I had a pretty idyllic childhood. My earliest memories are of living on a corn farm in Illinois where my days were filled with climbing trees, exploring along the creek, picking wild blackberries, helping plant and then harvest our large garden, walking through the old cemetery next to our house, and hanging out in my favorite spot, on top of the old pig pen. So many good memories. Are all of my memories wonderful? Certainly not. There was the time several wasps decided to attack my back, literally. There was the time I taped our cat’s mouth shut, though I’m not sure who that gives more of a bad flashback for, me or my Priest. (He suffered the wrath of the very unhappy cat as he removed the tape.) But, the majority of my memories are wonderful.
When I was in 3rd grade my family moved “into town.” Town wasn’t a booming city, but it certainly was different than the large farm. It was there that I learned to mow the lawn and plant strawberries in our smaller garden. I was still able to climb trees, well the one oak tree that we had in our yard. Dad always knew he could find me there if I wasn’t hanging out in the basement by his desk. Mom and Dad loved gardening, and it became a favorite pastime, though I still remember the time we were eating some fresh broccoli only to find little worms in there. Now THAT was a fun family dinner.
Dad would frequently bring me home something from the office, my favorite being Chuckles, a sugared liquorish candy. The times I was able to visit Dad at his office were the best because he would let me hang out in the break room where I would use the sugar cubes to build forts and tall buildings. Those building blocks were delicious.
When I was in 10th grade my dad was transferred to Wisconsin and we moved there the summer before my junior year of high school. That was a tough transition for me, but family sticks together. It was there that I learned to thoroughly enjoy mowing our big yard, it was my favorite chore as it gave me lots of time to think or escape into my own imagination. It was here that Dad taught me how to fix up old furniture and paint my own room. We went to the Pabst Theatre every Christmas to watch, “A Christmas Carol.” This is where my love of theatre began.
After high school graduation I left for college where my Dad helped move me into the dorm, gave me a big hug and, with tears streaming down my face, told me he was proud of me. Dad wrote me every single week. Phone calls were few and far between because, as this was the 1700’s, there were no cell phones or reasonably-priced phone service. I went home every Christmas and summer, and one summer brought home a young man for Mom and Dad to meet, my Rock. Mom and Dad LOVED Dennis, and there are so many stories I could share here, but I’ll leave those for the comical chapter in the book I’ll write “some day.”
I married my Rock and we rode off into the sunset to start our happily ever after.
But life doesn’t always work out like we think…
My diagnosis came out of left field and I was given 3 days to make memories with my husband and children before entering a new clinical study. Mom and Dad were sitting with Dennis and me in that dreaded purple room when we were given the news. They immediately put their life on hold and moved to Michigan to help take care of my Core Four. Mom helped out at home and Dad came to my hospital room every single day, all day. My parents watched me sign the DNR orders and begin treatment. Those were some dark times, but they were also times that created wonderful memories. It’s the time I first began to observe paradoxical living, the duality of emotions…
I survived, and life – well it didn’t go back to normal, but it took on new meaning. Mom and Dad returned to Wisconsin. They visited often, as we did in turn. They were thrilled when we moved to Colorado. Dad loves the West! When our life took another turn and we transferred to South Carolina, Dad would often joke that he didn’t know why we moved, and I was quick to blame my Rock. Truthfully, I don’t want to be anywhere my Rock isn’t, because that’s home. We do miss Colorado and Dad and I would talk about going back together some day.
Dad loves South Carolina. He enjoys the warmer spring weather and overall lack of snow in the winter. He visited often and never missed a show at Greenville Theatre. Dad would drive downtown and spend all day walking from coffee shop to coffee shop. (He would start at one, order a cup of black coffee and then fall asleep in one of their comfy chairs, wake up and then head to the next coffee shop and repeat the process.) Dad has his own room at my home and loved having a place to belong. My dogs also adore Dad and always compete for his head scratches, belly rubs and scraps of food from his plate.
Dad and Denise came for a visit this past March, once he was vaccinated and it was safer for him to visit. Denise drove with him from Wisconsin and we had 10 wonderful days together. It had been over a year and a half since we had seen each other. It had been far too long.
A few weeks ago Dad started having some aches in his shoulder. My sister, as always, stayed on top of everything Dad related and made sure that he had the doctor check it out. The pain began to grow and Dad’s appetite began to decrease. This past Friday he was incredibly sleepy and had no energy. Saturday was no better so Denise took him to the Emergency Department where they ran some tests. His x-rays showed several tumors in his lungs. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Denise to receive that news all alone in that hospital room, and then have to tell the rest of us.
There are moments in life when there simply are no words and the emotions are too foreign.
This cancer is fast growing and Denise has witnessed a steady decline every day. After a few tests, and with confirmation from Dad and his doctor, he returned home. Denise brought him home just a few hours ago where she will continue to watch over him, and where Dave (my Priest) prepared Dad’s home for this new chapter in hospice. While my heart is broken and I cannot stop weeping, I know it is a privilege to head to Wisconsin and be with Dad and my family… to sit beside him and tell him stories about the pig pen, the sugar cubes and reflections of growing up in the Sanders Family.
It’s time to watch over Dad now.
The Time that is Given 