he was transferred to the hospital to try and get the right dosage of medicine and once that was under control he went back to the hospice house - and never did go back to his own house.

We went back home and then weekend before the 4th of July dad called while we were at the beach - during that phone call he broke down crying again and I knew I had to go back to Fl. The next day I packed the kids and myself up and we were off to spend his last 4th of July watching fireworks from the hospice house parking lot with my dad. It was his last good day.

We went home the next day and the day after that he took a turn for the worse and a few days later I found myself once again in Florida.

I was sitting in his room when he took his last breaths on July 12th. We celebrated Kayla's 9th birthday on July 15 amidst all that sadness. His funeral was on July 17th and the stress of it all kept coming. The day we were heading back home we realized Kayla's thumb needed medical attention - it was red and swollen. We went from urgent care to the ER to finally have it lanced and drained.

We were only home for another brief stay before we were packing again and off to DC for the Down syndrome convention. It was hard to be there, I hardly had time to catch my breath and grieve, but I also needed to be there for the distraction.

So it was the summer of a lot of traveling and consumed by the uncertainty of how much time my father had left, until his death. So every summer I'm reminded of what I was doing that summer of 2012.

It's only been five years, but it feels like it's already been a life time because of everything that he's missed out on:

- Lucas starting school (he was only 4 when my dad died and I don't think he has much of a memory of him
- Kayla becoming a teenager and starting middle school
- Me hitting my 40s
- Joe's retirement from the Air Force
- Lucas' first 10k
- New hobbies for the kids: archery, chess, geocaching, metal detecting
 - The birth of a grandson
- Grandkids starting, and graduating from, high school
- Grandkids getting their driver's licenses
- Military promotions for my brother and his wife
- Championships for the Red Sox & Patriots

Life goes on. I sure wish he was still here watching life go on.

A few days ago we were driving home in a thunderstorm which was putting Kayla on edge. She hates thunder and lightning and was getting herself all worked up about it. Sweet Caroline came on the radio. The kids had just been exposed to the experience of Sweet Caroline at the ballpark a week before so I was able to remind her about that and it distracted her from the thunderstorm as we sang along. We rarely hear Sweet Caroline on the radio - I told Kayla that was Pepere sending her the song to help her during the thunderstorm.

Thanks Dad, for still watching out for us.

Purple For A Purpose

November 13 is World Pancreatic Cancer Day. Purple is the color of pancreatic cancer awareness. The Pancreatic Cancer Network is encouraging people to wear purple tomorrow, and to contact members of Congress asking them to wear Purple For A Purpose; but more importantly asking Congress to pass an appropriations bill to include an increase for the NIH.

This link will take you to an easy form to use to automatically send a message to your state representatives.

We will once again be wearing purple tomorrow in memory of my dad.

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I was telling Kayla about wearing her "Purple Stride" tshirt for school tomorrow because we are wearing "purple for Pepere."

K: "Pepere's at home?"
M: "No Kayla, you know he's not at home."
K: "He's in Heaven?"
M: "Yes, he's in Heaven."

She stomped her foot and said, "Maaa-aan!" in a way that you would when you're frustrated.

I asked her, "What was that for?"
K: "I miss him for a long time!"

Then she looked at her ceiling and said "I miss you Pepere. I love you Pepere." and she answered herself, "I miss you Kayla, I love you Kayla." as if it was my dad responding to her. She did that once a couple months ago when she was looking at his picture. She replied back in a deep voice pretending to be him.

She was trying to explain to me that she was talking to Pepere and he answered her back. Then she told me to "Go. You do it." and waved her arm back and forth from me to her ceiling. She wanted me to to talk to him, too. She wanted me to tell him that I loved him and missed him. And she wanted me to answer back as if he were answering.

I said, "So we're having a conversation with Pepere in Heaven? We're talking to him and he's talking back to us?"

K: "Yes, he said I love you and I miss you Kayla."

Yes, Kayla, that's exactly what he would say back to us.


 

Why Research On Down Syndrome?

Years ago it was thought that individuals with Down syndrome weren't capable of, well, just about anything, so it was standard practice to immediately institutionalize babies born with Down syndrome.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you put any baby in an institution without stimulation, love, opportunities to grow and learn ... of course they won't learn anything!

