Pancreatic Cancer: Know It, Fight It, End It

Wednesday, 13 November 2013

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. One of the main awareness events that happens in November throughout the country are PurpleStride walks/5Ks to raise funds for the Pancreatic Action Network. 

Last year we went to Savannah for the PurpleStride walk.

That was 4 months after my dad passed away. He had been attending the walks in Orlando and we didn't get a chance to go with him, so I wanted to honor his memory at the Savannah walk.

It was hard. Harder than I thought it would be. While I'm glad we went in his memory there is a small part of me that thinks it was too soon.

At the last one my dad attended in Orlando he told me spoke in front of the crowd as one of the survivors.

It was hard last year knowing he was no longer a survivor. Knowing he wouldn't be going to any more PurpleStride walks and speaking to the crowd.

I've been flip-flopping over whether I wanted to make the trip to Savannah this year to do the walk again (Savannah is the closest one to us). A part of me wanted to go to continue honoring his memory.

But a part of me didn't. I admit to being somewhat bitter. I didn't want to go to an event that would be a constant reminder that my dad is no longer here. I didn't want to go to an event and raise funds for treatment and a cure that is too late for my dad. Yes, just a little bit bitter.

I am absolutely not saying that it isn't important to keep raising funds for pancreatic cancer research, treatment, and cures for the people who are currently fighting this disease, and for the people who are yet to be diagnosed. It is important. The 5 year survival rate for this type of cancer is just 6%. (My dad fought it for 3 years). It's the only major cancer with a 5 year survival rate in the single digits and has remained that way for 40 years.

There are no early detection methods and the symptoms that do appear could be attributed to other medical conditions (my dad was first diagnosed with pancreatitis). More than half of the diagnoses are made in the latter stages. Surgery offers the best chance, but only about 15% of cases are caught early enough for this surgery...and even with surgery this cancer recurs in approximately 80% of patients.

So yes, more research is desperately needed. Only about 2% of the National Cancer Institute's budget is allocated to pancreatic cancer, the 4th leading cause of cancer deaths.

I'm not denying that there isn't a need in the pancreatic cancer community for events like PurpleStride to raise funds and awareness ... there is ... I'm just saying that I'm also bitter and still mourning for my dad and that I know my participating won't help my father. Sometimes that is still hard for me to come to grips with.

I didn't know if I could put my emotions aside and do the walk this year. But the decision ended up being made for me. The Partners in Policymaking class that I'm involved in meets the 3rd weekend of every month and the walk in Savannah is on the same weekend I need to be in Columbia for class.

I won't be at the walk this year, but I can still donate, raise awareness, and always, always honor and remember my dad.

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The World Series, The Red Sox, and My Dad

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Sports has a way of connecting people. A common bond among strangers. A love for a team passed down through generations. Celebrating a win over the water cooler with co-workers.

My dad loved sports. He was a fan of the 4 major sports teams in the Boston area: Red Sox, Celtics, Patriots, and Bruins. He followed them all and rooted for them all, but he was extra passionate about the Red Sox.

He played baseball from early on and continued playing softball in the military on base teams. I wanted to be like him and attempted to play softball in school. I touched on his love of sports on the eulogy I wrote.

As I mentioned, he was a huge Red Sox fan. His father was a huge Red Sox fan. And I'm sure his father's father was a Red Sox fan as well. I am my father's daughter; therefore, I too, am a Red Sox fan.

Sports was my connection with my dad. That thing we had. I couldn't, and didn't, play softball well at all, but I could sure talk about the Red Sox (or Celtics, or Bruins, or Patriots) with my dad.

When my dad joined FB our conversations became even more centered around sports. He was a coach from home - critiquing the game and coaches' decisions from the first play. He let his opinions be known of trades that happened during the season and during the off-season.

