January 22, 1943 - June 24, 2010

It's been a little more than two weeks now since dad went to be with the Lord. Today I am in a place where I can actually write my thoughts down...almost as if to admit for the first time that dad's dying is real. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that he's really gone. I periodically post things on dad's Facebook, as if he'll read it, just because I miss him so much. I'm so thankful for the time that I had with dad over the past year and a half since finding out his diagnosis, but when dad died it still felt like I didn't get enough time with him. There's a bond between dads and daughters that's difficult to describe...now, I have a certain ache in my heart at the realization that the first man in my life that I loved is gone forever.

Dad went quietly and in the way that he wanted...without all of us standing around him watching. I had come home with Madeline. Liz had returned to her work schedule. Auntie Pearl had gone back to her home in Southern California. Suzanne had taken Steven to his weekend away at a respite home in Hillsboro. Mom had actually left the room to put a load of laundry in the wash. It was during that brief moment of absolute quiet that dad went. Mom returned to find dad had taken his last breath. In her sweet way, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "you stinker". She knew that he waited til he was alone.

There was no funeral for dad, per his request. We honored it but it felt weird not pulling people together who loved dad to say one last goodbye. As Suzanne has said, "dad was never one for fanfare." Instead, our immediate family got together to share stories, eat "dad's" food, and make plans for the future. Some IN honor of dad. Some TO honor dad. One thing we all promised was to "take care of mom". Mom's independent, so it's not like she can't take care of herself, dad was getting at making sure that our family doesn't dissolve just because he's not here. We will keep our promise, dad...mom won't be alone.

So, from here, the blog takes on a different life. Instead of attempting to chronicle our journey with dad's cancer, it becomes a place to chronicle our stories about dad...for Madeline. One of the things that made me most heartbroken about dad's terminal diagnosis was the fact that Maddie would not really know her Papa. My friend, Ruth, reminded me that she would know him...because I'd tell her. You're right, Ruthie, I WILL tell her...starting here.

For now, I leave with a lump in my throat as I sit down from going to the pantry cupboard to grab some chocolate kisses (one of dad's many favorites) and I catch another glimpse of the microwavable brown rice bowl that my dad left here "for next time". It's the little things that make me miss him.

I love you, dad.

Why does dying have to be so difficult?

Mom and dad enjoying some quiet time together on their new deck that Mark built for them. The furniture is the Takano kids' "Parents' Day" present.

I love this picture of them together. They weren't talking to each other...they just lovingly looked at each other. Since they've known each other since junior high, I imagine that they can just look at each other and know what the other is thinking.

Madeline and I are home in Newport for the time being. At the time I packed us up, I could not understand why I felt that it was the right thing to do...to leave dad. It made better sense when I called my mom to check on dad. Mom said that after Maddie and I left that dad crawled back into bed and returned to how he had behaved last week when we thought we were going to lose him. That's when it clicked...Maddie and I needed to leave so dad could die. Sounds odd, but even the morning we left, as I kissed my dad goodbye, he said to me, "I made it to another Madeline day." The longer we stayed with my parents the more dad would fight to see his grandbaby. I should have known. Madeline was the whole reason dad fought his cancer in the first place. And, now, here he was again, hanging on, suffering, just so he could have another day with Madeline.

I received a text from my sister this morning which initiated phone calls from me to her and my mom:

"Hi sis. Rough night last night. Dad is begging us to help him end his life. He started crying. It hurts to watch one of the strongest men I know be reduced to that."

Those are difficult words to even type much less reread, but it's reason for this blog post today. Nothing ever prepares you for the dying process. It doesn't necessarily happen quickly. I am sick just knowing that my dad is suffering. Our family has strong convictions about death with dignity or assisted suicide, but once you're in a position like we're in, it makes you stop and consider...as horrible as it sounds, I wish my dad could die already. Why does it have to be so difficult?

Rollercoaster ride...

The emotions that revolve around dad truly feel like a roller coaster ride. I love him and want him here with me but on the other hand I love him enough to let him go. Monday night we all thought we were going to lose dad...today, he seems to have bounced back. We're all here...Liz and Alexis, mom, Steven, Suz, Maddie and me...and, Mark showed up on Monday. What an unexpected and wonderful surprise.

Dad was really struggling to breath. He was sleeping most of the time and was easily confused. It seemed that about the only time in his day that he was happy was when he'd see Madeline. He was never confused about who his little Sachiko is.

Now for the ride...today, I showed up at Mom and Dad's to find dad up and having coherent conversations with everyone. It's difficult for me to comprehend how one day he can seem so close to death and then the next day it seems that he can survive. What a confusing time. I guess, in a way, dad continues to hang on because he feels like he has business to take care. He keeps calling us in seperately to talk about what he wants us to have or what he wants us to take care of. I keep trying to reassure him that Madeline is ALWAYS going to know about her Papa and that he loved her so much he fought his cancer just so he could meet her and hold her. All of us have reassured him that we will all take care of mom. Important holidays, like New Year's, where we make mochi, will continue to be at mom's house.

