I used to be afraid of death until I watched my father breathe his last breath.  He died on August 18, 2005, and it was so hot and humid that morning one could have cut the air with a knife.  My father was surrounded by my family and me in low, solemn prayers.  What else can I say other than my father’s death broke my heart; he was my best friend, and I had always viewed him as invincible.

My father died after a two-year battle with colon cancer; when the doctors found the cancer, it was already at stage-four.  My father’s prognosis was six months, so the fact he lived two more years was nothing short of a miracle.

I will never forget the day I had to drive my father to the hospital in his Chevy truck, because his stomach was hurting.  After waiting a while, the doctors performed a colonoscopy, but they did not find a blockage, so they operated a few days later.  My immediate family, my Uncle Jackie and me waited in a waiting room optimistically; we were in disbelief and shock when the doctor came in and told us they had found cancer: stage-four.

I got up and walked to one window out of many, and I was just staring outside as my mind played home-movies starring my father.  I had never experienced any thing like it before, and I could not help but notice that my oldest brother and my uncle were staring out a window as well.  I remember my brother ,Craig, said his mind was playing home-movies too.

I think of my father every day; I often go back to the time hospice came in, and Mama gave me some one on one time with Daddy.  I had something to say to my Daddy that I needed him to know before it was too late; it was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.

In hindsight, I realize it was not about the fact Daddy was lying on his death-bed while the cancer shut down his organs, and it was not about having to watch him go through convulsions; by the way, this was the first time I had ever watched someone dying right before my eyes, so the fact that it was Daddy just left me flabbergasted.

This was about my father having to say goodbye to his family here in this world and saying hello to his family in heaven.  Sure, I think about my father’s death often because it is burned into my memory, but more importantly, I have all the memories of him and my family.

The good thing is my father was a Christian, so I know he is doing fine, and I will see him again some day.  My father taught me how to fight the good fight, and he instilled in me good ethics, morals, character, strength, hope, and most importantly, love.

Perhaps the hardest thing about my fathers death is I can not help but think about what he must have experienced mentally, physically, and spiritually; it must have been so hard for him to leave his family, and this beautiful, crazy world.  It certainly does not seem fair to lose your life when there is still so much to live for, but such is life: life is not fair.  From my point of view, there is hope in Jesus Christ, and I believe once we get to heaven every thing will make sense, and there will be no need for fairness.

It is said that time heals all wounds, but I do not believe this to be true.  I believe elasticity of time helps with the pain, but time will never heal the wound of losing my father.  I apologize if this entry is a little depressing, but I had to write this in honor of my father on Father’s Day and all of us affected by cancer.

Well Daddy, I think you know why I started calling you Pop; because that is what Craig, Chad and me called your father, and I wanted you to know if I ever had children they would call you Pop because I believe in family tradition you taught me.  So, Happy Father’s Day, Pop!  I miss you immensely, and I look forward to seeing you again.  Until then; I love you!

Take care and God bless!

Chris