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Provided by the compucert This day will be burned into my memory forever. August 8th, 2001 was the day that changed my life. Before I go into that, I'll need to back pedal and travel several months prior.
March, 2001. Stacey and I had been looking at houses for a while by this point. We had given up on Queens, NY and were checking out various neighborhoods in Nassau County. A couple times we found something that had potential. We would bring our parents over for their thoughts. I remember bringing my Father out to one cute little house in New Hyde Park and he was having a little trouble getting up and down the stairs. He had hurt his back a couple weeks earlier. He was walking Yoda, a large, black pug when another dog came dashing out of a yard and came in to attack. My Father bent down quickly and picked up Yoda. When he did so, he was stricken with an unbearable pain in his back. As Susan as the coast was clear he got himself and the dog home without further incident. In time the pain would progressively grow worse, unbeknownst to me. Afterall, it was tax season and Stacey and I were house hunting.
Finally, only a couple weeks later Stacey found the house that we would end up buying. We made our offers, they accepted and that would set the pace of about everything that we had to do for the next bunch of months.
Wedding plans were being made. Details on the house were being sewn up. Tax season was in full rage. With all that going on, my Father's back problem, which had started hindering his ability to walk, pretty much went unnoticed. He just went to the doctor and took various medications for the pain.
Time passes. We closed on our house. Stacey and I were homeowners. In another month we'd be married. There were parties. Festivities. Happiness.
Concern.
My brother was bringing my Father to the hospital for all sorts of tests. I suggested from the beginning that my Father needed an MRI, but these medical plans don't like to use them right away. Too expensive. So my Father had one inconclusive test after another. He was having more and more trouble walking around.
A couple days before the wedding we were still running around making preparations on the house to make it livable for when we move in. Would you believe in this day and age, we bought a house and only slept in it together for the first time on our wedding night?
Oh that wedding.
A wedding is a celebration of two hearts being brought together forever in the eyes of God. So I had to endure a real life "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" for Stacey. But my family were all there, so I was fine with it. That was June 23rd.
My Father, who was the strongest person I've known, was having a hard time even standing at all during the ceremony, and was sweating profusely. The pain was obvious on his face. He was looking very thin, as he'd lost about 40 pounds over the last couple months. I was so happy to have his there, yet heartbroken to see the suffering on his face.
After the ceremony we went to the reception. We took all the family photos. And my parents left. My Father had been in such pain that he couldn't hang around any longer.
In the wedding party's chambers I wept like never before in my life. The happiest, yet saddest day. I was distorted with concern for my Father's well being. I knew he was in good hands with my Mother. She'd keep an eye on him. But for my big day I wanted something that was probably the most selfish thing. My Father.
My Father wasn't just my Dad. He was smart. A voice of reason. He was a friend, but not one of those adult child type father's. More of a respectful peer with wisdom. My Father never said he was smart. He never acting like he was better than anyone. He never said he was anything. He was just that guy in the neighborhood who lived in that house since the age of three in Bayside. He always had a clever word or two for the neighbors. Rarely had a smile on his face, but when he did , you knew something wonderful must've been happening. You can usually count on him having a pipe or cigar in his mouth.
Jeez. Just the previous summer my Father helped me put a V8 into my Buick. Could there really have been something wrong with him?
The reception continued, but the shadow of my absent Father crushed my heart and embraced me in a profound sadness. I feared the worse was yet to come.
The next morning we left for our honeymoon to the Cayman Islands. I was very anxious to call my parents to see how my Father was doing. I was able to get away from Stacey briefly and made the call. My Father picked up!
"Dad! You're okay!" I was nearly shouting into the phone.
"Of course I am," he said. "What did you expect?"
"You looked so sick at the wedding that I was worried," I said. "Why are you home?"
"I took some time off because of my legs," he said.
We spoke for a short while. Hearing him sound like his usual self blocked the images of illness from my wedding. I was able to go about my vacation happily.
When we got back to New York I couldn't wait to visit my folks. I used a video of us diving as an excuse to spend time with my parents like before. I found myself calling my Father and brother more frequently to find out ant news. In addition to his back aches, legs feeling numb, and weight loss, now he was anemic, and they couldn't figure out why.
