Talking about them is harder than talking about their death. The death was one thing that happened but their life is your memories and your yearning to be with them still.
My dad was a gentle giant. He was 6’ 3”. Every time I had friends come over, especially boys, they would be super intimidated. Anyone that got to know him though, knew he was a big teddy bear. He was calm and collected. Growing up, I heard him yell only once because we (my siblings & I) were being mean to my mom. He was gentle and he was sweet.
What I loved the most was that he was wise. He could talk to you about any subject you could come up with and have the best words. Sometimes that would yield advice, but often his skill was getting you to think about your own problems and getting you to solutions on your own. He was a great listening ear. My fondest memories are when we would stay up past midnight all the time talking about anything and everything. We would talk about school, dreams, and my relationships.
I know a long of girls are afraid of talking to their parents about relationships. Especially with their dads. But I talked to him in depth about it all because he cared and I knew he cared. So I would want to talk to him because it helped me work through things.
He was also really witty. He loved to crack little jokes. I wouldn’t even realize he had cracked a joke until later because he was so good at it. People just loved my dad. And he was a very good advocate for people who were struggling or in trouble. He would see the good in even those who didn’t deserve it.
All of my close friends called him ‘papa’ because they felt that he was like a father to them too. Some called him papa bear because of how giant he was.
He was very dedicated to our interests. I played a lot of sports and was in a lot of academic programs cause I really liked school. He was the type of dad that was at every single game. He took me to every practice and made sure I was being successful. He would help me with my projects and get me signed up for after school programs to help me grow and meet my needs. He was so supportive. When I think of sports, I see my dad always on the side lines. We would always talk about what I learned in practice or how I could improve.
Probably one of the things that influenced me the most was the way he treated my mom. He literally always respected my mom. Some say I just didn’t see their hidden struggles. I’m sure they had tough times, but he literally never ever raised his voice at my mother. My mom will testify of that to her grave. In their 30 years of marriage, not once did he yell at her. He was calm and collected and never put himself above her or damaged her internally.
I knew 100% of the time how much he loved her by the way he treated her, not just by the words he said. A lot of people would say my parents had this fairy tale marriage. They couldn’t be more opposite, but were two peas in a pod. Growing up, I never had a household where they were anything but loving and respectful toward each other. And it helped me pick my own husband that is similar to my dad.
Really, that’s my overall assessment of him: a gentle giant with a heart of gold.
It was the summer before my senior year of high school. My dad had a mole on his back and apparently that my mom had been nagging him to go get it checked out by a doctor. So that summer he finally did. It turned out it was skin cancer, melanoma. As the standard, when they find any cancer at all, they want to check the rest of your body for anything else to make sure it hasn’t spread. They ran several tests on my dad and found out that along with the skin cancer, he had colon cancer, liver cancer, and brain cancer. He had had it long enough for it to be so progressed.
Even though there were plans to remove as much of his colon and skin from his back, the other cancers were so far along. From that first appointment, they told us he would only survive for 4 months. After finding out all these cancers he had, our church ward fasted for my dad. After that fast, he went in for his next doctor's appointment, and the brain cancer had disappeared. It was crazy. One of the biggest blessings was that even though the fast didn’t eliminate the cancer, it eliminated the cancer that would have changed him the most. It would have changed his mood, attitude, and ability to function. God can’t take everything away, but what he did take away was the most meaningful thing that he could. It still blows my mind to this day.
In reality, 3 of the 4 different cancers were taken care of. But his liver they just couldn’t fix. It was covered in cancer. The only way to deal with that was a transplant. He was too old to get on a donor list.
Then he started chemo. He wanted to survive as long as possible. We had a relatively young family, and I was about to graduate high school. He had chemo treatment once a week. When one treatment would stop working, they would try another. This pattern went on for a while. We were really blessed because instead of 4 months, he lasted for 3 years which was huge. It was a greater blessing than we could have asked for.
I never once heard him complain about the issues and sicknesses that he was, without a doubt, feeling. The most I ever heard him say was “I’m tired.” I bet he didn’t want us to know how bad he felt. It’s so easy to shut down in times of pain, but he never did. I respect him deeply for that. He did pretty well for those 3 years. When the last treatment option came and went, there was nothing left to try. We knew it was time. He had no more time left. So at that point, he had a 6 week decline.