A glimpse into some of our FB conversations:

Feb 2011: Me to my Dad: I know you've wanted the Celtics to trade Perkins, so you're probably happy about that ... but Nate Robinson too? He was productive coming off the bench for Rondo; they shouldn't have traded him. And w/Shaq's injuries they really need another big man with KG.

Dad: What, he was traded? Let me check this out. I didn't hear this till you posted it. I wanted a big man in the middle. I didn't want Robinson traded but now that West is back, he is just as good.

Aug 2011: Dad: I thought we had a chance to come back but not now after Napoli hit that home run. CJ Wilson owns the Red Sox. (I have to laugh at finding this one because Napoli was on the Red Sox this year and helped them win the WS.)

Apr 2012: Dad: Bowden is a young starting pitcher that started with the sox last year. He only pitched 3 inning this year and gave up 2 hits and one run and was sent down to aaa. Marlon Byrd is an outfielder with 3 singles in 43 at bats this year. The point I was making is that we don't need any more outfielders, we need any kind of pitching. I know we have 2 starters on the dl from the outfield but we have AAA to bring any up if we need one, but not to trade for one and have another contract.

It was 3-0 when I started this post. Now they are losing 4-3 after the post. We don't have one reliable starter. Doubront seems to be doing the best. Their last starting pitcher.

The only 3 doing good on offense are Aviles, Sweeney, and Ortiz. Ortiz is leading the a.l. in batting average.

That is what I'm missing from my dad during the different sport seasons.

My dad has a brick at Fenway Park (as does his father), he was buried in a Red Sox jersey and Red Sox hat in his hands. He has this at his grave site.

  A lifelong and forever fan...

So when the Red Sox won the World Series last week it was bittersweet. As a fan I was ecstatic. As my father's daughter I missed sharing that moment with him. It was hard not being able to talk to him, to hear the shared excitement in his voice, to picture the smile on his face as he likely would have said something like, "Wow Michelle, they did it! Another World Series! It took almost all my life to see them win 1 World Series and now they have 3 in 10 years!" to re-hash the Series. It made me miss him even more. It brought back the reality of him being gone.

When the Sox won in 2004 my dad sent me a World Series t-shirt and commemorative baseball.
When they won again in 2007 he sent me a couple more commemorative baseballs from the post-season.
Now they've won in 2013 and there won't be anything else coming from my dad this time. Bittersweet.

They finished in last place last season. They had a manager and players that just didn't mesh well. Which, in a way, might have been sort of fitting since my father passed away in July of that year. I wouldn't have felt like celebrating any post-season play last year.

But this team, this bunch of bearded-clad players ... my dad would have enjoyed them. He would have liked the players they brought in. He would have liked the coach. He would have liked their never-quit attitude. He would have liked their personalities. He would have liked the team mentality.

I guess he still did enjoy this team and this season and this World Series win ... it was just in a different place than here. And he got to enjoy it with his father. I know they were celebrating together.

Even though my dad is no longer here, I guess we do still have that thing, that connection between us. We still have it because I won't be able to watch the Red Sox without thinking of my dad.

Thank you, Red Sox, for knowing how to bring together a city, and also for making this daughter, who is missing her father, feel just a little bit closer to him.

 

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Flying Wish Paper

Friday, 19 July 2013

On one of my mom's visits she brought Flying Wish Paper with her. She thought it would be a neat thing for the kids to do. They drew pictures and she lit their papers and they lifted off in the air to 'fly'. They had fun with it and there were plenty of papers left over to use for another time.

I had forgotten about that paper until I was trying to think of what to do to mark the 1- year anniversary of my father's death.

That evening we got out the Flying Wish Paper and sent our notes up to Heaven to my father; their Pepere.

I was really touched by what Kayla and Lucas came up with to write on their paper.

Lucas wrote, "Lucas loves Pepere so much that I can not forget you."

He was only 4 when my father passed away. I wonder how much of my dad he will actually remember. Kayla was 9 so she had a little bit more time to make memories with my dad, but I was 8 when my dad's mother passed away and my memories are very few and faint of her. I know we have to just keep talking about my dad and looking at his pictures to keep his memory alive for my kids.

