American Dignity

God help me (begged the Agnostic) but some days I really want to be a porcupine or even a gnat. Some days the lack of humanity in our human race is so much more than I can bear to live with that I want to just fore go my own claim to it and be anything other than human. I just got a notification from Twitter that President Carter made an announcement regarding his cancer diagnosis and I logged in to read about it. Cancer is a very personal issue with me (here and here) and I don't think people can ever understand the fear and anxiety of a level IV diagnosis until they witness a loved one slowly and painfully succumb to its power. I should've known better than to go to Twitter to read about it. I've learned this lesson before. But who would think the world would find a single piece of shit who could speak ill of President Carter? Or celebrate the suffering of he and his family?

Something inside of me is always going to be defensive, almost protective, of Vice President Biden. No matter how many interpreted gaffs he can amass, their deliveries are wrapped in sincerity from a man whose good natured, loving heart is unquestionable, leaving his intentions to be the same. I have always had the same respect and defensive care for President Carter. He may not go down in history as having been our greatest President with the longest list of certifiable accomplishments, but I can't imagine our ever having another who enters the office with more genuine and open minded aspirations for America and all of her citizens.

If we were to measure Presidential accomplished goals versus Presidential aspirations, GW Bush would be one of our most successful Presidents in history. If we measured their aspirations, President Carter would rank at the top. The profound chasm between those two variables alone should give us all pause to reflect on the country we have and the future we want for her. For me, I'll beg one hundred President Carters before a single Bush return.

Whenever I think of people we've lost or will lose I ask myself how they would want to be remembered; not just their legacy but at what point in their lives. Where did they most clearly identify themselves when they reflected on their lives? I figure most people would want any of their remembrances to include an image of themselves at a younger, more vibrant age. I don't think President Carter has much vanity at all, if any. I imagine it would only be the legacy and the unfinished works that he would want us to hold on to. I will certainly do that. And this is the image my heart will embrace.

I remember when Jimmy Carter was our President and what he looked like at that time but he was not done then. He has continued his tireless journey and made the most of every opportunity he has found to make this world better for every human being. The undeniable beauty of his legacy will be that it never rested. He never quieted his voice or slowed his momentum while trying to bring peace and equality to the world. Once he is lost to us, I will surely remember him at the end still focused on his mission while projecting humility, grace and love.

What a wonderful world we would live in if we continued to elect selfless human beings who intend to work for our own progress until the day they leave us. His still growing legacy is presently being assessed by those who want the same responsibility while mocking his work and ambitions. I hope everyone can pause on that in genuine reflection while reading opinions one of their most ardent supporters:

This is what grace and dignity in leadership are meant to be. This defines the understandings of one whose intentions are honest and thoughtful. This is what America needs to remember while determining its future leadership. Especially now.

Thank you President Carter. Godspeed to you and your family during this next leg of your journey.

A Little Bit of Cancer

Originally Written February 4, 2015


Today isn't the anniversary of my dads passing, but for some reason I always think it is before I correct myself. We lost him on the 6th. On the 4th, which was a Friday, I scheduled the day off from work and Audrey from school so we could have a long weekend with my dad. Because I always wake up at the crack of dawn, Audrey and I made it from Columbus to the hospital in Akron before everyone who lived up there. I was sitting in a chair by the window being quiet so I didn't wake him up when the doctor came in and shook my hand. I imagine there had to have been some type of other conversation first, but I only remember him saying, "Your father isn't going to wake up again." I really wanted to be mad at the doctor, but I didn't have the energy. I literally felt deflated.

Earlier that week my mom called and said he was making a remarkable recovery. He was talking and eating and she thought they might let him go home. I believed their sending him home meant he was getting better. No man has ever lived who was as tough as my dad. The last time I'd seen him, the weekend prior, he was in really rough shape and made no sense when he spoke. If anyone could have recovered from that state, it would be him. Sadly, what I didn't understand at the time was, my dad wanted to die at home. His pain was so overwhelming that they couldn't control it outside of hospice. My mom just told me my dad might be able to go home to die. I thought he was recovering. She never called back to tell me things had changed. She probably couldn't bear the thought of my reaction.

