“In February of 2017, our entire world and view on life were irrevocably altered. What began as a routine family supper turned into a night I will never forget. When my father said, ‘Come into the living room,’ I noticed the panic in my mother’s eyes. We have something to say to you all.’ When he said the word “cancer,” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We were completely unaware of what was going on. My father had been unwell with what he thought were allergies that wouldn’t go away on and off. Because Dad worked in a hospital, he saw an ENT there. The doctor discovered a lump in his throat and determined that a biopsy was necessary. He didn’t inform anyone since he didn’t want us to be concerned about him. The diagnosis was malignant, and he needed to see an oncologist right away for scans and a treatment plan.
Everything happened so quickly after my father informed us of the news. He was diagnosed with throat and neck cancer, Stage 3 Squamous Cell Carcinoma. He went in for surgery a few days later. The surgeon was successful in removing as much cancer as possible, but chemo and radiation were required to help with remaining cancer. Doctors were certain that he would recover. On March 6th, my 23rd birthday, I began treatment. He had chemo and radiation for two months. He became weak and exhausted as a result of the chemo. His neck was scorched by the radiation. It was difficult for him to eat or swallow as a result of this. A feeding tube was implanted shortly after he began treatment to ensure that he received the nutrition he required. It was difficult to see him in pain, but despite the circumstances, he remained upbeat and pushed through with laughter and a pleasant attitude.
That was my father’s voice. The definition of happiness. His heart was tender and brimming with love. He was always going out of his way to help others. His friends, family, and neighbors. The nuns who lived at the convent at the hospital where he worked, in particular. To them, he took on the role of a son. When he wasn’t checking on them or assisting them with work, he was making them laugh with pranks. He adored laughing and making other people laugh. He was always coming up with funny one-liners and cynicism. His quips were often incomprehensible, which made us chuckle as well.
When he made other people happy, his heart swelled. He put in a lot of effort. He never complained and never took the easy way out of a situation. On a Union contract, he began working as a plumber at the hospital. One of the nuns took notice of him and his dedication to his work, and she offered him a job there. He worked his way up for 30 years, eventually becoming the head of safety management. He was also in charge of a number of other hospitals in his area. He also built an emergency command center at his hospital to serve as the primary point of contact in the event of a calamity. He was unique in that he did things that no one else had done before. He was always willing to go above and above, putting his heart and soul into whatever he did. My family was made up of five members.
In high school, my mother and father met. They ran in different circles and didn’t meet until their graduation night when my mother’s best friend introduced them at a party. After that, they were inseparable and married a few years later. They started their marriage with a small amount of money and a lot of love. They came from diverse origins and had diametrically opposed personalities. My father had a difficult childhood, whereas my mother was reared in a Christian environment. Their union was never flawless or simple, but they persevered and never gave up on each other. My two older brothers and I were the three children they raised together. I used to be a complete Daddy’s girl. I want to be rugged and athletic, just like my brothers. Every game they played, my father was the coach and the biggest fan in the crowd. He’d spend hours assisting my brothers in sports like wrestling, baseball, and golf. Dad didn’t know much about cheerleading, so I had to choose between athletics and cheerleading. Mom drove me to every cheer practice, and Dad never complained about going to competitions or dancing performances.
He wasn’t always a lover who expressed himself verbally. It usually manifested itself in the form of him assisting us in whatever way he could. Perfecting our school projects, playing outside, sewing buttons on our uniforms, or any other chore we requested, no matter how ludicrous. He would learn if he didn’t know how to do it already. This continued into our early adulthood. He enjoyed spending time with us in our flower beds, assisting us with house projects, and even coming over to fix our toilets when our plumbing became clogged. He was never more than a phone call away. And I called quite a bit. When he answered the phone, I felt comfortable and my life felt secure. He always managed to make me chuckle before hanging up, in the only manner he knew how.
He never got angry with me during my adolescent years, even though I didn’t always get along with my parents. He seldom ever raised his voice, despite my sometimes nasty attitude, sneaking out, and the normal stuff teenagers get into trouble for. He handled everything calmly, or perhaps he didn’t have time to speak between my mother’s and my banter. He had my back no matter what and loved me regardless of my choices, whether we were close or if I was gloomy and didn’t want to talk to him that day. That’s not to suggest he was a perfect man. As we all do, he struggled with his own issues and fought his own fights. We didn’t agree on a number of topics, and I wasn’t scared to express my feelings to him.
