Look, I got 30 years with him. What more could I ask for? Another day? At the expense of what? His pain? Another day wasn't worth it, and, while I wasn't looking forward to his death; I welcomed an end to his suffering. It just seemed that whenever something was fixed, another thing broke. It was a perpetual negative spiral with only one possible result. The only real question was just how many things would break before the end.
I do know one particular thing that broke though. On the last day that he was upright and able to speak to me as if nothing was wrong... the 4th, a Wednesday morning, I was heading to work. By doctor's orders the night before we had given him a larger dose of medication that would make him feel better by reducing the swelling in his brain and figured he'd be feeling the effects that morning. He wasn't. I believe he felt worse. Surely it was due to the fact that his kidneys had already begun to fail. Regardless, I looked at him and that's when my heart broke.
Uncontrollably, the tears started to fall, and Dad expressed the same language he'd used since I'd been alive, except, in the past few years it was almost an inside joke that he had never been as tough as everyone thought he was. We all knew he was nothing more than a big teddy bear, but he wasn't going to let anyone know who didn't already. It takes the edge off the intimidation when he looks at you, sees the tears, and says, "What the hell's wrong with you?". Like he didn't know. But he said it with that same glint in his eye he always had when he was the one telling the joke.
I told him, "You know what's wrong Dad. That medicine was supposed to make things better. And now look at you. It seems that things are worse, and you know what? That's just not fair." Now I don't want you to think that I felt life's not fair. That wasn't what I was saying. I just wanted him to have an expected, positive, planned result, but it just didn't happen that way.
I walked over, kissed him on the top of his bald head and said, "I just want you to know..." and he cut me off.
"You don't have to say it. I already know." And after a few words and some advice from him about some job offers I've had, I left... and cried all the way to work.
I had no idea that would be our last conversation. I was crying because of his pain, not my possible loss. In my mind there was no way we would lose him so soon, and I reiterated that sentiment to my brother later that evening at Denny's when he said, "Bill, I'll be surprised if he lives through the weekend." I told him we couldn't be so lucky.
"Travis, this is cancer. Cancer's not short. It won't end until it drains every possible ounce of pain that he could possibly feel out of him. He hasn't had the pleasure of strokes, or heart attacks, or months of barely responsive bouts of being bed-ridden. So, no Travis, we couldn't be so lucky as to lose him now before he has to go through all of that."
I don't know that I've ever been happier to be wrong.
When Mom called me Thursday evening, I knew that was the end. The worst part for me was going to be how to talk to someone who will die within hours or, at most, days. What do you say to someone in that situation? Turns out there was nothing to say. He was barely responsive and in so much pain that the morphine drip didn't seem to be easing it at all. He was hearing things, and sometimes responding, but it was random and he was mostly unconscious.
After midnight it was time to go home. I couldn't do anything for him sitting there in that room and I had to work the next day because I couldn't take the chance that he may live indefinitely while I keep using sick time to do nothing for him but sit - while he suffered and, in my mind at least, more than likely feeling embarrassed by his pain. So before Travis and I went home we both went to say goodbye. Travis went first and told him he loved him as he kissed him on the forehead. You wouldn't believe the mixed emotions I felt when Dad replied with what can only be described as a higher pitched yet incredibly well enunciated moan - "I love you!"
My emotions were mixed because I was thrilled that Dad had said that to him, and hoped he had the strength to say the same to me, but with that also came the realization that he may be more lucid than I had thought. That was the tough part. I realized that he may be trapped in that body in incredible amounts of pain with all the thought processes that weren't supposed to be there at that time. He was supposed to be in, what I hoped was, nearly a morphine induced coma. Maybe he wasn't... that thought hurt.
As Travis walked away in tears I repeated exactly the same actions he had with the same results. Dad's final words to me were "I love you!" It made up for every argument we ever had and every time I wished he'd seen things differently. It was as beautiful as when he first laid eyes on my newborn daughter and son.
Then I left.
I went home, fought with sleep or lack thereof, finally went to bed around three and got the call about three hours later.
The planning was easy. The family and friends that came that weekend were amazing, and we laughed way more than we ever cried. Mom asked me to do the eulogy. I had a feeling she might, and didn't know what to say. "You don't have to if you don't want to." she said.
"No Mom, I have to. I'll take care of it."
So the night before the funeral I wrote from midnight until 2:30 am. The next morning I woke, had my best friend read it to make sure nothing was glaringly wrong before I had to say it in front of everyone, and he teared up - called me a mean name too. That's when I knew it was ok. Throughout the entire service I kept re-reading it trying to catch mistakes and when it came time, I stepped up to the pulpit. Read some incredibly appropriate verses that my Aunt Becky had given me. And finished with a eulogy that I got a lot of requests for afterwards so I'm letting everyone read:
Good morning everyone and thank you for coming to share this time with us.
While we are all grieving an incredible loss, we have truly honored my father by enjoying our time together at his wake. He, being a simple man, did not want his funeral to be anything special. Nothing glamorous. He wanted us to be comfortable, to laugh, and most of all he wanted us to enjoy those most precious to us; our friends and family - and I can tell you that we have.
I could come here and tell you that every day is a gift, but Dad already proved that better than anyone else. I could also tell you that life is too short, but then again, he proved that as well. Those clichés are appropriate, but don't get to the root of my Dad.
In planning for this, I decided to instead tell you the lessons he taught by merely living life. It should be written as a book titled, "The 10 best ways to be happy" by William Moran, Jr. All we had to do was watch and pay attention and we could all learn.
