This page, along with my others, has been dormant for a while, and for good reason. My father-in-law Howard died last month, and our family has been going through a difficult time.
It began for us towards the end of February when Howard began to worry about weight loss and a lack of energy. He had recently stopped smoking, so both he and his physician attributed these complaints to withdrawal from cigarettes. We all expected him to pull out of it in a few weeks.
Soon it was April, and things hadn't improved. At this point Howard was having trouble staying awake during the day and sleeping at night. His continued to drop weight, and he couldn't stay warm; he spent his days sitting in the sun, his nights beneath an electric blanket. Something was definitely wrong.
The family was concerned, and the doctors were confused. Blood tests and x-rays were inconclusive, but a few diagnoses were suggested anyway. Some of the possibilities were liver disease and three different types of hepatitis. One doctor suspected a stomach illness of some sort, or maybe something else involving the digestive tract. Throughout all of this indecision, an unspoken shadow hung over all of us. Though no one discussed the possibility of cancer, it was in all of our minds.
In early May another chest x-ray revealed two masses in Howard's lungs. Seeing these two growths in the chest of a man who had smoked for fifty years, one of the doctors immediately suggested lung cancer, and even went so far as to encourage Leslie's parents to begin making plans for the inevitable end.
Only days later, tests performed on the two masses reversed the diagnosis. Perhaps it was lymphoma or even just an infection of some sort. Either way, cancer no longer seemed to be in the picture. It was as if the governor had called at 11:59 to grant a stay of execution. Howard was still weak, but at least he would be getting better soon. Or so we thought.
New tests in the second week of May indicated lung cancer, and further examination revealed that the cancer had spread from his lungs to his lymph nodes. For the first time there was a definitive diagnosis: stage four lung cancer.
Faced with a decision on how to live out his final days, Howard chose to decline chemo therapy. (Radiation had already been ruled out by his doctors due to the advancement of the cancer.) As he explained his reasoning to us on a difficult Saturday afternoon, he said that since the doctors suspected he had six months to a year to live, he did want to sacrifice any of that precious time to the rigors of chemo therapy. As hard as it was for us to accept that, we had no choice but to respect his wishes and cherish every minute of the rest of his life.
As it turned out, that precious time would only amount to a handful of weeks. Howard's decline was so precipitous that within a week or two of the chemo therapy conversation, it was clear to everyone that his time was running short. Soon there was a hospital bed in the family room and an oxygen tank next to his recliner. The counters were crowded with medications which targeted the symptoms but couldn't reach the cause. Friends and family came to visit from Colorado, Oregon, and Hawaii, all with hearts heavy with the knowledge that they were likely visiting with Howard for the last time.
On a Sunday morning in early June Howard was having difficulty breathing and was rushed to the emergency room. He had developed pneumonia, so he was put on a ventilator to help him breathe. The hope was that the pneumonia could be treated quickly enough to take him off the ventilator, but this seemed less likely with each passing day.
By Wednesday the family had reached a decision point. Howard was now completely reliant on the ventilator for each breath, and he had made it clear several weeks earlier that he did not want his life to be sustained in such a manner. He forced the issue on Wednesday afternoon, telling his wife Fran that he was ready to go.
I saw Howard for the last time on Thursday afternoon. I kissed him on the forehead, told him that I loved him, then whispered one final thought into his ear. "I promise that I'll take care of her forever." His breathing tube made speech difficult, but he nodded, then looked across the room at Leslie and nodded again. As I stood up, he somehow found the strength to raise his arm and extend his closed fist towards me. I gently touched his fist with mine and said goodbye.
The next few days were full of moments I'll never forget. After leaving the hospital I sat down with Alison and Henry to explain that Buppa was dying. As Alison sobbed in my arms, I told her that no matter what, he would always be in her heart. I told her to remember everything she loved about him, and together we made a list of what we would never forget: playing with him in the backyard, asking him to put jellybeans on her ice cream, listening to him playing the guitar or ukulele. He would live on in all of those memories.
I stayed behind on Friday morning when Leslie and the rest of her family went to the hospital to remove Howard from the ventilator. My job that day was to contact a list of Howard's friends to tell them of his decision. I sat on the front porch of Howard's house and used his cell phone to call people he had grown up with in Hilo, Hawaii; people he had worked with in Los Angeles; and people he had golfed with every week for the past twenty years. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but somehow incredibly rewarding. As I sat with tears running down my face, speaking to people who loved Howard as much as I did, I was overwhelmed by the emotion coming back to me through the phone. I could not help but wonder if I will be remembered as warmly when my time comes.
