The Battle
an essay i wrote in my first semester in college. it helped me begin the process to healing. i am sharing it online because i loved it so and am now ready to pass it on.
"The Battle"
"Go Melissa! You can get the 10.0! Go Melissa!" You could hear the sound resonate off the walls, bouncing off the ceilings, echoing past the cheers and noise of the crowd. I’d hover on the balance beam, waiting to gain my balance, grimacing at how loud his voice was. Throughout the two years that I was competing, my dad made it to nearly every single gymnastics meet in which I was participating. He attended every parent evening, made it to every play and clapped loudly at every concert or performance throughout the seventeen years in which our lives overlapped. He was consistent in his love and support for me. He was my supporter and the one I turned to with any issue I had. Equally, whenever I needed anything, I would run to my dad. I was "Daddy’s little girl" and in all of my struggles, in all of my happy moments, my dad was always there. When I became the leader of my youth group, my dad said he would be my advisor. He faithfully fulfilled that promise, reading all the material, coming to all the meetings, attending all the community events. When I moved away for half a year, my dad would set time aside to call me and check-in: he made sure I understood I loved him, not just because of his words but also by because of his actions.
In early July, my mom called and told me something I never wanted, nor thought, I would hear; the tremor in her voice was filled with fear as she told me that my dad had been diagnosed with squamous cell cancer in his lower abdomen and that he would be undergoing surgery immediately. I was, obviously, shocked but I went ahead with my day, performing my normal daily routine until I saw a note from my dad that had somehow gotten into my back pack. The note said that he was proud of me and how much he loved me. I immediately broke down, and exited the room, seeking some kind of comfort but instead finding myself overcome with hysteria. In the days to follow I was burdened with the decision of whether or not to go home. I started looking for flights and prepared to return home earlier than initially planned.
In mid-July, I returned home from a seven-month study in Germany in what would turn out to be an arduous, yet, symbolic journey. I had to fly into Los Angeles and my sister drove all the way from Northern California to get me, an eleven hour solo drive. When I got home I spent as much time as I could with my dad, but even at that time I did not actually know how serious his illness was. My parents were successful in hiding the severity of his illness from me. Eventually I asked my dad how he was really doing; he had trouble telling me. I know that he did not want to hurt me. In many ways, I was the baby of the family, the one whom everyone protected and, after years of sheltering and cheering me on, reminding me of the positive he struggled to tell me the worst news of all: that he was dying.
The day after my return home, my father underwent his first chemotherapy appointment, in an intense regiment of weekly chemo, and tests everyday. By mid-August we’d settled into a calm family routine and so I began to get involved in my community again, sure that things were alright. While I was preparing to go to a youth camp; I got a call from my sister, "Melissa, they just found another tumor in dad’s throat near his spine. He has been admitted into the hospital and they want to do surgery tonight. Do you want to come home or go to camp?" I frantically cancelled my trip and returned to my family, realizing that our routine was a safety net but not one which could keep away harm.
It turned out that the tumor was growing at the back of his throat near his spinal cord and they were afraid they would accidentally slice the cord and paralyze him. They put him in a neck brace to hinder any spastic movements from dislodging the tumor and paralyzing him and opted to do twice daily routines of radiation directed at the spinal tumor, in addition to the normal dosage of chemo. The memories of this period are frenetic: I have a strong recollection of taking my father to his radiation appointment after being dismissed from the hospital. Afterwards we went to see his doctor upstairs and decided to take the stairs down because my dad wanted the exercise. My sister turned around at one point to return to the doctor’s to retrieve something she had forgotten, when my dad began to faint on top of me. At the time my dad weighed about 170 pounds. I was scared because I weighed only 110 pounds, if that, and here was my father, very weak, falling on top of me in the stair well and I couldn’t support his body weight. I was so worried about him; when he came to his senses, he asked if I was ok and, I immediately said yes. His weight had slammed me against the wall and I was trying to hold him up at the same time. I had the simplest desire in my heart at that moment: I did not want my dad to feel bad anymore; I just wanted him to get better.
