THE PASSING OF MY FATHER

My Father passed away New Year's Eve at 9:20 PM after a ferocious, year-long battle with cancer. After many inconclusive pathology reports we learned that the aggressive cancer that was attcking his bones originated in his skin. Days of working outside in the sun, riding around in convertables and racing motorcycles with no shirt on caught up with him at the young age of 60.

His final week was a testament to his character and I was lucky enough to be with him in the hospital virtually the entire time. We went in on Christmas eve, spent the night in emerg, and he was admitted on the 25th. The CT scan he had that day revealed that the cancer was in every place it could be except for his vital organs and his brain - the doctor said he had never seen anything like it. I believe it was his will to be sure that those he left behind would be ok that kept the cancer at bay.

He knew it wouldn't be long, but insisted on getting his affairs in order while in the hospital. Each time we crossed an item off the list he let go a little more, and began admitting he was feeling pain. He took very little pain medication so he could be lucid for all of our discussions. There was even one time when I came in from being in the family room (a great space in the palliative care wing for families to rest) and he handed me a pill wrapped in a kleenex;

"Here . . . hide this"

"What is it?" I said.

"It's an oxy (his pain medication). The nurse wanted me to take it, but I'm on to her. It's hard to say no to her with her big eyes and pushy face so I pretended to take it."

I told him he was in charge of his pain medication, but he still made me hide it at the bottom of the garbage.

He wanted so much to be lucid, and was so proud of the sobriety that he had held for 18 years that he really didn't want it to be a big part of the end of his life.

Right until the final day he was working out all of these methods of still maintaining control over his body. The cancer had obliterated the bones in his left hip and he had no control over that leg, but he insisted on getting up to go to the bathroom and sitting up to eat what little he was able to. He found joy in every thing he could. Every time he rubbed an ice chip on his lips he expressed what a beautiful feeling it was. He was so grateful for every thing every nurse did for him, and, if he asked them for anything at all it was always 'when you have time . . .'

On the day he passed I had left to shower and change at a friend's house and had told him I would be back by 9 PM.

The nurse attending to him, Sandy, called me in at 8:30 PM. When I arrived she said that while she was helping him his eyes rolled back in his head 'like he was going,' she said. She called him, ". . .Bob?" and he came back, looked at her and said:

"It's time for me to go now."

She asked him if he was afraid.

He said 'no', and grinned from ear to ear.

She asked him if he would wait for us (my Dad's girlfriend Joan who was downstairs at the time and I) to come back, and he said 'yes'.

My Dad had told me that the last feeling he wanted to feel was me stroking his hair as he passed. When I arrived I sat beside him and alternated wiping his brow with a cold cloth and stroking his hair with my hand. I told him it was ok to let go, and that I loved him. He kept saying 'ok, ok, ok, it's ok' until the spaces between his breaths lengthened and he no longer spoke. He turned his face toward mine and I leaned on the bed with my face next to his. I held his forehead and his hand and, as he took his last breath, I saw a tear run along his right cheek.

I hope with all of my heart that it was a tear of joy.

I have been overwhelmed by the messages, calls and flowers from so many of my friends and family. Especially from those I have known in past lives - people who don't have to take that moment to send a message, but they do, even when you don't know what to say. Thank you hardly does justice to the gratitude I feel to all of them.

When my son came to the hospital to say good bye to him my Dad said two things:

I had mentioned that I always seem to have a friend who works in the area that we need help in and my Dad said:

"I'm going to take full credit for teaching you that. Your network is everything. Cultivate your network." He said looking directly at his grandson. "That means take the time to have a coffee with someone for no reason."

Then when they were saying good bye he said to him:

"Take care of these girls (meaning myself and my Mom who was there too), if you take care of the women in your life you will never want for anything."

Through his illness he realised how much women do to care for each other and those they love and he mentioned it to me frequently. He had all the nurses doting on him right till the end (he was also trying to sell them the furniture he made, but that's another story).

One of the many things that this experience has taught me is that when you show someone that you care - you are giving the ONLY gift that matters; the gift of yourself, your time, and your love.