MD Anderson released my dad from their treatment on January 2nd, sending him home under Hospice care. I went home that evening to stay with him. At midnight, he asked us to take him to the ER, because the pain was unbearable and Hospice hadn't been there to set up yet. On January 5th, my step-mom and I made the decision to stop all IV fluids and antibiotics, as they were prolonging the inevitable, and were not improving his quality of life. We got him home at about 5PM, that afternoon. He was in agonizing pain until he fell into a deep sleep, at about 1AM the morning of January 6th. At 11AM, he took his last breath with myself, my step-mom, and Tina by his side. His 2 1/2 year battle with cancer was over.
The night before his funeral, I decided I would try to give his eulogy ... the absolute hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
This still seems like a bad dream.
I have so many memories of my dad, but for some reason, the first one is riding in his two tone, tan and brown, Ford truck. No seatbelts were required; I even rode standing up, in the center of the bench seat, with my left arm around his neck. It was very unsafe, but he never let me feel like I was in any danger. From that day on, I was always learning something.
Dad was always patient with me. I cannot remember a single time that he spanked me, and God knows I deserved it sometimes. I didn’t realize it then, but he was teaching me patience.
Just like him, I have a mechanical mind. Early on, I watched him build all sorts of things, mostly from wood. Simple boxes, chicken coops, fences, sheds, houses and everything in between. My choice of building materials is still wood. I even worked with dad in the summers, doing small building projects and roofing. It wasn’t easy for a 12 year old, but he paid me a handsome $5 an hour. I didn’t know he was teaching me the value of a hard day’s work; even if he did let me blow the money on whatever I wanted.
Dad gave me a BB gun before I was even strong enough to cock it by myself. He told me not to point it at anything that I did not intend to shoot. Through the years, he bought me all kinds of guns. We spent hours in the woods hunting squirrels, shooting skeet, or just shooting rifles to test a new load that he’d worked up for deer season that would surely be more lethal than the prior year’s. I didn’t understand yet that he was teaching me to be an outdoorsman and a hunter; a hobby that I still cherish today. Dad never really cared about the trophy aspect of hunting, but rather the food that it provided for us. He didn’t kill anything that we didn’t eat; at least not until he declared war on the hogs of Lavaca county.
When I was 11 or 12, I wanted a 3-wheeler. I think he was going to get me on anyway, but he let me thing that I had won it in a bet with him. I had to shoot a nickle, that was taped to a target, with my 22 rifle. Those of you that rode those fluffy tired, motorized tricycles know what a bad design idea they were. I flipped that Honda on multiple occasions. It would tump over sideways real quick, and if you didn’t watch what you were doing, on a hill, it’d roll over on you backwards, just as fast. Each time, dad made sure I wasn’t hurt, but he never kept me off of that thing. I didn’t notice that he was teaching me that it’s fine to push your limits, even if you don’t stick the landing.
Dad always seemed to know when I’d had “too much fun”. Somehow, the grass always needed to be mowed, at 7:00AM, on the hottest Saturdays of the summer, after those “fun” Friday nights. He was teaching me that it’s OK to play, but you might pay for it the next day.
Dad loved to drive, for hours, on the country roads around Hallettsville. The windows were always down, unless it was almost freezing. A few cold beers were his navigation system. There was no destination. There was no schedule. There was no purpose. I didn’t realize that was exactly the point of it all. He was teaching me to unwind; one skill that I’m still working on.
I went to college shortly after dad and Kathleen got married. I got kicked out after two semesters because I didn’t I really needed to take the TASP test; but the state disagreed. I moved home and got a job. Dad made it clear that I would be going back to college, even though I really didn’t want to. He’d already made sure I could make a living with my back; now he was making sure that I wouldn’t have to work like he did. He knew that he wanted better for me. Now that I have a kid of my own, that all makes sense.
Dad showed me that you might not always agree with your wife, but at the end of the day you still love her, and nothing is greater than that. And nine times out of ten, you’ll end up agreeing with her anyway.
Dad didn’t teach me anything about dying. Until our next to last conversation on January 2nd, when I kneeled beside his chair, sobbing uncontrollably. He told me “everything is going to be OK, this is just part of life”. I think that he was so busy enjoying life that he didn’t think too much about death. That is the most important thing he could have possibly taught me … enjoy life!
