It's time to say goodbye...forever!

Yesterday morning after I walked in the door from my morning run, took a shower and made my morning cappuccino, I received a phone call from my mother. The phone call I've been dreading after all these months; many months since my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Since I just came home from taking my dog out, I saw her message blinking on my cell phone. Scared, I immediately listened to it with anticipation; as I always do when she calls. But they typically had only been just to say hi and give me an update about my father.

Until now.

Listening to her message and listening to the tone of her voice, I knew that something was wrong, or worse, something had happened. She succinctly said, "please call me, it's important."

My heart dropped. It dropped to the floor. I heard it in her voice. Calling her back was the scariest thing I had ever encountered in my life. I didn't know what to expect, but clearly it was the worst scenario I had thought about after all these months since his diagnosis.

Once she picked up the phone, it confirmed my worst fear. My father was deterioating, his organs were failing, and at this point, he had only days to live. She simply said "I think it's time you come out and prepare to say goodbye."

Hearing those words I can't describe because I never ever thought I'd be confronted with those words, those harsh saddening words. How can I prepare for something like that? How can I prepare to say goodbye? Saying goodbye to the one man I had always looked up to and always respected. He was a good father; an excellent father. He had his moments, like we all do in life, but overall, he always made sure we had food on the table and a roof over our heads. We were always provided for.

Please forgive me if you find this post insensitive, but it's something I need to express, my feeling and my soul here. Although for the most part, my blog has become therapeutic for me, I honestly don't know how to react to this, something like this. Something I had never expected to happen in a million years in my life. Since I had discussed my father's illness in prior posts, I wanted to share this with you as well. So please accept my apologies in advance if it insults you.

As I immediately started researching flights, I was able to get on the next flight 2 hours later. Once I arrived, I was scared to see my mother's reaction, but she gave me a tight loving hug instead. No tears, just strength. She was so strong throughout this whole ordeal that I can only learn from this trait of hers, as opposed to being insulted by it. As I look back, I honestly cannot remember seeing her cry. Throughout my entire life, she had always been stoic towards many situations, even the death of her mother and father. Regardless, she was a loving and giving mother. Always there for me and always made sure I had anything and everything I needed in life. Even while I was away at school.

As we were driving to the hospital she warned me that I must brace myself as he is not the same man that I had always known and had always grown accustomed to. He was very weak and very thin. I could feel my heart pounding inside of my chest wanting to pump its way out, but I wanted to remain strong. She then told me that she didn't tell him I was coming so it could be a surprise for him. Even though I loved this idea, I was concerned that seeing me unannounced would only scare him, instead of pleasing him.

But we lied. We told him that we had been planning this trip for over a week now. Planning it making sure that my meds were now working.

Thankfully he never showed any indication that he caught onto our scheme, only surprise and happiness as I turned the corner of his hospital room in the ICU. At first, I didn't know how to react. Seeing him lying there in the hospital bed was not the man I knew; not the man I grew up with and not the man who provided for us. I had even hoped we accidentally walked into the wrong room. He was someone else entirely. It was difficult, I admit, but after talking with him for a while, I felt confident. Not necessarily confident of his recovery, just confident of his alertness and lack of pain. He looked comfortable and at peace. Just relaxed and completely alert. At least I could take comfort in knowing that he wasn't in pain or appeared to not be frightened; a pillar of strength like I had always known him. Especially considering the current situation, this made me feel good. Albeit only temporary.

As we were sitting there gazing at the television screen, in comes his Gastroenterologist with grave news. "I think it's time you need to plan for end of life."

Hearing those words were beyond devastating, but shocking nevertheless. Even though my whole trip consisted of this possibility, how can one still be prepared for such shocking words?

Nobody can.

I couldn't control myself, I couldn't handle it. I ran out of the room and into the hallway of the ICU and just started crying. Holding my face with my palms and started crying. I couldn't stop. And I didn't want to. I wanted to cry and feel this ache that was starting to overcome me. He was my daddy, of course.

It's gonna be so difficult for me to let go and say goodbye. I don't know how to. I don't know how to make peace with something like this. I've never been in this situation before with the excepton of my grandparents' death when I was 11 years old, and then the death of my in-laws. But this is different. Don't get me wrong, I loved my in-laws and grandparents very much, but it's not the same when it's your father. Your blood relative. Nothing can compare.

On the eve of Father's Day, it'll be the most difficult reality I'll have to face. I love my father very much and looking at him lying there in the hospital bed all wired up and tubes coming out of everywhere, is a harsh reality for me. I know I will breakdown and cry. Hopefully not in front of him but I'll breakdown either way. I am already mourning the loss of him.