It wasn’t until I was in my early twenties that I discovered even parents aren’t perfect, and I had always placed a high value on that. I had to provide grace in return for the grace I had received over the years. When I moved out for the first time, our relationship really took off. I’d come home once a week simply to grill chicken with him, and I’d generally wind up in the living room for a couple of hours watching him watch music videos on YouTube. My family spent a lot of time together, and Dad looked forward to the summer weekends when the entire family would visit. We would spend hours swimming, listening to music, and throwing frisbees. My father was devoted to his family. He treated my sisters-in-law as if they were his own children, and when they started having children, his entire world shifted. My grandfather adored his grandchildren. They were the topic of his every conversation, and to say he was proud of them would be an understatement.
This, I believe, made it difficult to receive the dreadful news of “cancer” when life seemed so good. As we learned how much he would have to go through, the world seemed to come to a halt. We wanted to fight for him and relieve his suffering. He was judged to be in remission after a few months of harsh treatment. We congratulated him on his victory. Life returned to normalcy. Dad was finally feeling strong and well, so Mom and Dad went to many concerts, traveled, and enjoyed themselves as much as they could. We were relieved that we no longer had something to be concerned about. We all became more appreciative of one another and learned how rapidly life can change.
That is exactly what happened. Again.
On March 23, 2018, my mother unexpectedly strolled through my front door, and I could see it in her face. Something wasn’t quite right. ‘Dad’s cancer has returned. It’s also in his colon.’ I’m not sure I even heard what she said. I remember crying because I felt something was wrong, but I’m not sure I comprehended what she had just said. She described it again after a few minutes after the shock had worn off. ‘His cancer has returned, and it is not looking good.’ I had a feeling this time would be different.
A few days prior, my father underwent a normal colonoscopy. He was still in remission and stronger than ever, so there was no reason to be concerned. My father had received a call from the doctor, who had informed him of the results and had ordered scans for the following day. My father hung up the phone, heartbroken. How did it return so quickly? He felt incredibly powerful and well. Was it affecting the rest of his body? He had been seeing an ENT on a monthly basis, and the specialists were very pleased with his progress. How could this keep happening over and over?
He had a full-body PET scan, and we awaited the findings with bated breath for a few days. When we met with the oncologist, we were taken aback by what the doctor had to say. The infection that had originated in his throat had spread throughout his entire body. His liver, lungs, bones, and colon were all infected with cancer. It had returned with a vengeance, and we were completely taken aback by the news. She diagnosed him with Stage 4 cancer this time and gave him around 8-12 months to live if he received therapy. I’m still not sure how to digest what happened in that oncology room three years ago. We went from his being happy and healthy just a few days ago to hearing that our father might not be alive next year. Getting that kind of news is like trying to wake up from a nightmare.
I once walked in front of a child who was swinging on the swing set in elementary school. I was knocked to the ground and couldn’t recover my breath before I knew it. That’s how it feels to learn that your sweet, happy, fun-loving papa is dying and that there’s nothing you can do about it. The oncologist offered him chemo, but he swiftly declined since he didn’t want to waste any of the time he had left by being weak and fatigued. The only other alternative was to be sent to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas, to see if they had any other options.
They contacted my father a few weeks later and asked if he would come in for tests and scans to determine the best treatment choice. It was our only hope at this point, and the prospect of giving him more time piqued our interest. We eventually got the call that they were ready to start treatment after one last PET scan was finished, after weeks of back and forth to Houston, doctor visits, more testing, insurance phone calls, and a lot of waiting. He was told to come in the next morning by the doctor. What we assumed would be a positive sign that we could start therapy turned out to be the news that it was too late. They couldn’t assist him since cancer had gone to his brain and there was nothing they could do. The boys returned home, distraught. We were aware that our time was running out. Our hearts were shattered in two. Dad returned home, spent a few melancholy days at home, and then got right to work. He didn’t want to waste any time because he had a life to live. We spent our days golfing, shopping for flowers and birdbaths (at his request), listening to music, and planned events like concerts, family portraits, and basketball games. We were preoccupied with the moment and progressed day by day.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. The horizon. He wouldn’t be here for the things he wouldn’t be here for. I hadn’t yet completed my undergraduate education. I was about to purchase my first home. I was going to require assistance with things like painting and repairing my garden, as well as learning how to weed-eat my grass. Was he not planning on attending? What if I have children and he isn’t working at the hospital where I will give birth? And then there’s the wedding! At the time, I wasn’t even dating. He’s not going to be able to walk me down the aisle. I sat on the floor of my bathroom for hours, crying about the future and how I would deal with these issues, big and small, without him.