While I was making those calls, Howard passed away peacefully. Two days later, on Father's Day, there was a private viewing of Howard's body for the family. As we stood to leave, Leslie bent to kiss her father goodbye for the last time. My heart will never recover from what happened next. She put her hand on his chest and whispered into his ear, "Happy Father's Day."
We're all familiar with the father-in-law stereotype: watchful and intimidating, sure that no man is good enough for his daughter. Pop culture reinforces the image with characters such as Archie Bunker, and I've even gotten a little mileage out of it here on this site. Thankfully, Howard was nothing like this.
When I think of him, I will remember the stories Leslie still tells me about her childhood, especially the one about how he would tuck her in and gently lift up her head so that he could spread her hair over her pillow.
I will remember how open he was to me when Leslie first brought me to meet him. Up until then, I had never been accepted by the parents of any woman I had been involved with. Howard and Fran not only accepted me, they loved me.
I will remember my wedding day when Leslie and I were sharing our first dance. When he came to cut in to dance with his daughter, I playfully extended my arm and pushed him away, stealing a few more seconds with my wife. His laughter was absolutely joyous.
I will remember how happy he was when his grandchildren were born, and how proud I was to have expanded his family.
And when I remember his final days, I will marvel at the courage he showed when facing his own mortality. Never once did he feel sorry for himself, choosing instead to worry about those around him. And I will never forget what passed between Howard and Fran, especially in the end. Somehow they seemed to be the center of a swirling universe of grief, each focused completely on the other. Fran disregarded her own needs to care for Howard, and even in his last moments, Howard was worried about her. It was truly an honor to witness their love for each other.
As I've spoken about Howard to friends who never had the pleasure of getting to know him, there has really been only one way to appropriately describe him. He is the only person I've ever met who lived his life in a manner worth emulating. He was one of the greatest men I've ever known, but he will not be missed -- he will be remembered.
What a beautiful tribute to a great man.
I'm very impressed with the way your entire family handled such a sad time. The way you told your children, especially, was very profound.
Thank you for sharing and I'm very sorry for your family's loss.
Posted by: Matthew | July 07, 2007 at 06:47 AM
I'm so sorry. He sounds like an amazing man.
Posted by: MrsGroovy | July 07, 2007 at 12:14 PM
I found your page from my Google Alert for Pneumonia and sat with tears streaming down at your beautiful words and tribute. He sounded like a wonderful father and just the kind of man I feel sure will be looking over my sister who passed away this year. I love your closing comment.....He wont be missed--he will be remembered. That is what everyone who has lost someone dear really wants...for them to be remembered and not forgotten. Peace and blessings to your family.
Posted by: Carrie | July 07, 2007 at 02:42 PM
What a great post for a great man. I'm sorry to hear of your loss, but a post like this preserves a lot of wonderful memories.
Posted by: Hygiene Dad | July 08, 2007 at 08:59 AM
My condolences. Your words are a wonderful tribute. Sharing those memories will make him immortal.
Posted by: David | July 09, 2007 at 12:00 AM
I'm so sorry. It sounds like he was a great father, father-in-law, and grandfather. That was a beautiful tribute to him. Reading it made me feel like I knew him myself. I'm thinking of you and Leslie and the kids.
Posted by: Rachel | July 10, 2007 at 07:11 AM
A beautifully written tribute. My condolences to you and your family.
Posted by: jdj | July 13, 2007 at 05:29 PM
I'm glad I stopped by today to read this touching post. You were all blessed to have known a man with so much love in his heart and pride in his family. I'm sorry for your family's loss.
Posted by: Keith | July 15, 2007 at 04:06 PM
That was a beautiful tribute to a man who is very obviously loved. I'm thinking of you and your family and hoping your memories ease your grief.
Posted by: Sassy | August 02, 2007 at 12:22 AM
I clicked my way through several "Dad" blogs to find yours.
What a beautiful tribue. You truthfully brought tears to my eyes as I read it (and that is not easy to do).
I too have a wonderful father-in-law, and have never really considered his mortality. I will (as a result of reading your post) be sure to not take that for granted.
Thank you.
David.
Posted by: David - a Father of Five | August 02, 2007 at 05:44 AM
Thank you so much for sharing this. I was deeply touched. We lost my grandfather last April so it hit very close to my heart.
Posted by: Dawn | July 27, 2008 at 08:02 PM
Great work.
Posted by: Lajuana | October 28, 2008 at 02:52 PM