Navigating Cancer Death of a Parent
You start the long six hours drive on the lone desert highway void of life except tumbleweeds and sage brush. Your thoughts tumble and circle back like the dust devil in the distance. Your parents called and asked you and your two older sisters to come for a visit. Just the girls, no spouses, no children. You feel a cold chill run down your spine despite the desert heat. This can’t be good.
You pull up to your parent’s home. You feel the comfort of home and forget the formidable feeling in your gut. Mom’s assortment of colorful flowers lines the walkway. “Hey, I am here.” Your parents rush up from their comfy chairs, greet you with hugs and kisses, water, and the forever proverbial phrase from mom “Are you hungry?” Your sisters arrive. Dinner is a cooperative effort of cooking and sisterly giggles. Dishes are done and Dad assembles all to the living room. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You can hardly breathe. You hear the clock tick in the silence. Dad seems to gather himself. “I have acute myeloid leukemia. The doctors have given me less than 6 months to live.” Instantaneously, gut-wrenching sobs and heavy tears flow from all. Treatment might give him a year, but he wants quality over quantity and no chemo. Your mind is reeling. How can this be? Your father is your rock, the pillar to this family. He is strong and vibrant at 78 years old. Loading lumber, building fences, working in the desert heat like a 20-year-old. Your world is crashing and tumbling blindly around you. You look around and see the tears, fear and pain in your sisters’ eyes, the grief of your mom and your father feeling like he let his family down. You immediately make the decision you need to be the strong one as you hate feeling helpless. You must do something. The cancer journey begins.
How are you going to work and help your parents? You have a talk with your boss. She has walked the journey with her parents. You plan to work 13-hour periods over 3 days and spend the remaining time each week with your parents. Quickly, the 12 hours round trip drive each week is wearing on you but becomes cathartic, an opportunity to reflect, to grieve, to pray, and to focus. You feel conflicted about your time commitment to your husband and son. You talk with them. They are supportive. This is a hard journey. You are feeling lost while trying to be strong for your family. You realize you need support too and reach out to your closest friends.
You are so thankful for their listening ear and the cocoon of love they wrap you in.
How do you help your parents? You talk with your siblings and mom to make a game plan on how to navigate your dad’s health and realistic household life issues until he passes and grieve together now for the inevitable.
On one of your weekly trips, your dad has passed out and fallen in the hallway. You are filled with heart stopping fear as you pray “please Lord not yet” as the ambulance rushes him to the hospital. Your dad needs a blood transfusion. The doctor explains this cancer does not allow for new red blood cells to be renewed, depletes oxygen, and increases the need for transfusions. The blood transfusions won’t be effective for long. The doctor is honestly surprised your dad has made it thus far with overcoming two infections, not normal with a compromised immunity system.
Dad is home now with his wonderful, quirky sense of humor. His cancer has not changed this. He says since he is not fighting heart disease, he will eat everything he wants now, no limitations! He eats dessert first then dinner. The two of you sit outside in lounge chairs looking at puffy white clouds, calling out animals in the sky as you did as a child. You share the same faith and belief in eternity in heaven, so you comfortably and candidly talk of death and dying.
He is not afraid. He is worried about your mom, has been teaching her how to take care of the multitude of house maintenance items and how to pump gas as she never needed to before now. He asks you directly to look after the family, especially your mom and cousin who is an only child. He tells you to be patient and not fight with your oldest sister as she processes life differently. He asks how your middle sister is handling his cancer. You explain she is struggling but reassure him she will be okay. You gently bring up your brother. You have been praying for your brother and dad to reconcile. For over 20 years, your brother estranged himself from everyone but your mom. You explain to your dad your brother will live with such remorse and regret without reconciliation. Your dad doesn’t want to give up his time with his daughters over a son who has not been there for the family. You reassure him it is the right thing to do. He decides to reconnect and is at peace. Dad wakes you from a deep sleep. “Come watch the docking of the Discovery with me on TV”. He is recreating a special memory when you were 4 years old and the whole family sat in front of the black and white TV. Your memory travels to the very distant past, hearing Dad say, “Don’t ever forget this moment. History is being made.” It was the USA’s first landing on the moon. You honestly don’t remember anything except his excited words. Your dad sits in his recliner, and you sit on the floor against his legs, just as you did as a kid. On the long drive home, you smile, tuck the Discovery moment into your heart and add it to the bank of treasured memories.
