It’s Time to Hit the Bricks

In the final stages of cancer guide that was given to us by Hospice, it talks about the final days and hours. It talks about how people that are getting ready to let go begin “planning for their trip”. With women, they tend to talk about things like making sure that they remember to get milk, or to make sure that the laundry is done. With men, they tend to worry about things such as fueling up the car, or making sure the car is tuned up for their wife.

This morning, my sister heard my dad say very softly, “It’s Time to Hit the Bricks”. To many of you, this may seem insignificant, but to my sister and I, it meant something. My dad has been saying this since we were young. Every time we were going somewhere, he would say “It’s Time to Hit the Bricks”. He said it when he got called to work on the railroad, he said it when we were going to visit family, he said it for a variety of reasons, but it always meant one thing; IT’S TIME TO GO.

I called my Uncle Jimmy (Dad’s brother) because he wanted to be there with Dad during his final hours and/or days. He came to the house to be by dad’s side as well as ours.

Now, all we can do is wait for whenever it is that Dad decides “it’s time to hit the bricks”…

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Merry Christmas Dad

First of all, Christmas is supposed to be a time of family and joy. Unfortunately, this year, the Good Lord had different plans, at least for our family. Although Dad is home with us for Christmas this year, he is barely recognizable as the old “Frank” that everyone was familiar with, but it is clear that everyone still loves him regardless. He has had more visitors to the house in the past couple of days, and we are so very thankful that he is with us. He did not get to enjoy the Christmas tree, as he is unable to get out of bed. In fact, he is unable to do anything at all. The last time he ate was the few bites of macaroni & cheese that my sister tried to feed him the night we brought him home from the physical therapy center exactly 3 days ago.

It is so weird to think that just last week (even days ago), Dad was talking, joking, laughing, eating, going to the bathroom (although with help), and enjoying his time with family and friends. He was even going to physical therapy every day.

Did dad decide that it was time? I almost feel that way. It’s almost as if he just wanted to come home (even though it is not his home in Florida, it is his home) so he could be at peace with his family by his side.

Hospice gave us a book on what to expect during the final stages of cancer, and we have been following it and realizing that Dad is every bit the cancer patient that they were writing about.

I am scared, sad, and angry, but the love that I have for my dad is beyond anything that cancer can take away from me. I refuse to let my dad think anything other than the fact that there is an abundance of love around him every second of every day that he has left.

Merry Christmas Dad! I love you!

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