About 5 years ago, we got devastating news, my dad had terminal prostate cancer. The amazing part is that we never realized the blessing we were provided by the disease. Maybe I wouldn’t have such a fond memory of the experience if things had lasted a short time, but in our case, it allowed mom and dad to move to Boise and for my relationship with my father to grow to a level I had never expected.
Each and every wall that doctors put up, he seemed to break down with reckless abandon. Even in his last few months we were told on numerous occasions to only expect days, yet he pressed on with a courage and strength I could only hope to emulate some day.
Looking back from where I sit today, many questions ran rampant through my head after my dad first came home and explained he was diagnosed with Terminal Prostate cancer. Being in a world where so many instances feel impersonal, I felt this whole process would be one more step down a lonely road for all of us. As things ended today, I couldn’t imagine how wrong my initial feelings turned out to be.
Support came from areas you’d never imagine. It started once my parents moved to Boise, they were fortunate enough to find a church which has been the backbone to my dads survival, as well as a sounding board for his ever growing faith. I will never be able to thank the men who spent many hours reading, speaking and spending quality time with my dad, but I know that was part of his survival to live. These men have helped my dad, and to many extents my mom, reenforce the path to his eternal home.
As odd as it sounds, the VA community living Center was one of the more humbling experiences of my life. It’s a surreal experience to see resident after resident speak to each other as family, even though many served in all corners of the world, at many different era’s of war. The bond that each held is that of shared sacrifice, respect for their country, a sense of duty and most importantly a brotherhood that I can not begin to understand. I don’t wish that my generation ever experiences the fear, pain and suffering that these men live(d) with, but I do hope we can recognize the sacrifice that each endured and take a minute to thank their service.
The long road home is different for every person, and every family. Ours felt like a never ending roller coaster. Dads ability to fight always had us joking that he may outlive us all. Even though his journey on earth ended today, I know he still will be there for me, my mom, my sister and the many people he touched through his ministry.
If there are any major regrets I will have over the next few weeks, it will surround Payton not being able to spend more time with her “papa”, and “papa” not being able to spend more time helping me become the father he was to me. I can’t articulate how proud he was of Payton, and how much joy she brought him. One of the more touching moments revolved around a sticker book Payton had stored in my dads hospital room. Each day she visited, she’d take 3 or 4 stickers and litter Papas hand with her gifts. Tuesday night, Jess brought Payton down for one more session with papa. Of course, she gave him a sticker to put on his hand. When he passed this morning, he still had his sticker on his hand which he refused to take off. The proudest Papa in the world.
I’ve added a few pictures from the last few days, and this morning. One of the more touching moments I’ve experienced was the VA’s handling of my dads passing. After preparing his body and draping him with an american flag, residents from the VA gather and salute him on his way out of the building while taps is played. They lived together, fought together, and die together. I can’t think of a better or more fitting way for my dad to start his next journey.
Thank you all for the prayers, thoughts, and constant support over the years, and into the future.
