Goodbye Earl

You've probably noticed the "silence" around this blog lately. We're mourning a loss and it's been easier to be quiet than to talk about what happened. One month ago today (February 23rd, 2010) my dad passed away. What I find therapeutic today is to tell his story - complete with the irreverent humor and the shoot-from-the-hip honesty that characterized my Pop. I don't know whether our readers will find this of interest (or think I'm crass and tacky), but I'm really just doing it for me.

Pop was 61 years old - too young for dying - and lost his life to melanoma (that's skin cancer to the non-oncologist crowd). Melanoma is one of the nastiest cancers. There is no cure. Chemo doesn't touch it. Radiation wouldn't matter. There are a handful of experimental biochemo treatments available, but the success rate is about 5% and it is horrible to endure. When confronted with those options, my Dad opted for no treatment at all. Our goal was quality of life, and making the most of the time he had left. Considering that he had been given 6-12 months to live in March, 2008, it's pretty remarkable that we got nearly two years with him after the cancer metastacized. Pop would certainly have attributed that success to a commitment to doing whatever he darn well pleased, and a his favorite pain-killer, Jack Daniels.

The day after he was diagnosed, Dad quit his job and "retired." Shortly thereafter he bought himself a brand new truck and a fifth-wheel trailer. The very first accessory purchased for the trailer was a customized vinyl decal:
And that pretty much sums up the attitude Pop adopted toward the melanoma. He didn't waste any time compiling his Bucket List and checking things off. Drive to Alaska? Check. Catch a 30-pound halibut, fly to the Arctic Circle, ride a dog sled, ferry down the Inside Passage? Check. Jim and I joined Pop for a week of his Alaskan adventure, and helped him celebrate his 60th birthday.
After a summer in Alaska, Pop's next trip took him south. Zion National Park? Check. Alien-watching in Roswell? Check. (And I got the care package to prove it). Decorating a cactus for Christmas with the snowbirds in Arizona? Dipping a toe in the Rio Grande? Fishing any lake they didn't kick him out of? Touring air-craft carriers in the Gulf of Mexico? Check. And finally, the big destination: Mardi Gras! CHECK.
We got a box of trinkets when he checked that one off the list, too. But I think I'll save that for another time. Pop's gift-giving is...well..."renowned" to say the least, and is certainly deserving of its own post.

And still the Bucket List went on. Jack Daniels Distillery (hallowed ground)? Check. Pop even called me that day to tell me he could die a happy man because now he'd seen heaven. Double check. Non-geographical items made the list, too. Sleeping late and fishing all day? Check. Eating all the chocolate you want without worrying about the consequences? Check with hot fudge on top. Saying exactly what you think? Che...oh, wait...he'd had been doing that all his life anyway.

And then there was the matter of a girlfriend. Someone who would always attract attention for her good looks...someone who would be a loyal traveling companion, and who wouldn't nag. Check. Meet Sugar:
Yes, it is completely ridiculous for a man who has already exceeded his life expectancy to adopt a puppy. But the thing about exceeding your life expectancy is that you learn to do what makes you feel good, not what makes sense. Pop loved labs. LOVED labs. We had a sweet chocolate named Maya when I was a kid. After she was hit by a car Dad would joke that he'd trade me to the gypsies if he could just have another dog like that. So, when he started talking about wanting a puppy, I knew it would make him happier than anything else. We told Dad that we would be willing to take care of the dog if and when we were needed. He was on his way to pick up his puppy the next day. (And I'm happy to report that I have not - to my knowledge - been traded to the gypsies. Phew.)

In the end, no amount of puppy love would change the fact that Pop's days were numbered. The last six months were long and hard for him, and for us. Though we didn't know it, the melanoma had metasticized to Pop's brain. When faced with the option of a risky brain surgery that may or may not have helped matters, I went back to what I knew about my Dad. He had no interest in lying in a hospital bed, and he definitely didn't want to spend a minute doing anything that wasn't worth his precious time. So we let him go. We gave him the gift of peace, and relief, and eternal rest.

And so my Pop is "on the road again" leaving me with no doubt in my mind about his love for me, and with gratitude for the blessing of a devoted dad. May light perpetual shine upon him.

And may the fish keep biting.
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