Along with the institutionalization there was the attitude that there was no reason to do research that would help with a better quality of life.

Things have changed and thanks to research more is understood about Down syndrome. Despite the fact that Down syndrome remains the most common chromosomal disorder but the least funded by the NIH, research is being done by a number of organizations who realize the importance of research and Down syndrome.

They are discovering that by researching the genes and secrets that are held on that 21st chromosome they can also research medical mysteries beyond Down syndrome - issues like Alzheimer's and cancer.

Even as recently as 5 years ago I blogged about individuals with Down syndrome having a higher chance of being diagnosed with leukemia, but also a higher chance of beating cancer.

Does Study Of Down Syndrome Hold A Possible Cancer Cure? is a more recent article bringing light to the need for research on the 21st chromosome and the positive impact it can have on a larger part of society. "Therefore, our friends and relatives with Down syndrome are, even if unintentionally, enabling discoveries about how cancers develop and how to combat them." 

Exactly. Research is important and it's why we support the work that organizations like LuMind Foundation, Research Down Syndrome, Global Down Syndrome Foundation, just to name a few, are doing. It's why it's important to raise awareness and take action on research and spread information on the Down Syndrome Registry.

How You Live

July 12th was two years since my dad passed away. That date fell right in the middle of the NDSC convention so I had plenty to do to keep my mind occupied and distracted.

July 4th, Kayla's birthday (July 15th) and the annual convention (usually in the middle of July) will always be wrapped up in the anniversary of my dad's death and funeral. Two years ago I went to convention the weekend after my dad's funeral.

So today is 2 years to the day that my dad was buried and I see this video clip of Stuart Scott's speech at the ESPYs.

It was hard to watch, but I also realized that I needed this today of all days.

I am still angry that my dad in no longer here. I'm angry that he's not here to fight cancer anymore.

But Stuart Scott reminded me of something in his acceptance speech. He reminded me that even though he's no longer here, what mattered is how my dad lived his life while battling cancer. And he did just that - he lived his life. He continued to do the things he loved to do.

And when the third treatment was obviously no more effective my dad made the choice to not try a different chemo, to not put his body through that anymore - for a chemo drug that really didn't have much success rate for pancreatic cancer. He made the choice to live how he wanted to live.

Stuart Scott reminded me of this when he said, "When you die, it does not mean you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live."

My dad beat cancer in that way. He did not lose to cancer when he died, because it was on his terms - his terms to forgo chemo treatments and live whatever time he had left in the way he wanted to live. He was thankful for each and every day he had.


 

Pancreatic Cancer: Know It, Fight It, End It

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. One of the main awareness events that happens in November throughout the country are PurpleStride walks/5Ks to raise funds for the Pancreatic Action Network. 

Last year we went to Savannah for the PurpleStride walk.

That was 4 months after my dad passed away. He had been attending the walks in Orlando and we didn't get a chance to go with him, so I wanted to honor his memory at the Savannah walk.

It was hard. Harder than I thought it would be. While I'm glad we went in his memory there is a small part of me that thinks it was too soon.

At the last one my dad attended in Orlando he told me spoke in front of the crowd as one of the survivors.

It was hard last year knowing he was no longer a survivor. Knowing he wouldn't be going to any more PurpleStride walks and speaking to the crowd.

I've been flip-flopping over whether I wanted to make the trip to Savannah this year to do the walk again (Savannah is the closest one to us). A part of me wanted to go to continue honoring his memory.

But a part of me didn't. I admit to being somewhat bitter. I didn't want to go to an event that would be a constant reminder that my dad is no longer here. I didn't want to go to an event and raise funds for treatment and a cure that is too late for my dad. Yes, just a little bit bitter.

I am absolutely not saying that it isn't important to keep raising funds for pancreatic cancer research, treatment, and cures for the people who are currently fighting this disease, and for the people who are yet to be diagnosed. It is important. The 5 year survival rate for this type of cancer is just 6%. (My dad fought it for 3 years). It's the only major cancer with a 5 year survival rate in the single digits and has remained that way for 40 years.

There are no early detection methods and the symptoms that do appear could be attributed to other medical conditions (my dad was first diagnosed with pancreatitis). More than half of the diagnoses are made in the latter stages. Surgery offers the best chance, but only about 15% of cases are caught early enough for this surgery...and even with surgery this cancer recurs in approximately 80% of patients.

