Pa's Last Days

This story is based on a letter my sister Sherfy sent me describing my Dad's (Pa's) last days:

“It has been almost 24 years since Dad passed, so my memories are getting a bit hazy. I remember he got sick around Christmas of 1985. He was severely depressed and couldn't eat, and he slowly starved to death. He was still having those wretched headaches he used to get, because I remember him using an oxygen tank for the last year or two of his life. Oxygen was the only thing that helped those headaches.

For a long time no one could find anything wrong with Dad, beyond the depression. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer in either the summer or fall of 1986, Dad called me absolutely giddy with delight that someone had finally diagnosed a physical problem. He was told he didn't have more than a few months to live, and he seemed okay with that. He never ever talked about it, though. Mama said that one day he called her to come up to his office above the garage, where he showed her insurance forms and the phone number of his personal lawyer. But he didn't say a word about dying.

We used to go to Atlantic Beach, N.C. for two weeks every summer--Kayce, me, Mom, Dad, and oftentimes friends from New Castle, like Corky and Karen, and John and Mary Roberts. By July of 1986 Dad was horribly thin and ill, and apparently the cancer had gone into his vocal chords, because he couldn't speak; he could only whisper. But he insisted on going to the beach. I drove Mom in her car, and Kae drove Dad in his car. The AC went out in his car by the time we got to Atlantic Beach, so Dad had me take him to a mechanic to have it looked at. The problem was quickly repaired, and on the way back to our condo, Dad whispered, "Tell Kae it was the way it was driven." Now, keep in mind that Dad wasn't really Dad anymore. He didn't make jokes or even talk much by that time. He was, as Bill so succinctly put it, "busy dying of cancer." So when Dad told me to tell Kae the car problem was her fault, I was floored. I questioned him about it, and in typical Dad fashion he scowled at me and said, "Just tell her." Well, I couldn't keep a straight face when I told Kae. Dad sat there passively, not saying a word, and it took Kae a minute to figure out Dad was actually pulling her leg. He LOVED to torment Kae because she's such a drama queen and made such a Big Deal out of everything, so as soon as she figured out what was going on, she gave Dad a real show. It was the last time I saw his eyes twinkle. He didn't have the strength to laugh, but he smiled.

Dad made a huge effort to make it through his and Mom's 50th wedding celebration in July of 1986. He was really touched that so many people came to celebrate with them; especially his eldest sister, Frog Pants (aka Aunt Mildred Stemler.) Dad gave a speech where he announced to everyone that Kae was always his favorite child. Kae seemed embarrassed, but I remember thinking, Well, DUH. Kind of like when Mom revealed that you were her favorite. Well, DUH!

The last couple months of Dad's life were emotionally wrenching. I got into a cycle where I would go down to help Mom take care of Dad for two weeks, then I would go back to Coal City for a week; then back to New Castle. When I was in New Castle, it was my job to take Dad to Louisville for radiation treatments. Several times Bill met me at the hospital and helped me get Dad out of the car and into the treatment center. I remember how small Dad was by that time. He was so shrunken that he was shorter than me, and he didn't weigh more than 80 or 90 pounds. Everyone in New Castle did everything they could to entice Dad to eat. They made cookies and pies and cakes and custards and everything else imaginable. Once he ate a bit of melon, so EVERYBODY started hauling in melons, but Dad didn't eat any after that one time. For a long time he TRIED to eat, but he inevitably vomited back up whatever he just ate. I remember Dad once saying he wanted to go to Frisch's, and Bill said, "Yeah. We'll have two Big Boys and a vomit cup, please." Going out to eat with Dad during those last months wasn't exactly appetizing, if you get my drift here.

Once, after one of his radiation treatments, Dad indicated that he wanted to stop at his secretary, Millie O'Nan's, house on Cannons Lane. So I drove over there, and Millie fussed over Dad as only Millie could. "Oh, now, Mr. Mac, can I get you something to drink? Do you want something to eat? You really should try to eat something, Mr. Mac. I could make you a sandwich, now how would that be? No? Well, how about..." and on and on. Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes and shook his head. I wanted to laugh, but it also made me want to cry. I grieved over Dad the whole time he was dying. Sometimes Mom and I would go out on the back porch and have a good cry, then go back inside to take care of Dad.

He was always freezing cold while he was dying, so he had the furnace jacked up to Auto Fry and the fire roaring in the kitchen fireplace at all times. It was like some cruel kind of sauna torture, but of course we all tolerated it because it was for Dad. He spent all his time in the kitchen, because after awhile he didn't have the strength to climb the stairs. He died in the kitchen. Do you still have a copy of the newspaper article Bill wrote about "I Love A Parade"? In it Bill told of all the people who came into that kitchen during the fall of 1986 to tell Dad what he had meant to them. It was an incredibly long line of folks, and I found out just what a generous man our father was. People came to thank Dad for giving them money when the heads of their households were out of work; or for bringing them meals when they were recuperating from illness; or for helping their child through college--and the list goes on. That was one of the best lessons Dad ever taught me, and he didn't even have to give me a four-hour-long lecture for me to get the message (giggle giggle.)

He was far from perfect, but there's no doubt in my mind that when Dad arrived in Heaven, God said, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I want to be as generous in my Christian walk as he was. Dad was a fine man, and I'm glad he was my father.”