Remembering while I can (part 2)

Over the next four weekends mom and dad traveled a little and otherwise worked at getting their house in order for the stay at the hospital. They talked about all the things they wanted to do now that dad was retired. He wanted an RV. One he could drive from coast to coast. A buddy of his in California had one and he thought it was just the thing. My dad loved to travel, especially my car.

The family all made plans to gather pre-surgery to rally hope and push optimistically through the difficult silences. We wanted mom to feel our support and to show our father that we had learned well from his most important lessons on family responsibility. My siblings and I spent the night together at the hospital-run motel. We told stories and stayed up way too late. Not sure if we couldn’t sleep or just realized how behind we were in catching up on one another’s lives. I don’t remember much of the day of the surgery, just taking turns staying and leaving. I remember the optimism we all regained when dad came through the surgery and was walking, albeit gently, up and down the hall with mom at his side, IV pole in tow. For seven days he seemed to improve. Siblings returned home, as did I. Our lives were all busy and dad appeared to be on the road to recovery.

On what I remember to be the seventh morning mom arrived to my dad’s room to a very different picture. Several doctors had been called in. His thin weathered skin had turned red. His face had begun to swell. Mom called me (I was the closest geographically) and I returned to Little Rock mid-day. The doctors relayed that they weren’t sure what was happening but there would be a battery of tests to discern the origin of this new anomaly. It was not long before the gravity of the diagnosis required a call to both siblings and a quick return to Baptist Medical Center for them.

The next three weeks are a blur. The cancer had moved to his blood stream. Medical professionals fell short of answers. There were optimistic hopes, but no ideas for healing. In my mind the ups and downs of my father’s physical demise are uncharted. As the days turned to week’s we shared the role of being optimistic. Alone, it was more than any one of us could bear. I remember one poignant call from my brother as he talked of this dilemma of time off. He was pressed to decide whether he would potentially come and see dad again, now, or save his few remaining days for the looming potential of a funeral service. I still remember the silence after those words were first spoken.