Kayla's note said, "Dear Pepere, I like you. Don't die. Don't get in the coffin ok? I like you Pepere."

I know Kayla knows that he did in fact die, and he is in a coffin - they were there for the funeral. So I wonder if she was actually trying to express that she wished he didn't die, but she didn't know how to say that.

 

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Remembering My Dad

Friday, 12 July 2013

I dreaded this day coming; the one year mark to end my dad's 3.5 yr battle with pancreatic cancer.

"Eulogy for dad" has quickly become one of the top search phrases that have landed people on my blog. I hate that. But every time I see that phrase has led someone to my eulogy for my dad, I say a little prayer for the person who did that search.

Thank you all for your suggestions on what I should do to mark this day. I realized that last week when we were on our vacation we were doing things my dad would've loved to do. He loved being outdoors ... going for walks, hiking trails etc. He would have loved the pictures I shared. He would have laughed, and been surprised, at us continuing our walk in the rain to the waterfall. I could hear his voice in my head, teasing me about that, exclaiming that I took the kids out in the rain.

So today, to remember my dad, this is my to-do list:
- Have one of those good, long, ugly, hard cries
- If the rain holds off, take kids for a bike ride
- Pull up YouTube and listen to the hits by the Four Seasons: Working My Way Back To You, Big Girls Don't Cry, Sherry, Candy Girl, Walk Like A Man because when I was growing up I remember my dad listening to and singing those songs
A lot.
- Sit down w/Kayla and Lucas and look through pictures of my dad
- Pull out the old video tape from when Kayla was born and cross my fingers that I have my dad on that tape
- Write messages with the kids, to my dad, on Flying Wish Paper and send the wishes up in the sky
- Wear our Purple Stride Pancreatic Cancer walk shirts
- Wear our Boston Red Sox caps
- Take the kids bowling
- Smile
- Make a donation to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network
- Order flowers to be delivered to FL so someone can place them on my dad's grave site
- Try not to relieve what I was doing every hour of the day this time last year
- Probably have one more good cry

 

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The Last Pictures

Thursday, 4 July 2013

I spent last July 4th with my dad.

I knew since he decided to stop his chemo treatments (he didn't feel like they were working anymore) for pancreatic cancer that we would inevitably have to say goodbye to him sooner rather than later.

But last July 4th I wasn't expecting it to be so soon after that day.

July 4th was his last good day. The last day he was really alert, more mobile (although he still couldn't walk because of the blood clots in his leg), in great spirits, and 'with it' in his conversations with us. I guess it was something like a last 'surge' before his body shut down.

We left the next day, Thursday - July 5th, and exactly one week later he passed away. I still can't believe he's gone. I can't believe it's almost been a year since I said goodbye to my dad.

The days to that one-year anniversary are hurtling faster and faster towards me and I just want to stop time. I don't want July 12th to get here. I just want to skip over that day. I don't want to have to remember and associate July 12th with his death. I don't want to have to associate the July 4th holiday as the last time he had a good day, and that there are no more July 4th celebrations for him.

I don't like remembering that he's not here anymore.

As painful as these pictures are to look at I also cherish them ... the last pictures I have of my father.

Since I can't avoid July 12th I'm wondering what I can do to honor my dad on that date. We aren't going to be in Florida to visit his grave site ... so what can I do at home for him? For myself? For Kayla and Lucas to acknowledge the significance of this date? Any suggestions for something else besides maybe releasing balloons?


 

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Bittersweet

Monday, 3 June 2013

It's been 10 months since my dad passed away.

I knew there would be things I would miss out on sharing with him; little and big things with his grandkids he wouldn't be around to witness.

I knew there would be all those 'firsts' to get through - his birthday, holidays, etc.

While there has been a lot of good things for us this year ... it has not been without pause. Each celebration has been bittersweet for me.

