The Last Month
“It’s about this big,” the doctor said, holding two clenched fists end-to-end in front of his chest.
“Wait a minute, Didn’t you say it’s the size of an orange?”
“That’s the other one,” he said, holding a single fist in front of his throat.
I plopped down in the closest waiting room chair, and – in an attempt to zone out for a moment – let my mind drift to how we got here in the first place.
The beginning
I immediately flashed back to a couple of weeks prior. We were just over mid-way through our recent string of travel, exploring Prague. The “things are getting really strange with Dad” calls started to come in from my family. It did not come as a shock. He had “survived” cancer two years prior – a near miracle, they said at the time.
He hadn’t been himself during phone calls over the last couple of months. In excruciating pain and unable to walk steadily, Dad’s days were growing more and more difficult. This, in addition to his nearly immobile left arm, brought him to the doctor again and again. Despite his history of cancer, a host of specialists couldn’t figure out what was going on. They put him on a treatment plan for arthritis. Baffling, I know.
Far away, Caanan and I discussed our confusion and concern at every turn – as we walked the streets of Prague, drank cheap beer and had a lifetime’s worth of goulash and schnitzel. It was all we could do at a distance.
“What questions do you have?” I heard the doctor ask through the fog.
“This is confusing. Why was he being treated for arthritis? What happens now?”
“We’ll know more after a biopsy,” he said hesitantly.
The Middle
I think we all already knew what was coming, although it was difficult to metabolize. How could this once vibrant, uber-gregarious, traveling salesman/entrepreneur be in this situation?
The oddly sterile and disturbing smell of the hospital rattled my hyper-charged senses and threw me back into the fog, contemplating the progression of events.
After Prague, while we were in Massachusetts, we learned that – during one of his now regular trips to urgent care – Dad met with a new doctor on staff. This newbie was eager to figure out what was causing all of the odd symptoms that seemed to add up to a heck of a lot more than arthritis. Noticing a gruffness in Dad’s voice, the doctor thought he might have a cold – not good at his age and in his current situation. A chest x-ray was in order.
I can only imagine what it was like in that room when the doctor stridently threw the x-rays up on the light board to check for signs of a cold or possibly bronchitis. I wonder what the huge tumors looked like. I wonder if anyone could contain their shock.
In Boston, as we made our way back home, Caanan and I continued to talk about Dad a lot; it pacified our nerves. I talked about how, as a kid, I used to hit the road with him during summer break. It was fun to be in the car, traveling from town to town and “helping” him on client visits. Back in the car, after successful pitches, he would say things like. “Did you see that, Kent? That’s how you do it. You have to shoot the shit with ‘em first. That’s how you do business.” Off to the next town we’d go.
I am sure the foundation of my entrepreneurial spirit and travel fanaticism was being cemented during all of those summers. Oh, and my love of food. There were always snacks in hand.
On the very night we made it back to Seattle, my brother admitted Dad into the hospital. Well, he tried to. The hospital resisted because there wasn’t yet a treatment plan. My brother explained the pain, the immobility, the tumors that had been revealed in the x-rays. He and Mom refused to leave until they admitted him.
“What going on?” I asked my brother. It was about midnight and we were at baggage claim.
“I don’t know if he’ll make it through the night. He’s falling down, he’s delusional. This is crazy.”
Dad made it through the night. They later confirmed that the cancerous tumors, pressing on all kinds of nerves and the spine, were causing the problems. No arthritis. No surprise.
The End
Neither Caanan or I remember much of what happened next, we somehow made it home, unpacked, packed, took care of essential things, rented a car and made it down to Portland.
We were able to spend much of the next weeks right in Dad’s room. The second half of the room was patient-less, so we made it our virtual office. We drifted between keeping Dad company, talking to doctors/nurses and working.
Days in – and several tests later – we got the news we knew was coming.
“I can’t fight this,” the radiologist said one memorable day in a right-out-of-a-movies moment.
I felt sick and speechless as I looked over at Caanan and Mom. I was relieved that the suffering would come to an end – just the way dad would want it to. The next days were focused solely on keeping Dad comfortable. We were grateful that he had made his final wishes clearly known. The staff followed those choices flawlessly.
As his body began to shut down in the hospital – and continued to do so at the hospice house – we were at his side. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t talk but, until nearly the end, he’d squeeze our hands. He’d even watch intently as we played solitaire on the iPad. It was comforting to see his eyes dart around when we held the screen up to him between plays.
