Conversations with Dad Before He Died

Conversations with My Dad Before He Died

            My dad died of pancreatic cancer the same year 9-11 happened. I remember the day like it was yesterday. But what I recall even more than his actual death, were the days leading up to his death.

            My dad was never a spiritual man. When I say never, I really mean I never heard him speak of God and spiritual things. When asked of his beliefs, he referred back to one or two Catholic ritual laws he knew of and that was about it. He probably went to church half of his life, because that is what was expected, but when he got a divorce, he was excommunicated. After that, he didn’t give a bother. Football kind of took church’s place.

            When my father was diagnosed with this deadly cancer, the doctor took the family outside his room and said he had about three months to live. He asked if we wanted to share this information with my father. (I can’t believe that this kind of information can be withheld from patients, but apparently, family can choose to withhold.) I was appointed to be the one to tell my father, while the doctor stood by for any pertinent questions.

            Tears collected in Dad’s eyes while my four sisters, my mother (his ex-wife now of 20 years) and my brother and I stood around his bed. He looked at each one of us slowly like he had a story to tell each of us—but in that moment he was silent. There was one very strong feeling going on in his mind—my life and my house is in complete disarray and now I have no time to get ready to die. Who will take care for all of this? I believe this is why he was looking at all of us.

            My youngest sister Lori was his executrix of his Last Will and Testament, but almost everything that happened from that point on went through me too. Dad pulled me aside and said, “It’s your turn, Son, to take care of your sisters and Mom.”

            It was in that moment I felt the mantel of manhood fall on me. I had never felt responsibility so deeply before in my life. Interestingly enough, I was ready though.

            As a family, we decided to take my father to Florida to die, though ill-advised by the doctors. By doing so, he could live with my sister Lori and we could all rotate taking care of him through his demise.

            I took 10 days away from home and work at the close of his life. He was on heavy meds and in constant pain. He couldn’t go to the bathroom by himself and was hallucinating constantly. My partner then was Michael Manly. We had been together for eight years and my father had just recently began to accept us as a couple. But this evening standing by his deathbed was completely different.

            He took both of our hands and asked us both if we loved each other. We responded yes. He began to cry and said, “That’s all that matters.”

            In that moment, every shackle my father had tied around my neck and feet from his prejudice had fallen off. I was lucky enough to receive the healing of my life. I found my father in the last few moments of his life accepting me for exactly who God had made me. I’ll always thank God for that moment.

            The next few days, Dad started to get energy that he hadn’t had before. It was the surge of energy before death people get. We all took advantage of it. Lori made him his favorite food. We talked of the important things he wanted to take care of after he died—the house, the funeral, the stocks, etc.

            He thought he was still married to my mother, which was interesting, because they had been divorced for 20 years. His gushings for her were sweet. My mother went along with it for his sake.

            During one of the time my father and I were together, my dad began to share something that he never shared before. He asked if he could see me alone. He knew I had been a minister and always spoke of spiritual things. He wanted to tell me what he had been seeing secretly.

            He drew something that look like the earth and a crude spaceship circling it. He said that every night it stops in his room and checks to see if he’s ready, like a light coming from the corner of the ceiling. I told him it would be okay if he wanted to go along for the ride, if he wanted. He looked concerned that I was okay with it. He wasn’t sure if it was right, I was right, or it was the right time.

            I had to leave soon after that day. But Dad died about two days after I left. My sister Lori said that just before he died he kept pointing to the corner of the ceiling. And when he left his body, she felt his spirit drift in that direction and go to the light. Just like he drew in the image to me.

            She also said that for days after there was a strange peaceful presence in that bedroom. Every time she walked in that room, she would look up to that corner. We had never spoken of what my dad had shared with me or drawn, before she told me the story.

            The day after my dad died, he appeared to me in a dream. I said to him, “What does it feel like to be where you are?”

            He showed me an imagine in my mind of the antihistamine medicine “Contact” and said, “It feels like I have been released from a capsule (maybe the capsule he saw circling the earth—metaphorically, the room) and he said he had the ability to reshape himself into whatever version of his past he wanted. He also said that life in this space was about intention and that he would be with me and my family for as long as could.

            Many times afterward that night he appeared to my sisters and I. We all had very similar experiences.

            If you are dealing with the death of close friend or family member, remember that if you are open to it, they can communicate, especially soon after he or she dies. I hope this brings some of your comfort.