Bittersweet when: 

- Lucas learned to ride a bike without training wheels
- Lucas learned to tie his shoes
- Kayla learned to ride a bike with training wheels
- Kayla made her 'catwalk' debut in the Global Down Syndrome Foundation's Be Beautiful Be Yourself Fashion Show
- Lucas graduated from preschool
(I can picture his comments on Facebook saying how proud Pepere is of them, and how beautiful Kayla looked at the fashion show).
- Joe completed his first marathon

... and the every day things I've missed discussing with, and hearing my dad's commentary on:
- The Red Sox hot start to the baseball season
- The change in managers, and players, for the Red Sox (I think he would be happy with the team, and manager, the Sox are fielding this year)
- The Celtics fading in the playoffs and what their prospects are for next year
- The Bruins having a 3-1 series lead over the Maple Leafs and needing OT in Game 7 to win and advance to Round 3
- The Pacers taking the Heat to Game 7 

So bittersweet ... not being able to share moments with him anymore ...

 

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Turning The Page

Thursday, 3 January 2013

The end of the year always feels like turning the last page of a chapter in a book. Turning the page and starting a new chapter. Leaving the last chapter behind.

I don't usually get too sentimental or melancholy about the end of the year and I didn't expect this turn in to the new year to be any different. But it was. And I wasn't prepared for it.

As I sat thinking about closing the chapter of 2012 I couldn't help but think about my dad. A lot of things happened in the year 2012, but losing my father will of course be the one that sticks out the most.

The end of the year brought back the pain of losing him. It felt in some way like I was saying goodby to him again. In turning the page and closing the chapter of 2012 it was like forever leaving my dad in 2012 ... because he isn't, and will never be, here to see another new year. He will always be linked, and staying in 2012.

Moving in to 2013 is creating that much more separation and distance from him. It is moving on, even though I've been doing that every day since July 12, 2012. Moving on to another year seems somehow more significant. It's moving on to the new year without him. I didn't think that would hit me as hard as it did.

Next weekend we are going to FL to cheer Joe on in the Disney marathon. The date of the half marathon (the full marathon was full by the time Joe registered) is exactly 6 months since my dad passed away. We will find some time during that short weekend to go to Cocoa and visit my dad's grave site...which will be the first time going back since his funeral. This means I will also be seeing his headstone for the first time.

I'm trying to prepare myself for that. But much like seeing his obit in the paper for the first time I don't think there is really any way to prepare for seeing my dad's name on a marker signifying his burial spot.

 

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Last Christmas

Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Last year for Christmas we went to Florida to see my dad. At this point we knew the cancer was back but he was about to switch to another type of chemo. At that time the cancer was in his liver, and eventually spread to his lungs.

Of course I had no idea that last Christmas was going to be my dad's last Christmas. I am so thankful that we made the trip there to spend the holidays with him. Wonderful, poignant, and heartbreaking memories to know that was the last time we would spend Christmas with my dad.

This year found us in Florida, again, right before Christmas. A gift to myself was going to see the New England Patriots play the Jacksonville Jaguars. I'm a huge Patriots fan, and with Jacksonville being about 3.5 hrs away (on a good day traveling on 95S!) and with the game being on Dec 23rd, this was something I didn't want to pass up.

I thought about my dad a lot on that quick overnight trip to FL. He lived about 2 hrs from Jacksonville. If he was still here he would have met us in Jacksonville and gone to the game with us ... being a Patriots fan himself...and me getting my love of sports from him.

I know his spirit was with us though as we enjoyed the experience of being at an NFL game....there were times I felt (or maybe it was wishful thinking) as if he were right there in the stands with us cheering on the Patriots.

Arriving at the stadium:
 

Ready for the game to start


Patriots won!


 

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I'm Free

Thursday, 22 November 2012

Even though I didn't spend many Thanksgivings with my dad over the years, since we were separated by long distances, I am missing him today.

