It was earlier that year, in May, that he went in to the hospital for a brain tumor surgery. It was as successful as a brain tumor surgery could be. He got better for a while and I was both blessed and lucky to be there for him when he was working through all the complications that came afterward. We had a lot of good times together then.
But come late October that year, he took a bad turn. And in early November we all realized it wasn't just a turn; it was a turn for the worse. I was blessed enough to have a job at the time and was able to take advantage of the Family Leave Act; my sister was brilliant enough to be able to take time off from her college studies where it wouldn't affect her to leave school for a while. We both met up with Mom and Dad at home and drove from Milwaukee to Rochester, Minnesota to the Mayo Clinic to figure out what could be done, if anything.
There wasn't anything.
And I think Dad knew it.
He was very, very coherent on the trip up. Mom drove with Dad in the passenger seat and I still remember to this day joking and laughing with them both. My sister and I were in the back seat, playing music and talking about college life (me already graduated; her, a few years off) and ribbing each other like sisters do. I think now that Dad liked that. Because he knew something then that we didn't know at the time.
He knew he wasn't coming back with us. Not really. He already knew that going to the Mayo Clinic was for his family's piece of mind and not his own. And I know now, being as coherent as he was on our 6+ hour drive there, he just loved hearing his bride of 30+ years and daughters talking, laughing, taunting and fighting with each other on and off? Made him realize that if -- IF -- things didn't work out? Yeah. We'd have each other.
So we went there. And as soon as Daddy got into his hospital bed, it was pretty much over. My sister and I called our brothers up and over too and we visited with Dad a little, forgetting it was actually a holiday for a minute. When Mom remembered we needed to eat (who was hungry?), and then realized it was actually Thanksgiving weekend? We all spent that Thanksgiving together, 1996 -- mama, my sister and my two brothers and I -- in a cafe across the street from the hospital, stepping through snow drifts and peeling off scarves and mittens, settling into fold-out chairs and looking at make-shift decorations on the walls. The proprietors were so so nice; they knew the only people in their restaurant across the street from the hospital on Thanksgiving didn't really WANT to be there. They gave us free dessert even. I'm not sure if my family even remembers that. :) It was horrible tasting pumpkin pie, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.
And Dad's death sentence was delivered the next day. There was nothing left we could do.
For the longest time after that, I've hated this season. I found out in the "most joyous season of the year" that my Dad had "weeks to months to live" and then he passed away not months, but weeks later. December 12, 1996.
So for the longest time, I hated this season. It is the season of joy and love and my Savior's birth, but it was hard for me for personal reasons. I hated Christmas music, hated celebrating. Couldn't put up a Christmas tree for years because it just made me so sad. Halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas? The most thankful time of the year? I just couldn't feel it. I lost my Daddy. How is this a thankful season?! Screw you, world!
And then, it didn't get better. It just got...less bad.
I met friends who helped me through it. I had conversations with my Mom who made me understand that Dad would want me to think of all the good seasons we had together instead of the last one we couldn't. I finally started listening to Christmas music again, thinking Dad would like that. I had friends who helped me realize that. I think that was Dad's doing from beyond. :)
And it took a while, but now I love the season again. Because it's no longer the season I lost my Dad, but it almost feels like it's the time of year he's with me most. Because when he actually did pass, that December 12, 1996, his entire family was around him, holding his hands, telling him it was OK to go and we would all take care of each other. And we have. And we do.
So I decorate again. I celebrate. Send cards and package up silly little gifts. Because it's what Dad wants for me. And I rejoice in doing it and hope that I make him happy that I do.
And my hope is that I can, in my Dad's memory? Bring a little bit of joy to each of my friends now this season too. Whether it's sending a card, making a phone call, just having coffee together. Because that's what it's all about, right? I think Dad's helping me to do this to this day. :)