So yes, more research is desperately needed. Only about 2% of the National Cancer Institute's budget is allocated to pancreatic cancer, the 4th leading cause of cancer deaths.

I'm not denying that there isn't a need in the pancreatic cancer community for events like PurpleStride to raise funds and awareness ... there is ... I'm just saying that I'm also bitter and still mourning for my dad and that I know my participating won't help my father. Sometimes that is still hard for me to come to grips with.

I didn't know if I could put my emotions aside and do the walk this year. But the decision ended up being made for me. The Partners in Policymaking class that I'm involved in meets the 3rd weekend of every month and the walk in Savannah is on the same weekend I need to be in Columbia for class.

I won't be at the walk this year, but I can still donate, raise awareness, and always, always honor and remember my dad.

Remembering My Dad

I dreaded this day coming; the one year mark to end my dad's 3.5 yr battle with pancreatic cancer.

"Eulogy for dad" has quickly become one of the top search phrases that have landed people on my blog. I hate that. But every time I see that phrase has led someone to my eulogy for my dad, I say a little prayer for the person who did that search.

Thank you all for your suggestions on what I should do to mark this day. I realized that last week when we were on our vacation we were doing things my dad would've loved to do. He loved being outdoors ... going for walks, hiking trails etc. He would have loved the pictures I shared. He would have laughed, and been surprised, at us continuing our walk in the rain to the waterfall. I could hear his voice in my head, teasing me about that, exclaiming that I took the kids out in the rain.

So today, to remember my dad, this is my to-do list:
- Have one of those good, long, ugly, hard cries
- If the rain holds off, take kids for a bike ride
- Pull up YouTube and listen to the hits by the Four Seasons: Working My Way Back To You, Big Girls Don't Cry, Sherry, Candy Girl, Walk Like A Man because when I was growing up I remember my dad listening to and singing those songs
A lot.
- Sit down w/Kayla and Lucas and look through pictures of my dad
- Pull out the old video tape from when Kayla was born and cross my fingers that I have my dad on that tape
- Write messages with the kids, to my dad, on Flying Wish Paper and send the wishes up in the sky
- Wear our Purple Stride Pancreatic Cancer walk shirts
- Wear our Boston Red Sox caps
- Take the kids bowling
- Smile
- Make a donation to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network
- Order flowers to be delivered to FL so someone can place them on my dad's grave site
- Try not to relieve what I was doing every hour of the day this time last year
- Probably have one more good cry

 

The Last Pictures

I spent last July 4th with my dad.

I knew since he decided to stop his chemo treatments (he didn't feel like they were working anymore) for pancreatic cancer that we would inevitably have to say goodbye to him sooner rather than later.

But last July 4th I wasn't expecting it to be so soon after that day.

July 4th was his last good day. The last day he was really alert, more mobile (although he still couldn't walk because of the blood clots in his leg), in great spirits, and 'with it' in his conversations with us. I guess it was something like a last 'surge' before his body shut down.

We left the next day, Thursday - July 5th, and exactly one week later he passed away. I still can't believe he's gone. I can't believe it's almost been a year since I said goodbye to my dad.

The days to that one-year anniversary are hurtling faster and faster towards me and I just want to stop time. I don't want July 12th to get here. I just want to skip over that day. I don't want to have to remember and associate July 12th with his death. I don't want to have to associate the July 4th holiday as the last time he had a good day, and that there are no more July 4th celebrations for him.

I don't like remembering that he's not here anymore.

As painful as these pictures are to look at I also cherish them ... the last pictures I have of my father.

Since I can't avoid July 12th I'm wondering what I can do to honor my dad on that date. We aren't going to be in Florida to visit his grave site ... so what can I do at home for him? For myself? For Kayla and Lucas to acknowledge the significance of this date? Any suggestions for something else besides maybe releasing balloons?


 

Photo Booth Fun

We ended the PurpleStride walk with some photo booth fun. It was a nice way to decompress after the walk ... and the kids really enjoyed picking out silly hats and glasses!

 

PurpleStride Savannah

This weekend we drove to Tybee Island, GA for the Pancreatic Cancer Network's PurpleStride 5K.

It was a chilly and windy walk/run on the beach, but I'm glad that we went in memory of my dad.