There are many of us out there who have lost a parent, or any loved one, this year and are getting through this first Thanksgiving (and holiday season) without them around.

Sharing this for all of us in the hopes that we are surrounded by loved ones and happy memories to help us get through this time.

"I'm Free" (I don't know who to give the credit for this)
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free;
I'm following the path God laid for me.
I took His hand when I heard Him call.
I turned my back and left it all.
If my parting has left a void,
then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;
Ah yes, these things, I too, will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow;
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much;
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief;
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me:
 God wanted me now, He set me free.

 

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PurpleStride Savannah

Sunday, 18 November 2012

This weekend we drove to Tybee Island, GA for the Pancreatic Cancer Network's PurpleStride 5K.

It was a chilly and windy walk/run on the beach, but I'm glad that we went in memory of my dad.

They had a short kids' run and then there was the 5K Run/Walk. The wind really started to get to Kayla so Joe took her back up on the pier and Lucas toughed out the rest of the walk with me. Ok except on the way back when a police officer patrolling the beach offered us a ride back ... and Lucas wanted to ride on the jeep; so we almost made the 5K.

It was an emotional day thinking about, and remembering my dad, and wishing he was still here with us.

Glow sticks to light it up purple for hope and remembrance of loved ones.

 

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Purple Stride

Monday, 12 November 2012

Today is exactly 4 months since my dad lost his battle with pancreatic cancer.

For the past 3 years he participated in the Pancreatic Cancer Network's Purple Stride walks to raise awareness and funding for pancreatic cancer research.

One of my regrets is I didn't have a chance to make it to FL to walk with him in one of these walks.

Last year he spoke as a survivor. I have tears just thinking about that. Last year: a survivor. This year: he won't be there.

His memory and advocacy efforts will continue though. My brother and his family, and my dad's wife and her family, all walked together in a Purple Stride event in TN last month.

I found a Purple Stride walk in Savannah, GA and my family will be walking in honor, and memory, of my father.

The five-year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is a mere six percent. Nearly 44,000 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this year.

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. I'm pledging to be a visionary in the fight against pancreatic cancer.

If you can donate to our team please know it is much appreciated!



Click Here to Donate

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Generations of Red Sox Fans

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Last year, in a post about my grandfather, I explained why and how I became such a big Red Sox fan. I mention my father's love of the Red Sox in his eulogy. In fact, my father chose his outfit that he wanted to be buried in and it was no surprise that it was a Red Sox jersey and hat. (On a side note, I can't believe both my grandfather and father are now gone.)

Last year, as part of the 100th Anniversary celebration, the Red Sox had a brick program where fans were offered the chance to order engraved bricks, to be placed in Fenway Park.

What a great surprise this would be for my dad. It took me awhile to come up with what I wanted to put on the brick; and of course I was limited on space and how many characters.

I finally came up with this:

The Beausoleils 
Generations of
Red Sox Fans

My dad never got the chance to see the actual brick where it lies in Fenway Park, or a picture of it. But he did know about it - he received a replica brick last year. I think he was pretty proud of it.

 Last week my sister had the opportunity to attend a game at Fenway Park (we won't talk about just how jealous I was of that!)

I sent her the location of the brick: Dave Roberts section, Gate B, Section 12B and she found it for me.

One of these days I am going to get my kids to Fenway Park for a game.

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The Cemetery

Monday, 27 August 2012

There is a main road about 10-15 min from our house that we don't use frequently, but use often enough.

There is a cemetery on this road. Kayla can see it quite clearly from her side of the van. We've passed by this cemetery numerous times in the 2 years since we've moved here. But the first time we drove past this cemetery, a week after returning from FL, Kayla really saw it. And identified with it.

In an animated, almost excited voice, Kayla said, "Oooh Mommy! This! Right here! We're going to see Pepere?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I held back tears as I told her that no, we weren't going to see Pepere, he wasn't buried at that cemetery.

