A Funeral for Tom

As I sit here, working on an assignment for my master’s degree, I’m also watching my father. I’m watching him because he’s dying from stage 4 colon cancer and can’t be left alone. He can’t be left alone because his stubborn, brazen personality won’t let go. There are things left undone: his apartment in Ann Arbor, his funeral arrangements, and watching his grandchildren grow. I focus on these three things because they are of the utmost importance to my father. His apartment. For so long after my mother’s death 10 years ago, he struggled to regain his independence. On a meager social security check as his only income, he independently managed his finances and lived meagerly, never complaining about the fact that he went without. His funeral arrangements. As a devout Catholic, a proper ceremony and burial is paramount to his peace. His grandchildren. There has never been a better grandfather. He loves all his family unconditionally but his grandchildren are his life. Even through the darkest days of his cancer fight, he would smile and play with his grandkids, making them unknowing and invisible to his pain and discomfort.

My father has always gone without. I sit here reflecting on his life and what he means to me and I can never remember a time when he ever put himself first. Even now, while battling cancer, he cannot turn away another in need.

 He’s 75-years-old and financially has nothing. My mother’s long medical battle with Lupus wiped out what little he did have left. Battling cancer with only VA medical benefits has been a challenge, to say the least. When it took months to get a diagnostic test, when he was in excruciating pain and had to wait six hours to see a doctor, he didn’t complain. I did. I’m his voice when he’s too afraid to ask. So I’m asking now for help. For help so he can have a proper burial. So he can experience what matters most to him, a Catholic Mass and being buried next to the love of his life. With no assets, no savings, and a giving-soul that never stopped helping others, he neglected to help himself.  Again, I sit here. Next to his body that is damaged from recurrent falls and pain-relieving medication that makes him shake and incoherent and I am asking for help. I love him. I will miss him. I want him to die in peace knowing that all is well and taken care of and that his own children don’t have to carry another burden because of him.