14 years ago, at 38 years old, Dad felt a lump in his stomach.. it turned out to be a tumor in his kidney as big as a handball. A few months later we got the news that it had spread to the bone, the first time I heard the word metastasize. We were told that he had incurable cancer. How do you even process that? I never did. Dad had a fantastic doctor who had a plan to give him more time. I kept thinking that time would be found to find a cure for cancer, after all, research is constantly moving forward. Since then, the cancer has spread.. metastases appeared in the lungs, the liver, and finally the brain. Dad went through countless different treatments with various side effects. Until 2 years ago, someone who didn't know Dad would never have believed he was sick. He worked right up until the spring of 2023, so incredibly strong.
3 years ago, Dad received news that he chose never to tell us daughters.. he had 1, at most 2 years to live. There was no longer any treatment to buy more time.. There was one more thing to try, chemotherapy.. with a 10% chance of slowing the progression. Dad chose to take that chance, even though he knew it would break down his body. Dad got more time, he lived an extra year, but his body also became more and more broken down. Despite this, he always looked forward. “It is what it is” he always said and saw solutions in everything. When his legs could no longer handle it and Dad couldn't get up into the tractor, he welded an extra step so he could get in. So full of life, positive, and always put everyone else before himself.
Shit, Dad is going to die, I think for the first time for real
On July 17, 2024, Dad is admitted to the hospital, a few days before my sister's wedding. “I have a wedding on Saturday, give me whatever you can” he says to the staff. Shit, Dad is going to die, I think for the first time for real. You cannot die. At the wedding, Dad gives a speech. “I wish you all the happiness in the future” he says with tears in his voice. I have to go out with panic attacks.. you will not be a part of it. On October 16, 2024, I cry uncontrollably in front of Dad for the first time over the illness. Before that, we had always been so positive, even though we had known for 14 years that he had incurable cancer. But it is no longer possible to be hopeful. I am sitting on the floor in front of him and playing with my son.. “I just want you to be healthy, Dad” I manage to say. I see the tears come to Dad's eyes but he hugs and comforts me as he always has, “I understand” he says.
On November 9, 2024, 3 weeks before Dad passed away, he climbed up into the tractor despite his legs barely holding him, but the grandchildren wanted to ride the tractor, and what wouldn't you do for them?
Live life, nothing is impossible
On December 2, 2024, we have been back at the hospital for a few hours because Dad has started having breathing pauses. “You have to let go now, Dad, we will manage” we say a few hours before he takes his last breath. “Will you?” he answers. Inside, we scream, no we won't. How can we? How can we manage without you, Dad, one of our greatest sources of security in life? But as strong as he had been for us all these years, now it is our turn to be strong for him. Dad got to see 2 of his daughters become mothers and follow his youngest daughter down the aisle on her wedding day. He wanted nothing more than to be there and really fought until the very end.. it hurts so terribly. Eventually, stubbornness no longer played any role.. cancer finally won, even though he gave it a hell of a fight. Dad got 14 years. For many, that may sound like a lot. I am incredibly grateful for these 14 years, but also so terribly angry and sad about all the years we will not get together. I remember when I was little and could cry in the evenings, “you and Mom can never die.” “Not for many years, not until we are old” they always said. My biggest nightmare has come true, one of my greatest sources of security in life is gone. Dad is my greatest role model in life and my children will get to know him, but unfortunately through me. How we will ever be able to manage is a mystery to me that I will probably never understand, but am forced to learn to live with. I love you endlessly, Dad, and will miss you forever. I will try to live life twice as much, just as he wants, for him and for me. “Live life, nothing is impossible” you wrote on a note and you have shown it to us all.
/Ida
