It's finally time to write a little about the last few months, but first a few pictures....
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| My Dad and Gramma with me at the base of Rocky Mountain National Park |
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| My Dad with three of his girls and lots of his grandkids |
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| A lifetime favorite. My first trip to Disneyland |
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| Me and my Dad with Bear Lake in the background |
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| College graduation |
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| Easter! |
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| My Dad and his girls - me being the itty bitty! |
Slide show in remembrance of my Dad, Gerald R. Adams
On January 22, 2014 my Dad passed away in the early hours of the morning after a 35 day battle with Stage 4 metastatic pancreatic cancer. There is no word for the loss that I have experienced or the void I feel in my life. Just having the energy to write about it on my blog has been more than I could bear most days but as I lay here sleepless tonight I have decided it is time.
On December 21st my husband received a message from my step-brother that was quite ominous. He asked if we were home and let Mike know that my Dad needed to call us to share some news about his health. We were out and about running errands at the time and I tried to brush it off a little in the moment, knowing that if it were extremely serious I wouldn't be able to keep moving and it was just days before Christmas and there was still shopping to be done. I knew if we immediately went home to take the call I would shutdown and not be able to get back up if I heard something devastating. So, we continued on and ran our last 2 errands and then went home to wait for my Dad to call. I had a pretty undeniable feeling that I was going to hear the worst news I possibly could that day. I was trying to fill the moments waiting for the call and so I grabbed a magazine sitting on our coffee table. The article I flipped to (on accident) was on grief. I know now there was no coincidence in that moment. When my Dad called he let me know that he had some bad news about his health. He had been diagnosed with cancer that was so far advanced that it had spread into his lungs and bones. There was no treatment, no options and not much time left. I can barely remember our conversation, as I was sobbing beyond comprehension, but I very vividly remember him saying that he was sorry that he wouldn't be there to see my little girls grow up. It's a statement that hasn't left me from that moment, a statement that I think about daily.
The next few days were a whirlwind, including Christmas. I honestly don't remember much about it including the presents, which became very trivial and not needed. I know we celebrated, I've seen a few pictures and I can clearly see myself sitting on the stairs crying uncontrollably while my 2 year old daughter, Ava, patted my leg and said, "It's OK mommy", a scene which took place many times. On December 26th I was joined by my sister for the track up to Canada to see my Dad and spend two of his final weeks of life with him.
I wish I could say the entire journey was peaceful, happy and reminiscent but I can't. I won't paint a pretty picture of cancer because there is nothing beautiful about it. It's a horrible and devastating disease and it robbed my Dad of time with his children, his spouse and his grandchildren. I can't express how difficult it is to watch someone suffer so much. Every day that went by my Dad aged a few years in physical appearance. It was as if the cancer was trying to tell his body to be older than he was. Watching him eat only a few hundred calories a day and then not be able to keep any of it down was horrible. In just a few days I watched him go from being able to walk the short distance from his bedroom to the living room once a day with a walker, to only being able to go from the bedroom to the adjoining bathroom with his walker to not being able to walk at all. Every stage of independence that was taken from him was emotionally trying and we were moving through those stages quickly. There were days he couldn't stomach his meds and he went with no morphine in his system at all, the longest time period being nearly 48 hours. Things happened so quickly that we didn't even have the emergency kit from the Home Health Agency by the time we put him in Hospice just a few weeks after he learned he was ill. Just ten days after we arrived in Canada my Dad went into a horrible pain crisis and we found ourselves on the phone with many medical professionals and the Hospice Hospital in the middle of the night. We knew then that although we didn't want to have to move my Dad from his home so quickly, it was time. We were watching his body shut down in front of our very eyes. We were blessed that a bed was open in their ten patient facility for my Dad to move into the next morning but if there hadn't been we had agreed he could move into the facilities open basement until a room opened up because he needed the 24 hour care that badly. I can honestly and quite easily say the night my Dad went into a pain crisis was the scariest night of my life. I'm not ready to confront the details of that 24 hour time period but I can say that there isn't a time I hear a loud noise without going right back into that moment. I prayed non-stop that evening that we could get through the night without my Dad feeling more pain, throwing up any more and without my Dad taking a fall. I honestly thought that if we could get through that evening, no part of the journey could be worse...I was wrong.
At 11:00 the next morning the medical transportation loaded my Dad into their transport vehicle and took him to Hospice. It was devastating watching him leave his house for the last time, the house he built to enjoy his retirement years in. As he waved good-bye it took everything in me to keep myself together so he didn't have to see me collapse. Meanwhile two of my sisters were in the house doing exactly what I needed so desperately to do.
