Remembering Dad

Even with everything going on in the world right now, it would have felt odd to follow my last entry with anything other than an update on Dad. I'm sad to say that Dad passed away on Saturday, March 14th. The official cause of death was complications related to Prostate Cancer. You can read his obituary here.

Obviously, this will be a bit of a lengthy entry, so here's the TL;DR edition: Dad went to hospice; Angie got married early so Dad could be there; Dad passed away; we planned his services with the added layer of a global pandemic; I faced the challenge of writing my own dad's eulogy. Overall, the family is doing ok.

Less than 2 days after I posted the last entry, I received a text from my sister, asking if I was available for a call. Knowing that dad had been moved to the hospital in response to some fluctuating blood level markers, I was expecting this call to be an overview of the latest news and what was being done to even out his numbers. Instead, we were being told that the cancer was now in his bone marrow (thus the fluctuating numbers), and all treatment options were exhausted... hospice was the best point forward. In the gentlest way possible, we were told that once someone was completely bedridden the way Dad was, it was rare for them to last more than a few weeks.

Dad officially entered Connecticut Hospice on Tuesday, March 10th. It was a lovely facility, with Dad's room overlooking the water, and truly caring staff. Angie had explained to them in advance that she was getting married in August, so she wanted to hold a small ceremony that would allow for Dad to 'give her away'... she was just waiting for a white dress she had ordered to be delivered. It surprised all of us when they called her the very next day, and strongly suggested we hold the ceremony that afternoon. Dad's pain and anxiety were already reaching high levels, and he likely wouldn't be coherent if we waited longer.

I grabbed my pre-packed bag and my cats, and drove back to CT. Angie ran out and bought a white dress (which she ended up liking more than the one she ordered online). BIG kudos and a shoutout to our friend Ken, who dropped what he was doing to come take photos of the ceremony (seriously, he does some fantastic stuff... check out his facebook page here)! In the meantime, the folks at hospice did a truly amazing job putting together a lovely little ceremony: they decorated Dad's room with Disney-theme party decorations, put flowers around, got a small cake, snacks, and a bottle of wine, and even brought in volunteer musicians, who played and sang Disney songs (including 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight', 'When you Wish Upon a Star', and 'Zip-a-Dee-Do-Da', the latter of which got big laughs and smiles out of everyone, Dad especially). The hospice's reverend led the ceremony, and when it came to asking "Who gives this woman away today?", Dad showed his old sense of humor by widening his eyes, raising his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders and mouthing, "I dunno... who?"

I'd be lying if I said that there weren't any tears, but it was mostly smiles, and an extreme sense of gratitude for the folks who helped make it happen.

Sure enough, Dad wasn't as coherent the next day, and the days following, he slept the entire time we were there. Before we left on Friday, Angie and I spoke to him, although he was sleeping. We told him we loved him. We assured him that we'd be ok, and we'd make sure Mom was ok too. We understood he was in pain, and he didn't need to continue being that way, especially if he was holding on for us. He passed away the next night.

I wish I could say that we were with him when he passed. Based on experience with our grandparents, we were expecting a call of some sort to let us know that the time was likely coming. So we were a little shaken when we got the call that said he was already gone. In a short range of time, I went through a lot of emotions... shock, at the suddenness of his death; anger, at the hospice staff for not calling to say we better get there for final goodbyes; a deep sadness, as I thought about Dad passing away in this strange place without his family around him. But seemingly just as quickly, I processed a lot of it, realizing that it probably was what Dad would have preferred. I think that we gave him permission to escape the pain, so he went exactly when he was ready.

Planning his services would have been very surreal under the most normal of circumstances, but we had the experience of adding a global pandemic to the mix. Even the funeral home director admitted that they were 'making it up as they went along'. We requested a viewing, followed by a short service. Already the 50-person cap on gatherings was in place, so we knew that would be a challenge, as well as people just not being comfortable going out. Restaurants closed, so a reception was already off the table. The day before the viewing, the funeral home called us to say that they couldn't get a deacon to come out for prayers, so there would be no services following the wake. The cap of 50 people still remained, and they'd be at the door, suggesting that folks pay their respects and leave. They even told us that they were thinking of some sort of 'barrier' around us, so friends and family couldn't hug or touch us.

In most respects, though, it all came together. Later that day, the funeral home called us back to say that a deacon had volunteered, so we could have a short set of services. There was no 'barrier' around us, and we simply asked guests what they were comfortable with... we exchanged hugs, fist bumps, bumped elbows, air high fives, nods, and even variations of the Kid n' Play dance (yeah, I didn't know what it was called either). The funeral home asked us if there was a particular kind of music we wanted... So I brought in some of Dad's CDs, and I'd guess it was the first time they had AC/DC playing during a wake. 

A group of Dad's friends from the St. Mary's Men's Club and Sons of Hermann performed a short ceremony, saying a few words about what a good man Dad was. The deacon came next, reading prayers. Finally, Angie and I read the eulogy I wrote for Dad. It was challenging to write, and challenging to read... but so important to share, as we strive to remember the big and little things Dad was in life. Take a read if you're interested:

How do you judge a man, as he's standing before you, looking back on his life?

Do you judge him by the traditions he upholds? Dad was the third generation of the Smith family in the Washington Park Drum Corps, excelling as a trumpet player and going on to become the musical director. Dad led the corps for years, coaching the kids through the many losses, and through the year we could finally celebrate a clean sweep of every competition we entered. 2000 was a landmark year for Washington Park, and Dad revelled in the wins as much as the kids did. He left his mark on hundreds of people as he shared his passion for drum corps. 

