41 years ago tomorrow my father lost his battle with lung cancer. I was there, alone with him in the hospital with my hand on his cheek as he gave his last breath. I initially reached for his hand, but it had already turned cold. Looking back, it is fitting that I brushed his cheek as he would when we were kids, as a sign of comfort, showing love, or for a job well done. My mom and sister had gone to see a friend’s baby in the hospital nursery and returned to dad’s room as he left the earth. It is poetic that they were celebrating new life as he was leaving behind his life on earth.
That is a memory I have stuffed in my emotional suitcase. Buried deep underneath all the other baggage of regrets, hurt, lessons not fully learned, and fear of the future. One afternoon in our session with A Fresh Chapter we were asked to look at what is in our emotional suitcase. What is it that we carry around with us, both positive and negative? It is time to look at what is in there, possibly holding us back from adding new experiences because our suitcase is too full. My suitcase isn’t all doom and gloom, it also contains positive items as love, family, my home, and the outdoors. Those I will always keep room for!
I was very, very surprised that my father’s death was still stuffed in the bottom of my suitcase. I thought I had already dealt with the emotional stages of grief. But guess what, it was still lingering and came to light after my cancer diagnosis. Remembering those times after chemo dad would have the same side effects I was having, shuffled those memories a little closer to the top of my suitcase. So here goes…
In 1978 I was living in Hawaii working with the Dilaram House –a house of young vibrant Christians opening their home and hearts to the hippie community that often slept in the empty lots near Lahaina. There were even room names for the different paths in the overbrush where they slept. Our house was always overflowing, two sets of bunkbeds in the two single rooms, two tents in the backyard. Shared meals with more than a full table. It was where I wanted to be, making a difference in people’s lives. But that ended when I got a call from my mom that dad was not doing well. (I had previously gone home for my sister’s wedding after dad’s initial diagnosis) She needed me to come home and help since she was unable to care for him herself. So, I packed up my things and moved back home to Washington state.
This was my first experience being a care-giver. Helping dad walk and later carrying him to the car to doctor appointments. Making his milkshakes because that was about all he could eat. Watching my strong father deteriorate in front of my eyes. Helping him to the toilet and into bed. His bed was too soft, so I took a large piece of lumber and used an electric saw for the first time to make support for under his mattress. I ended up cutting some of our picnic table while doing so, but at least my fingers were in tact! We continued with our caregiver roles until dad got too weak and didn’t want us to have to carry him everywhere. He was in and out of a coma for a while, and didn’t remember Thanksgiving in the hospital. But, before death he had a clear period where he was able to interact with us – which was a joy to have time to talk, and just be together.
Just after his passing, my mom & dad’s friends were in the hallway to see him, and I gave them the news he was gone. (They reminded me of this through the years, but I had already stuffed that memory into my suitcase.) It was my job to call the relatives and let them know dad had passed. I put on my unemotional armor and made the calls. Looking back, I don’t think I ever took that armor off. My mom, sisters and I took care of the arrangements. There was no way my mom could stay in our house financially, since she did not work full-time, so we began cleaning it and put it up for sale. The house did not sell quick enough, so I stayed until it did – my mom leaving for Hawaii first - while I sold the cars, furniture, etc., and then moved on with my life, back to Hawaii. My mom moved to Hawaii with me for a year, into her own apartment and got a job at a jewelry store before she was ready to pick up the pieces back home.
While I was gone, the Dilaram House disbanded, and the house was actually torn down. It was a very old plantation home that was barely standing before I left. Many great memories from that home. So, I moved forward in another direction, I lived with some friends and got a job as a reservation agent at a hotel, and eventually opened up a house for unwed mothers for our church. I just moved on with my life, not looking back. Not taking the time to grieve. I figured if I kept busy it wouldn’t catch up with me. But I had so many things to grieve: my father, the loss of my family unit, my prior life and focus, and not having a chance for a proper goodbye to my friends (some of whom I have never seen again.)
Now I can look in my suitcase and pick up those pieces of grief – examine them, touch them with my memory and take the time to really feel them. Allowing the emotions of loss to come up and the anger that goes with it. Be okay with the conflicting emotions of love, loss and anger. By bringing the emotions into the light, it takes away their hold on me, making the memories pure.
I still grieve the loss of my father, his not having the opportunity to meet my husband or my children (thankful my mother has enjoyed this journey with me.) I also grieve the fact that he never got to retire –he had grand plans to drive around the country exploring. The grief and anger does not hold me as it once did. I don’t have to use that unemotional plate of armor I built that day in the hospital. I can let go, allow myself to feel, to express emotions, without the unspoken fear of losing it all, of having the rug pulled out from under me. I don’t need to compare my cancer journey to his. I am healthy, happy. Now, that is truly moving on, and moving forward in a positive way.
I’ve learned from those items in my suitcase, and embrace what the past has taught me. I no longer need to lug around the emotional baggage and can cherish my memories. I now have space in my suitcase for new experiences that create value, for all the positive things in my life, today and in the future.
It brings tears to my eyes as I write this, but I can hear him whispering in my ear ...my daddy would be proud!
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