Dad is no more

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

It’s been a little over 3 months since my dad passed away. He died in 9 months after being diagnosed with lung cancer. Kind of ironic how your organism develops in your mom’s belly for 9 months and now over the same period of time we watched him turn from an active and strong man into a weakened and bed-ridden pops in last two weeks or so. It was nothing like watching Breaking Bad’s Walter White.

Apparently his illness could have been detected few years back. Cold fury fills your heart when you hear shit like that, but in the end you just lower your head and throw your hands down in resignation.

The funeral was a bittersweet service. It was a rainy day but when we left the church and arrived at the graveyard the skies cleared. Tons of people came. He helped them on many occasions. He cracked jokes all the time. That crowd made me realize just how kind he was and just how little I knew him.

The factory orchestra played a somber, triumphant tune. We prayed. And we wept. Nothing could be done to stop it.

To be honest I sobbed maybe once or twice since. Not because I already moved on in my life. I simply cried my eyes out back then.

From the start I wasn’t deluding myself that everything would somehow work out. When I saw the hospital papers with diagnosis written on them, I knew the verdict. Yet I certainly did not expect the fight to end so rapidly. For as long as the chemo sessions lasted, dad was in relatively decent shape, physically and mentally. The scans showed more metastases in bones and it was decided that chemotherapy would no longer be administered.

At this point the pain increased immensely. He was taking pain-relievers every 2 or 3 hours, spending most of the time in bed. It was so sad when he was taking a nap, because the pill would stop working, and he would wake up to unbearable pain and had to wait before the new pill starts taking effect. However, at no point did he complain or moan; only his face showed just how much he suffers. When we had some visiting folks, he would focus even more, in order to appear feeling better than he really was. In turn, all I could do was keep on smiling and motivating him when I was around, and sulk when I was in my room. Near the end we could see the side effects of the opioid pain medications. But it was either him acting weird from time to time or watching him agonize.

3 months later we’re hanging on. We had to return to daily activities. I can’t say I have fully dealt with my grief just yet. All these small things make me remember him; other things make me so bitter that he left too soon. He did not get to enjoy his retirement, see me getting married one day, or play with grandkids.

My friend’s dad died a week earlier than him. My father’s cousin died week after him and so did the mother of my dad’s friend. It just seems they all decided to go on one flight up there. I will just assume everything happens for a reason, and I pray there’s some really good reason behind all this.



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