My Dad spent the last 17 days of his life living in a Hospice facility. They weren't able to get the pain under control but being on a morphine port did help his comfort level a great deal.
My best friend told me, shortly after I shared the news about my Dad's illness, that while times would be tough, someday I would be able to look back and remember the sweet moments. I can't say that I have overcome the anguish of watching my Dad suffer but I am grateful for those sweet and tender moments I had with him. I'm grateful that no words were left unspoken, that there were final picture opportunities, that Ava got to see him again and that Ella got to meet him. Those are blessings that I'm thankful for daily.
I read an article early on during this journey that a woman around my age shared about the loss of her Dad from cancer. She said that she no longer believes that the Lord won't give us more than we can handle as she couldn't handle any of it. I must say I echo her sentiment. I can't handle any of this, at least not on my own. I've also learned that it is during the times that the Lord gives us more than we can handle that we turn to Him, as there is no other way to get through the storm. I realized at some point that while nothing in life could prepare me for the call I got telling me of my Dad's passing that in actuality everything in life had prepared me for that moment because I have been blessed with the knowledge that families are eternal.
While my Dad is no longer on this earth I know that he is ever present in my life. He is watching over me and my family. I have a long way to go before I end each night thinking about every occasion he is going to miss or waking up each morning wanting to shoot him an email or give him a call to talk about all the adventures of my girls. I draw every ounce of energy out of my body getting the girls ready in the morning and working a full day. I keep wondering when that pattern will break and when I'll feel normal again. The reality is that this is my new normal. Someday I will wake up with absolute focus and energy again but my Dad isn't coming back. I read in a book about loss that losing someone serves as our magnet towards Heaven. It's a beautiful statement and a very real notion. While I don't want to return to my Heavenly home for a very long time I am so grateful that my Dad will be waiting for me. Although he is not present in my life he is doing more for me from the Other Side than I will ever realize.
At my Dad's funeral I was able to share a few words, written below.....
There are no words to express the deep loss that I feel or the debt of gratitude to my Dad. While his passing came too early in life, I hold on to the wonderful memories we have created over the last 35 years. My dad was my first love. He helped me to experience the world in ways that I would have not been able to, had he not been in my life. He has left behind an amazing legacy of children and grandchildren, many of which are in this room today.
Dad taught me many lessons in life. I learned how to be a better person from his successes and his failures.
When I was 8 years old I asked him if he would buy me a swimming pool. As the smart father that he was, he gently said no, but that I could save money to purchase one. Hence, the goal of saving began. I put my spare change and all the dollars I earned in a Sanka jar under the kitchen sink, eagerly awaiting the day that I could have pool parties. After quite some time I had saved up around $100. We were out shopping one day and I happened to come across quite the collection of hair bows. Again, I asked if he would purchase them for me. He gently responded no, but that he would take me home to get my money and I could purchase them. I should be embarrassed to admit this, but I got distracted from my grand swimming pool idea and bought what I can now assume was a large quantity of bows. I appreciate that Dad didn't give into my every whim and buy all the things I wanted. He taught me to save and he taught me that I had choices to make, not just with my money, but everyday choices. He taught me accountability.
Like so many others, Dad taught me to strive to do more, to be more and to use my talents and time to make an imprint on the world. He inspired me, encouraged me and believed in me. When I was young my Dad asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up....my answer was simple but unlike any other child in the world, I wanted to be a cocktail waitress. Knowing my distraction with the pretty hair bows, you can only imagine that it was because I thought they were fashionable in their ruffles and glitter. I'm positive that my Dad, the distinguished scholar, was mortified when I used to tell people of my aspirations in life. He sat me down and talked to me about what else I might want to be and encouraged me to set my sights high. No one was prepared for just how high I would set them. I went from the little girl that wanted to be a cocktail waitress to the little girl that wanted to be the first female President of the United States. My goal was quite lofty and obviously ridiculous but he encouraged me nonetheless. He supported me as I read the life stories of every president preparing for the day I took office and as I developed my inaugural speech in the basement of my Grandma's house.
Dad inspired me to stand up for my beliefs and dare to be different. Having that instilled in me from an early age helped me make good choices and gave me courage to plant my feet firmly in my faith. He taught me to do what I believe to be right, not what is easy. He taught me that if you work hard, amazing things will happen. I can see that in every element of my life. So for that Dad, I thank you.
I see pieces of my Dad reflected in my children and I see them in each of my sisters, which now more than ever provides great comfort.
Shawn, you and Dad shared a love for creativity and art. You both have the ability to express yourself in special ways. You have used art to heal you and to get you through your trials and grief. You also both love others with a deep and profound love, the kind that offers and unbearable hurt when you are let down.
