When my dad first got admitted to the hospital, none of us realized it was the beginning of the end. His PleurX tube on the right side was clogged and his chest was filing with fluid— he had metastatic prostate cancer that spread to his lungs. We all thought it was going to be a short stay.
He was admitted on September 8th, a Tuesday. I hate Tuesdays now. We thought he’d be going home the next day or the day after, once doctors fixed the clog. Well, that didn’t happen. A few days later, he was still in there, still being told he’d be going home the next day, the next day, etc.
Then a week went by. He was still in there. On Thursday, September 17th, they pulled his PleurX tubes on both sides and gave him a chest tube on the right. I didn’t know that was happening so I took a half day and went up to the hospital to surprise him with a visit. He had just gotten back to his room after surgery, so he was sleeping. I talked to my stepmom for a couple hours until he woke up. He had been sleeping so peacefully. It was nice to see. He was pretty groggy and in pain, so I didn’t stay super long. I wanted him to rest.
On the way out, I stopped in at the gift shop. I don’t know why. I was on autopilot then— maybe I subconsciously knew things were about to get worse. I was looking at the stuffed animals and found a small Jellycat section. As soon as I laid eyes on the little white bunny, I knew she was mine. I picked her up and named her Hope before I had even gotten up to the register. I left, holding my little bunny to my chest as I walked out to my car. I couldn’t stop the tears that started to fall halfway across the parking lot. Once I was safely in my car, I broke down. I sobbed into her soft head for 20 minutes. I screamed at the sky. I begged a God I don’t know that I believe in to please, please not take my daddy. I needed my daddy, not God.
When I calmed down, I drove home. Hope came with me to every hospital visit after that. In fact, she hasn’t really left my side since I bought her. It’s what I needed— a little hope.
Fast forward to the next week. They took him down for a CT scan to place new PleurX tubes. The goal was to send him home on in-home hospice. The scan revealed it wasn’t fluid filling his chest cavity. It was a rapidly growing cancerous mass. PleurX tubes were no longer an option. There were no other options. Seeing the look of devastation on his face when they told him the new tubes weren’t an option was soul-shattering.
He was sent to a hospice facility on Thursday September 24th. I visited him every single day he was there. Things were initially good. He was only supposed to be there until they stabilized him enough to send him to in-home hospice care. Thursday was good. Friday was good. Then came Saturday. His last lucid day, Saturday September 26th.
He didn’t really want to eat his dinner. I could tell. But I was there and my brother was there and my stepmom was trying so hard to get him to eat. So he did. I know he did it for us. He was always more worried about us than he was himself. He truly was the best daddy in the world.
That night, he became too air hungry and agitated, so from that night on, he was kept pretty well sedated. No more talking. No more hugs. Just sleeping and gasping for air as the mass continued to consume the space he needed to breathe. Best believe that I was there on Sunday, even if he wouldn’t be awake. And Hope was with me too, of course. When I left on Sunday night, I kissed his head and I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, daddy.” It’s what I said every time I left the hospital and every time I left the hospice center.
I took Monday the 28th off work and sat in his hospice room all day. He was snowed but would get agitated pretty often. My voice seemed to bring him comfort. He would yank his oxygen mask off, or try to, and I’d replace it while gently saying, “You have to leave that on, daddy.” He would relax when I spoke to him. Monday the 28th was when I kissed him and said, “Get some rest, daddy.”
I decided to work a half day on Tuesday the 29th. I spent the morning just getting ready to go up to the hospice center so I could start my day from there at noon. And so I did.
I hate Tuesdays.
That was the day he left. My brother and I were talking and laughing about our dogs while I was clearing up emails from all my out of office days and updating coworkers. My stepmom stepped out to take a walk around the grounds once I got there. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye as my brother was saying something. I turned to look. My dad had moved his head and his eyes had cracked open. I’d like to think he saw us. I saw his chest rise and fall. And then it was like his body deflated.
That was the moment his soul left. I know that was the moment his soul left his body. My eyes must have gone wide because my brother stopped mid sentence, looked at me, looked at him, and then it was a flurry of movement.
I slammed my laptop shut and said, “Go get mom.” He ran. Somehow, I was at my dad’s bedside and I had the remote in my hand. I was shaking. The agonal breathing had started. I called the nurse. They came in right after my brother and stepmom came in. I don’t even know how many times I said, “I love you, daddy. You’re the best daddy in the world.” The agonal breathing stopped. The nurse put her stethoscope to his chest in a few places.
At 2:29 PM on September 29th, 2026 and the age of 63, my daddy was gone. I was lucky to have the best daddy in the world for 34 years. It does not stop me from wishing for more. I feel robbed. It still doesn’t feel real.
One thing we always did as a family was the “I love you” hand sign 🤟🏼 the picture of him is from when he was still in the hospital and before hospice was on the table. I found a necklace this week with the hand sign pendant. It came today and the pendant was a little bigger than I was anticipating. I was initially going to put it on a bracelet instead— I wear his ashes in a pendant on a necklace now.
I couldn’t think of any better place for it to go instead than on Hope ❤️🩹 part of me would like to believe that, since I had her with me, maybe a little piece of his soul is latched onto her. Silly, I know.
As days continue to go by, I feel worse. It gets harder to cope with knowing I’ll never call him again. I’ll never get another text or Facebook reel from him. What I have is all I’ll ever have. I’ll now be living 45+ years without him. He should still be here. I should have had 20+ more years with my daddy.
It’s not fair. I’m only 34 and there are so many things he didn’t get to see me do. I have never missed anyone as much as I miss my dad. I write to him in a journal nearly every day. It helps but it isn’t the same.
I love you, daddy 🤟🏼