A week later they found another tumor in my dad’s lungs. At that point he was diagnosed with advanced- stage prostate cancer, and was diagnosed as terminal. The cancer was moving too quickly for anyone to do anything and there were complications with his medicine. The ill-prescribed combinations of medicines without the appropriate counterparts made my father very sick, resulting in full-body swelling, double-vision and dizziness. As the next couple of weeks went by my dad got progressively worse, each day I could see him getting weaker, thinner, groggier. He was sleeping more, eating less, unable to speak as time went by. He lost control of his bowels, he couldn’t move his own body, he needed help with everything. Each day I would get more and more scared. We soon decided to move him into the Family Room and into a hospital bed so that he could be a part of the daily bustlings. He found it really important to be apart of the family and, he did not want to be put in his bedroom, and be left alone so much. He stayed in bed all the time but; we were so glad to have him around, talking to him, singing to him, keeping him as alert and involved as possible.
Seeing my dad get progressively sicker made it really hard for me to deal with all of it. I was constantly breaking down in classes, I was frustrated and exhausted. We had a home health nurse come in to relieve my sister when she went to her classes and we had a schedule so that he was never alone. My mom worked full-time, my sister tried to work and took a couple of classes. I was just starting my senior year in High School. I stayed with him I paid closer attention to his needs- something I readily admit was a challenge to me. I didn’t know how to care for him or how to help him, but as he got progressively sicker I was truly left with no alternative other than to help. When he wanted water or something he would scrunch up his face and wiggle his nose (a communication system my sister and he developed as he was losing his ability to speak.) I felt like I was caring for a toddler. We had to get a urine bottle. If I had ever felt uncomfortable seeing my dad pee, it was blown out the window at this point, I had to do things that I am sure no one else would do for their parents, especially at my age. Every time someone was over, my dad would whisper to them, "Look at my little girl, she is practicing her nursing skills. I am so proud of her. She is going to make a great nurse!" My dad had lost his voice because of radiation and the tumor, and so he was barely able to talk, but when someone was over he would make the effort to tell them how proud he was of me. He told me all the time how wonderful I was. My dad had an amazing amount of strength in him.
On September 13th, 2003 my dad celebrated his 62nd birthday, it was a very difficult day and he was in a lot of pain. We helped him, lifted him out of bed, and put him into his wheel chair; a few close friends came over to celebrate. For the five minutes that he was in the wheel chair he was in excruciating pain. We had him all washed by a nurse and he wore his favorite shirt. That evening while my sister and I were away at a party my mom called in tears, she said "He is giving up, can you girls please come home?".” My sister would not let me drive my own car because she was afraid I was too freaked-out. So we left it where we were and drove straight home. I walked in crying, begging my father not to die, telling him that I needed him, that I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to see my thesis presentation, to see me turn eighteen, and to see me graduate from High School. I so desperately wanted my dad to be there! I needed him to be there at this, milestone in my life. We all stood around his bed- his best friend from L.A.- my mom, my sister, my sister’s boyfriend and our dog. We stood there just taking in the moment of my dad wanting to die; he wanted to watch a movie and just delve in the moment of his realization that he was dying- that was his way. The next day my dad decided that he wanted to go to radiation. My mom asked him if that’s what he really wanted to do and he insisted upon it. The doctor thought that he might have had pneumonia and wanted him to be admitted to the Palliative Care Unit at the hospital. The next day my mom called a transport ambulance to take him to Palliative Care Unit at the Hospital.
Whenever I spent time there I felt like my dad was in a coma. He barely talked anymore. It was absolutely frightening looking at him. Seeing my dad laying on the bed, almost never moving, almost never talking was really weird. Normally he was so lively so filled with energy and the body in the hospital bed was so very different- it was not really my father. On the 17th of September my dad and my mom celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary. My dad was so weak that he was only able to say “I love you” to my mother; it was the last time he spoke to us. He mustered up all of his strength to stay alive for their anniversary, because that was important to him.