Sheryl, you and Dad shared a love for science, teaching and inspiring the minds of our youth. Like Dad, you want to make your mark on the world, which is shown by your passion and dedication to teaching. Over the last several months many stories have been shared by Dad's former students about the inspiration and role model that he was to them. He made their lives better and I know someday your students will look back and say the same about you.
Shelli, you and Dad share the ability to find humor in life, even through the darkest storms. You share an infectious smile and laugh. Like Dad, you are gregarious and find no fear in talking with strangers and making friends in obscure places. With Dad there was no quick trip to the drugstore because he talked to everyone. I always loved that about him and something tells me that there is no quick trip to the drugstore with you either.
I find peace knowing that every time I speak with one of you, I'll be reminded of one of the traits that I treasured in him. It's a little piece of Heaven here on Earth.
Dad has taught us all to get up each time we fall and to keep going, something he had to do many times in his life. He has taught us the value of education an hard work.
He gave us life and he gave us each other, there is no gift greater than that.
In my last conversation with Dad I shared with him the following thoughts from a letter I wrote him.....
While my heart is broken that you are leaving this world to soon, I take great comfort knowing this is not the end. We will be an eternal family and someday we'll all do cartwheels n Heaven in our perfect bodies. Your pain and suffering will be over and you will be ever present in our lives. While I don't pretend to know what Heaven will look like, I like to envision it like the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz. It will be magical and when we get there we will be reminded that there is no place like home.
Dad's time on earth was too short but God had a plan for him, as He does for all of His children. For me it's been a reminder to find joy in the moments, to love a little more, to let go of hurt and to live without regret.
I will not say good-bye, for I know this is not the end, just a moment in time. So to you Dad, I will say, I love you, I will make you proud and I look forward to when we meet again.
How very grateful I am that I will see my Dad again. It keeps me going. It comforts me to know that while my girls will only know their Grandpa in Spirit in this life they will get to be with him again someday. This life is short but we have the eternities to look forward to someday. The most powerful quote I have read in recent months was by William Penn, "For death is no more than turning us over to an Eternity of time."
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| Meeting Ella for the first time. She was 4 1/2 months |
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| Instant connection between them |
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| Maddi and Jessie holding on tight |
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| Ella in her sweet lavender jumping out of my Dad's lap |
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| Ella's shirt said I Love Grandpa - Yes, you did sweet girl of mine |
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| Love |
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| My Dad was so happy to get to meet Ella |
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| It's a reminder that my Dad was always sending me love |
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| Opening a present with Ava Girl. She still talks about the puppy and stickers my Dad gave her |
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| Shawn tracing Dad's hand |
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| Much to my surprise my Dad still wore the KD sweatshirt I gave him when I was in college and sleeps with the DU blanket I gave him for his birthday which was just a few days before I got my Master's Degree |
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| I took lots of silly photos this day |
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| Dad was trying to be silly with me, didn't work |
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| I used to read him messages of love from people |
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| The Gratitude Wall. We put this up in the kitchen so when we were feeling grateful for something we could post it. |
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| One of his many awards |
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| Their final good-byes in their home |
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| Dad waving good-bye to me. I was standing in the door as they loaded him in the transport. Truly horrible |
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| Driving away |
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| Shawn and I holding Dad's hand in Hospice |
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| Pictures we put on the cabinet in Hospice to remind my Dad of the Legacy of his life |
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| His home |
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| After 24 hours in Hospice |
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| This was the last picture that I ever took of just me and my Dad |
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| Shawn and Dad. If he looks like he is in pain it's because she bumped him getting that close. |
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| No. 1 Husker's Fan, my Dad |
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| Wearing the prayer shawl my aunt made for him |
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| Our last day with Dad we took his bed for a spin into the Sun Room at Hospice |
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| He didn't know it but I was holding his puke pan behind him. Yes, I really was. It was clean |
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| Maddi and Dad |
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| Our Hospice Pajama Party. We had matching Zebra footie pajamas that made my dad laugh his butt off. So wish I had that recorded! |
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| And Jessie joined in the fun too! |
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| Dad and Judy |
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Last picture before we said our final farewell to my Dad.
A few photos from the Memorial Service: |
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| Flowers sent by my work's EVP |
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| My Gramma and Me, Love her |
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| Shawn, Liz, Shelli and Gramma |
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| My sisters and Gramma |
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| Missing Dad |
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| Ava. me and my niece enjoying lunch after. The picture on the table was one of this drawing. We had crayons and his sketchings spread around so people could enjoy coloring them in. |
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