Part of Dad's business to take care involved fishing. I smile as I think of this because the house we grew up in was picked for it's close proximity to the river. He pulled Mark aside to deligate to Mark the responsibility of making sure we all received certain rods. Dad also wanted to make sure that Mark knew that Dad needed him to "look after" the fishing needs of Suzanne and Steven. It was delightful watching my dad and my husband...the two men in my life that I love most...talking fishing, knots, rods, just all of it.

Dad and Mark tying hooks and talking about fishing.

Dad checking out the eyes of the rod. This is a fishing pole that he made for my Grandpa Takano. After Grandpa died, dad took the rod and used it. Today he said to me, "Since I am not going to be able to make a pole for Madeline, I'd like her to have this one." It's a beautiful 10 foot pole designed for lake fishing. Of course, since Maddie is still so small, I'll get to use the pole for a bit.

As I type this, I peek into mom and dad's room to see them both asleep, cuddling each other. I cry as I think about mom losing her life-time friend and husband. For me, I have a little ache in my heart as I again think about how this, once again, could be my last day with my dad. All I can say is that I'm thankful for this time that ALL of us have with him. His cancer has been such a lesson in love and in not letting time go by with your love ones without saying "I love you". It's a lesson in seizing EVERY moment...don't feel like that family BBQ? Do it any way...it may be the last one.

30 days...

One of the things that I'll always be thankful for is that my parents were in Newport for the entire month of February. Nearly every day after Madeline was born, dad could be found holding his granddaughter and just looking at her.

It is one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed.

When I am in Beaverton, mom and dad always include Madeline and I in their trip to the doctor. This past Monday we all went to see dad's primary care physician, Dr. Ray. This was a follow-up appointment to dad's hospital stay in California. The first shock of the day was seeing dad walk out of the bathroom with his clothes on (prior to Monday I had only seen dad on the couch under blankets). It was noticeable that he had lost more weight by the way his clothes were hanging on him. The second shock of the day was when we were at Dr. Ray's office and he removed his shirt so that she could take a look at his chest and listen to his lungs & heart. I was blown away by how frail my dad really looks. In addition, you can see a lump on his left breast where the tumor is pushing through.

Seeing dad's chest was heartbreaking. Even though I knew he was smaller and frail, I still had this picture of my dad in my head from when I was a kid. This man who may only be 5 foot 1, but who had really strong pectoral muscles and strong arms. I was saddened by the reality of what's really going on with him. For the first time, I was seeing the firsthand the results of his cancer.

Dr. Ray decided that she wanted to have some x-rays taken and she'd be contacting the hospital in Southern California that he was admitted to for his CT scans from down there. Coincidentally, Suzanne was getting off of work early because of a low patient census so she said she'd stop by Dr. Ray's office to find out the results of the x-rays. When Suzanne returned home, I could tell that she had been crying and I was immediately worried. When she walked over to me and picked up Madeline and then walked out of the room and just sobbed while holding her, I knew that the news had to be about another timeline of death. When Suzanne said, "30 days" I had that feeling all over again from last spring...confusion, despair, anger, sorrow. I didn't even know what to do with myself except just look at my mom. I couldn't even cry. The difference between this death sentence and the one we were given last year is that this time dad is much more frail therefore the 30 days is more believable.

Later in the evening, I took Madeline to my sister's house to begin her night time routine...bath, 2 stories, feeding, and then bed. When I'm done bathing her I usually play some game like peek-a-boo or we spend time "talking" to each other. That night all I could do is hold her, cry, and sway to the lullabies playing from her iPod. All I could think about was what a special baby she is...if it weren't for her then dad would not have fought his cancer the way he has. He wouldn't have done chemo or radiation. "I'm not a humanitarian" is what dad told us when his cancer doctor had talked to him about experimental treatment...well, Madeline changed all of that. Dad has wanted to see Madeline walk...he probably won't make it that long but he was able to hold his little girl...his little Sachiko. Madeline and I are staying with my sister and parents for the next 30 days and while dad doesn't do much except sleep, breath through the help of an oxygen condenser, and attempt to eat and drink, every time he sees Madeline his face lights up and he says hi and says he loves her. So, he may not see her walk and he may not give her that special tricycle that he picked out for her before she was even born, but he'll have met, held, and talked to his special grandbaby.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...I'm proud of him for fighting and I thank the Lord for EVERY day that we have with him.