They had a short kids' run and then there was the 5K Run/Walk. The wind really started to get to Kayla so Joe took her back up on the pier and Lucas toughed out the rest of the walk with me. Ok except on the way back when a police officer patrolling the beach offered us a ride back ... and Lucas wanted to ride on the jeep; so we almost made the 5K.

It was an emotional day thinking about, and remembering my dad, and wishing he was still here with us.

Glow sticks to light it up purple for hope and remembrance of loved ones.

 

Purple Stride

Today is exactly 4 months since my dad lost his battle with pancreatic cancer.

For the past 3 years he participated in the Pancreatic Cancer Network's Purple Stride walks to raise awareness and funding for pancreatic cancer research.

One of my regrets is I didn't have a chance to make it to FL to walk with him in one of these walks.

Last year he spoke as a survivor. I have tears just thinking about that. Last year: a survivor. This year: he won't be there.

His memory and advocacy efforts will continue though. My brother and his family, and my dad's wife and her family, all walked together in a Purple Stride event in TN last month.

I found a Purple Stride walk in Savannah, GA and my family will be walking in honor, and memory, of my father.

The five-year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is a mere six percent. Nearly 44,000 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this year.

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. I'm pledging to be a visionary in the fight against pancreatic cancer.

If you can donate to our team please know it is much appreciated!



Click Here to Donate

Military Funeral

Writing can be cathartic and I need cathartic right now.

While I don't mean to over-post on my father's death I do want to write about his funeral. I feel like this is the final chapter in my journey of saying goodbye to him. I need to finish this chapter before I get back to life blogging about our vacation to Denmark (no I still haven't finished those posts!), and the NDSC convention and whatever else comes our way.

I have been a part of the military since the day I was born. My dad served 20 years in the Air Force and I knew a military funeral, steeped in tradition and ceremony, would be so very emotional. As if a funeral for your parent isn't emotional enough on it's own accord. I knew there would be an honor guard, a flag-draped coffin, the folding and presenting of the flag to the next of kin, the volley salute, and the playing of Taps.

I saw my father take his last breaths. I saw him in the casket at the viewing the day before the funeral. I was numb. It was, and really still is, surreal.

Seeing his flag-draped coffin being taken out of the hearse by the military honor guard somehow made it that more real.

Even though it was the same casket in front of me during the funeral service, when I saw it at the cemetery it hit me harder and I kept thinking, "That's my father. That's my father in that casket. This is really happening."

I wasn't prepared for those emotions. And I most certainly wasn't prepared for the emotions I felt when I glanced over at my brother. My brother, who was enlisted in the Air Force and then the Reserves, and who, a couple of years ago, commissioned in to the Army...my brother in his Army Dress Blues. He was standing on the path the honor guards were walking with the casket and he was saluting. (As was Joe, in his Air Force Service Dress). It wasn't that they did anything unusual, because of course they would be saluting a flag-draped coffin of a veteran; standing at attention and rendering respect and honor for the deceased. But this was my brother, and he was saluting our father's casket and it hurt my heart to see that, because I know that he was struggling with composure just as much as I was. The unbelievable-ness that we were burying our father much sooner than we ever thought we would be.

After the somberness of the flag-folding and presenting to his wife I prepared myself for the volleys they were going to fire.

Each of the three shots made me cry harder than the last. Each of the shots made it more final. I wanted to scream out "no!" with each of the shots. I just wanted my father back.

When the playing of Taps started I thought my knees were going to buckle. I wanted nothing more than to crumble to the ground and sob until I had nothing left. I didn't want to be standing there, having my father honored with the playing of Taps. I wanted to be back at his house talking about the Red Sox. This description of Taps couldn't be more accurate, "There is something singularly beautiful and appropriate in the music of this wonderful call. Its strains are melancholy, yet full of rest and peace. Its echoes linger in the heart long after its tones have ceased to vibrate in the air.        
                      - from an article by Master Sergeant Jari A Villanueva, USAF

I described the witnessing of a military funeral for one's own father as "poignantly beautiful, knee-buckling, and heart-breaking all at once."

 

 

May you rest in peace now Dad, your body free from the pain of cancer, and knowing that you gave it one helluva fight for nearly 3 years. Goodbye, Dad, I love you.