I have always kind of just accepted that the rest of my family kept a lot of things from me. I am very sensitive and don't deal with suffering very well, especially if it's a loved one. I'm not sure if they do it to make it easier on me or themselves, but I am glad to play along. My dad had had a cancer diagnosis three years prior and he called to tell me that they found "a little bit of cancer." Im sure that was meant to soften the blow. He never told me, however, that this "little bit of cancer" diagnosis also came with a prognosis of six months to live. He was very willful and no one doubted that he would perservere. I checked on his progress all of the time. He or my mom would update me and say he was doing radiation or he was doing chemotherapy and they were working. The doctors were taking good care of him. That is what I wanted them to tell me and they were good enough to oblige. I wasn't ever going to be prepared for anything more than this generic back and forth we had created. I was never going to be able to accept that we could lose him. My dad and I hadn't fixed everything yet. I hadn't come to the place in my life where he was proud of me yet. He was Audrey's only real father-figure and he couldn't leave her. She was getting ready to graduate. He was going to walk her down the aisle one day. I just wanted to live in a world where a little bit of cancer was really a thing.

I now know that my dads cancer progressively worsened and spread to other parts of his body over those three years. After various attempts in Ohio, my dad had flown to Texas for special treatment where they had come up with a new plan of attack and, as far as I knew, it was working. Not long before the end when he was admitted to the hospital, I was on the phone with my sister turning from Broad St. onto Waggoner Rd. when she said, "Yeah. And now it's in his brain." The conversation immediately went silent as I pulled into the Meijer parking lot to prepare my mind to process what she had said, while Dawn, it was clear, had just realized she wasn't supposed to tell me that. I was upset and accusatory. In that moment, it was an insult to me that my family had kept secrets. Apparently, they had even determined that Audrey was strong enough to know more than I did. Of course, my willingness to play along had brought me to this moment and it was just as much my fault as anyone else's. To be honest, I was probably more angry that she told me anything at all. I was pissed that I was going to have to now step out of my bubble and believe that the toughest man I would ever know was really suffering. And mortal.

One morning, after I learned that the cancer had spread, Audrey and I were in the car on the way to school and she said, " Mom, stop saying that." I have this thing where everything I think comes out of my mouth. I wasn't even aware that I was talking. I knew what I must've said, though, because it was the sentence on repeat in my head, "I hate you." Over and over I thought it and, apparently said it. I apologized to Audrey and told her,"I wasn't talking about you, baby. I hate cancer." She said, " I know." She knew. She is such a gift. I was telling cancer that I hated it. It's a pretty strange and irrational thing to have on repeat, but she knew and understood me in that moment. I was absolutely wrecked inside. I would sit at my desk at work and tears would silently stream down my face for days in a row.

The truth was too much to handle. My mind raced constantly. It's so unfair! He never smoked. Ever. He shouldn't get lung cancer, I should. He just has to get to retire and drag mom all around the country in an RV. That "ignorance is bliss" bit is true. It's so nice not knowing. But my dad was in a really bad place and I had to accept that he might not pull through. I had to start preparing myself in case it happened. But all I could think was, " I hate cancer."

When the time came, I wasn't ready. I never came to terms with any of it. Unfortunately, the only thing I learned, aside from the fact that I definitely hate cancer, was that I really like my bubble. It doesn't matter why I'm kept out of the loop on things. I could never have handled three years of watching him suffer and knowing he was going to die. I forgot to eat most of the time during the 3 weeks he was in hospice and lost over 10 pounds. I looked disgusting. I couldn't sleep. I would lie in bed and just worry about my dad.

Those last two days were unbearable. His pain was so bad that while I was talking to him and holding his hand his body shuddered. My aunt told me I was hurting him. I hurt him by holding his hand. That was it for me that day. I couldn't stop crying so I stayed in the hospice TV room. I didn't want to cry in front of him.

The day dad died I was numb. I had found the strength to say the words, "You have to let go now, dad," the day before without my voice betraying the face he couldn't see. I wasn't ready for him to go, of course, but he was in so much pain that even I had finally resigned myself that there was no way to come back from the state he was in. That morning, after he had gone and everyone had been informed, my family gathered around him and I felt calmed by knowing that he was no longer in pain. But I still hated cancer.

A Parting Gift

Originally Written February 6, 2015


My father was a single parent from the time I was 2 until he remarried when I was 5. I was the apple of his eye. He thought I was the cutest thing ever. He was totally right, of course. In July of 1978 he married the woman I now call my mother who had a daughter that was 3 years older and a son who was 5 days older than me. We were all going to be in the ceremony.

My dad and I went into the entrance of our church with the long hallway. This time, though, we turned right immediately and walked a hall I'd never been down. It was probably the only place there I hadn't yet explored. We went to a very large, old church with lots of mysterious alcoves to explore. My future brother and I went on adventures every Sunday while the grown ups talked after services. We knew this was the hall we had to avoid. I was with my dad, but it still felt like I was getting away with something. This curious path ended up leading to the doors the reverend would come out of each Sunday. This time, though, my dad and I came out of them. Together. We met up with my new mom, brother and sister and we all committed to be a family.