I remember on Thursday September 18, 2003 I laid down next to my dad on the hospital bed and told him I loved him. He responded by squeezing my hand three times. During his last days at home, we had developed a code: one squeeze was for yes, two squeezes for no and three squeezes meant "I love you".
When I left that night I went home to eat some dinner. I had been home for a short while when my mom called in tears telling us to come down; my dad was taking his last breaths. We rushed to the hospital and when we got there I bolted from the car and ran to his room. As I stepped over the threshold of the door he took his last breath; I knew that my dad was holding on for me.
That night, four of my dad’s friends brought his body home. They carefully washed his body, shaved his beard and finally removed the neck brace. It was truly miraculous and touching to watch four very different guys be so gentle with him, so tender and loving. Through their gestures I could see how much of an impact my dad had on the world.
We decided to have an three-day vigil at home and invited our loved ones to join us in saying good-bye to my dad’s body and spirit. We were able to have real closure with him during the vigil. Children would come came into the room and discuss his body’s changing state. I remember watching once as a group of three children, ages 4, 6 and 7 hovered around the bed, talking in a whispering tone to one another,: "Shhhhhh…. Look Bob is sleeping. He looks so peaceful. Let’s go paint!"
I realize now just how wonderful this process was for me to let go. My dad meant the world to my family and his presence was a vital part of our daily routine. Of course, nearly a year later, he is constantly on our minds. A while after he died, my sister wrote in her journal a thought on my dad describing who he was; "My dad saw something within me that made me love myself, made me man who made you smile. He made you believe in yourself. He had an amazing passion for helping people and his greatest worry before his death was that he was not done helping. What my father did not know was that his very death would help people overcome their fear of death, of corpses, of illness and through his passing he would encourage them to embrace life for all its lessons and challenges. I know many will remember him, and I know that those lucky people who got to meet him will remember him as the man who helped them see themselves for their beauty within.
"The Battle"
"Go Melissa! You can get the 10.0! Go Melissa!" You could hear the sound resonate off the walls, bouncing off the ceilings, echoing past the cheers and noise of the crowd. I’d hover on the balance beam, waiting to gain my balance, grimacing at how loud his voice was. Throughout the two years that I was competing, my dad made it to nearly every single gymnastics meet in which I was participating. He attended every parent evening, made it to every play and clapped loudly at every concert or performance throughout the seventeen years in which our lives overlapped. He was consistent in his love and support for me. He was my supporter and the one I turned to with any issue I had. Equally, whenever I needed anything, I would run to my dad. I was "Daddy’s little girl" and in all of my struggles, in all of my happy moments, my dad was always there. When I became the leader of my youth group, my dad said he would be my advisor. He faithfully fulfilled that promise, reading all the material, coming to all the meetings, attending all the community events. When I moved away for half a year, my dad would set time aside to call me and check-in: he made sure I understood I loved him, not just because of his words but also by because of his actions.
In early July, my mom called and told me something I never wanted, nor thought, I would hear; the tremor in her voice was filled with fear as she told me that my dad had been diagnosed with squamous cell cancer in his lower abdomen and that he would be undergoing surgery immediately. I was, obviously, shocked but I went ahead with my day, performing my normal daily routine until I saw a note from my dad that had somehow gotten into my back pack. The note said that he was proud of me and how much he loved me. I immediately broke down, and exited the room, seeking some kind of comfort but instead finding myself overcome with hysteria. In the days to follow I was burdened with the decision of whether or not to go home. I started looking for flights and prepared to return home earlier than initially planned.
