It’s Monday and the start of a brand new week. For my family, this is a very sad week. My father was moved to Hospice yesterday with Stage 4 cancer, a dreadful and insidious disease that is slowly and painfully taking him away from us. Actually, it moved very quickly in destroying his body once we knew it was there, but it did so silently for some time, the time during which we may have stopped its sneaky and repulsive progression.
Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day and my father is half Irish. The other half of him is German. He would have worn his bright green t-shirt that says, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” Instead, he wore a sullen pale-blue hospital gown. I hope he noticed the shamrocks that my brother and sister-in-law hung around his room and I know heard his favorite Irish songs that we played for him, “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” and “Danny Boy.” I prayed that the angelic singing of the Celtic Women brought him some measure of peace and comfort. He especially loves the blond-haired girl who plays the fiddle and hops around the stage like a beautiful dancing fairy. He liked to say she’s his “girlfriend.”
As he lays there sleeping, I hope he can feel the overwhelming love of his family as we stay by his side. I don’t want to let him go…. I love you, Dad.
