My dad’s dying and I don’t feel so hot myself
My apologies to Lewis Grizzard, a Southern humorist that used to make my dad laugh. That was back when people read books. I’ve been thinking a lot about the past these days in between calls with the hospice nurse and my family. I’ve come to a conclusion I wish I would have reached a long time ago…I had a great childhood. Idyllic, really. Full of shrimp boils, spontaneous vacations, family reunions, weekends at the lake and parents that provided me with confidence and values that I cherish.
We got the news that my father was terminal in the early Winter of 2009. He began treatment and there were times we thought he wouldn’t make it through the night, but he hung on. It was just a few weeks ago that we got news that the cancer is back and, as we all know, when it comes back it is meaner than it was the first time.
During all of this, I’ve remembered that my father has given me great gifts in my life. He has taught me to stand up for what I believe in…and he even laughed at my raucus posts on this blog, he passed his sense of humor along to me and taught me to enjoy life and to be honest and have integrity.
In the week before my last trip home to see him I was prone to wildly inappropriate emotional outbursts. That poor lady at Torchy’s will never have any idea why I started crying when I ordered that delicious chicken taco.
I have been talking a lot about my dad with my friends and as they share stories about their relationship with their own father, I’ve realized that in a lot of cases I’m very lucky. My father and I have had our difficult past, but the majority of our relationship has been fulfilling and my dad and I have grown closer over the years as the relationship changed from him giving me advice to me advising him.
There have been times when we’ve talked every day. We’ve shared laughs and discussed business and now as he faces the end of his life we’ve had the most meaningful of those conversations. We have started wrapping up those things that sometimes go unsaid. My dad has always said “I love you” and always been the first to hug me, he’s always told me how proud he was of me and when I came out to him he said all the right things. As I’ve finally settled into my life he has gotten to know me as a successful businessman and he’s met my boyfriend with whom I share a life and he has embraced him as a son.
Our conversations are shorter now, there’s not much left for us to say. We both know what’s coming and we don’t feel the need to deny it.
I have started to say things out loud that have never passed my lips before. Things like, “I have nothing to prove.” That’s a hard one to say because as a child raised on a dirt road in Alabama realizing he was very different from everyone else…I had a lot to prove. But, as I see my father in the twilight of his life I think back on the man I have become and that I am fortunate to have had this time with my father. I have had time to mess up my life and come out the other side. And, my father has lived to see me make those mistakes and recover.
I’ve received many gifts in my life. Perhaps the one I cherish most is knowing who I am and how I got here.
Thanks, Dad, for helping me realize how truly rich I am.
Comments (8)
Charlie,
You have and always will be an inspiration to me. This has got to be the most touching piece I have ever read. I wish I could do something to help heal your pain. I sense a calm peace and I know you will be fine.
I love you with all of my heart.
Yours,
Julian
Ah, Pinkdome. My heart goes out to you and your family at this time. What a tremendous entry. My father is perhaps my favorite person in the world and so much of what you said about your dad rings true for me as well. This is a beautiful reminder to cherish those we’re blessed to know. Thank you for sharing these thoughts and feelings with us.
Our family always loved Lewis Grizzard. From one acerbic and soft-hearted Deep Southerner to another, I love you and I’m here for you. Thanks for the post, PD. My heart goes out to you, friend.
Thanks for the kind words. I guess this post was a good way for me to start getting my voice back. I think I’ll spruce up the ol’ PD and get a few things off my chest every once in a while.
This is beautiful, Charlie, and I’ve missed your writing so much. I’m glad your father has hung in there this long and that you’ve had time to become even closer. I remember driving back from Houston and you talking to him on speaker and I got tearful because I could hear the love in his voice when he called you “son.” I’ll never forget that. Not having a father myself, it does my heart good to know that there are fathers out there like yours, the ones who set an example, who teach their sons how to be men, who accept them for who they are. I admire your courage and strength, as well as your willingness to share the times when you’re not feeling either courageous or strong. You will always carry your father in your heart, in your sense of humor, in your kindness, and in your ability to be ethical, honest, and generous. He has every reason to be proud to have such an amazing son. I love you, sweetie.
Thanks for sharing your father and your memories with us and honoring him through your words and deeds. You both should be proud of the man you have become.
Well done, pd. My Dad died(stroke) in ‘96. You’ve got many stages to get through, but it appears you’re prepared. The bittersweet aspect of the long sickness is the time and memories to discuss items with your Dad. I didn’t have that opportunity. I don’t focus on regrets much, but there are sure some things I’d have liked to know. All the best to you and your family.
[...] trip home has been a new milestone in tough adult decision making and emotional turmoil. I’ve written before about my relationship with my father. I am more like him than I’ve always wanted to admit, and as we face the end of his life [...]