My Dad

My father passed away on February 3, 2011, shortly after his 67th birthday, of pancreatic cancer and liver cancer. We found out that he had this aggressive cancer only a few months ago and it travelled fast. When he got an infection a couple months ago, the doctors and nurses said he would only last for a few hours or days before passing away. Well, they sure were wrong! He woke up fighting, and they had to put him in restraints until he was fully alert again. They transferred him to the VA in Dallas when he demanded it, the same day, and about 3 days later the VA sent him home. He was up walking and talking, even though he was in a lot of pain. I told him his new nickname was "Give Em' Hell Harry".
My big sister and my stepmom were with him day and night taking care of him faithfully. But this last week, he went downhill quickly to the point that he was too weak to talk, eat, drink, or get up on his own. And the night he left us, my sister, me, my stepmom, and my son were present in the room with him. He went quietly, at home, with no gasping for breath, no crying out, or anything. That's my dad!
My dad's military life started when he was 15 years old in the end of the Korean War and when the Army finally figured out his age, he had to go to boot camp all over again, but that didn't stop him. He was wounded in action and had a steel pin put in his leg and he collected several pieces of shrapnel in his body too. He went into the Vietnam War as a medic, first off the field and then on the field, whether he was in an airplane/helicopter and parachuting down to help the wounded to travelling with his platoon in the field of battle. The Army even lost his whole platoon for about a year, but eventually found them again. When I was born in Beaumont Army Hospital in El Paso, Texas, he went AWOL to come see me. That charge could've stuck but the Army decided to have him stationed there to avoid ruining his honorable record. He was a decorated war hero with a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and many other honors too.
Because my father was a sensitive man, the wars made his life a living hell even after it was over. The visions of the horrific wounds and deaths that he saw and dealt with were always floating around in his head, so he turned to drugs and alcohol. My mother divorced him when I was about 2-3 years old du e to domestic violence. Even though my mom had many reasons to hate my father, she still told me stories about his mental anguish when he was home with her. Once when they lived near a train, he would just get up while he was asleep and lay down under the bed when he heard a train. Mom said it was because that is what they all did in the MASH units when they heard a bomb close by. It had become a habit to him. Many times as a child I witnessed my father having combat nightmares. When he'd wake up, he would be wild eyed with fear and alertness. I tried to console him and tell him, "It's okay now daddy, go back to sleep." I can never get that look on his face out of my head. It was a tortured look and he couldn't escape the memories sober, so he tried to escape them with drugs and alcohol. Many times, he would say he was going to stop doing drugs, but he always went back to them.
Because of the drugs and alcohol, which didn't allow him to escape the memories, and being raised with a lot of mental and physical abuse, he did many things that hurt his family and himself throughout his life. I think he was a bit crazy because of the wars too. But now that he is gone, I'm at peace because he is not hurting anymore. Now, he has been made new again, with the bad things gone and no longer torturing him. The night he died, he kept saying, "yeah". I don't know if God or someone like his mom was asking him, "Are you ready?", but I think that is so. He leaves behind his two daughters, his loving wife, three grown grandchildren, four great grandchildren, and many others that he adopted as his own. We are grieving, but know that it is just our own selfish desires to keep him here with us. We also know that he is at peace now, and the great weight that was around his neck and ours is gone for good. My father finally left drugs by the wayside, three years ago, so we had our father back for that amount of time and we are grateful for that.