I never tire of cherishing the moment. Sometimes I get busy and distracted and caught up in the hustle and bustle of life, but I always come back to the simple appreciation of time. There's no stopping it -- time -- and there's no telling how my days will unfold as the seconds and minutes and hours tick by, so I try to live in the present with every breath I take.Cancer taught me this lesson -- this realization that time is not a guarantee, this deep-down feeling that I must soak up every experience that faces me.
Each night when my husband and I check on our sleeping boys, we sigh with amazement and one of us religiously says something like, Wow, they are so great. We never want to lose sight of the joy these sometimes-challenging little people share with us. And so we watch them in their most peaceful moments, while emotion fills our heads and hearts.
My husband has lost sight of his father -- literally. He died eight years ago today and while John can no longer see the man who passed away suddenly, without warning, and at a much-too-young age, his memories are still vivid. It's the simple things he didn't let slip by that are fresh in his mind today.
John wrote this essay for his mom and two brothers and sent it to them today, in honor of his dad whose life he hopes will never escape him.
And then there were four
I think about him just about every day. Most often it's a song that reminds me of Dad, such as Cats in the Cradle, or even one of his favorite TV shows, Quantum Leap. I was shopping in Publix the other day while a great mix of music played -- a song from Three Degree's came on, When Will I See You Again, and I stood there with a thousand-mile stare on my face as I thought of Dad. I work in a building that looks right across the street from the last residence hall I lived in, Yulee Hall -- the last dorm from which Dad muscled all my belongings. I see that building every day.
The passing of time doesn't fade the memories I have of him, the distance between the last one just increases. Just about this time eight years ago, I laid across Dad's chest well after he took is last breath. That memory is forever burned into my mind along side the memory I have of walking past Kristin's room that fateful day many years ago. Before that day there were six of us, then there were five, and now there are four. Every force of nature cannot stop that number from reaching zero, so I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you all that I love you and think about you every day. Although death may be the worst gift of life, the gift of our kids will keep our numbers growing. It's unfortunate he didn't get to meet any of our kids and they didn't get to meet him -- but in a way they do. There is no doubt I share some of his qualities and those (hopefully only the good ones) affect the way I parent, the way I work, and the way I love.
I miss you, Dad.
Love, JP
1. Its Friday night almost midnight and I just read "And then there were Four". It is so beautiful and resonates with me deeply. Our family has been on this journey for almost a year (diagnosis February 27, 2006) and my mother and father are down the hall, hopefully asleep as my father valiently fights his battle with mesothelioma. This comparatively rare form of cancer is ugly and painful and has no cure as yet but we watch my 80 year old dad take his chemo, fight the side effects and try to make everyone else comfortable and happy. I cannot imagine what he is feeling and thinking other than the anger and resentment he feels toward those he holds somewhat responsible for this disease. As a young man - 16 years old, he left his family and joined the Navy to pay bills and fight for his country. He ended up working in the Brooklyn Navy Yard and on many ships and was exposed to many places and things - even clothing he was given to wear and products he had to work with that contained asbestos which was known even then to be a silent killer. His disease lay dormant for 40 or 50 years until he started developing symptoms which were not diagnosed until last year when it was too late for surgery but not too late thank goodness for him to fight. Men and women of the Greatest Generation as Tom Brokaw has so aptly designated them have not been protected or even acknowledged to have been exposed to this dreaded disease. As forms of cancers go, this is an orphan disease. I watch my father as he gets his chemo treatment and remember how I waited for him to get off the bus so my sister and I could run to him and he would pick us up in his arms after work. He was at every school function in my 19 years of education and he has watched the many accomplishments of his four grandchildren. He and my mother have been partners for 51 years next week. We are not ready to let him go. We pray that each scan shows improvement or stability. We pray for each good day he has. I cherish the fact that he and my mother have lived with us for the past year. We are truly blessed with the doctors we have found and all of the nurses and professionals we have come into contact with. We need to raise more awareness for this disease. Thank you for inspiring me to write about my family and especially my father.
Posted at 12:02AM on Feb 10th 2007 by Stacey