Thanks, Dad…

Happy Father’s day. Here is a reminder for me of the kinda character I value, aim for, and am far from. My Dad was tough and tender with emphasis on both. He set a high bar. He died of cancer 19 years ago. This rant is about when we discovered cancer was wrecking havoc on his spine. I wrote about this and a ride reminder three years ago. This morning I’m heading out again with my mind elsewhere…

The pace quickened whenever Cornel and Mick hit the front, not so much when it was my turn. My body was on my bike, but my mind had already wandered back. I took the lead as we turned onto Bunty Station and headed east. I knew where I was going and why. I signaled a left turn on an unmarked “white” road and as I did, Brett pulled up alongside to inform me that this was a new road for him. I nodded and told him it had been a long, long time since I had ridden this route myself. In fact, 18 years ago I had gotten a flat tire on this very road when riding with jmo. We had gone out after work for a quick 25 miler as I remember and the flat was bad enough but to make matters worse we didn’t have a working spare tube between us. By the time jmo’s bride found us it was getting dark and we were just happy to get home.

After thanking Ellen for the lift, I hurried inside sure that I was late for dinner with the fam. Miss was stirring something on the stove and as my eyes met hers I knew something was horribly wrong. She blurted out that my Mom had called while I was riding and they had just found out my Dad had been diagnosed with cancer. My heart dropped and my knees wobbled. How serious, I asked, as if Miss could possibly know. Serious, she said. And, just like that “everything changed.”

The next morning I was on a flight out to Salina so I could go with him to his next Doctors appointment. I made it there just in time to go to Asbury Hospital. My Dad looked alright, Mom, not so much. I’m sure I was a wreck but I tried to put on the brave smile. Dad told me when we got there that they were going to draw some bone marrow from his hip. I had no idea. My Dad was a doc. He knew…

I can’t remember Dad’s oncologist’s name but I remember his opening remarks. He sat Dad down and said something like this. “Chet, you understand that there is nothing we can do to STOP your cancer. This is going to kill you. We’re simply going to try to slow its progress and make your time as comfortable as possible.” NFW was all my little brain could register. I kept my mouth shut and sent the Doc to my private hell.

My Dad simply smiled and confirmed that he knew his prognosis. He wasn’t the least bit freaked or nothing.

Doctor death then told my Dad about the procedure to extract his marrow. He sugarcoated this one a bit more than his opening, but not by much. He told Dad that most patients scream and yell when he takes what looks like a wine corkscrew and literally screws his was through your flesh, your bone and into your marrow before reversing engines, so to speak. I about hit the floor. Can you numb him. Nope, we can’t, instantly came back.

I looked at Dad and then at Mom hoping for some kinda argument. I wanted to get a second opinion, go somewhere else, anything but deal with this matter of fact, Doctor death. Dad smiled and said he was ready. DD asked Dad not to hit him and then asked me if I would hold his arms. I grabbed Dad’s hand and he wasn’t even sweating. Frickin’ DD dug in and my Dad flinched.

Nothing else.

FDD kept digging for what seemed like minutes but was probably more like 30 some seconds. My Dad didn’t scream and he didn’t yell. My Dad didn’t kick or punch. My Dad just stood there and somehow looked this acute pain in the eye and sent it reeling to the recesses of his mind.

I was seared.

You see, my Dad was the kindest, most gentle man I had ever known but I thought he was weak. I was 35 years old and had a messed up perspective of my Dad. That moment I realized that my Dad was both tough and tender. I didn’t know shit. How could I have been so stupid, so blind, and so disrespectul, I thought. That moment, in Asbury Hospital, in Salina Kansas, my mind changed about my Dad. He was tough and tender. Always had been. I had just missed it.

Today, as we made the right turn off the unmarked road, I took a quick look to the left and transported myself back to that flat tire 18 years ago. I visualized Miss in the kitchen. I saw my Dad and DD. It all came flying back inside my head, in an instant.
Today’s ride was only 90 minutes but it took me back.

Sometimes it’s really dysfunctional NOT to look back. Who knew that a bike ride and a specific patch of asphalt could link me to some kinda Kairos moment. Who knew. Thanks, Dad for modeling the way, embracing the pain and suffering, and giving me the gift of knowing that I was your beloved son.

See you later, Dad. See you later…