Remembering Norman

March 18, 1928
That was the day my Dad was born.
May 12, 2008
That was the day he died.

When someone you love dies from a long wasting disease, like cancer, it is sometimes difficult to remember him as he was before the disease started the decline. Most of the time when I've thought about my Dad in the 10 months since he passed on I've thought about the horrible times, watching him gasp for breath for days until they finally placed a trach on him and then cleaning it out for him numerous times as he spent 21 days in the ICU. His peg tube, his pic line, and all the other paraphernalia that goes along with cancer. The hallucinations that he had. The look on his face only days before he died that tore at my heart. I knew he was frustrated and scared and helpless in the face of what was happening to him.

He did his best to stay positive, though. He loved the nurses who cared for him, he loved the people who visited him, and he did his best to keep a happy face. I know, though, that when he thought no one was looking he would break down and cry. My friend Scott was in the perfusion room with him one day. He was getting his own treatment and probably looked like he was asleep. He told me not too long ago that he watched one day as my Dad laughed and joked with the nurses as they got him set up for the treatment. Then later, when he was alone, my dad broke down and cried.
I'll never forget what he used to always say as we took him to the doctor. Every nurse and doctor would ask him how he was doing, and without missing a beat he would say, "if I was doing any better I couldn't stand it." I'll never forget that because just 2 days before he died he said it to the hospice nurse as she came to check on him.

So, I've had 10 months of thinking about all of that and now today, on the anniversary of my Dad's birth I've decided that I will now remember my Dad from before. I'll remember the good and the bad, the fun and the not so fun. I'll remember the float trips he took us on, the anger on his face when I disobeyed him, the impatience he had, the snoring I heard as I came in late. I'll remember the "Normanese" he spoke, the way he told jokes (that were only funny if you knew the joke because he messed it up so badly), and all the other times that being his daughter for 50 years gave me.

In short, I won't remember how he died, I'll remember how he lived!

I gave this painting I did to my Dad last year on his birthday. It is acrylic painted on a wood panel.