I dreaded the day I would have to create this post.
My father lost the fight to CC. He was diagnosed May 5, 2012 and had been a soldier. He tried two different clinical trials ( over 18 rounds of chemo). Nothing worked. He was offered another but in the side effects section it discussed HORRIBLE possibilities of what may come of his body for only a 10% success rate. It was a difficult decision not to be part of the clinical trial because he thought he was giving up.
He wasn't. He fought SO hard. He lost over 100 pounds from his 6'3" 265 lbs. frame. My dad became so weak he fell, hit his head and had to have 3 stitches. He had two deadly blood clots at the beginning of his fight which caused him to have to administer a shot to himself every night. My father was such an amazing man. He was strong, tough, funny, dedicated to his family, jobs, and my mother.
We went home to visit him for Christmas. It was the last time I saw him awake and lucid. We all sat down and had a conversation about why he wasn't participating in the clinical trial and what he wanted for his death arrangements. It was the saddest moment of my life. He was dying and there was nothing I could do. He seemed so sad, so depressed and so helpless but tried to stay strong for us. He told us how wonderful we were as his daughters and that we made him so proud. He told us to continue to be who we are and always fight (like he did). We all cried. Hugging him for the the last time and saying my last goodbye was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I can still feel his hug, his bones sticking out from the nasty CC and hear his voice telling me, "I'm sorry I have to leave you so early."
He entered hospice because he was becoming so weak and didn't want to die at home. While at hospice he was comfortable. Some days he didn't understand why he was there and others he was content with it. He entered into a coma on the night of the 11th. My mom held the phone up to his ear so I could tell him I love him and that he could go. He could stop fighting. On February 13, 2013 at 4 p.m. he went to heaven.
I'm so angry. So sad. He was young, perfectly healthy and had many years in front of him. I hated seeing my dad, the warrior, fall down at the feet of this disease. It didn't matter how hard he fought, it fought harder. He was so strong and tough. Even on the worst days he would tell me he was ok.
I want my daughter to know him. She loved her Papa so much. My daughter is only two but all she asks for is Papa. It breaks my heart. He was such an amazing man.
My family has lost such a great man. I worry for my mom. Last year at this time we were planning a trip to Florida to see them (they're snowbirds) for their 40th wedding anniversary and this year we are planning to attend his funeral. She's strong but she has lost her husband, soul mate, life-time best friend and all the other things he was to her. It makes my heart hurt.
My husband, daughter and I will travel home this week for his memorial service. He didn't want a funeral. After, there will be a party, just like my dad wanted it. He wanted food and beer. Gosh, I wish he was going to be there.
God Bless you all in this fight.