In mid-July, I returned home from a seven-month study in Germany in what would turn out to be an arduous, yet, symbolic journey. I had to fly into Los Angeles and my sister drove all the way from Northern California to get me, an eleven hour solo drive. When I got home I spent as much time as I could with my dad, but even at that time I did not actually know how serious his illness was. My parents were successful in hiding the severity of his illness from me. Eventually I asked my dad how he was really doing; he had trouble telling me. I know that he did not want to hurt me. In many ways, I was the baby of the family, the one whom everyone protected and, after years of sheltering and cheering me on, reminding me of the positive he struggled to tell me the worst news of all: that he was dying.
The day after my return home, my father underwent his first chemotherapy appointment, in an intense regiment of weekly chemo, and tests everyday. By mid-August we’d settled into a calm family routine and so I began to get involved in my community again, sure that things were alright. While I was preparing to go to a youth camp; I got a call from my sister, "Melissa, they just found another tumor in dad’s throat near his spine. He has been admitted into the hospital and they want to do surgery tonight. Do you want to come home or go to camp?" I frantically cancelled my trip and returned to my family, realizing that our routine was a safety net but not one which could keep away harm.
It turned out that the tumor was growing at the back of his throat near his spinal cord and they were afraid they would accidentally slice the cord and paralyze him. They put him in a neck brace to hinder any spastic movements from dislodging the tumor and paralyzing him and opted to do twice daily routines of radiation directed at the spinal tumor, in addition to the normal dosage of chemo. The memories of this period are frenetic: I have a strong recollection of taking my father to his radiation appointment after being dismissed from the hospital. Afterwards we went to see his doctor upstairs and decided to take the stairs down because my dad wanted the exercise. My sister turned around at one point to return to the doctor’s to retrieve something she had forgotten, when my dad began to faint on top of me. At the time my dad weighed about 170 pounds. I was scared because I weighed only 110 pounds, if that, and here was my father, very weak, falling on top of me in the stair well and I couldn’t support his body weight. I was so worried about him; when he came to his senses, he asked if I was ok and, I immediately said yes. His weight had slammed me against the wall and I was trying to hold him up at the same time. I had the simplest desire in my heart at that moment: I did not want my dad to feel bad anymore; I just wanted him to get better.
A week later they found another tumor in my dad’s lungs. At that point he was diagnosed with advanced- stage prostate cancer, and was diagnosed as terminal. The cancer was moving too quickly for anyone to do anything and there were complications with his medicine. The ill-prescribed combinations of medicines without the appropriate counterparts made my father very sick, resulting in full-body swelling, double-vision and dizziness. As the next couple of weeks went by my dad got progressively worse, each day I could see him getting weaker, thinner, groggier. He was sleeping more, eating less, unable to speak as time went by. He lost control of his bowels, he couldn’t move his own body, he needed help with everything. Each day I would get more and more scared. We soon decided to move him into the Family Room and into a hospital bed so that he could be a part of the daily bustlings. He found it really important to be apart of the family and, he did not want to be put in his bedroom, and be left alone so much. He stayed in bed all the time but; we were so glad to have him around, talking to him, singing to him, keeping him as alert and involved as possible.
Seeing my dad get progressively sicker made it really hard for me to deal with all of it. I was constantly breaking down in classes, I was frustrated and exhausted. We had a home health nurse come in to relieve my sister when she went to her classes and we had a schedule so that he was never alone. My mom worked full-time, my sister tried to work and took a couple of classes. I was just starting my senior year in High School. I stayed with him I paid closer attention to his needs- something I readily admit was a challenge to me. I didn’t know how to care for him or how to help him, but as he got progressively sicker I was truly left with no alternative other than to help. When he wanted water or something he would scrunch up his face and wiggle his nose (a communication system my sister and he developed as he was losing his ability to speak.) I felt like I was caring for a toddler. We had to get a urine bottle. If I had ever felt uncomfortable seeing my dad pee, it was blown out the window at this point, I had to do things that I am sure no one else would do for their parents, especially at my age. Every time someone was over, my dad would whisper to them, "Look at my little girl, she is practicing her nursing skills. I am so proud of her. She is going to make a great nurse!" My dad had lost his voice because of radiation and the tumor, and so he was barely able to talk, but when someone was over he would make the effort to tell them how proud he was of me. He told me all the time how wonderful I was. My dad had an amazing amount of strength in him.
