1 year has passed. 1 year without my dad. 1 year without
laughs shared. 1 year without hugs. 1 year without jokes. 1 year without
hearing his voice. 1 year without my dad by my side. A year filled with pain. A
year filled with tears. A year filled with change. A roller coaster of emotion.
The 1 year anniversary is here. 365 days have passed by so quickly, before my
very eyes. But I can’t help but think of my dad’s battle with cancer and even
more vividly his last hours with us. It has been playing like a video reel in
my head on repeat.
I truly HATE CANCER.
My dad, who was very active, who would play golf almost every other day of the week,who had a passion for life and love for his family, was diagnosed with non-hodgkin t-cell lymphoma on August 18, 2010. The moment we heard the diagnosis our lives were drastically turned upside down. From a family who was planning their annual family trip to Pismo immediately turned into TEAM CELERA, a family of CANCER FIGHTERS. We became closer, tightened our bond, and came together to fight the cancer. It was a family battle. A battle filled with chemotherapy treatments, X-Rays, MRI's, blood transfusions, dialysis, up's and downs, seeing my dad bed ridden, to days my dad was able to get out of bed and walk those hospital hallways. Drained energy, daily hospital visits, taking notes from the doctors when I was the one in the room with my dad, breaking the "only 2 visitors in the room at a time" rule, transferring to different rooms in the hospital: DOU, ICU, CCU.. Neutropenic Isolation. Family taking over the waiting room. Homecomings, family time at home, sharing an In-N-Out burger in the comfort our home together. Spending our last Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years together. A journey involving 911 calls for them to take my dad back to the hospital (the sound of sirens still pains my heart). Numerous tears shed. Low blood count, failing kidneys, high creatinine levels, low platelets, fever, fluid in the lungs, and storming heaven with prayers. His journey with cancer was not only his but my entire family’s as well—and we fought as hard as we could to the end. Cancer touched all of our lives.
My dad, who was very active, who would play golf almost every other day of the week,who had a passion for life and love for his family, was diagnosed with non-hodgkin t-cell lymphoma on August 18, 2010. The moment we heard the diagnosis our lives were drastically turned upside down. From a family who was planning their annual family trip to Pismo immediately turned into TEAM CELERA, a family of CANCER FIGHTERS. We became closer, tightened our bond, and came together to fight the cancer. It was a family battle. A battle filled with chemotherapy treatments, X-Rays, MRI's, blood transfusions, dialysis, up's and downs, seeing my dad bed ridden, to days my dad was able to get out of bed and walk those hospital hallways. Drained energy, daily hospital visits, taking notes from the doctors when I was the one in the room with my dad, breaking the "only 2 visitors in the room at a time" rule, transferring to different rooms in the hospital: DOU, ICU, CCU.. Neutropenic Isolation. Family taking over the waiting room. Homecomings, family time at home, sharing an In-N-Out burger in the comfort our home together. Spending our last Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years together. A journey involving 911 calls for them to take my dad back to the hospital (the sound of sirens still pains my heart). Numerous tears shed. Low blood count, failing kidneys, high creatinine levels, low platelets, fever, fluid in the lungs, and storming heaven with prayers. His journey with cancer was not only his but my entire family’s as well—and we fought as hard as we could to the end. Cancer touched all of our lives.
A couple days before my dad passed, there is a moment I will
always treasure. I was helping my dad change position in the hospital bed,
being very careful of his sensitive skin, holding him in my arms while trying
to adjust pillows to make him more comfortable. But while holding him in my
arms and getting ready to place his back down, he asked if we could just stay
like that just a little longer, because we hadn’t hug like that in some time. I
was just planning on making him comfortable but in turn—we hugged for what
seemed like 5+ minutes, in silence but with hearts filled with love and eyes
filled with tears. I treasure those 5
minutes with all my entire being.
January 6, 2011 at around 9 pm after getting home from dinner, my mom received a call – and I knew we had to go to the hospital immediately. That call, marked the start of saying goodbye to my dad. A few minutes later my mom and I were at the hospital in my dad’s room, and eventually 15+ family members were in the room as well and numerous others in the waiting room. We gathered together, singing some of my dads favorite songs, praying with all our heart, and crying many tears. At times the room went silent, except for sniffles and the sound of machines beeping. January 7, 2011 at about 2:30 am, we said goodbye. The machines were turned off. Tears were shed. Hearts were broken. But in our hearts we knew that my dad was no longer suffering and would be at peace now.
January 6, 2011 at around 9 pm after getting home from dinner, my mom received a call – and I knew we had to go to the hospital immediately. That call, marked the start of saying goodbye to my dad. A few minutes later my mom and I were at the hospital in my dad’s room, and eventually 15+ family members were in the room as well and numerous others in the waiting room. We gathered together, singing some of my dads favorite songs, praying with all our heart, and crying many tears. At times the room went silent, except for sniffles and the sound of machines beeping. January 7, 2011 at about 2:30 am, we said goodbye. The machines were turned off. Tears were shed. Hearts were broken. But in our hearts we knew that my dad was no longer suffering and would be at peace now.
I can’t believe that a year has passed. It is difficult to
fathom that all this time has gone by. I don't know how I would have made it through without my family. My actual family and my Team in Training Family. I joined Team in Training four months after I lost my dad. I joined to keep my dad's memory alive, to do something in his honor, to better myself, to help raise money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, to run a half marathon and to be surrounded by like minded people. What I got in return was something far greater than I ever expected. I was welcomed with open arms to an incredible group of people fighting for a cure. Fighting in memory of loved ones, those in the fight, and those that have fought. I met people filled with passion and drive. People fundraising their hearts out for a cure to be found. I found people with generous hearts. I found a group of incredibly supportive people. I found family. A group of people seeing me on good and bad days-- and putting smiles on my face no matter the day. Team in Training truly helped me get through this difficult year. With the team by my side I found my own drive and passion. I became motivated beyond belief. I think it would make my dad proud. I can't imagine how I would have made it through without my TEAM. They helped me cope in ways I can't even explain. They let me know its okay to cry, to shed those tears. I ran many miles in my dads memory, and I continue to run for him. Today I went to practice, greeted by many hugs from my teammates. My dad's 1 year, and I ran 10 miles. 10 miles with my dad in my heart. 10 miles in his memory. It has not been an easy year, I knew it wouldn't be. But I have made it through. I miss my dad with every fiber of my being but I know he is always with me. In the good and bad days, he is always by my side, carried in my heart.
