In February of this year, someone very dear to me was given a fatal diagnosis. The man who is my step-dad, or Bonus-Dad as I call him, who has been a part of my life since I was 12, was told he was going to die. The spot in his lung that they’d been concerned with was, indeed, cancer. At 85 years of age, this was a death sentence, pure and simple, as he refused to spend whatever time left subjecting himself to chemo.  I get it. He’s lived his life, and he sure wasn’t going to spend his remaining precious time fighting the inevitable. It’s the minor luxury he has with this diagnosis.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the toll it would take on my mom. As a former nurse, she knew how taxing taking care of someone dying is. She committed to taking care of Gene through the process, no matter how difficult. I admire her for that. It takes a lot of strength to watch the person you’ve known and loved for so long slowly lose the essence of who they are. It takes a lot of fortitude to do the daily things for them that they used to be able to do on their own. An act as simple as taking off clothing can try your patience. You do it anyway. This is love. Pure and simple. But, Momma isn’t as young as I still think of her as being, and I’ve worried about her trying to move him, bathe him, assist him to the bathroom. What if they both fell? That could be disastrous for them both.

Hospice had been coming once a week since April. They helped make all the pre-planning arrangements, worked with his physician to get necessary medical supplies and have just really been a wonderful help. Momma still insisted on doing so much for him. I encouraged her to reach out, let others help her so she could better help Gene. Or let someone do those necessary things that she wasn’t quite able to do as easily anymore. I tried to remind her that part of taking care of him is simply to make sure those things get done, not that she must be the one to do them. She’s stubborn. I see fully where I get that from. That was eye opening. I always thought my stubbornness came from Daddy. Now, I know, God help me, I get it from both sides.

My Bonus Dad’s condition greatly deteriorated this past week. He was clearly at the end. Momma has done what she can to keep him comfortable, to try and get some nourishment into him and to maintain what little dignity he has left. There is so little dignity in dying this way. It pained me to know that such a good man was suffering. Quick and efficient would’ve been a blessing. It’s difficult to listen to Momma talk about his moments of lucidity where he’s almost the person he used to be. My heart breaks for her. He has moments where he gives her a look of love, and I know that this is what its’ all about. This is why she does it. In good times and bad, in sickness and in health. It’s not just a vow, it’s daily demonstrations of love through the hardest of times.

The hospice nurse kindly encouraged Momma Tuesday to let her start coming daily. She would bring a nurse’s aide with her to help with those things that needed to be done, that Momma wasn’t finding more and more difficult to do herself.  She relented, much to my relief.  She admitted that I was right, which I know was hard, too.  It wasn’t that she wasn’t taking care of him; she was. She was taking care of him by making sure others did the things that needed to be done. Care comes in many forms. There is no shame in admitting that help is necessary.

Her neighbors across the way noticed the weekly nursing visits the last few months. They delicately asked about the situation and were so gracious in offering their help. Momma was pretty much house-bound as she refused to leave his side. She accepted their offer occasionally, as long as they weren’t going just for her. She leaned on a good friend, too, who loves Momma as if she’s her own mother. My Aunt, Momma’s older sister, had her own experience with her husband’s illness and death, was able to help with advice and support. I will always be grateful to this team of angels for doing what I could not.

Living in another state, I could only listen to Momma on our daily call as she cataloged the day’s events, the trials and the small triumphs. She politely, but emphatically, insisted I not come every time I offered. I would be in the way, she said. She’d be worried about me. So, I stayed home and made sure to call her every day. And I prayed. I prayed a lot more than usual. I asked God to give Momma strength. I asked Him to ease my step-dad’s pain. I asked Him to ease his suffering.  I don’t know if my step-dad believed in Heaven. I do, and I know in my heart, he has a place there.

Gene quietly passed away in his sleep in the early morning hours of Wednesday, October 31st at home with Momma by his side.

To my Bonus-Dad, Step-Dad, the man who loved and made my mother happy for 35 years, who was a sailor all his life and a great and wonderful man, I wish you fair wind and following seas. You will forever be in our hearts.

My Bonus Dad, Gene. 1932-2018