 

My Eulogy For My Dad

I wasn't sure I would be able to write a eulogy for my dad, but I wanted to honor him, so I felt this was something I needed to try and do. I hope it would have made him smile, and would've made him proud.

Thank you all for being here today to honor my father.

As I started this eulogy I wondered how I would ever sum up 59 years of his life. I realize no matter what I come up with to say about him it won’t do the scope of his life justice, for he had a full life and was loved by many.

My dad was born in Norwich, CT on Dec 4, 1952. He grew up in the small town of Plainfield, CT. The stories I remember him telling centered around life going to a Catholic school where he had a ruler whacked across his knuckles by a nun on more than one occasion and playing Little League baseball. Playing ball was one of his favorite childhood memories and in fact, just a couple of months ago he wrote this: “May 27, 1965. This was the day I hit my first home run in little league. I usually can't remember yesterday, but certain times of your life you never forget and this was one of those times.” 

My brothers and I have favorite childhood memories involving our dad and baseball, well…technically softball. He played on a team at Hanscom AFB. We spent many a night on the bleachers and around the field watching those games. He played left field and he wasn’t one who would watch the ball fly over the fence. He wouldn’t just jump up to make an attempt at catching it either. Even if there was no chance of catching the ball he would run and climb that chain link fence and stretch out his arm to try and deny someone a home run. And then there were the Home Run Derbies where we enjoyed watching our dad smack quite a few over the fence and bringing home a trophy or two. His love of the sport made me eager to join the softball team when I was in 7th and 8th grade. I wanted to play left field, just like my dad, but that’s about as much as I did that was like him when it came to softball!

In 1971 my dad left his hometown and joined the Air Force. He was stationed at Sheppard AFB, TX (where I was born) and did a very remote 1-yr tour to Alaska. He was stationed at Plattsburg AFB, NY where Michael was born. We moved to Ramstein, Germany where my memories are of his friend, Ken Bachard, and him in the living room singing along to the songs “Walk Like A Man”, “Candy Girl”, “Sherry Baby” and “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” Now every time I hear one of those songs I’m transported back to our living room at Ramstein.

After Germany he was stationed at Hanscom AFB, MA where he gained another son – Ray, and where his son Steven was born. Living in MA meant we were close enough to attend the Beausoleil family reunions at his dad’s house. This consisted of big backyard BBQs, plenty of beer, lots of horseshoe-throwing, foot races between his brothers, and roasting marshmallows in the big fire pit.

After Hanscom we went back to Germany, this time to Zweibrucken AB. Finally, his last duty station was at McGuire AFB, NJ where he retired in 1991 after serving honorably for 20 years. It was in NJ that he gained two more daughters – Janet and Mitsy.

If you were lucky enough to eat a meal prepared by my dad than you knew he was a great cook – and he should’ve been after 20 years in the food service industry! I used to call him up to ask for help in making this recipe or that dish – particularly how to make the candied yams he used to make for Thanksgiving.

To know my father was to know he was passionate about sports in general, and the Red Sox in particular. His rants on Facebook during a game made me smile and shake my head. As we were watching the games on TV my husband would sometimes say, “I bet your dad is going crazy on Facebook right now.” I didn’t even need to watch the games, I could read his status updates to know what was going on. He would complain about the manager leaving the pitcher in too long because of his ERA and I’d comment, “but Dad, it’s only the 4th inning!” and he’d go on and on about the pitcher’s stats against this batter in this stadium and in this situation. I think he missed his calling, he should have been a commentator, announcer, or manager. I’m going to miss his posts throughout the rest of this baseball season, especially since he would have plenty to say with the Red Sox’s current record!

My dad was a proud grandfather. I remember calling him from the hospital to tell him I had just given birth to my daughter, and that she had Down syndrome. I don’t know what reaction I was expecting as I was still absorbing the news myself. What he said was, “So?” He asked if she was healthy and going home and I said yes and he said that’s what matters. That was the reaction I needed, for someone to tell me “so…” and for me to see that it wasn’t a big deal. He supported us in the annual Down Syndrome Buddy Walks and tried to make it every year that he could. He deeply loved all his grandchildren and doted on them whenever he could and bragged on them whenever he had the chance.

After growing tired of the winters in NJ, my dad and his wife settled in FL where they fully enjoyed life and being near family for the past several years. My dad enjoyed being outdoors and spent many a day sprucing up the yard, building a pond, going to flea markets, camping, walking the trails at state parks, fishing, and riding a tandem-bike with his wife.