He had stayed the same, mentally and physically for those 3 years. But those 6 weeks were a rapid decline. I remember talking about the fact that he would die soon. I remember being at the hospital where he had to go through official papers and documents, the annoying stuff that you have to do. The doctor gave him a pen to sign something and even though he was really coherent, he couldn’t sign his name. I felt so sad for him in that moment and it was so scary to think of how he must have felt trying to do something so normal, but all of a sudden he couldn’t do it.
After that point, he started having delusions at home. He would be off in another world. He would try to fix things in the sky. He previously liked fixing things like computers and cars with my brother. He would sit in his bed and fix imaginary things. He went through a lot of delusions in that last 6 weeks. His mood changed. For the first time in my life, I saw him get angry. All of a sudden, he a random temper in the last 6 weeks. He couldn’t understand things.
Thankfully we had hospice at our house. He got to a point where he could talk at all. Then couldn’t function at all. He quickly crumbled. What’s interesting to me is that the night that he passed away. Before, I had been home for everything. That day I randomly decided I wanted to go to my friend, Heidi's house. My mom said she thought it was going to happen today and that I shouldn’t go. But I told her, "No, I need to go get out of the house for a little while." So I left for the first time in the 6 weeks. While I was over there, I was helping my friend put her kids to bed I heard my phone ring downstairs. Heidi answered it for me. When I came downstairs a while later to get it, I remember Heidi crying and telling me my dad had passed away and that my family was at home waiting for me.
I was in complete shock. I had no reaction at all. I don’t really know what went through my head. I just said, "Ok," and walked out the door. On the way home, I started crying. It was a really weird feeling. When I got home, my entire family was there. I was the only person who wasn’t there for his last breath. My siblings, his siblings, my cousins, were all there. I felt so uncomfortable. Even members of our church ward were there before me. I felt so uncomfortable by that. It was great they were there so rapidly, but walking in and seeing him there was not one of my favorite sights. He was not as peaceful looking as they look on t.v. In that moment of death, his body was in disarray.
A few cultural things... If they served in the military and you want their death to be commemorated that way, it has to be at the National Cemetery. The military will help with funeral costs. If you have a spouse, you can’t buy a set of land to reserve for them, it’s first come first serve. The spouse does, however, get to be placed on top of the other and their words on the back of the headstone. Not many people can say this, but for our (Isaac and I) entire lives, we will be able to go see our parents at the same cemetery. The funeral service was beautiful because it’s all so formal, but not in a bad way. It’s so formal because it’s respectful at the burial. All the people there are in their full military attire from head to toe. They play taps and give a 21 gun salute, which, by the way, is way louder in person than you would imagine. Everyone jumps, it’s startling. Each casket gets a flag draped over it and that flag stays on for the burial service as they speak.
They read military poems about what that person did for the family and for the country. They will play taps as they fold the flag and someone will come and deliver the flag to the spouse. The person who presents the flag will say, “On behalf of the President of the United States, we thank you for your _____'s service…” I remember the military burial made me feel really special about my dad and what he did. He was in the military before I was born. I don't know what he went through, but it gave a more respect for what he must have gone through. There's respect in the atmosphere that people have for them and what they did. The spouse gets to keep the flag forever. The grounds are immaculate. The workers are veterans volunteering their time. No one is being paid, they loved their service and respect everyone who did what they did.
LDS culture is unique as well. I was the last person to get to my house when my dad died, but the relief society president and bishop were there before I was. Their response time is remarkable and their help was available immediately. They take care of the funeral service and the bishop conducts the service. A huge blessing of the church (relief society) is that they take care of the lunch and the dinner.
Everyone stood as the casket was wheeled in and the immediate family follows and sits at the front. At the end, the casket is wheeled out and the family follows. For weeks after, people are signing up to bring you meals. I appreciate that about the church culture. They take care of a very large financial burden. You don’t want to deal with the logistics of feeding people and they take care of that.
