4018 days since I stayed up all night with him. My sister asleep on the floor. My mother asleep beside him. Me, sitting next to him. Watching him breath. Watching him struggle to breath. Shooting him up with morphine each time I felt like he was struggling too much. Too much for him to bear. Too much for me to bear watching.
I sat there and watched him die. If you have never seen this happen, it's a hard experience to describe. Of course I was horribly sad. But, at the same time I was at peace with it. I wanted him out of his suffering.
He had a tumor cut out of his brain. Yet, he got back up kicking. Only a few weeks later he walked my sister down the aisle. We didn't think he'd be alive to be there, and, if so, certainly not walk. You want to see me cry streams of tears? Standing at the alter watching my dad walk my sister down the aisle? Forgeddaboudit.
The cancer just wouldn't give up. Along with his brain, it strangled his lungs. It ravaged his body. Then, it took his leg. But, my dad NEVER gave up. Ever. Even that last night he was fighting.
I don't think it was until I whispered in his ear late that night that it was ok to go that he actually let go.
Those were perhaps the hardest words I've ever spoken. But, probably the words most filled with love I've ever spoken as well.
4018 days since I held his hand as he took his last breath.
We have had one week of amazing weather here in the Chicago area. Eighty degree temps and bountiful sunshine. It's been nice to feel a bit of summer on my runs and rides. I love me some sunshine. I love how it feels on my skin. Especially after I've been without it for so many months. It makes me feel alive. Makes me happy. Ahhhh, sunshine.
My father called me Sunshine. It always made me smile. Come on, your dad calling you Sunshine? Melted my little heart. And, sometimes, when he would hold me he would sing, "You Are My Sunshine". Love.
My dad loved the sunshine. His favorite place in the world was our gazebo or hammock in St. Maarten. He would spend afternoons lounging in the sun in the beach hammock, reading a good book. Come sunset time he would move to the gazebo with the book, this time adding a nice cocktail as he watched the sun set on another gorgeous day.
However, dad also loved bad weather. Tornadoes, hurricanes, the worse the better. If tornado sirens were going off, dad was outside watching the sky. When we were in a major hurricane in St. Maarten, he took a very minor reduction in winds during the middle of the hurricane as an opportunity to go outside and stand in it. The winds were intense and almost unbearable to stand in. But, he hunkered down in a spot that gave him a vantage point to watch the intensity of the storm from the front row. Of course, I was right behind him. The apple didn't fall far.
Ten years ago today my dad died. I cannot believe it's been ten years. I have no idea where the time went. It still seems like yesterday. I can still remember the events of those last twenty four hours with every single detail. Up until the moment my my dad took his last breath.
I was my father's daughter . After he died I honestly thought the sun would never shine again. There's something about losing a parent. If you have been unfortunate to know this feeling, you know. If you are lucky enough to not know it I hope that you don't for a very long time.
My sister's bib for the St. Paddy's Day 5k
I have several friends who have rocky relationships with their parents. I only tell them this. Make amends. Even if they did you wrong. Weren't the best parents. Made you struggle to be the amazing person you are today in spite of them. Whatever it is. Be the better person. Forgive. Love. Because, life is too short. My dad was not perfect. He made mistakes. He wasn't always a good dad. But, he did love me. And, in the end of his life I felt his love stronger than I ever had. Maybe it was because I was taking care of him. As he slowly died, I stood up strong. To help him. Oddly the moment in my life he was proudest of me was when I was helping him die.
I have so many male friends who have daughters. I love watching them interact with them. There's something so special about the father-daughter relationship. I'm not even sure my friends realize the impact they are having on their daughters. But, let me tell you, it's a big one. If you are a father to a daughter, don't take what you say and do with them for granted. They remember it all. It matters.
Losing my dad was hard. He was THE man in my life. Always. He comforted me when I was sad. Gave me that kind of bear hug that only a dad can give. When I got physically hurt my mom would give me the bandaid and calm me down. However, dad would tell me me to suck it up and stop crying. My dad was there to help me with life lessons. With stuff as a girl I didn't know how to do. I would ask my dad. Often he would do it for me. But, many times he would make me figure it out myself.
After he died I had to figure everything out myself. I could no longer ask him. That was hard at first. I cannot tell you how many times I reached for the phone, thinking I could call him. Only to remember I would never be able to again. I didn't figure out a lot of things right without him. I made mistakes. I still do.
I really need my dad now. For so many reasons. My running sucks. I am struggling. I'm being whiny. I need him to remind me to suck it up. Shut up and just do it. But, I also need him to give me the hug that only he could give. To tell me that it would be ok. That life would be ok. He didn't hug me often. When he did it was unexpected. But, it was in a moment I surely needed it. The unexpected hugs tend to mean the most. I miss having someone to protect me. From life. From me.
Sometimes life is going to hit you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith.
~Steve Jobs
My day today began with a radioactive breakfast. I headed to the hospital for the bone scan on my shin. To finally figure out what's wrong with me. Why I am in pain. Why I cannot run. Sadly I am very familiar with this hospital as I spent many hours here in the recent years with my dad and grandma. I haven't been in the hospital for me since I fell out of a tree when I was 7 years old. I watched in the monitor as the radioactive crap flowed through my body. It was actually pretty cool. As it hit my shin, it lit up like a Christmas tree. Yeah, there's something, something going on there for sure.
For some reason after my tests were over I couldn't leave the hospital. Every time I had been here before I couldn't wait to leave. Many times I was leaving with a knot in my stomach. Another doctor's appointment where my dad received bad news once again. Another emergency visit where we thought is this the end? But, today, I needed to pause. Reflect. I walked outside to a garden area and sat on a bench. On another bench sat an elderly man. Alone. Visibly upset. It broke my heart. I knew what this man was feeling. I was there once.
