Milestone birthdays

Today marks a milestone birthday for me but it’s not one of the big (insert number)-0 birthdays that signify the beginning of a new decade. No, the age I turn today is the last age my dad was before he lost his fight to cancer.

Death of a loved one can really leaving such a lasting impression on us, and for me, I was a daddy’s girl. I loved holding horse leads for him while he put on their new shoes, or when we’d go fishing. I even got to go hunting with him for turkey one year. We didn’t get anything but memories from that trip. I remember how the adults had to pull cactus spines from someone’s rear end after the guy fell back into a cactus while trying to answer Nature’s call. My dad was artistic and had beautiful handwriting. He made a great place to take a nap when I was small. Mom always had him make the chicken fried steak with onion rings because he did them so well. So many wonderful memories of my dad but none after I was 10 years old.

His mid- to late-30s were a tumultuous time for his health. My dad worked outside a lot and back in the 1970s, 1980s, and even into the 1990s, sunblock usage and skin cancer risks from sun exposure were not as well promoted back then. I remember when my dad would take his shirt off, he would definitely have that “farmer’s tan” around his neckline where his exposed skin was an almost deep reddish color compared to the untanned skin beneath his shirt.

Then, sometime in his mid-30s, my mom noticed that he had a mole that turned black. It was a larger mole and definitely a different shade than it had been. We didn’t have insurance so doctors’ visits were expensive back then. He still went to get it checked. It came back as cancerous; my dad had melanoma. They removed the mole and a large section of tissue around it. Apparently, what they found underneath was much larger than they expected. I remember when it had healed over and scar tissue made this rounded diamond shape on his side how I would touch it in various places and ask if he could feel it. He always said nope.

A couple of years later, he started getting headaches. Really bad headaches. He was a long-haul trucker and drove with a partner so he could lie down when the headaches hit. The guys in my family liked to joke about toughing things out and not going to the doctor but you can’t bluff your way through every health issue. My dad finally went to get things checked out and they discovered the brain tumors. They were quite large. I don’t remember all of the details of that time; I was quite young, in elementary school and I knew my dad was sick but not quite how bad it was.

They did surgery to remove the tumors but the prognosis was not good; the cancer had spread too much. I remember my mom sneaking me into the hospital room at MD Anderson so I could say goodbye. Visitors weren’t allowed or maybe it was because I was a kid; I had to duck between her and my aunt’s broom skirts when we walked past the nurses’ station to his room. He was bald as a cue ball from the surgery but still had his gloriously full strawberry blonde mustache. He couldn’t talk by that point but I got to see him. He passed away less than a month from his 40th birthday.

As I turn 39 today, I think of what my dad’s journey was like. We never know how many days we are given on this earth. I don’t think my dad ever imagined not seeing me grow up or walking me down the aisle, never meeting the grandkids that share his artistic talents or spending many more years at the family reunions, grilling meats and hiding Easter eggs. Yet, before he hit 40, his journey had ended. There was no “over the hill” celebration or jokes about being an old man.

I also reflect on what it must have been like for my mom, raising two small children after her husband battled and lost his life cancer in her early to mid 30s. I can not even imagine the internal strength she had to make it through each day. It was not something I truly appreciated while growing up, I think.

My dad taught me a lot in the short time I had him in my life and those life lessons continue every day. First and foremost, to make the most of the time we are given. In J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring,” there’s a poignant conversation between Gandalf and Frodo.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

Towards the last few days of his life, my dad accepted Christ as his Savior. He reached out and took Jesus into his heart, probably aware that he would not be healed on this earth but the promise of salvation is one of hope and life after this. In the Bible, John 8:12 states “When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'”

As I celebrate the completion of my own 39th revolution around the sun this year, I remember my dad and his own journey, where it led him. He found hope in the end and because of that, I know that no matter how many years I have left, that someday I will get to see him again. On the hard days, or the exasperating days, or even the days this year that seem trivial and pointless as we do this thing called life, I remember lessons from my father, about finding the faith in the darkness that brings us hope eternal.

Stay green, fellow Texans… and check your skin. Know your ABCDEs of skin cancer. As my mom likes to say, “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”