Eight weeks ago, after being in pain and throwing up after every meal for weeks, you finally told us and were admitted to the hospital; we thought it was just pancreatitis.
Seven weeks ago, you were back in the hospital because your heart rate was very high, you were in atrial fib, and you were still unable to eat and in considerable pain.
Six weeks ago, they biopsied the mass on your pancreas and told you immediately following that they thought it was pancreatic cancer.
Five weeks ago, you were formally diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer and started chemo within 48 hours.
Four weeks ago, we were investigating nursing homes and trying to figure out if we could take care of you at home.
Three weeks ago, you started to refuse to take your daily medications and hadn’t eaten anything at all in two weeks. They told us they needed to stop chemo.
Two weeks ago, you died after only being in hospice for two days and the only blessing is that those last two days you were comfortable.
One week ago was your funeral.
But I have a lifetime of memories…
Like following you while shopping in the mall doing that ridiculous walk because I thought it (and you) were the funniest thing in the world.
Like keeping score while throwing peanut shells on the ground at Shea.
Like having special “date nights” where I would get dressed up and have you all to myself.
Like your astonishment when Mom sided with us to stay in Disney World rather than go to Colonial Williamsburg.
Like you always being there whenever I needed you.
Like our drives home to the city where you would tell me you used to count the lights on the 59th Street Bridge from your hospital bed.
Like countless summers on your boat.
Like every Christmas and you putting the angel on top of the tree.
Like the way your eyes lit up when you saw your grandsons — even in those last days.
Like when after a VERY brief conversation with me, you changed your long held opinion about same sex marriage.
Like the fact that I owe the belief that I can do anything to you — the most important thing you ever taught me. Your (and mom’s) belief in me, especially when I didn’t believe in myself, carried me through my toughest times.
Some day, I’ll be able to think of all of these times and the billion others, with happiness. For now, I’m just too raw with grief. I take solace in the fact that you’re finally at peace and with mom.