After my tests I decided to head out for a long bike ride in honor of my dad today. It was a gorgeous day. Warm, sunny, clear blue skies. A day my dad would have loved. He was a private pilot. Along the trail I pass a private airstrip in a local subdivision. A private plane landed over me as I rode. Today would have been a perfect flying day. A day when I was a kid where he would wake me up out of bed and say, "Wake up, Andrea. We are flying to Wisconsin for breakfast." <Love>
Riding my bike today I remembered a funny story about my dad. When I was home from college for a break we were heading to my sister's for some family function. Just before we were ready to leave my dad announces that he will be riding his bike there. Huh? Um, what? She lived 10 miles away. I couldn't remember the last time my dad was on a bike. He wasn't someone who worked out. He was overweight. But, at the same time he would jump in at any opportunity to do something athletic if challenged or asked. Or, maybe if he just felt like it. A very, "What the hell. Why not?" attitude. He was the guy in the belly flop contest, just because. The parent who jumped in the parent relay at the swim meet and killed his leg. And, apparently he was the guy who without any recent working out decides to throw his 250lb body on a bike. We were praying for those tires I tell ya! Dad made it to my sisters. A little out of breath. But, he did it. I was quite proud of him.
Dad was a Chicago guy. A tough guy. He took risks. Did fun things. Did things just for the hell of it. He made his own wine. (My sister and I stomped the grapes!) He played Santa in my pre-school. He cooked a mean steak. He tended a killer garden. He swam with sharks. He flew a plane.
I was not my dad. At least I didn't think so. I'm a girlie girl. I like to wear 4 inch heels and short skirts. My dad kind of got screwed out of having a little doode. But, not really. I was also a great tomboy too. Yes, I was a ballerina, a figure skater, a cheerleader. But, I also fished, climbed trees, played in the dirt, camped, raced the boys. He pulled me in a pick up truck on a frozen lake with me on a sled behind yelling "faster daddy! faster daddy!" Yup, faster he went. He threw me in the air across the pool as I screamed, "throw me higher!". He snuck me in a casino at age 14. And, he couldn't be prouder that I got in. Ha!
When I said I wanted to live in St. Maarten with college friends the summer after my freshman year my mom suspected what the summer would be like and quickly said, "I don't think so" Dad also suspected what the summer would be like and said, "sure". I went. When I asked if I could study abroad the next summer mom wasn't too keen on it. Dad said he thought it sounded interesting and they would figure out a way they could afford it. I went. When I told them I was planning on moving to Korea after college for a few months my mother said "No way". My dad asked questions. More questions. Then wished me well. Off I went.
I think dad would have been tickled with my little running journey. He, sadly, never saw me start this silly ride. But, I suspect he would have thought it was pretty cool. While very supportive of my swimming while growing up, he was not really a fan of attending my meets. I get that. Swim meets are pretty boring. But, he was there when it mattered; State meets, U.S. National meets. He never pressured me to do well. Always made me feel it was ok no matter what. Mom doesn't get my running. She has no clue what I'm doing. She can't understand why. I'm pretty sure if I would have told him I was planning on running a marathon that he would say, "do it.". And, I'm VERY sure he would come watch.
I kind of liken me deciding to run a marathon to him jumping on a bike for a random 10 mile ride. What the hell. Why not?
Today is my dad's birthday. Cancer ripped him from me 9 1/2 years ago. He never thought he would die. No matter how bad it got, he just never gave up. There had to be another option. Another way. Something. He was NOT GOING TO DIE. Cancer ravaged his brain. Cancer sucked the breath out of his lungs. Cancer weakened his muscles. Cancer eventually took his leg. But, Cancer never took his will to live. Ever.
On the day he died I suspected this was it. He, however, did not. Eventually, though, the breathing became too difficult for him. So, me, his little baby girl, gave him morphine shots throughout the night to help ease the suffering. I would let him go. It was time. But, I would not let him go in pain. My mom and sister fell asleep on the floor beside his bed. I sat next to him, holding his hand. Telling him it was ok. It was ok to go. With his favorite music, Meatloaf's "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" playing in the background, he finally was ready to finish the race. And, then, he was gone.
There were days in my marathon training where I just couldn't go on. Where mentally I was spent. Where physically I couldn't take another step. I look back at that now and think how weak I was. My dad never gave up. Ever. Shame on me for quitting. For letting my mind tell me I could not go on. For not getting up for those early runs, and instead sleeping in. Because I was scared. I bet my dad was scared. Hell yeah. Cancer is a hell of a lot scarier than a marathon. 26.2 miles versus Cancer? No contest.
I hope my dad is proud of me for my effort to run the marathon. I surely gave it everything I had for as long as I could, both mentally and physically. I was mentally at the end of my rope when my body finally gave out. Dad wasn't the most demonstrative guy with love. However, as he was near the end there he did tell me how very proud he was of me. For taking care of him. For being there for him. For helping him fight. For loving him.
I will run that marathon one day. I will not quit. I will fight. Because my dad never quit. He fought his marathon to the finish.
First, I need to add a song to my marathon training running mix......
He had a tumor cut out of his brain. Yet, he got back up kicking. Only a few weeks later he walked my sister down the aisle. We didn't think he'd be alive to be there, and, if so, certainly not walk. You want to see me cry streams of tears? Standing at the alter watching my dad walk my sister down the aisle? Forgeddaboudit. 
