After I got the call that he had cancer, all I could think about was all the things that we never got to talk about over the years. I Pondered on the things that I never knew, and all the moments missed with my dad.
This is just a product of divorce and not living with both parents, or is it? As soon as I wrote these words, I was flooded with people that I know who are divorced, and from the outside, these parents seem to have a sustainable relationship with the kids that they might not live with 100% of the time. Maybe it’s not just about the divorce, but simply a lack of communication. Maybe even something that some people just aren’t capable of, sharing your heart. I can see this as a possibility now that I am older, but for a long time I just thought that it was hard to have a relationship with a child that did not live with you. This was way before parents would share the kids 50/50
We didn’t know right away how bad the cancer was, or if it had spread, but we would find out shortly. While I was back in PA and my dad was in Florida waiting for test results, the best means of communication was email. He would typically send my brothers and I a morning email, sharing what he ate, or telling us what his plan was for the day. Sometimes it would just be to water his “slime” tree. He had a lime tree out by the pool but as humor was a big part of my dad’s life, he would call it his slime tree. He kept busy with things such as cleaning the garage, which was a favorite of his. It was so clean that you could eat off the floor. He would try to go on short bike rides with Donna or just sit by the pool. I’m sure that time stood still as he waited for those test results, wondering what the next step would be, or if this was the beginning to the end of his journey here.
While he was in Florida, I was home pretty much thinking nonstop about whether my dad was going to live through this diagnosis, and all the things that you think about when someone is diagnosed with cancer. I eagerly awaited his daily and sometimes nightly emails even though they were never long. He would typically end each one with a joke, and he did this till the end. He never lost his humor. When I would write back to him, I always had lots of questions to ask him. What are you most afraid of? Do you have any regrets in life? What advice do you want to share with me that you may not have done yet? These questions were not an everyday thing, but they became more often after we found out that the cancer was terminal.
When I knew he didn’t have long to live (they gave him less than 6 months) I thought of things that I really wanted to know. Did my dad even know who I was, or what kind of person I was. Did he know my favorite foods or my heart’s desires. I didn’t have the answers to these questions, so I remember deciding to write him an email after I got home from our most recent Florida trip. The long weekend trip when we found out that the cancer had spread, and he didn’t have long to live. ( It was about three weeks that he actually had) I thought to myself, what questions could I ask where the answers would have the most impact on me going forward without him, or to have in my heart and memory after he was gone? I could only think of one, but one that I could surely carry with me after he was no longer here.
It was a simple question, but one that could be answered in many ways. I remember typing this out to him, with tears rolling down my cheeks. Knowing he was still here to answer this, but soon wouldn’t be.
What was, or, is your favorite memory of me growing up, what memory makes your heart happy when you think of it, pertaining to me?
I wanted to know what my dad loved about me most, a memory of us together, and not having but a small opportunity to live with him, I wasn’t sure what his answer would be. I did have hope that there would be many moments he could recall.
As I waited for his response, eagerly going back to my computer (I didn’t have a phone with email 11 years ago) I found myself wondering what his reply would be. Would it be walking me down the aisle on my wedding day or watching me grow into a young woman that he could be proud of? I sat at the computer chair that night, knowing that he normally would send a goodnight email telling us how his day ended. When I saw his name pop up in the inbox, I immediately clicked to see if this was the response that I was waiting for.
In a short three sentence reply, my dad shared that he was tired and would respond and answer my question, “but probably not today” He had had a hot dog (his favorite food that he still wanted to try and eat) and did not feel well, so he left me with this.
“The memory that was always my favorite, was you sleeping in your crib when we lived in Devon. I can remember every Saturday & Sunday morning when you woke up and stood at one end of the crib, either in the morning or after a nap, you would stand up and laugh, then you would reach out to me with a smile. Now, tomorrow I will send more, but I must go get some sleep.”
That day of sending more, unfortunately, never came, and I was never sure why. Maybe that memory was the one my dad wanted to savor and the one that brought him the most joy when he thought of me. He might not have wanted to revisit a part of his life where he didn’t get to spend time with me daily making the “regular everyday” memories, that many take for granted.
For years after he died, thoughts would play over in my head, again, and again, wondering if somehow it was my fault that he never shared more. Today, I am thankful for a clearer vision of the reality of those last few weeks with him. Although, I was clinging to his every word, to somehow heal the hurts, it wasn’t just about me, it was about him. A man who had a few short weeks left on this earth, and maybe when he closed his eyes one last time, that was the way he wanted to remember me. Laughing, happy and reaching for him with a smile on my face.
“No need to forgive, no need to forget, I know your mistakes and you know mine”
Fear Not 