Even today, as my mother and I spent visiting him, it's as though he's finally giving up; finally accepting his fate. Maybe it was seeing me is what he needed to say goodbye himself, I don't know. But he seemed calm, but not his usual jovial self. Thank God he's not in any pain, but either way it still doesn't make this any easier. It only makes you realize that it's real. All of this is real. Not a nightmare like I had hoped.

We're expecting to say goodbye to him within the next few days. Am I ready? No, I'm not. I don't want to say goodbye, but aside from a short miracle, it'll have to happen, most likely on his own; a natural exit. Something like this is never easy, and looking into his eyes (the same eyes I inherited) only makes it worse. He's alert and he knows. Knows it's time to say goodbye forever.

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Shhh....it's Cancer

No, not me—my father.

My father was diagnosed with Protate Cancer about 2 years ago. At first, we had hope, hope that with radiation treatments, he'd do just fine. For the most part, for about a year that was the case. His PSA score skyrocketed which made the doctors take a second look—why was his PSA score so high? Until they gave him tests. Test after test which explained the reason why. 

He was in stage 2 Prostate Cancer. At this point, nothing had spread beyond his Prostate so naturally, we were all optimisitc.

Until last summer. That optimism turned to fright. We were all scared that it was getting worse as the radiation was no longer working. His oncologist recommended that he move forward with chemotherapy. Well, we know what undergoing chemo can cause—with it came weakness, nausea, loss of hair, et al. It seemed to all come at once. At this point of his chemotherapy, he only needed treatments once every 3 weeks. As a result, his infrequency gave us another form of hope. It couldn't have been THAT serious, right?

Wrong.

By July of 2011, everything had changed; our world had started to come crumbling down. Even though his oncologist was still optimistic at that time, his chemotherapy had become more frequent and required to undergo the treatments one time a week. Regardless, we were still scared to death. My husband and I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to visit and spend quality time with them; make a vacation out of it—if you wanna call it that.

However, about 2 weeks prior to our "vacation," my stomach was literally in knots. To the point that I could barely eat or do anything. I was a blubbering mess. By the time we headed home, I had lost approximately 15 lbs. in one week. But in a way, I needed to go there, needed to see that for the most part, he was OK. I knew the reality would set in and I knew that once I saw him, he'd still look different. While growing up my father had been my pillar of strength so as you could imagine, it was extremely difficult to see him so weak compared to how he was while I was growing up. A strong willed, stubborn Italian with thick black hair. Obviously I was mature enough to see that he'd gone gray in recent years, but seeing most of it gone was an eye opening experience for me. I thought I'd be prepared, but once I saw him, it gave me the opposite reaction. But what was worse? Seeing his weakness, seeing how he could barely walk without the help of a walking cane. It was like a ton of bricks had hit me—right there in the face. 

I wanted to cry. But I knew seeing me cry would have been the worst, the worst thing he could see. My mom needed reassurance that I would be and could be strong. I promised her that I would be, but I must admit, it was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. In private, in the hotel room, I did the opposite—I had to let it out.

As we spent an entire week with my parents, it became enjoyable, almost stress-free—trust me, it was rare that our trips to visit them were ever stress-free, so this was a really nice change. Unfortunately, it had to be under these circumstances.

As I look back during that time last summer, and as we were on our way home, we were optimistic, extremely positive with the outcome of his recovery. At that time, it hadn't spread beyond his prostate.

Until now.

I spoke with my mom about 2 months ago only to learn his cancer had not only gotten worse, but had spread to half his body. When she called, he was already in the hospital. My heart dropped and my world came tumbling down. I know he's 76 years old and in my eyes, he had at least 15+ more years ahead of him. Perhaps that's unrealistic, but again, he was and still is my pillar of strength. Even after all these years, his loud and intimidating voice still permeated throughout the house. He still scares me as though I'm 16 years old all over again.

At this time that I am writing this blog, he's still going strong, and according to my mom, doing very well. He is currently in a rehabilitation center because he has to learn to walk again, but next week, he is due home after spending a little over a month in the hospital and now the rehab center.

Once my medications start kicking in, my goal is to go visit them—which should be any day now (fingers crossed). I want to help my mom. I want to make sure she's OK in case the worst happens. But regardless, I want to help both of them. Not just to prove to them that they can count on me (especially since they haven't seen or spoken to my brother in over 2 years) but rely on me being there for them during their time of need; because throughout my whole life, they have always been there for me—financially and emotionally. It's time to return that favor.

I love you, dad, and I pray that you will be OK.

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