Finally my Father decided it was time to go to the hospital and see if they had anything to offer. It was around the middle of July, 2001. The doctors felt my Father needed an immediate blood transfusion and they admitted him. Over the next couple of weeks they subjected my Father to a horrendous battery of tests. The conclusion: stage four RCC -- renal cell carcinoma, cancer of the renal glands. The tumor had grown to the size of a grapefruit and infected several of his other organs. His kidneys shut down and his blood became toxic.
The only problem, all along, the doctors weren't telling us any of it. We really had no clue how bad things were until much later.
We were still visiting my Father daily. Between my mother, brother, sister and I we were with him 24 hours a day. When I wasn't at the hospital I was in seclusion in my solarium, weeping and praying for my Father.
On August 6th, I get a call form my brother. "The doctor suggests that we should all be with Dad today, to comfort him..." my brother stammered, "because these are probably his final moments." I rushed to the hospital. My wife, sister, and other family members all showed up for moral support.
His breathing was fast and shallow. His heart was racing. Ultimately they administered some medication that would bring my Father out of this crisis, for the moment.
Right when things were looking up for Father, my Godmother arrived. She was bearing news that my Grandfather in Puerto Rico had died that day. Later that night the medication seemed to be working on my Father and he was resting comfortably. We broke the news to Mom, and she went home to sort it out.
Over the next couple days we took turns with my Father. More 24 hour vigils.
On the morning of August 8th woke up seeming to be much better. My Mother and I were there with him. He was coherent and eating and watching television. We were overjoyed! They came in and administered his first treatment of chemotherapy.
They brought his lunch in. Dad started eating. Then he stopped. He stopped breathing. The nurses and doctors came in. But there was nothing that can be done. With the failure of so many of his systems there was no way to save him. His heartbeat faded. He shed one tear as his he departed from this life. He was only 61.
On August 11, 2001 was his funeral. My brother wrote the most inspirational eulogy I've ever witnessed. It was only a slight consolation. We lost one of the greatest men who ever lived. He will be remembered fondly always. The greatest Father anyone can hope to have. Loyal husband and family man. I love you Dad, and I miss you.
March, 2001. Stacey and I had been looking at houses for a while by this point. We had given up on Queens, NY and were checking out various neighborhoods in Nassau County. A couple times we found something that had potential. We would bring our parents over for their thoughts. I remember bringing my Father out to one cute little house in New Hyde Park and he was having a little trouble getting up and down the stairs. He had hurt his back a couple weeks earlier. He was walking Yoda, a large, black pug when another dog came dashing out of a yard and came in to attack. My Father bent down quickly and picked up Yoda. When he did so, he was stricken with an unbearable pain in his back. As Susan as the coast was clear he got himself and the dog home without further incident. In time the pain would progressively grow worse, unbeknownst to me. Afterall, it was tax season and Stacey and I were house hunting.
Finally, only a couple weeks later Stacey found the house that we would end up buying. We made our offers, they accepted and that would set the pace of about everything that we had to do for the next bunch of months.
Wedding plans were being made. Details on the house were being sewn up. Tax season was in full rage. With all that going on, my Father's back problem, which had started hindering his ability to walk, pretty much went unnoticed. He just went to the doctor and took various medications for the pain.
Time passes. We closed on our house. Stacey and I were homeowners. In another month we'd be married. There were parties. Festivities. Happiness.
Concern.
My brother was bringing my Father to the hospital for all sorts of tests. I suggested from the beginning that my Father needed an MRI, but these medical plans don't like to use them right away. Too expensive. So my Father had one inconclusive test after another. He was having more and more trouble walking around.
A couple days before the wedding we were still running around making preparations on the house to make it livable for when we move in. Would you believe in this day and age, we bought a house and only slept in it together for the first time on our wedding night?
Oh that wedding.
A wedding is a celebration of two hearts being brought together forever in the eyes of God. So I had to endure a real life "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" for Stacey. But my family were all there, so I was fine with it. That was June 23rd.
My Father, who was the strongest person I've known, was having a hard time even standing at all during the ceremony, and was sweating profusely. The pain was obvious on his face. He was looking very thin, as he'd lost about 40 pounds over the last couple months. I was so happy to have his there, yet heartbroken to see the suffering on his face.
