It’s been a rough road for the last eight months. It will always be that way. The roads of life are like the proverbial roads. They may seem nice and smooth, everything going in the right direction, with no blowouts, or construction. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see it. You can’t avoid it, change it, or even dismiss it.
My dad got sick in April of last year. He really didn’t know what he had – shortness of breath, pain in his shoulder, and just not feeling himself. We had Easter at our house with our kids and normally dad would have wanted to play cards and just relax. I could tell he wasn’t himself. The day was a short one and he and mom headed home early.
He did go to the doctor, only because the shoulder pain wouldn’t go away. They found a growth that was bothering him, but an in-and-out surgery would take care of it, for now. Therapy and a little rest still did not relieve much of the arm pain.
Heading into another appointment in May, dad was kept because of low oxygen levels. This time a CT scan was ordered. A large mass was found in his chest near the lungs. Now the road was getting bumpy. There was hope that construction would take care of it, but it would take all summer and much of the winter as well.
What struck me the most was how dad responded to the news. Optimistic for sure and thoughtful as he contemplated how the next stretch of road would be. I was scared and hoped he would keep pushing to gain momentum to keep his body rolling along this long road.
The thing about not knowing – it can go many ways. Finding a new path to get us to the next intersection is like navigating without a map. You know which way is north, however, when it is cloudy sometimes the direction may be a little off.
Waiting seemed to take forever – results of biopsies and blood work. The holiday also put a damper on our route. When we did get the information – the road seemed to get worse. The construction crew was slowing down and we knew that road construction was going to take longer than we thought.
Dad’s appetite wasn’t all that great and that was something that needed to be changed in order to make the road smoother. He struggled with this since Covid and blamed it on the vaccinations. Little did we know – until the specialist told us – that it was because of cancer. Dad had been carrying this, maybe, for over 2 and a half years – obviously undiagnosed.
When we left the hospital, our direction was clear. Get home, gather some strength, start chemo, and work our way through the detours and intersections to make it to our destination.
Mom and I and my siblings tried hard to get dad to try different things to help him gain strength for the long stretch of the rough road ahead. It was frustrating, scary, and sad, and it brought so many memories of what my sister went through at the end. I know dad worked hard to get the little bit of nourishment down. Everything did NOT taste good. It all sounded good in thought, but when it came down to it – the road was going to wash out.
Between medical visits, medications, his thoughts, and concerns, we just could not get the road smoothed out nor get the construction crew to cooperate. It wasn’t going to end well. The weight of knowing how it was going to end sucked a lot of life out of all of us – it was coming soon.
Some days the rough road was paved with well-wishers, visitors, and, phone calls. Memories were brought up from so long ago. This is what dad loved most. He recalled so much from his past, unbelievable. I was thankful to hear some of those stories – many I had already heard. There were a few surprises too. Patience is such a virtue during times like this. Walking away when I needed to – so mom and dad could be alone – was hard. I would hear the start of a conversation and would leave them to it.
It was more exhausting watching him die than it was to do the work to get him better. That is how I felt. I could only watch as dad worked his way through the last few paths – enjoying everything he could.
Mom and Dad’s anniversary came on July 2. Like mom always said – We made it another year. It would be their last. Fifty-six years of life together. The babies, the moves, the jobs, the fights (yes), the celebrations (thank God we got to celebrate the big 50th anniversary), deaths, marriages, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He would not see his 81st birthday in a little over a month. Dad would have to be put into a semi-coma, soon after, because that is just how it goes in the last few days. Dad did know who was there and could hear the commotion when we were about – always addressing him as if he were hearing us outright. It is the loneliest thing I can think of – being inside yourself and knowing you are leaving soon.
This journey is never about places, people, or things. The road signs will help, but it is the things we learn and do, and experience along the way that means the most. We are always one step away from a totally different direction and maybe a few rough roads. It may be good or it may show us a detour. You and I will all get there – eventually. The rough road has been paved since before we were born.