Then Lucas said, "Kayla, remember Pepere lives in FL?" I had to hold back more tears at the present tense of "lives" ... although I guess he'll always be in FL now.

Almost every time we've driven that road since then, Kayla still notices that cemetery. And without fail she'll say something about Pepere. She'll talk about his leg hurt and he couldn't walk (the blood clots). She'll mention his lungs were sick (the reason I told them that it was hard for him to breathe). She'll talk about the flowers (that we each put on his casket). Sometimes she'll say mommy's sad and cry. Other times she'll say Pepere doesn't hurt anymore, he's all better.

The first time we passed that cemetery and Kayla made the connection to my dad's funeral it hurt. It still does hurt.

But I now find myself almost looking forward to her noticing it when we drive by there. I find myself waiting for that moment she sees it come in to view and will say something. It almost feels like it has become a tradition of some sorts.

And I know that when we drive by there, and she says something, it puts my dad at the forefront of our thoughts. And she's remembering him. Not that I want that to be her most prominent and often-thought about memory, but for now it is. It's her association with him. She's processing his death and what happened and what she was a part of at the funeral. And I've started to smile when we approach that cemetery, so I can smile when she's talking about him, and smile as we remember him together.

 

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He Said Turn Around

Saturday, 4 August 2012

I intended for the "Military Funeral" post to be my final post about my father's death ... not that I wouldn't find something to post about him, but the final post on his death, the days following, and his funeral.

Yet there was something that happened, that I forgot all about posting in the midst of all that has gone on lately.

It seems Lucas experienced his first 'sign' from my dad/involving my dad, before even I did.

When I left for FL on the Monday before my dad died, my mom drove from MD to SC to stay with Kayla and Lucas while Joe went to work ... and to wait for my inevitable phone call that it was time. There was no point in having the kids make another trip to FL to wait and hang around the hospice house when my dad was in the final stages.

My mom then drove to FL with Joe and the kids. My aunt, her sister, joined us in FL as she wanted to pay her respects as well.

The morning of the funeral Joe and I left a little earlier from the hotel. My mom, aunt, and the kids left several minutes after we did.

As they were getting in the van Lucas said that he was hearing voices in his head and he thought "Pepere is talking to me."

Despite Joe having set the GPS, and giving verbal directions, my mom somehow still didn't take the right exit. I'm not sure what happened with the GPS but it wasn't directing them to turn around or say which way to go (I think it must've just been on map showing where they were instead of on the location of where they needed to go.)

My mom was starting to wonder if she was going the right way.

Then Lucas said, very matter-of-fact, and with all seriousness: "Pepere said turn around."

That was it. It was like he was delivering a message and there wasn't any question about it. He didn't say he (Lucas) thought they were going the wrong way, it was just simply, "Pepere said turn around."

My mom and sister started discussing where they were and if they were headed the right way when my aunt called me.

"You're going the wrong way, you need to turn around." I told her.

When my mom told me what Lucas said before they called me, it gave me chills.

They were a few minutes late to the service, but they probably would've missed the whole thing if they hadn't turned around when they did.

 

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A Sign or Two

Thursday, 2 August 2012

In the past I've heard people talk about signs they've seen after a loved one has passed away. Little things that have happened that let them know they are still there. I wondered if I would notice any signs should they happen. And, honestly, I couldn't even think of anything that could possibly happen for me to see to make me think it was my dad's doing.

If the Red Sox had gone on some undefeated streak since my dad passed away then I might have attributed that to him :) But, alas, that hasn't happened. Although they did win 2 out of the 3 from the Yankees recently, in NY, so maybe he's trying!

Yesterday was my birthday. I felt a certain emptiness throughout the day knowing that I wouldn't get any FB message nor phone call from my dad. That was hard. I was really missing a phone call from him.

I was out last night and the last song to come on the radio, which ended just as I pulled in to the garage, was "Dance With My Father" by Luther Vandross.