I was going to have to share my dad now. He was the only person that I knew really loved me. For sure. I was uncertain about our new additions, but I was also glad to have more people in my family. My dad worked a lot. I spent much of my time with babysitters or in the alterations department at the store with our seamstress, Norma Needle. (I can promise you that Needle wasn't really her last name, but I honestly don't ever remember her having had another). Now I would stay home all of the time and be with my family every day.

We never referred to one another as step-. We were brother, sister, mom and dad. It was very Brady of us. It felt right, though. My mother was garbage and so was their father, so we all easily acclimated into our new roles. There were plenty of ups and downs growing up, but I think we were pretty much a normal American family with a mom who was too soft, a dad who was too hard and, eventually, three pain in the ass teenagers.

I was always very aware of my fathers disappointment in me when I would let him down. He never seemed to be as upset at Dawn and Scott when they screwed up. They always seemed to get lighter sentences, too. I thought he was harder on me because he liked them better. Looking back, I think he was disappointed because of our first five years together. He knew me as a sweet, loving, perfect little girl. It was probably a lot harder for the two Angies to coexist in his mind. As much as I disappointed him, he never stopped loving me, though. I knew that. I used to joke around when I would call the store. Whichever of the girls answered, if they would ask, " Can I tell him who's calling?" I would always answer, "Tell him it's his favorite daughter." A part of me was kidding. But a part of me knew that it was true.

My dad was a caretaker by nature. All of us kids have stories of his generosity. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2008, Audrey had just started at a very nice private school that I really couldn't afford. I gave my Jetta back to the bank and got an absolute piece of shit so I could make my monthly payments to her school. It needed fixed so often that I should've kept the Jetta. I had to borrow money from my parents sometimes to cover the repairs. My dad wasn't really sold on the idea of the private school at the time but he knew I was doing my best to give Audrey an education equal to her abilities. So he helped. He said he believed that when his kids were doing the right thing, he wanted to support that. We could've argued about whether or not I had been doing well before then, but I can just resolve that " the right thing" is subjective. At least he thought I was on the right track before he left us. Because he had just been diagnosed and (now I understand) given six months to live, he bought me a car. It was only two years old and had 14,000 miles on it. He told me he wasn't going to leave this Earth and have to worry about Audrey and I on the side of the road in the Buick. I didn't remind him that we both had cell phones and I had my annual AAA gift from he and mom. I graciously received the car. It meant everything to me. That is one small example. I do believe my dad would've left my mom a millionaire if it hadn't been for his generosity and care for others.

When my dad was in the hospital, and then hospice, I wanted desperately to return his many favors and care for him. I'd have done absolutely anything to bear his pain. There really is no more helpless feeling than watching someone you love suffer and having no capacity to do anything for them. I had memorized all of the "safe" zones on all of his monitors. I would harass his poor nurses whenever he was out of range. I could at least make sure that the people who could help him were doing all they could. I'm sure they wanted to kick me in the head.

On February 6, 2011, I woke up and looked around. It was still dark outside and everyone was still asleep. We had all made camp in the hospice family room and were sleeping in chairs. I went to the bathroom then headed down the hall to see dad. The nurse had told us what each of the final stages would be like step by step. We noted each step. They each took time. Hours. I passed mom and Scott in the hallway. Mom said that my dad had just entered the final stage of shallow breathing. We all figured that would be a long one, too. Mom and Scott were heading down to the cafeteria to get everyone some breakfast. I'm sure dad was tickled that they finally left. I know that he wouldn't want to go while anyone was there. Of course, then I walked in and blew it. I sat down beside him and wished him a good morning. His breathing was very obviously different. I was making small talk to him. I said,"I haven't even seen a mirror yet today. I'll bet I look like a witch." I walked into the little bathroom in his room and ran wet fingers through my hair. I went back and sat down beside him again. He was gone.

I could finally hold his hand again without hurting him. I told him how much I loved him while I cried and tried to catch my breath. I paused for a moment before I called mom and Scott to come back. I realized that I had just been so fortunate to have awakened at the exact moment that I did. I was with my dad when we entered our family and I got to be with him when he left. I felt guilty for being selfish, but I felt like he was just a little bit more mine than anyone else's. And I felt honored to have been given that final moment alone with my dad.