After the ceremony we went to the reception. We took all the family photos. And my parents left. My Father had been in such pain that he couldn't hang around any longer.
In the wedding party's chambers I wept like never before in my life. The happiest, yet saddest day. I was distorted with concern for my Father's well being. I knew he was in good hands with my Mother. She'd keep an eye on him. But for my big day I wanted something that was probably the most selfish thing. My Father.
My Father wasn't just my Dad. He was smart. A voice of reason. He was a friend, but not one of those adult child type father's. More of a respectful peer with wisdom. My Father never said he was smart. He never acting like he was better than anyone. He never said he was anything. He was just that guy in the neighborhood who lived in that house since the age of three in Bayside. He always had a clever word or two for the neighbors. Rarely had a smile on his face, but when he did , you knew something wonderful must've been happening. You can usually count on him having a pipe or cigar in his mouth.
Jeez. Just the previous summer my Father helped me put a V8 into my Buick. Could there really have been something wrong with him?
The reception continued, but the shadow of my absent Father crushed my heart and embraced me in a profound sadness. I feared the worse was yet to come.
The next morning we left for our honeymoon to the Cayman Islands. I was very anxious to call my parents to see how my Father was doing. I was able to get away from Stacey briefly and made the call. My Father picked up!
"Dad! You're okay!" I was nearly shouting into the phone.
"Of course I am," he said. "What did you expect?"
"You looked so sick at the wedding that I was worried," I said. "Why are you home?"
"I took some time off because of my legs," he said.
We spoke for a short while. Hearing him sound like his usual self blocked the images of illness from my wedding. I was able to go about my vacation happily.
When we got back to New York I couldn't wait to visit my folks. I used a video of us diving as an excuse to spend time with my parents like before. I found myself calling my Father and brother more frequently to find out ant news. In addition to his back aches, legs feeling numb, and weight loss, now he was anemic, and they couldn't figure out why.
Finally my Father decided it was time to go to the hospital and see if they had anything to offer. It was around the middle of July, 2001. The doctors felt my Father needed an immediate blood transfusion and they admitted him. Over the next couple of weeks they subjected my Father to a horrendous battery of tests. The conclusion: stage four RCC -- renal cell carcinoma, cancer of the renal glands. The tumor had grown to the size of a grapefruit and infected several of his other organs. His kidneys shut down and his blood became toxic.
The only problem, all along, the doctors weren't telling us any of it. We really had no clue how bad things were until much later.
We were still visiting my Father daily. Between my mother, brother, sister and I we were with him 24 hours a day. When I wasn't at the hospital I was in seclusion in my solarium, weeping and praying for my Father.
On August 6th, I get a call form my brother. "The doctor suggests that we should all be with Dad today, to comfort him..." my brother stammered, "because these are probably his final moments." I rushed to the hospital. My wife, sister, and other family members all showed up for moral support.
His breathing was fast and shallow. His heart was racing. Ultimately they administered some medication that would bring my Father out of this crisis, for the moment.
Right when things were looking up for Father, my Godmother arrived. She was bearing news that my Grandfather in Puerto Rico had died that day. Later that night the medication seemed to be working on my Father and he was resting comfortably. We broke the news to Mom, and she went home to sort it out.
Over the next couple days we took turns with my Father. More 24 hour vigils.
On the morning of August 8th woke up seeming to be much better. My Mother and I were there with him. He was coherent and eating and watching television. We were overjoyed! They came in and administered his first treatment of chemotherapy.
They brought his lunch in. Dad started eating. Then he stopped. He stopped breathing. The nurses and doctors came in. But there was nothing that can be done. With the failure of so many of his systems there was no way to save him. His heartbeat faded. He shed one tear as his he departed from this life. He was only 61.
On August 11, 2001 was his funeral. My brother wrote the most inspirational eulogy I've ever witnessed. It was only a slight consolation. We lost one of the greatest men who ever lived. He will be remembered fondly always. The greatest Father anyone can hope to have. Loyal husband and family man. I love you Dad, and I miss you.
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