We sat, listening for each breath and watching the slow drip of the morphine.
Finally peace.
Things are just starting to settle down now, and Caanan and I are beginning to emerge from the haze. Our brains are still trying to catch up with everything that has transpired over the last months – both the travel and the drama. We’re happy that we can see some calm in the distance.
Through this last block of time, what we know for sure is that our No Vacation Required life allowed us to easily be right where we were meant to be during the last weeks. For us, NVR is not just about travel or giving back or working virtually, it’s about freedom. The freedom to be right where we need to be right when we want to be there.
We constantly think of what my mom has told anyone who will listen during the last weeks: “Live now because you never know what might happen.” That’s been her big take-away. Wise, for sure.
Thanks to Dad for being a part of the foundation that has led to this incredible life – a life where we don’t have to be told to live now. Because we wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m really sorry for your loss, Kent. This is a beautifully written tribute to your dad, I’m sure he’d be proud. My thoughts are with you guys and the rest of your family. Your mom gave really good advice when she said to live now, because you never know what will happen. I think that’s what a lot of us here strive to do.
Oh Kent… I’m so so sorry. I was afraid that it was something like this that was the reason you’d been back and forth to PDX. But I didn’t want to pry. Your dad sounds a lot like mine, they’re bigger than life aren’t they? It’s the slivers of wisdom they give you when you’re not really even paying attention that end up sticking with you for forever. There’s a big hug headed your way when we get together and if you need ANYTHING at all, I’m just a tweet/bus ride away!
Wow guys I am so sorry for the loss. My eyes are filled with tears, this was a tough post to read. My thoughts & prayers are with y’all as y’all go through these hard times. This post is brilliant and I am sure you dad was happy y’all were able to be by his side at all time in the end. What your mom said is what eveyrone knows but not many people take the time and actually do it. I am glad y’all are doing it. I know I am thousands miles away but if either of you need anything I am here for y’all.
You know me & music for some reason this post reminded me a lot of Tim McGraws song Live Like You Were Dying. Tim wrote it after his dad past away from cancer talking about the same message y’all are sending out to the world.
Wow guys – you wrote this so amazingly and eloquently. I’m so happy that you were able to make it home in time to spend some time with him. I know that it will stay with you guys for some time.
My thoughts are with you. <3
Kent I’m so sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose a parent — my dad passed away 2 1/2 years ago suddenly, and it takes a toll. My heart goes out to you and Canaan…
Kent, I am so sorry about your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family. It’s very difficult to lose a parent and our great comforts are the memories and the lessons we learned and it sounds like you’ve got both. It’s very special that you were able to be with your dad in his last weeks. I was with my mom as she was under hospice care at home and was grateful that I could be there for her like she always was for me.
The photo of you and your dad is an absolute treasure.
Sorry to hear this. It takes me back to a similar experience and I was thankful for the final few days. I think “Live Now” says it all. Best wishes…
Difficult to comment here- in the wake of such a loss just about anything would sound trite. Well done on writing it – that can’t have been easy.
Thoughts are with you.
very sorry to read your news. having not lost a person close to me, yet, i dread that whole occasion. yes, you ARE fortunate to have the ability to be where you need to be when you need to be there.
wonderful lesson in life, as well. live now! thanks, guys!
Kent, very sorry for your loss, my condolences to you and your family. This post is an incredible tribute to your father. I am glad that you all were able to spend the last few days with him. Your mom’s advice rings so true and I think a lot of people will be able to relate.
Our thoughts are with you.
Kent you are so brave to write this so soon after. I can only imagine it was the most difficult post to write. I lost my father when I was 5 and somehow now it seems glib when I mention it because time gave me distance from it.
Kent, I’m so sorry for your loss. And I agree with you that the only blessing here is that you were able to be with your father at the end. Stories like this make me appreciate more that our time on Earth is limited, so it’s important to follow your dreams and spend time with the people that mean the most to you. Virtual hugs to you and Canaan; hope I get a chance to give you a real one soon!
So sorry for your loss guys. I just lost my uncle 2 weeks ago to cancer. He went downhill fast. 6 months from “a small pain in his side” until we are burying him.
He is no longer in pain and will be looking down and watching over you guys on your travels. Keep his memory with you.
I love the picture of you and your Dad. It seemed to just echo all the emotions that came from this post! I am so sorry for your loss but know it meant everything to your Dad that you were there with him at the end. That’s really all we can do. . . just be there!
