Mark is trying to find peace and I am too

It’s an extremely helpless feeling watching people you love, especially your parents, go through so much pain and suffering, knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to change the situation or make it any better for them.  It’s such a strange feeling to sit and stare at someone who is still alive and breathing, but know that you are already grieving for their death. It’s such an awful feeling to have to say goodbye to one of the most important people in your life and never get to hear them say it back to you. It’s a heartbreaking experience to continue thinking about all the things in life you wanted them to be a part of, knowing that they won’t be.

I never expected to “lose” Mark this way. I never saw something like a stroke coming.  No one did. Not even his doctors. I always expected to get a few weeks or a few months notice before this was really “it.” I always expected to be able to talk to Mark about it when the day finally came.

If we were going to have to lose him to the cancer no matter what, the stroke was just cruel. That’s the best way I can describe it. If we were going to have to say goodbye, it shouldn’t be like this. Mark should have had time to go home, make sure that he got everything in order and know that he was taking care of my mom one last time before he no longer could. That is how he would have wanted it.

If we were going to have to say goodbye to him anyway, Mark should have been able to talk. He should have been able to communicate with us. He should have been able to tell us that everything is going to be okay and that he’s ready to find peace. That is how he would have wanted it.

For the last week, I feel like I could see the frustration, despair and helplessness in his eyes. The stroke was his worst nightmare coming true. Mark, a person who has to be in control is no longer able to control his bodily functions, his communication and parts of his body. He never wanted to be like that.

I was terrified to spend that first night alone with Mark in the hospital, but I knew it was something I could do to help my mom; let her go home and try to get a good night’s sleep. And she did. I was terrified that he would have another stroke and that I would be the only one there. He didn’t really sleep much, and either did I. So I stayed up with him and talked. I used that time to tell him everything I ever wanted him to know. It was before I knew for sure that this was really “it,” and it made it so much easier for me. I was able to say it all, without all the tears and sadness. Just my heartfelt words about how lucky I feel to have had him in my life and to be loved by him for the last twenty years.

I thanked him for loving me unconditionally, like I was his own child. Even though I wasn’t. I thanked him for always wanting me to have nicer things than he had. I reminded him of the time he helped me get my Toyota Corolla when I was in grad school. He wanted so badly for me to have a reliable car. He did all the research and found the car he wanted me to have.

He took out a loan from the bank in his name, knowing that I would pay him back when I could. I didn’t realize the significance of this at the time. It wasn’t until Pat’s parents co-signed for his car loan that I realized what a big deal it really was. The loan officer asked Pat’s dad several times if he was sure he wanted to sign on Pat’s loan, explaining that she wouldn’t do that for her own kids. And yet, Mark never thought twice about doing it for me, his step-daughter.

We drove together to Parma Heights to pick up the car. We took it around for a test drive and then he bought it for me. I drove it home and Mark followed me in his car. The weather was horrible. We were driving in a torrential downpour, which scared me. Then, the gas light came on in my new car. I was terrified. I was so afraid I was going to run out of gas in this horrible storm. Mark didn’t have a cell phone so I pulled over on the highway. When he came running up to my car window, I told him that we needed to go get gas and that my car wasn’t going to make it much longer. Mark explained that we needed to make it to Ashland before we would find a gas station. He then said to me, very confidently and matter-of-factly, “Emily, you have to keep going.”

That is how Mark lived his life; under the belief that no matter what life throws at you, you have to keep going. And he did. He kept going longer than any doctor or any statistic ever said he could. He was poked, prodded, cut open and medicated more than any person deserves. And with each new tumor, he never thought twice about doing it all again. He had a will to live unlike anyone I’ve ever met. That is why it breaks my heart to know that he won’t get to live much longer.  I did make it to Ashland without running out of gas, and he was with me every step of the way.

He was there for me as I learned how to drive, there for me when I was at a party with alcohol and didn’t want to be there, he was there for me when I put my sisters car in a ditch and he was at the Verizon store the very next day getting me my first cell phone, adding me to his wireless plan so I would never be stranded without communication again. He has been there for me so many times over the last twenty years, which is why it was so important to me during this last week to be there for him. I was prepared to be there for him as he recovered from a stroke, and now I am trying to prepare myself to be there with him as he takes his last breaths of life.

I do find peace in the fact that Mark will never make another visit to the James Cancer Center. Mark will never have bolts drilled into his head again for a Gamma Knife procedure. Mark will never have to have another operation or sign up for another clinical trial, not knowing what awful side effects it will have on his body. Mark will not have to endure all the months of physical, occupational and speech therapy it would take to try and rehabilitate from the stroke. He won’t have to accept the fact that he might not have ever walked again, might not have ever been able to sing again and might not have ever been able to play the guitar again. I know that he would have done any and all of the above to have more time to live, but I’m glad he doesn’t have to.

In case you need some reminders of the courageous and caring kind of person Mark is, here are a few older links from the blog:

Preparing For Another Battle

Five Years and Counting

The Hand that Gives You Roses

Celebrate We Will