He was battling multiple health issues and finally succumbed to colon cancer on April 26th at approximately 12:15pm. He died in his bed at the age of 61.
I've been avoiding posting anything on here about his condition out of respect for him and the rest of our family. He was a proud man and wouldn't like the world to see how his condition effected him.
He was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer last October. So, we have known this was coming for quite some time. I have discovered that knoweldge can be a double edged sword. Yes, it gave us time to talk and settle things. It was not a surprise that caught everyone off guard. But, we also had to watch his decline. We had to watch as the his pain became increasingly and unceasingly unbearable. And in the end, it still came as a shock. No amount of preperation could have truly prepared me for the shock of his death. There are always things left unsaid, frustrations unresolved.
I loved and will always love my father. He was my role model and I don't feel like I was done learning from him. And, I will miss him more than my feeble attempts at writing can possibly convey.
Nobody is perfect and as you grow older, most peoople start to see thair parents as people instead of just seeing them as "mom and dad". I was no different. I started to learn who Alex was and was starting to seperate him from the persona of Dad. I was not ready to lose him. I don't know that I ever will be.
I'm sad, I'm hurt, I'm angry.
Earnest Hemingway once said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." So, with Earnest in mind, here goes nothing.
Dear Dad,
I love you. It's been less than a week since you've been gone and I already miss you. I have to constantly remind myself that you're gone and that you're not coming back. There is no more, "Dad's going to hate this when he gets home," because you're not coming home. And, that may be the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with.
Until recently, I sometimes took it for granted that you would always be there for me. I assumed that you would be an ear to listen or someone to help catch me when I fell. I knew about your health problems and on an intellectual level I knew there was a good chance you would never live to see 2015. But, on an emotional level, I guess I always felt like these were temporary setbacks. These were all things that we would get through and be able to laugh about it after. Here we are, at the portion after the disease, and you're not here anymore to laugh at things with me. I miss you.
I know we didn't always agree on everything. You thought I was young and callous. I thought you were old and naïve. But I always knew, or at least felt, that everything you did was for the greater good of your family and friends. Your naïveté was born from a desire to see the best in people. You had a good many great friends and family members in your life that would never intentionally do you harm and although you had encounters with people who wanted nothing else, you never let that color your viewpoint of people as a whole.
You built great things. You had many great accomplishments and great friends. You have touched the lives of many people, even outside of our family. Our family and your friends will wax poetic about how great you were and how much you helped everyone you met. And for that I'm thankful. It helps to validate my viewpoint that you were a good man.
But, none of that changes the fact that you're gone. Believing you WERE a good man does little to console me in the face of the fact that you are no longer.
I have modeled much of my person after you. I have tried to take all the good things you had to offer and make them part of myself while recognizing some of your faults and forgiving them because you were only a man. Nobody is perfect.
I know that I am not yet the man you wanted me to be. I can only hope that I wasn't too much of a disappointment. But I want you to know that I am not done growing. I am not done trying to be the best man that I know how to be, that you taught me to be. Every little boy grows up with a desire for validation from his father. I am no different.
Thank you for all that you were and all that you taught me. I want you to rest easy. You're not in pain anymore. Although myself and my brothers still have a lot of growing to do, I have faith in our abilities. I hope you did too.
Death is an inevitable part of life. But, I was not ready for yours. And I will forever think that you deserved a better end than you recieved. But, life isn't fair. And I want you to rest assured that I will continue to strive for better, for myself, for my brothers, for my friends, and for my family.
I am going to try hard to remember you for the man that you were for the first 28 years of my life, not the last two. You were better than your end.
I love you dad. You will be missed. If I can be half the man you were, I'll consider my life a success.
With tears and sadness,
Cody
P.S. I know this letter could never convey all the things I want to say or the emotions that I'm feeling. But, it's a start.