It wasn't previously a song that had any meaning for me, but I knew the song and thought it to be beautiful.  

What's funny is I had been thinking about this song a few times lately and had meant to see if I could find it on YouTube so I could listen to it...just hadn't gotten around to it yet. I'd like to think the timing of it coming on the radio last night was just maybe my dad's way of letting me know he was thinking about me.

Then there was something else that happened today. The kids and I went to the library. Kayla pulled 3 books off the shelf to check out and one of them was called "Sweet, Sweet Memory" by Jacqueline Woodson.

Here is the description from the inside flap, "Now that Grandpa’s gone, Sarah tries to remember what he used to say about the garden.  Like us, he would tell her, a part of it never dies.  Everything and everyone goes on and on.  But Sarah feels very sad, even though Grandma and all the relatives are with her, sharing stories and hugs.  How can life go on without Grandpa?"

Coincidence? Or something else?

Needless to say we checked that book out. 

  

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Military Funeral

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

Writing can be cathartic and I need cathartic right now.

While I don't mean to over-post on my father's death I do want to write about his funeral. I feel like this is the final chapter in my journey of saying goodbye to him. I need to finish this chapter before I get back to life blogging about our vacation to Denmark (no I still haven't finished those posts!), and the NDSC convention and whatever else comes our way.

I have been a part of the military since the day I was born. My dad served 20 years in the Air Force and I knew a military funeral, steeped in tradition and ceremony, would be so very emotional. As if a funeral for your parent isn't emotional enough on it's own accord. I knew there would be an honor guard, a flag-draped coffin, the folding and presenting of the flag to the next of kin, the volley salute, and the playing of Taps.

I saw my father take his last breaths. I saw him in the casket at the viewing the day before the funeral. I was numb. It was, and really still is, surreal.

Seeing his flag-draped coffin being taken out of the hearse by the military honor guard somehow made it that more real.

Even though it was the same casket in front of me during the funeral service, when I saw it at the cemetery it hit me harder and I kept thinking, "That's my father. That's my father in that casket. This is really happening."

I wasn't prepared for those emotions. And I most certainly wasn't prepared for the emotions I felt when I glanced over at my brother. My brother, who was enlisted in the Air Force and then the Reserves, and who, a couple of years ago, commissioned in to the Army...my brother in his Army Dress Blues. He was standing on the path the honor guards were walking with the casket and he was saluting. (As was Joe, in his Air Force Service Dress). It wasn't that they did anything unusual, because of course they would be saluting a flag-draped coffin of a veteran; standing at attention and rendering respect and honor for the deceased. But this was my brother, and he was saluting our father's casket and it hurt my heart to see that, because I know that he was struggling with composure just as much as I was. The unbelievable-ness that we were burying our father much sooner than we ever thought we would be.

After the somberness of the flag-folding and presenting to his wife I prepared myself for the volleys they were going to fire.

Each of the three shots made me cry harder than the last. Each of the shots made it more final. I wanted to scream out "no!" with each of the shots. I just wanted my father back.

When the playing of Taps started I thought my knees were going to buckle. I wanted nothing more than to crumble to the ground and sob until I had nothing left. I didn't want to be standing there, having my father honored with the playing of Taps. I wanted to be back at his house talking about the Red Sox. This description of Taps couldn't be more accurate, "There is something singularly beautiful and appropriate in the music of this wonderful call. Its strains are melancholy, yet full of rest and peace. Its echoes linger in the heart long after its tones have ceased to vibrate in the air.        
                      - from an article by Master Sergeant Jari A Villanueva, USAF

I described the witnessing of a military funeral for one's own father as "poignantly beautiful, knee-buckling, and heart-breaking all at once."

 

 

May you rest in peace now Dad, your body free from the pain of cancer, and knowing that you gave it one helluva fight for nearly 3 years. Goodbye, Dad, I love you.

 

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