And here I thought being robbed had been bad.
THANK YOU for sharing this. I’m a bit speechless in how to reply, but I want you to know how much this impacted me. Thank you for the reminder that truly we have so much to be thankful for in doing what we do, for the freedom it gives us, for the perspective in realizing how short life is and how important it is to make the most of the time we have.
so sorry for your loss kent. so beautifully written. i love your mum’s advice. thoughts are with you guys!
Kent, sweetie, I am so sorry. Even though you knew it was coming at the end, it’s always so hard to let go. I’m so happy you were able to be there with him.
This was a lovely post and tribute to your dad.
(((Hugs))) to both you and Caanan.
Kent, I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your father. I lost someone in the last month as well and reading your beautiful words brought forward my emotions anew, along with my sadness for you.
What a blessing to be able to spend his last days with him and to be there to support your family and friends. Throughts and prayers are with you all.
Very sorry for your loss. I appreciate you sharing. I don’t know that many people would be strong enough to do so.
I am very sorry for your loss. Your description of your dads final days was very moving. I am so happy that you were there for him right until the end and that NVR Guys allowed you to have the freedom to stay with him and your mom when they needed you.
Kent, I am sorry for your loss. A few years ago, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fortunately they caught it in time. My grandmother died because of ovarian cancer. It is hard to watch someone go through this. Cancer is awful. It must be worse to experience it. I hope that who you are today and the memories you have as a child will help you remember your dad with a smile on your face.
Our thoughts and sympathies are with you and your family. It’s never easy to lose someone close to you, particularly a parent. We always see our parents as we did when we were young. We don’t really want to think we (and they) are growing old and going to that inevitable end of the road. Keep well.
So sorry for your loss. It made me a tad teary eyed reading it. It made me want to call my own dad and just chat with him. As a matter of fact, I’m going to do that right now.
I’m so sorry for your loss Kent. What a moving tribute to your dad. You have so many positive things you can continue to carry around with you because of him. I’m sure he would be very proud of the man you are. I only know you virtually but from that I know you are a wonderful person. With that your dad fulfilled part of his job really well.
Thinking of you.
Kent – I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope the fond memories of your father help in your healing.
I saw this the day you posted, while I was sneaking a peak during a work trip. It left me speechless with a big lump in my throat and I couldn’t find a way to respond initially. My dad is 85 now, and almost passed last year during a health scare. I do know one thing though, and that is I’ll never be prepared when his day comes.
I’m really sorry to hear the sad news. My heart goes out to you guys and your family.
Jason
Wow! Thanks, everyone, for all of the thoughtful posts. It really means a lot.
My heartfelt condolences to your whole family. Kent, you did your father proud with this eloquent tribute to him.
I, like so many here that have posted replies, have had the misfortune of losing a loved one to cancer. It’s one of the worst experiences in a million ways, but it does bring loved ones closer together and makes people brave beyond belief.
My thoughts are with you in this difficult time.
My heart goes out to both of you, as well as your whole family. As others have said here, this is a great tribute to your father and a much-needed reminder that we should all make every moment count.
A beautifully written piece. So glad it came quickly and he died well.
Oh, Kent, my condolences.
Losing people is the hardest part of life, I think.
I’m so glad you could say goodbye and I’m especially glad you have people to help you through the grieving process. My thoughts are with you.
I am so very sorry for your loss. What a wonderful story – thank you for sharing this here. Your dad sounds like he was an awesome guy and an incredible role model. And he must have been super proud of you!
The freedom that your lifestyle allows for is motivation enough to seek it out.
I just read this and I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family.
My condolences to you and your family in this tough time. I’m glad you were able to spend some time with your dad towards the end.
sweethearts, kent! i’m so incredibly sorry, especially after so much time has passed, to read this. i’m thinking of you this weekend, and sending you love and light. you are so brave, not just for writing this (which is an incredible feat, and such a beautiful one), but for the life you’ve created, which as you mention, allowed you to be with your dad. much love to you both and to your family. i’ll call you soon.
I’m just now catching up on my reading post-vacation, and couldn’t believe it when I saw this. I’m so sorry for your loss, Kent. What a heartbreaking time this must have been for you. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Kent. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m very glad to hear that you could at least be with your father during his last days…
Grieving for a parent is a very long process. I know its not much, but I live close by and if you ever need anything, or someone to talk to: you know how to find me.
You’re both in my thoughts.
A