Dear Dad,
Fourteen years ago today – December 5th, 2007 – you lost your brief and intense battle against cancer.
I still remember Mom’s phone call in October, 2007, when she told me that what began as spots on your lung had metastasized to your brain. Mom cried on the phone, something she had not done…at least as far as I can recall…since her sister died unexpectedly in June, 1991. I cried as well, and we all knew the road ahead – especially for you – was going to be tough. But we had something, and that was hope!
You underwent two weeks of radiation treatments to your head. The oncologist had hoped that after a brief recovery period, the next step – chemotherapy – could begin. However, those two weeks of radiation treatments took so much out of you that chemotherapy was no longer an option.
You were able to spend the last part of your end-of-life journey in the hospital. I maintained that something called hope, until November 30, when Mom and I had a separate discussion with the oncologist late in the afternoon. Mom and I, as well as Marius (my husband), had spent several hours at your bedside that day. Those hours felt like an eternity. To the extent you could, we spoke, and I did what I could to make you feel comfortable. I knew YOU knew I was there, but you had no energy left.
There’s a saying in German that – when translated into English, goes something like this – “The last thing one loses is hope, but at some point, hope too is lost”.
That day – November 30th – was the day I lost hope. Hope that you had an inkling of a chance to beat what it was that was eating away at you. My only wish was that you would be relieved of the pain as quickly as possible. The oncologist told me, and then Mom, that there was nothing she could do, aside from reduce the pain. As strange as it sounds, her words were a comfort to me. I had spent about 8 hours at your bedside and witnessed your life being sucked out of you. I remember saying to the oncologist, with tears in my eyes, “As difficult and heartbreaking as it is, I simply hope it doesn’t take long before Dad can go”.
I didn’t have the strength to call Chris (my brother), so I sent him an email telling him to come to Switzerland – from Prague, where he and his wife Petra live – as quickly as possible. Chris and Petra were going to spend Christmas with you and Mom. I remember writing to Chris, my hands trembling as I touched the keys, “Dad’s not going to make it until Christmas, so do what you have to do to get here”! He did, and Mom, Chris, and I were able to say goodbye to you – each in our own way – before your battle ended at 1:30am on December 5th, 2007.
I was not at your bedside then, but had the phone next to my bed, since I knew “the call” would be coming at any moment. Mom called me at 1:45am to tell me you had passed away, and that if Marius and I wanted to see you for the last time, we needed to be at the hospital by 6am. The hospital was a 2-hour drive from our home, so Marius and I showered and arrived at about 5am.
While Marius and I were on the road, I remember thinking to myself, “My, I’ve never seen so little traffic on the Swiss highways”!
I made a collage that hangs in one of our rooms upstairs and commemorates you! I stand in front of it often.
I kept a diary during the first year following your death. We often speak of “firsts” when it comes to babies and toddlers – like grabbing, smiling, teething, talking, and walking.
Believe me, I experienced several “firsts” after December 5th, 2007 – like not being able to wish you a happy birthday on January 1st, 2008, not having you here to celebrate my birthday on March 7th, 2008, and not being able to wish Mom and you a happy 43rd wedding anniversary on May 15th, 2008 – to name a few “firsts”.
I remember thinking to myself, “What’s wrong with this picture?”.
Well, I can say what’s NOT wrong since you’ve been gone. They say a person is only truly dead when you no longer think of him/her.
Dad, you can rest assured I think of you ALOT! Here are a few examples:
Family meant the world to you. Whether it was Christmas, family vacations, or a weekend away, you always enjoyed having Mom, Chris, and me “there”. It didn’t matter what we did, as long as we were together. Thank you for providing me with an environment in which I felt loved and safe, and could thrive!
As a confectioner, you were a master of your trade. In addition to your many “chocolate creations”, the cakes you made for special occasions were delicious and valued by all. Thank you for making my life so sweet!
When spring arrives and the birds start to chirp, I immediately think of you. You always loved the spring in Upstate New York, when nature came back to life after the long, harsh winters we were used to having there. The cardinal, a bird with a deep red color, was your favorite bird. Thanks for giving me the appreciation for the lovely sights and sounds nature provides us with!
Although you’ve been gone for 14 years, it still does feels like yesterday that you were here, and that says EVERYTHING about you!
Some of our readers don’t know this, but Mom passed away 5 weeks ago, on October 28th. I miss her – as I do you – tremendously. At the same time, I feel a great deal of comfort knowing the two of you are reunited, since I know how much Mom meant to you.
Thanks for the great memories!! I love you and will NEVER forget you!
Love,
Jackie
Thanks, Jackie, for beautiful & thoughtful comments and reminiscences. Anne & Rich
This is a beautiful testament to your father, Jackie! Thank you for sharing these precious words with all of us!