As word spread about Dad’s health, many people reached out to us, telling us how dad played a huge role in their lives through drum corps. They shared their memories, and reminded us of our own. 

Who can forget how dad would conduct the song with his whole body, squatting low when a song was quiet, slowly standing as the volume increased, and at the crescendo, yelling “GIVE IT TO ME!” 

Or what he instructed us to say when competing individually, if a judge asked us to move: “No thank you, I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

Or the time he made a deal with the drum line: earn the highest score at the Hudson Valley competition, and he’d let them pie him in the face. Dad - a man who ALWAYS passed on dessert - ended up eating a lot of pie that day… and he was glad to do it, because he had such a passion for drum corps and music, and was eager to share that with everyone around him.

Do you judge this man by his favorite sports teams? (If you’re a Red Sox fan, that question is not for you.) Dad was a true Connecticut sports fan… that is to say, he loved watching the Boston Celtics and Boston Bruins, and was a life-long New York Yankees and New York Giants fan. 

He was able to experience both the old and new Yankee Stadiums, and he loved each of them. Every Yankee game he attended, he picked up a different player’s jersey, resulting in one full drawer of his bereau being entirely dedicated to Yankee shirts. We can’t help but joke that in light of the NBA and NHL suspending their seasons, and the MLB delaying their start, that dad just decided there was nothing left on TV, so what was there to live for?

Do you judge him by the friends he has? We’ve met so many people who loved having our dad in their lives. From life-long friends like Rick, who, along with his family, has become an extended part of our family. Or John and others, who have known him since high school or even earlier. Everyone who knows him through Drum Corps. Co-workers from his days as a travel agent, and more recently, Sears.

And of course, all of his friends at St. Mary’s Mens Club. He played on the St. Mary’s softball team for years, even meeting mom while on the team. But there’s one thing that all of his friends know him by… his signature train conductor hat. During softball games, dad would go to bat wearing his hat… so it's only natural that the batter who followed him became known as his ‘caboose’. Sorry Dick Miller.

Do you judge him by the children he leaves behind? Dad was the father of three girls… frankly, we’re surprised it was the cancer that got to him first. The only time he could proudly claim to outnumber the women in the house was when I temporarily moved back in with my parents a couple years ago. Finally… it was me and mom versus him… and my two cats.

In all seriousness, dad was proud of all of his daughters. He helped raise three successful, headstrong women. There may have been moments where he regretted the ‘headstrong’ part, but we like to think that we returned the favor in the end. Between the three of us - Mandy the nurse, me in oncology pharmaceuticals, and Angie in social services - we were either his doctors’ best friends, or worst nightmares.

Do you judge this man on what his children inherit from him? I’m not talking about material items. All three of his daughters inherited his eyes, hair, and sense of humor. He’d recently learned the fine art of the ‘dad joke’, and relished in our groans and eyerolls. We inherited a love of fun, an appreciation for music, and a sense of adventure from him. Dad loved road trips, a good game of mini-golf, and traveling where no man has gone before, via a long Star Trek marathon. And probably most importantly, we’ve inherited a recipe for homemade chicken soup.

Do you judge him by the lessons his children learn from him? Sure, dad taught us about music, sports, and cooking. But there was one lesson we learned just by watching him. Everything in moderation… particularly alcohol. I’m not going to sugarcoat it... Dad was an alcoholic. Countless family functions, responsibilities, and even a chance to sit in box seats at a Yankee game were missed because he had to ‘sleep it off’. When he DID make it to an event, there was always a full cooler in the back of the car. As we grew older, we’d try offering an ultimatum: don’t drink, or don’t come. When he would elect not to go, we found the silver lining… at least he wasn’t drinking while driving.
About 7 years ago, Dad hit rock bottom, and Angie gave him his last chance… and against all odds, he managed to get sober. The last 7 years were some of the best as a family. We could have conversations, we could go to events and functions, we even took our first full family trip to Disney World… and there was no feeling of being on edge, wondering if dad had had one too many, during any of it. 7 years out of the 35 years he was a father. It's terribly sad, to feel like we finally had our dad - our REAL dad - back in our lives, just to lose him a short 7 years later. We’ve had a lot of people tell us how proud dad was of us. We’re here to say that we are proud of him, and to thank him for those 7 precious years of sobriety.

Finally, do you judge this man standing before you by how he died? When Dad received the diagnosis of stage 4 prostate cancer, he had a lot of decisions to make. He knew it was terminal, but decided to fight for every last bit of life he could. Honestly, his only hesitation came when faced with chemo, because he didn’t want or need any help when it came to losing his hair. But he went through with it, holding on and fighting as long as he could. Dad fought to the very end. His is not a story about how cancer can win, but about how far the human spirit can take one in the face of adversity. So perhaps the question isn’t if you judge a man by how he died, but instead, do you judge a man by how he lived in spite of facing death.

Thankfully, it is not our job to judge anyone. We are here to look back on the memories with our dad, Bob Smith - the great, the good, and the bad. We are here to laugh, to smile, and to cry as we remember. And whoever it is, sitting with dad, watching with him as his life plays back… I’m sure they’re taking dad’s hand, or squeezing his shoulder, and saying, “I judge you by the family who loves you, the friends who will miss you, and all of the lives you’ve touched along the way.”

We know that there are folks who would have liked to have said good bye or offered condolences, but didn't want to risk going out in light of COVID-19. So, in the hopes that all this has cleared out by then, we're planning a Celebration of Life party for late June, right after the Prostate 5k, where we'll still be walking in his memory. Everyone is welcome to join us to look at pictures, share stories, and eat food... it will be the party that Dad wanted and deserved.