Your mom calls. Your brother and his family have left after a two-week visit.
Reconciliation mission done; your heart is overjoyed! Your dad can pass in peace. You decide to leave the next day to your parents. Early in the morning, the phone rings, your dad is not doing well. It is time for Hospice, time for comfort care only. You are grateful you interviewed four different hospice organizations early on and found one who was extremely compassionate and
personable. You learned some hospice organizations’ first concern are insurance status only. You painfully call hospice. The six-hour trip seems endless. You know the Lord sustained your dad to be reconciled with your brother and now the end has come. Even understanding this, even though you thought you prepared emotionally, you grieve so deeply. You pull off the road and sob uncontrollably.
Arriving, you rush to your dad’s hospital bed in the living room. Drastic changes have ravaged his body into frailness in just three weeks. He is in tremendous pain and with fever. You administer pain meds. Your mom rests. As you sit, he reaches out his hand and you hold it, silently praying the pain would ease and that at this point, he would go quickly and not suffer.
Many hours later the nurse comes. She says it could be hours or days. You go take a nap and dream. You dream your father is calling you and you go to him. He is sitting up in bed in his current state and motions you to sit with him. You do. He tells you it is time, and he loves you. You tell him that you will carry on his legacy and love him forever. He nods and pats your hand and says he must go as mom is calling him. You bolt up from bed and race to his bedside. The death rattle (Cheyne Stokes) breathing is sounding. You ask your sister when did this start and she tells you about 10 minutes ago.
The death watch begins, minute ticking minute turns into a few hours. You are all emotionally exhausted and mom falls asleep next to dad. You and your sister find some giggle relief as both parents are making so much noise while snoring. The two of you giggle then cry then sob. As you are quietly sobbing you realize your dad is no longer breathing. Quickly you wake up mom and say he’s passing. She leans over, kisses him gently on the lips, whispering in his ear “it is ok to go, I love you.” Your heart is shredded. Suddenly you hear him take in one long, slow deep breath and breathe it out. You shockingly see the color drain from the top of his
head to his feet and you feel his spirit leave his body. You see a flash of lightning in the distant sky and you know he was ushered to heaven at that precise moment. You grievously wait the instructed five minutes from the last breath to call the hospice nurse. In unison with your mom, you remove anything that resembles sickness as your father lies there. You get a wash basin, towels, and begin with your sister and mom to wash your dad lovingly, gently, and respectfully from head to toe. A sensation takes over you and you feel as if you have been spiritually transported in time to a ritual performed for centuries, preparing a body for burial. It brings a deep sense of peace and calm. You put clean pajamas on him, comb his hair and fix the sheets. You take a snip of his beautiful white hair to keep as a treasure. You sit with your mom and sister by bedside in silence waiting for the hospice nurse to come.
Two weeks after your dad passed, it is time to head to your own home. Your mom is stable, a support system in place and you will be there again in a couple weeks. The six-hour trip is a time of pondering the last four-month intense journey. You understand life is short in comparison to eternity. You learned that death is a very uncomfortable topic for most people.
However, listening, talking, and facilitating can help bring peace for both the dying and living. You learned to navigate the steps of life for cancer care, family dynamics and personal support. You learned death does not have to be terrifying. Everyone grieves very differently. You understand how the good and bad are all part of life to help you learn to really live. The deepest reflection through the journey you learned is death is a spiritual journey and God was with you and your family every step of the way bringing beauty in the midst of pain.