For all of us, my father had the same concerns. He wished to be here to watch his grandkids grow up, to spend time with his children, to attend more concerts with my mother, and to share life with us. One morning, he spoke with my aunt and told her the same thing. He expressed sadness for not being able to attend Megan’s wedding and told her, “I regret not being able to be here for Megan’s wedding.” That broke my heart since I couldn’t envision such a great day without him. I realized I had to take action.
Obviously, there wasn’t enough time to find a real husband and make it happen, but I wanted to dance with my father and have him guide me down an aisle so that we could share the experience, wedding or not. My mother, sisters-in-law, and I began brainstorming ideas. What began as a simple plan for Dad and me to dance in my parents’ backyard to James Taylor transformed into something far more wonderful than I could have imagined. People started hearing about what we were planning and expressing an interest in assisting us. Before we knew it, a wedding venue owner, a videographer, a photographer, a florist, the owner of a bridal gown business, and others had reached out to offer their services. We were astounded by God’s plan unfolding before our eyes and humbled by the people, even strangers, who wanted to help us realize our dream.
So there you have it. We conducted what we now refer to as our “fake wedding,” in which I bought a dress, trimmed Dad’s hair, and assisted him in selecting a purple shirt. We met at the venue, had our first look at my gown, walked down the aisle together, danced to the song I’d always wanted to dance to with him, shed many tears, and even laughed a few times. Of course, it wasn’t exactly what we had envisioned or liked, but we committed the day to ourselves. Our connection. Our unique, imperfect, yet fun and loving relationship. We prayed for a miracle and more time together in a circle with our family, holding hands. ‘This is only a warm-up for the real deal,’ I informed him. Although we both knew that wasn’t the case. I thanked God for him while we danced. For my 23-year-old father, who was gray-haired, humorous, and generous. I wished I could stay in that moment indefinitely. During that time, nothing else mattered. No disease, remorse, despair, or fear could ever take away our love for each other. What a blessing it was for everything to fall into place so wonderfully.
I got out my laptop and showed him this video a few weeks later while sitting by his hospital bed. We sobbed in grief and gratitude that we had the opportunity to read him a letter I had written, and we grieved in sadness and gratitude that we had the opportunity to do so. We were well aware that our time was running out. We weren’t ready to let him go, but he assured us that, while he was sad, he was grateful for everything he had accomplished. He lived his life according to his own desires. We had serenity knowing he would no longer be unwell and would soon be in his everlasting home, even though we begged for more time.
I was getting ready to go to the hospital a few days later when my oldest brother texted me, saying, “You need to come here quickly.” I dashed up to his room at breakneck speed. When I walked in, my knees got weak and I sank to the floor, knowing it was almost time. Everyone exited the room except for me, who sat next to him and took his hand in mine. I thanked him for the years of love and expressed regret for the difficult times. Even though I wasn’t sure how I’d make it without him, I made promises to him about how I’d live in a way that honored him. ‘You’re the best dad I’ve ever had,’ I told him through tears, laughing as I realized he was the only father I’d ever had. I’m not sure if he heard me, but I’m sure he was laughing as well. Everyone returned a few minutes later, and we gathered around him as he took his final breath. It felt as if we were walking him into Heaven as our hearts broke, and serenity washed over me.
It’s been three years since he left us, and every day I miss him more. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish he was here. I still want to call him when I pick up the phone. I met my soul partner and best friend a year after he died. I’m 50 days away from marrying the sweetest guy on the planet, who loves music, strives for the best-looking yard, and laughs at his own jokes, just like my father did. I swear my father assisted Jesus in selecting him for me.
Some days are more challenging than others. Walking into Lowe’s without him, watching a football game on TV, and listening to his favorite songs, even ones I’ve heard a million times, makes me cry. I can’t picture walking down the aisle next month without being able to dance with him. But as I reflect on our time together, I know he will somehow be close to me on that day. This is a video that I frequently watch. I am grateful for opportunities taken when I need to see his grin or miss his hug. As he taught me, I aim to live a life without regrets and to love everyone I meet along the way.
Don’t take anything for granted in life. Dancing with your father is a good idea. Make a call to your mother. Have a good time and don’t take yourself too seriously. We should laugh and enjoy the ride for as long as we can because life is full of ups and downs.”
The story and photos: Courtesy of Megan Roy