On September 13th, 2003 my dad celebrated his 62nd birthday, it was a very difficult day and he was in a lot of pain. We helped him, lifted him out of bed, and put him into his wheel chair; a few close friends came over to celebrate. For the five minutes that he was in the wheel chair he was in excruciating pain. We had him all washed by a nurse and he wore his favorite shirt. That evening while my sister and I were away at a party my mom called in tears, she said "He is giving up, can you girls please come home?".” My sister would not let me drive my own car because she was afraid I was too freaked-out. So we left it where we were and drove straight home. I walked in crying, begging my father not to die, telling him that I needed him, that I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to see my thesis presentation, to see me turn eighteen, and to see me graduate from High School. I so desperately wanted my dad to be there! I needed him to be there at this, milestone in my life. We all stood around his bed- his best friend from L.A.- my mom, my sister, my sister’s boyfriend and our dog. We stood there just taking in the moment of my dad wanting to die; he wanted to watch a movie and just delve in the moment of his realization that he was dying- that was his way. The next day my dad decided that he wanted to go to radiation. My mom asked him if that’s what he really wanted to do and he insisted upon it. The doctor thought that he might have had pneumonia and wanted him to be admitted to the Palliative Care Unit at the hospital. The next day my mom called a transport ambulance to take him to Palliative Care Unit at the Hospital.
Whenever I spent time there I felt like my dad was in a coma. He barely talked anymore. It was absolutely frightening looking at him. Seeing my dad laying on the bed, almost never moving, almost never talking was really weird. Normally he was so lively so filled with energy and the body in the hospital bed was so very different- it was not really my father. On the 17th of September my dad and my mom celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary. My dad was so weak that he was only able to say “I love you” to my mother; it was the last time he spoke to us. He mustered up all of his strength to stay alive for their anniversary, because that was important to him.
I remember on Thursday September 18, 2003 I laid down next to my dad on the hospital bed and told him I loved him. He responded by squeezing my hand three times. During his last days at home, we had developed a code: one squeeze was for yes, two squeezes for no and three squeezes meant "I love you".
When I left that night I went home to eat some dinner. I had been home for a short while when my mom called in tears telling us to come down; my dad was taking his last breaths. We rushed to the hospital and when we got there I bolted from the car and ran to his room. As I stepped over the threshold of the door he took his last breath; I knew that my dad was holding on for me.
That night, four of my dad’s friends brought his body home. They carefully washed his body, shaved his beard and finally removed the neck brace. It was truly miraculous and touching to watch four very different guys be so gentle with him, so tender and loving. Through their gestures I could see how much of an impact my dad had on the world.
We decided to have an three-day vigil at home and invited our loved ones to join us in saying good-bye to my dad’s body and spirit. We were able to have real closure with him during the vigil. Children would come came into the room and discuss his body’s changing state. I remember watching once as a group of three children, ages 4, 6 and 7 hovered around the bed, talking in a whispering tone to one another,: "Shhhhhh…. Look Bob is sleeping. He looks so peaceful. Let’s go paint!"
I realize now just how wonderful this process was for me to let go. My dad meant the world to my family and his presence was a vital part of our daily routine. Of course, nearly a year later, he is constantly on our minds. A while after he died, my sister wrote in her journal a thought on my dad describing who he was; "My dad saw something within me that made me love myself, made me man who made you smile. He made you believe in yourself. He had an amazing passion for helping people and his greatest worry before his death was that he was not done helping. What my father did not know was that his very death would help people overcome their fear of death, of corpses, of illness and through his passing he would encourage them to embrace life for all its lessons and challenges. I know many will remember him, and I know that those lucky people who got to meet him will remember him as the man who helped them see themselves for their beauty within.