My Dad turns 75 this weekend

My Dad turns 75 this weekend. I can’t believe it. He is battling stage 4 glioblastoma. Last summer for his 74th, my brother threw him a party. He had siblings from Arizona, South Carolina, Ohio, all come together to celebrate the life he’d lived. It was a tough day. He told my brother he’d never had a party before. That made me sad. He deserved more than one. But there we were, celebrating him, knowing his clock was running out. At the end of March 2019, we were told the diagnosis. 12-15 months. Since then, I’ve been well aware of time.  

My Dad turns 75 this weekend. I told my son we were going to Ohio to see him and Nana. “Will Papa be able to talk this time?” He’s 5. He’ll grow up not remembering his Papa the way he was. I’ll spend my time trying to remind him. Papa liked playing superheroes with you. He wasn’t much of a sports fan, but he played ball with you. He really loved that you loved trains as much as he did. I always thought that you might be his “favorite” grandkid. He had 6 granddaughters and one grandson…

I am an emotionally weak person. I cried the first time I saw the ending of Toy Story 3. “So long, partner.” I’ve felt that way every time I’ve gotten in my car and drove away from my brother’s house over the last year. My Dad moved in with him after his biopsy last March. I’ve tried my best to see him as much as I could. I have two young kids and live over seven hours away. But we’d make the trip, the three of us, and last summer my Mom would watch my kids as I would take my Dad to radiation at the Cleveland Clinic. I wanted to help my brother. I wanted to spend time with my Dad. It wasn’t much, but that’s all I could manage living in another state. I had guilt. I wondered how my brother did it. Those feelings only grew as the months have gone by.

Every time I go home the changes in my Dad have been huge. Instead of seeing the day to day decline, I see obvious decline in terrifying reality. Word confusion. Trouble walking. I was in a car accident and didn’t see him for over a month last fall. By the time I got back, he needed help getting up from his chair and walking. He didn’t want to use a cane but had to eventually relent. It was really hard to understand his sentences. Random words. By Thanksgiving he was in a wheelchair. It has been like a punch in the gut every time I'm faced with it.

I’ve been trying to ready myself for what I’m going to see this time. There’s no way to prepare. How do you prepare? It's all so unexpected. Life is unexpected. My oldest brother Kenny died unexpectedly in April of 2018. By that Thanksgiving, Dad was already having signs of stuttering and word confusion. Some of his text messages didn’t make sense. On New Year’s day, things really took a turn and he ended up in the hospital. After some scans, they found a small growth on his brain. We waited a few months for a follow-up. The mass had grown.

I think about how hard this has been to process and I wonder how my brother is. He’s stronger than I am. He’s been an amazing caretaker to our Dad despite having a demanding job and a young family of his own. He’s the reason Dad is still here. No doubt about it. I believe 100% that seeing the playful faces of his grandkids every day instead of the bare, cold walls of a facility is what has kept him going. He doesn’t want to leave them. He doesn’t want to leave us. But time cannot stop. And the cancer that he has is incurable. It’s taken over…

My Dad turns 75 this weekend. We will all be together. The nucleus. My Dad, Mom, brother, and me. My oldest brother will be watching over us. Maybe. Maybe he’ll be getting things ready for Dad. I think about the smallest things they used to bicker over. I wonder if that happens in Heaven? Are there parties? Is the first day in Heaven a reunion? 

My Dad turns 75 this weekend. It will be his last birthday. We didn’t think he’d make it this far but he has. 12-15 months they said. And here we are, at 15...

My Dad turns 75 this weekend. And no matter his condition, he is here to see it. For that I am thankful. 

One more hug. 

One more celebration. 

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

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