Life will be somewhat different for everyone that knew him. One thing’s for sure though, he wouldn’t want you to stop living. My dad made me who I am, in every aspect of my life and there will not be a single day that I do not think about him and everything that he taught me.
The night before his funeral, I decided I would try to give his eulogy ... the absolute hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
This still seems like a bad dream.
I have so many memories of my dad, but for some reason, the first one is riding in his two tone, tan and brown, Ford truck. No seatbelts were required; I even rode standing up, in the center of the bench seat, with my left arm around his neck. It was very unsafe, but he never let me feel like I was in any danger. From that day on, I was always learning something.
Dad was always patient with me. I cannot remember a single time that he spanked me, and God knows I deserved it sometimes. I didn’t realize it then, but he was teaching me patience.
Just like him, I have a mechanical mind. Early on, I watched him build all sorts of things, mostly from wood. Simple boxes, chicken coops, fences, sheds, houses and everything in between. My choice of building materials is still wood. I even worked with dad in the summers, doing small building projects and roofing. It wasn’t easy for a 12 year old, but he paid me a handsome $5 an hour. I didn’t know he was teaching me the value of a hard day’s work; even if he did let me blow the money on whatever I wanted.
Dad gave me a BB gun before I was even strong enough to cock it by myself. He told me not to point it at anything that I did not intend to shoot. Through the years, he bought me all kinds of guns. We spent hours in the woods hunting squirrels, shooting skeet, or just shooting rifles to test a new load that he’d worked up for deer season that would surely be more lethal than the prior year’s. I didn’t understand yet that he was teaching me to be an outdoorsman and a hunter; a hobby that I still cherish today. Dad never really cared about the trophy aspect of hunting, but rather the food that it provided for us. He didn’t kill anything that we didn’t eat; at least not until he declared war on the hogs of Lavaca county.
When I was 11 or 12, I wanted a 3-wheeler. I think he was going to get me on anyway, but he let me thing that I had won it in a bet with him. I had to shoot a nickle, that was taped to a target, with my 22 rifle. Those of you that rode those fluffy tired, motorized tricycles know what a bad design idea they were. I flipped that Honda on multiple occasions. It would tump over sideways real quick, and if you didn’t watch what you were doing, on a hill, it’d roll over on you backwards, just as fast. Each time, dad made sure I wasn’t hurt, but he never kept me off of that thing. I didn’t notice that he was teaching me that it’s fine to push your limits, even if you don’t stick the landing.
Dad always seemed to know when I’d had “too much fun”. Somehow, the grass always needed to be mowed, at 7:00AM, on the hottest Saturdays of the summer, after those “fun” Friday nights. He was teaching me that it’s OK to play, but you might pay for it the next day.
Dad loved to drive, for hours, on the country roads around Hallettsville. The windows were always down, unless it was almost freezing. A few cold beers were his navigation system. There was no destination. There was no schedule. There was no purpose. I didn’t realize that was exactly the point of it all. He was teaching me to unwind; one skill that I’m still working on.
I went to college shortly after dad and Kathleen got married. I got kicked out after two semesters because I didn’t I really needed to take the TASP test; but the state disagreed. I moved home and got a job. Dad made it clear that I would be going back to college, even though I really didn’t want to. He’d already made sure I could make a living with my back; now he was making sure that I wouldn’t have to work like he did. He knew that he wanted better for me. Now that I have a kid of my own, that all makes sense.
Dad showed me that you might not always agree with your wife, but at the end of the day you still love her, and nothing is greater than that. And nine times out of ten, you’ll end up agreeing with her anyway.
Dad didn’t teach me anything about dying. Until our next to last conversation on January 2nd, when I kneeled beside his chair, sobbing uncontrollably. He told me “everything is going to be OK, this is just part of life”. I think that he was so busy enjoying life that he didn’t think too much about death. That is the most important thing he could have possibly taught me … enjoy life!
Life will be somewhat different for everyone that knew him. One thing’s for sure though, he wouldn’t want you to stop living. My dad made me who I am, in every aspect of my life and there will not be a single day that I do not think about him and everything that he taught me.
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