#10 - "You can't be a well-driller" - You will start somewhere in life. It will not be at the top and the sooner you figure that out the happier you'll be. So, work hard and realize that you will get to where you want to go eventually, but don't expect it today. As a matter of fact, just do a good job and appreciate that. Everything else will come if you keep your eyes open.
#9 - Just because you're the biggest kid on the block doesn't mean that gives you the right to beat everyone up. Now, there may be a time when someone forces you to escort them out the door. When that time comes make sure you do it in a way that they know you meant it - essentially heaving them airborne across the sidewalk. But never do it because you don't like the person you're throwing out. Do it because you love the people that choose to stay in.
#8 - Stay an extra 5 minutes: regardless if dinner's on and you really didn't have much to talk about anyways. Dinner will wait, and you just never know how much you'll make that person's day by caring enough to give 5 more minutes even after you swore you were leaving 5 minutes ago.
#7 - Flirt a little. Scratch that. Flirt a lot. Flirt regardless of age or looks, just make sure you do it and make sure you do it well enough that you see their eyes light up every time you do it.
#6 - Cussing at something will make it work better than kicking it, but only marginally better. Sometimes kicking it is necessary too, but at that point all bets are off because patience can be a virtue, but it can also be an inconvenience. Treat it that way. Also make sure that, if you lose your patience, those around you should at least benefit not only from a good story about what you did, but the new cuss words you taught them as well.
#5 - There's nothing that a little ingenuity and a huge collection of things that no one else wants can't accomplish. If your belt buckle breaks repeatedly, use old seat belt buckles. They'll not only never break, but they're also a great way to embarrass your family when out in public.
#4 - Don't get addicted. Now that doesn't mean that a party shouldn't be a party. Developing a tolerance means that you carry the people home that said they'd drink you under the table. You should be able to drink with the best of them, but never let the alcohol consume you.
#3 - Be fiercely loyal. Defend those you're loyal to at all cost. After all, you love them regardless of their flaws, plans, or whatever anyone else says about them. They are your family and friends. Remain vigilant and realize that some day you may be asked to stand with them in a pile of manure. Look forward to it.
#2 - Keep a good sense of humor. Always, always, always keep a good sense of humor. One great zinger will make your day and everyone else's around you. And, a little off color humor never hurt anyone either, but use it sparingly. Laugh your way through life - it shows off your dimples and they always tie in with #7 flirting - the girls love them and blue eyes.
#1 - Be a family man. Love your family until it nearly hurts. Love and respect your parents because there is so much to learn and enjoy with them. Love your brothers and sisters because they aren't just your family but your best friends too. Love your spouse because she means the world to you and being away from her feels like there's a part of you that is perpetually missing. Love your kids because they will bring you more joy than you can imagine if you raise them right. They will make mistakes – lots of them. Don't let them get away without at least acknowledging those mistakes, but then again, let them get away a few things they probably shouldn't have in the first place.
And lastly, when it comes to family, be the most amazing Grandfather anyone's ever known.
Alex, Liam, Hannah, and McKaily. I don't need to explain this to you at all. You already know that you had the greatest Pappy ever. And while you may not understand all that is going on here, I want to be sure that you understand that you were the pride of his life. Your pappy had a way of lighting up a room when he was there, but you had a way of lighting the room for him. When you were there while he was sick he looked like he didn't hurt anymore. And I want you to know that, even as little as you are, you made him feel better than any medicine ever could.
In closing I want everyone to know how much he loved all of you, and that is the best way to put it... love. Not only did my dad never meet a stranger, he never met a stranger that wasn't welcome to the house for Thanksgiving dinner. I have never met anyone with a bad thing to say about him and to be honest it was pretty rare that he had anything bad to say about anyone else.
I believe we are all honored to have known and loved him. He just wouldn't have wanted us to make such a big deal. As a matter of fact I'm positive that this is the only way that we could possibly have a gathering in his honor, say anything good about him and still keep him in the same room. If he were alive he'd still be sitting in the truck and we'd be out there begging him to come in.
Take care everyone and thanks again for coming from all over the country to mourn his death, but more importantly, to celebrate and honor his life.
I need to thank some people before I go any further. First, to my best friend Ed, who was literally by my side attending to anything he could while he was here. He made everything run smoothly when it could have been a disaster. Secondly, to Raegan. She edited that entire eulogy for me and she took care of the most important part - she left it alone. I wanted something that read the same way I said it down to the word. She made sure it was right without changing anything I said. I don't think she'll ever realize what a big deal that was to me even though she doesn't seem to think so. Thirdly, I want to thank the friends that were there, sent a card or gift, made a comment on myspace, or were just thinking about my family. Danean may have given me one of the biggest laughs I had all weekend with talk of slumber parties.
Lastly, I don't want to thank my family, but I want them to know that they are the ones that made this whole thing special. I enjoy being around them more than anyone should. (You're supposed to constantly complain about your family aren't you?) But I have no complaints. They are the best, and yes Tarin, I promise I'll come to Pittsburgh to visit.
There are many more stories to tell about this whole thing including one about a funeral crasher, no seriously, a real live funeral crasher, but maybe we'll come back to those at a later date. For now though, make sure that when people you love die you can have a fantastic time of it because you believe that neither of you had any regrets. Make sure that the last thing they ever experienced with you was that you loved them and that's all you can do.
Take care everyone.
-Bill
