My dad passed away May 17th, 2014 at the age of 69 after a long battle with stomach cancer. I say long not knowing the context of long. He was diagnosed in December 2012, was already at about a Stage 3 at the time and quickly became unoperable and Stage 4 within a couple of months. Therefore with the intense pain and suffering that came with it both in treatment to extend his life a little after the decision to end treatment, it was more than long enough for him and his family. Although there could never have been enough time to have spent with him before he passed.
C and I made the decision to return to my parents home last summer for two months just to spend and optimize the amount of quality time that we could before he was no longer himself. We stayed close to home, had minimal plans, watched lots of TV and took advantage of all my dads good friends backyard pools where C and I could swim and my father could be nearby enjoying the day and his family. We were gifted an extra visit home in November 2013 by my brother and his wife in order to surprise my father for his birthday. We were completely mum and only told 2 people in order to keep it a complete surprise for my mother and father. It was awesome.
I returned home one more time before my father passed when the pain had finally surpassed livable. He was in the hospital when I returned home and we transitioned him quickly to the Ian Anderson House in Oakville, ON, a place filled with nurses and a few doctors, complete geniuses in pain management if you ask me, allowing my father to pass comfortably a month later.
I'm so grateful for every single second that I had with him and to the family members and my work family that made it all possible for us to return last summer, provide me a part time job in Oakville for the summer and the bonus trips home to be with him on his birthday. Each time in the past year that we left I said goodbye forever one last time. Being able to sit and share space with my father while we listened to his iTunes was an absolute gift. If I brought the tiniest measure of comfort to him during his illness, his treatment or his transition to the hospice then I am eternally grateful to have been there in the present, to have learned from him and been there to do it.
Although I wasn't there in his final hours, mostly without regret that I could not be there, I was there in heart and soul. My brother had C and I record messages on the iPhone that we sent to him and my brother played for my father. It will live with me forever in my heart that he raised an eyebrow when he heard my voice.
I spoke at my father's funeral. I wrote a fairly long eulogy compared to others, but hey, that's what I'm good at. My sister in law was worried that I wouldn't make it through cause of its length but I knew that this was one task that I could offer to my family, my father's friends, associates and above all, my dad without worry. I was proud to speak for him and to him. I have shared my eulogy below so that family and friends can read it and remember any time they want.
First I want to say thank you from the bottom of our hearts for being here. People have travelled from near and far, yesterday and today to show support. It is such a healing gift for my family to be surrounded by your love and respect for my father. Thank you for coming and showing my Dad holds a special place in your heart. It was once written that the value of a person's life is directly related to the number of people they positively affect. If that is the case than my father was invaluable.
I would also be remiss if I did not acknowlegde the amazing doctors, nurses and medical staff that cared for my father throughout his illness and up until the time of his passing. We appreciate you more than you will ever truly know. Not having been here at the time of his passing, it brings me great comfort to know how peacefully he went after his long battle and we have the Ian Anderson House to especially thank for this.
My dad. Loyal, generous, passionate, stubborn, funny, handy. Gordon, Nova Scotia, golf, fishing, Moose, Cooper, Stitch, music, cameras, Old Stars.
Single words that hold a lifetime connecting you, his amazing friends and family to my family and to my dad. He had a rich life. A giving life. A life that I admired. I only hope that I can be as generous in my love as he was in his abundant love for life, for friends and for family.
My father never let another man down. He fulfilled every obligation he ever undertook. His word was his bond and that was honoured and appreciated by many. I never heard him utter a lie, nor intentionally deceive. He could fix or build or figure out almost anything. He was the most organized and efficient person I have ever known. Dad engaged with the world as a man who would be its master.
As a little girl, I thought my dad was a combination of Archie Bunker and Bill Cosby. And I say that meaning I really thought they were all related somehow. I remember one night he was watching hockey and I couldn't sleep. He just quietly let me curl up in his fort, the triangulated space between ones legs when lying sideways on a couch. And when it was time for bed, if we wanted to be carried we had to lay flat as a board the whole trip up the stairs to our rooms. These are sweet memories.
I have thousands of memories like this from childhood all the way to the present. The bouquet of flowers he bought me when I graduated University, the way he surprised me when I was 12 by sending me off to the garage to do something I didn't want to do only to discover a huge happy birthday sign and the bike I had been dreaming of, his huge snore that we could hear in the tent trailer all the way to the van on our long distance trip to Nova Scotia, the time at the hospital just the two of us listening to music together on his iPod. Every memory is an opportunity. A chance to build the fort in my legs for my son and my dog, a reminder to slow down, be present and love the ones you are with.
I had a moment recently before he went into the hospice where I was watching a show about a father and his children and I couldn't let another moment pass without sending him a text, telling him that I loved him. He texted back, that he loved C and I and wanted to make sure we were taken care of and happy. But dad, we are happy, I texted back. It meant so much to me to respond that we are happy. We're happy because of him and all that he had already done. He pushed when I needed a gentle push in the right direction. That gentle push started a domino effect that has made me a better woman, mother and person than I ever was before. We might not have everything, we are surely rich in love and happiness with my father to thank. I hope he knew that.
A special point of pride in my father's life was my son C or Stitch as he, and only he was allowed to call him. When I was first experiencing my pregnancy with C, I had this stitch in my side that seemed to just stay for days. That's the simple little story of how we started calling him Stitch, if you have ever wondered where the nickname came from.
My dad and C had a special bond. My dad could not wait to be his grandpa. And C loved loved loved his Grandpa Steve. It was like they spoke their own language together. C would crawl up in grandpas lap and snuggle, they would plan elaborate fishing and camping trips that took place in the back yard, they would run errands toether and share french fries and dad would rock my baby or cuddle up in bed with him for the hours it used to take to get him to sleep before we discovered C's allergies. If we were visiting or he was visiting, C would bolt ouf of bed first thing in the morning unable to wait any longer to see grandpa. My son behaved for and listened to and honoured my father like no other. It was an incredible gift to me and my son to have such a devoted grandfather and for me to be a witness to such a special connection, regardless of the miles between us. It is this relationship that is the hardest for me to say goodby to. C told his uncle Andrew the other day that he still heard grandpas voice. I hope to keep that voice and those memories and those beautiful blue eyes alive with C for always.
It was a privilege to come home last summer and spend it with my dad when his quality of life was still good. It was an honour to participate in his treatments. To give back what he has given us. It was an even greater honour to come home last month and just be with him. To support him, bring peace and comfort, to make him laugh or provide laughter to his jokes. He turned to us after arriving at the hospice, so I think I have cancer. Yes. There were still jokes to the end. There was still concern for all to the end. Asking Andrew to call Mr. Brady to say that he couldn't pick him up. He didn't stop giving for a second. That was my dad's legacy.
Thank you dad for that legacy. For the memories. For the house you built, the support you gave, the tough love and the easy love, for what you've done for my brother, my mother, his family and friends. Thank you for the inspiration you have left us. Most of all thank you for being the dad I was meant to have and the grandfather of my sons dreams. We love you and miss you.
If friends or family want to add more pictures to this post, please email me at [email protected]. Thanks.