When he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2009 he didn’t let that stop his active lifestyle because he wasn’t going to let cancer define him. He didn’t sit home with a ‘why me’ attitude because he was determined to not let this disease take over his life. He was thankful for each day that he woke up. His faith never wavered, he vowed to fight it with everything he had – and he did, bravely and with a strong, positive spirit, for nearly 3 years.

I don’t think there was a person who met him who didn’t like him. I’ve heard from many people that he was such a genuinely nice guy with a good heart who easily accepted you in his life. He was generous with his time and helped those who needed it.

His words of wisdom were, “Be thankful for what you have and enjoy each day you’re given. And don’t get upset over the little things because it’s simply not worth it.”

His presence will be missed by all who knew and loved him.

 

My Dad - 1952-2012

This past week has been the hardest week of my life.

My father passed away on Thur, July 12 and nothing could have ever prepared me for that.

I arrived on Mon afternoon and when I walked in to his hospice room everyone was sitting silently around his bed. His wife roused him enough to let him know I was there and I'll never forget the look in his eyes as he said my name.

For the most part he stayed in a sleeping state and when he was awake it was more like a semi-consciousness. When he was semi-conscious he was experiencing the terminal agitation, which even though I read about it, it's not the same as seeing it first hand.

My brother and I stayed in the hospice room Monday-Wed along with his wife. It was so hard seeing my dad in that condition, knowing he wasn't really there with us. I couldn't believe the change in him since we were there on the 4th of July.

On Wed the chaplain arranged to have communion in my dad's room with all his family. After that he brought us all to the family area and told us about a book called Final Gifts. A lot of time the person who is dying waits until everyone has left the room and chooses that time to pass away - as their gift to you. He was saying that my dad might be hanging on waiting for a moment like that and we were always in his room surrounding him and maybe we wanted to talk as a family and go out to eat etc. So we did just that and gave him some time alone in his room if that was what he had wanted and was waiting for.

He was really agitated on Wed afternoon and they added Haldol to his meds. We finally got him in what seemed to be a pretty comfortable position and he basically didn't wake up after that. I went to bed and wanted to pray for another day, but I knew if I had another day I'd ask for another one after that, and another. I knew that having another day wouldn't be enough. Instead I prayed for my dad to have peace and to not suffer anymore. I knew he wouldn't have wanted to be in the state he was in for very long.

He slept all through Wed night, unlike the previous nights where he was up a lot with the agitation. We didn't even hear him coughing throughout the night like he had been. We woke up Thur and it seemed like he was so peaceful. His heart rate was regular and his breathing steady, although we knew he had pretty bad lung congestion. It seemed like he could've gone on like he was for another week or so and we were in limbo. That morning I asked the nurse what she thought and she agreed - that in his present state he probably could go another week like that; because he was young, active and breathing ok. She even said, "Do I think it'll be today or even tomorrow? No, not with how he is now."

His wife and I left that morning around 10 to go have breakfast. I came back that afternoon around 2ish with one of my brothers. No one was in the room and when we walked in I was stunned to see how my dad's breathing had changed...he was breathing very rapidly and noisily, nothing like he was when I left him that morning. I kissed him on the head and told him, "Remember Dad, if you need to go it is ok. We all understand." Eventually everyone had come back from various errands and were either on the patio or in the family room.

The nurse tried a few things to make him more comfortable and to hopefully get his breathing to slow down. She said to make sure we pushed the button for the bolus on his morphine every 15 min. I was in his room alone, sitting in a far corner, I got up to give him the extra dose of morphine and sat down in the chair by his bed.

My brother and my father's wife came in the room at that time and a few seconds later so did the nurse. She said his breathing had slowed to a more normal rate and as we were all staring at him something changed with his breathing. All of a sudden he took his last breaths and the rest of the family was called in to his room. We were all around his bedside with him. I just couldn't believe that as of that morning he seemed like he would hang on for another week and by that evening we were saying our final goodbyes to him.

I can't believe he is gone. I can't believe I won't ever see my father again or hear his voice. He was too young and had so much life left in him. I miss him more that I ever imagined I would.

Some of my favorite pictures from when I was a girl...