Thirteen years ago (2007) at 3:59pm my Dad took his last breath. It has been a long time, but this time of year still bubbles up some of those memories.
My Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer (are you listening smokers) in May 2007. This was 23 years after he stopped smoking, but the damage was obviously already done. I watched a 6’0” man go from 230+lbs down to 170lbs in the course of six months. He was in and out of the hospital, but ultimately died in a hospital bed in the living room of his home.
I remember the day well. They called hospice on Sunday (day before he died), and they came that morning to stop all meds except the pain meds. Our neighbors, some family, all came and went throughout the day. We all said goodbye to Dad, not knowing when the actual end would come. I have one regret about that day. My sister- and brother-in-law left to go get medication for dad from the local drugstore. Dad died while they were gone.
Vividly, I remember the moment it happened. Dad was taking shallow breaths, Mom was a few feet away doing something in the kitchen. I had seen this before in the nursing homes and hospitals I had worked in, so I knew he was close. As the clock approached 4pm, Dad tried to sit up, arms reaching out, and we quickly called Mom over. Dad was not coherent, at least to us, but he says something. We told him to go (something that happened again this past June when Mom died), and he took his last breath.
I often wonder what Dad saw in that last moment. Did he see God, Jesus, his Dad or Mom? Only he knows. I have often questioned my faith, but in the one fleeting moment I became a believer.
Two years later, my cousin Tom died of the same thing (yes, he smoked too). You see, a theme here? My cousin Tom was like a big brother to me. He moved into an apartment above our garage when I was quite young and stayed there until we moved out when I was sixteen. I shared things with Tom, hung out with him and learned life skills from him. I found out years later that he and my parents had a understanding. Anything I shared with him, he would convey to them, they would advise that he would pass on to me. I was none the wiser.
When Dad passed away, I leaned heavily on Tom for support. It was short-lived as he was taken away only two years and two days later. Two of the most influential men in my life left me in a two-year span.
As I sit here looking up at a calendar made for us by my mother-in-law, I see the picture above with the word BAHUMBUG written underneath. I was also told this week from a co-worker the same thing, after I mentioned I hated this time of year. After explaining to her that my Dad loved this holiday and began celebrating at Thanksgiving, she understood the pain and reasoning why I no longer like Christmas. She even messaged me “it is ok”. Oddly, it is something I needed to hear. I feel guilty for not wanting to celebrate, hang out with family or be festive, but “it is ok”, and I have a justification for why I don’t.
I still have thoughts and memories of Dad and Tom, but this time of year, they seem to boil up to the surface more often. Like that moment as a child when you realize Santa is not real, December 17th, 2007 at 3:59pm the magic of Christmas left me. No matter how long I live, Christmas will never be the same without my personal Santa Claus. I miss you, Dad!
Until next time,
Tim (Kilmer)
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