Wasn't sure what to expect

Suzanne was able to get mom, dad, Steven and the RV home. Thank goodness. It's been a tense couple of weeks trying to figure out from afar how sick dad is. Madeline and I arrived to find dad asleep on the couch. Sounds like, from mom, that this is typical. Suzanne said that he pretty much stayed on the couch in the RV on the way home. He's eating little and drinking little and not doing things that he'd normally do. Not smoking and not having Suzanne change his patch. To some, the lack of cigarettes is a good thing...Suzanne even pointed out that we had wished he'd quit smoking when we first got his diagnosis (and didn't know it was terminal...that came later). Now, we just wish dad would resemble his old self.
I feel badly for my mom and my sister. They're both here and are watching dad deteriorate before their eyes. I show up with my baby, and while dad looks frail and it's clear he's different, and he perks up at the sight and sound of his Sachiko. The photo with this blog entry is a brief moment when dad was awake and happy. After this he closed his eyes and slept again.
I know over the course of the next several days, mom will open up and get emotional, but it's clear to me that she is trying to remain strong for dad. It's amazing watching her be the one that is tenderly taking care of dad...just last month, before they left in the RV, dad was the one taking care of and catering to mom. Suzanne, on the other hand, lives in a seperate house so there's more space for her to cry and be emotional. It's weird. I'm the strong one right now and consoling her. We've been blessed that dad has lived this long...a 3-6 month life expectancy after the diagnosis means that he should have died a year ago. What a gift to actually know that life is short and to know that we needed to spend every possible moment with our dad.
Tomorrow, dad's primary care physician will see him so I'm sure there will be more light to shed on what's going on. Hopefully, my sister isn't right and that dad's days are fewer than any of us is really ready for. Who will be the strong one then?

Grrrr...come home now!

So, typically I'm supportive of what my dad decides to do. Cancer is killing him and I'd really like him to know and feel like he's in control of his life, not the cancer. Well, when he and mom and dad left in their motor home for So Cal to take care of some family business down there, I did not have a good feeling about them going down there. My dad is considerably thinner and while I haven't seen it, mom and Suzanne have talked about the growing lump on his chest. It took dad a couple days longer than normal to get down to CA (I'm glad he took his time) and it seems that mom has been saying that dad has been struggling to breathe since he's been down there. We attributed some of his breathing difficulty to the dust and "stuff" around grandma's house (which they are trying to clean up...Grandma died the first part of March). Today, mom took dad to the hospital...dad has pneumonia and some other "minor" complications. He's staying the night in the hospital for observation (the hospital ran tests and there was one indicator that affected something cardiac. I'm not a medical person so a lot of the specifics go over the top of my head. Suzanne will have to clear up the specifics later on). I, personally, think it's fluid related to the cancer. I'm frustrated right now because if anything goes wrong, dad is even further away than the distance it takes me to drive from Newport to Beaverton. In a way, out of reach. I know that he feels like he's got things to take care of down in CA, but he's got a granddaughter up here. I want him coming home NOW. How do I convince him to let go of the stuff in CA and come home to be with his Sachiko? I'm frustrated and scared.

More than a year later...

Hard to believe that nearly a year to the date that we found out that dad has cancer, our little Madeline was born (February 3, 2010). As part of our family tradition of Grandpa Takano giving us Japanese names, dad gave Madeline the name of Sachiko...happiness child. The name suits her, she is happy, but it is also what she has done for our family. We are all happy because of her. Dad, who was supposed to only live 3-6 months, has clearly beaten that timeline. Once dad beat the six month mark, I began to have little life time benchmarks for him...just make it to Thanksgiving, just make it to Christmas, just make it to New Years, just make it to your birthday, just make it to your granddaughter's birth. Well, he did all that and then some (it's now May). In my mind, I still plan for the time that he may take a turn for the worse and/or die, but I no longer live in daily fear that this is dad's last day...making sure that I have paid time set aside for when I may need to be there to help with care or even just to spend time with him. I love it when I hear from my mom that he says that he'll see Madeline walk. Or, that dad has a special bike picked out for her. He clearly is planning on living and as much as I believe in the power of prayer, I also believe that there is something to be said for thinking positively. My dad has no idea how proud I am of him for putting up such a fight.

Prior to spring break (as a teacher, my calendar is based on the school year, not January to December. LOL!), Madeline and I went to visit dad. This visit coincided with a visit to Dad's cancer doctor. Once I orientated myself to the scan (it's not like an x-ray and the pictures are taken in sections which were actually "backwards"), it was overwhelming seeing dad's cancer on the screen. There it was. It suddenly occurred to me how much my dad had hidden from me in previous months. Probably a parental protection since I was pregnant and he didn't want me stressing while pregnant. But still, there it was...in a lot of places.

Following that visit, I went to see my school district superintendent and our district HR director...I already knew that I wanted to take the remainder of the school year off to be home with Madeline longer...but, I also shared with both of them that I had actually seen dad's cancer on the scan. I never doubted it was there, but it just seemed more real. In a nutshell, they both supported the fact that I needed more mommy-time and the flexibility to be with my dad as much as possible. As difficult as it was to admit to myself, I don't have the dedication to the job right now that I need in order to be a great principal. My dedication is to my daughter and my family. Fortunately, for me, the superintendent and HR director get "it" and granted me a leave of absence from being an administrator and assigned me to a 6th grade teaching position. (Note: teaching isn't easier and there's no doubt that teachers put in a tremendous amount of time and energy into what they do. But, for me, the schools in my district deserve leaders that are willing to give 110%...I'm no longer there. My family has to come first).

So, as I think back to last spring at this time, I was in Beaverton nearly every weekend with my dad...each weekend was going to be the last time I saw him. Around this time, last year, Madeline was conceived. And, I learned the most important lesson of all...I cannot let so much time go by when it comes to spending time with my family. If anything, dad's cancer has brought us closer together and it's not a gift I'm willing to waste.