I don’t think there’s a right way to cope with death. We all just have to do it how we have to do it. That being said, I think there are wrong, destructive ways. It’s important to find a way to cope and those options are limitless. For me, I was a mix of everything. I completely blocked it out. Literally I cried on the way home from my friends house and that night with the family. ThenI cried at the funeral. Those were the only 2 times that I cried for probably 3 years.
I don’t think that’s a good thing at all. I didn’t talk to people about it. I didn’t feel that I could talk to any of my family about it. I felt like I was the backbone in this situation, like I had to be strong. My whole family was devastated, especially my mom and immediate family. I was the one constantly encouraging and trying to help everyone get through it. I didn’t feel like I could cry in front of them. I felt uncomfortable in front of their sadness. I would sit through it and be encouraging, but it was like I couldn’t be a part of the conversation. I couldn’t talk about it.
When it came to friends and those close to me, no one knew how to talk to me about it. Most people have that one person to cry to. I just didn’t have that. So I unintentionally held it in for years. It was, I fell, my body’s defense mechanism. I could easily talk about it on my mission. It was as easy as talking about the weather. I put up this wall for a really long time.
People are so awkward about death. I didn’t feel like anyone felt the same way that I did. It would have been good to cry more and miss him more. Whenever I would talk to other people about it, they would always apologize and I didn’t like that. I didn’t feel like people needed to tell me they were sorry. He lived a really wonderful life. Yeah, it was crappy what happened, but everyone dies. I felt like when people would try to talk to me about my dad or they found out, it was always a generic, “I’m so sorry, that’s terrible." Generic is the best word, this generic sadness. It didn’t sit right with me. It felt fake and so opposite from what I was feeling. It’s not that people didn’t care, it’s that people are so awkward about death.
They would never sit me down and ask me how I was really feeling. They would never give me their undivided attention. They would ask me how I was doing and they would want me to say I was ok. They didn't actually want to hear about it. If you really ask me, I’m going to tell you everything and leave nothing unsaid. I WANT to talk about it. When people ask about my dad and quickly change the subject, it hurts me. It's as if they don’t want to commit to conversation and I feel insulted.
It's like saying they don’t want to hear about this person that has meant so much to me, this person who has shaped my life more than anyone else. But talking about him brings him back to life for me at that time. When it gets swept under the rug, it feels even harder on me because it’s a kick to my feelings. It feels like a kick to my dad. I think it feels that way because it’s the only thing I can hold on to. I didn’t talk about it or cry about it for a really long time, until I met my husband. He was compassionate and kind and always had a good listening ear. He asked questions that got me talking. Honestly I love him for that because I think that having someone really care for the first time, gave me a chance to cry again.
Even when I thought I was ok or when I thought I was over it (whatever that means), I would get really emotional. At least once a month suddenly
everything reminded me of dad. I exploded. I had bottled it up for so long. If I had someone to talk to the whole time, maybe it would have been different. I think counseling is smart. Whether you are dealing with it well or dealing with it poorly. Don’t bottle it up, don’t turn to negative substitutes, I would recommend having someone to talk to.
But I did feel solid in my faith. I believed I would see him again. Those beliefs didn’t crumble away when something bad happened. We have the Plan of Salvation and I know I will get to be with him. There are still opportunities for him to come be with us even though we can’t see him.
This last week on Wednesday, was my dad’s 6 year mark. Even 6 years later now that I have someone to talk to about it. I still have days that I need to cry about it and it feels productive. I can have a good solid cry. I will tell my husband why I'm crying. Certain situations remind me of my dad and regardless, I miss him and I want him to be here. I want to talk to him about what's going on.
I got married and didn’t get to have my daddy daughter dance. It’s ok for me to cry about that. I got pregnant and had a baby and realized that that my son will never know his grandpa. That makes me cry, and that’s ok. With death, we have no expiration date on mourning. I am certain that until the day I die, whether it’s a year from now or when I’m 100 years old, there will be days I will think about my dad and how much I miss him, and I will cry. It’s our body’s designed way to think about these things.
If anyone were to express otherwise, I disagree. People want you to be ok, but you don’t have to be. You do have to learn to cope with it in healthy ways and learn to continue living your life without that person. If you love that person so much, you don’t want to self-destruct. Don’t honor their name destructively. Honor them by continuing to live. You don’t have to forget about them. You need to remember.