How do I begin to heal?  It's been about 4  months since Dad passed away and I still have a hard time talking about it.  I've tried telling my story on here for months but every time I start typing I break down.  I'm still trying to makes sense of things.   He passed away on September, 3^rd 2012 at 8:03 AM from lung cancer.  He went from diagnosis to death in a matter of a couple weeks.  My Dad was the healthiest person I've ever known.  By the time he died at age 75 I had only know him to be sick 2 times in his life.  Last year he had a minor stroke and it barely slowed him down.  He recovered from the stroke and never really missed a beat.  Then on August 16^th, he decided to go to the doctor because he had had a cough for a few weeks that just wouldn't go way and had started coughing up blood.  The doctor initially diagnosed him with pneumonia and gave him a course of antibiotics and told him to make an appointment with his regular doctor.  On August 20^th he was supposed to have his appointment in the afternoon but decided he felt too bad and asked Mom to take him to the emergency room that morning.  They finally took an x-ray and said he had a mass on his left lung and needed to be transported to a facility that was equipped to treat lung cancer. He spent the next 2 weeks in and out of the hospital attempting to drain the fluid from his lungs.  On September 2^nd he was allowed to go home and we had hospice come in to help Mom out.  On the morning of September 2^nd he was extremely anxious to go home  While they were getting his paperwork in order and my sister and I were coordinating with the transport service that was bringing him back home one of the nurses asked him if he wanted to go home.  I saw his eyes filled with tears and he shook his head yes and said, “I want to see my wife”.  They gave him some morphine to help him rest on the ride home.  I rode in the back of the van with him with my hand on his shoulder the whole time.  It was about an hour drive so there was a lot of time to think but since the morphine did it's job Dad fell asleep before we made it out of the parking lot.  I spoke softly to him while he slept and tears rolled down my face during most of the ride.    I closed my eyes for a while and daydreamed and thought about better times.   I think I actually dozed off for a few minutes.  I was disappointed to wake up and realize that this nightmare was real and I wouldn't be able to wake up and have things all better.  I squeezed his shoulder and told him I loved him and was sorry for every bad thing I did and every mean word I spoke.  More tears and a sad realization that I may never see him fully conscious again.   As that thought echoed in my head the song “Seven Spanish Angels” came on the radio.  When the song came to the line “Seven Spanish Angels, took another angel home”, I wept even harder. 

When we arrived at Mom and Dad's house, there were a lot of vehicles in the yard.  Many family members and several Hospice workers getting things ready.  I was not ready to see that many people and try to contain myself so as the Hospice workers and the van driver got Dad into the house, I took the opportunity to sneak around the back of the house and down by the garden.  There was an apple tree that was big and bushy enough for me to weep without being seen from the house.  That tree became my safe haven for a couple of days. 

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, friends and family members came and went.  Dad remained pretty much unconscious the whole time but people would go in the living room and sit by him and talk to him.  It was hard to see him like this because he was always such a strong man.  At age 75, he did not want to retire completely.  He operated a grading company and did all the road work for the township we live in.  This work included repairing signs as needed, trimming trees and clear the brush from along the roadway and many other various tasks that would be a heavy workload for a man half his age.  This is what he did up to August 15^th. And now seeing him laying there, helpless and weak was almost too much to bare.  When things got too much for me to handle, I'd sneak away quietly to the safety of the apple tree. 

I didn't want to go home that night.  I stayed until about 10 PM.  Mom assured me she would be ok and 3 of her grand kids were staying over to keep her company plus the Hospice nurse was also there.  Before heading home for the evening, I sat next to Dad, held his hand and said a silent prayer.  Afterwords I hugged him and told him he was a good man, a good Dad and that I loved him.  I also told him I was sorry for everything.  Sorry for every stupid thing I did and every mean thing I had ever said.  As I was driving the short distance home I realized that was the first time I ever remember telling him I love him. 

The rest of the night was mostly a blur.  I managed to sleep part of the night but was haunted by nightmares of evil demon cancer most of the night.  Getting up on Monday morning was actually a welcome relief from the nightmares. The coffee was brewing and I was again thinking of better times. Remembering the stories he used to tell me when I was a young boy. Reliving times when him and I walked through the woods and talked about everything and nothing.  Reminiscing about hunting trips and vacations and days of fishing.    As I was working on my first cup of coffee, the phone rang.  It was my mother and I didn't want to answer.  I did anyway and upon answering the phone, my mother was sobbing and told me that it was going to happen soon and I should get over there as quickly as possible.  As I rushed to get dressed and finish my coffee I stopped and took time to pray for a bit and realized, I didn't want to be there when he took his final breath.  I poured one more cup of coffee and decided I'd have to suck it up, be strong and rush to Mom's place to be with her, my sisters and my Dad for his final moments on earth.  Just as I worked up the courage to get moving my phone rang again.  This time it was my older sister. At 8:03 AM on Monday, September 3^rd, Wilfred Jens Andersen took his final breath.  I was too late. 

When the doctors gave us the diagnosis and explained that treatment was not an option at this point and all that could really be done is keep him comfortable.  He told us that it would happen fairly quickly and he would only last about 6 months. He said there would be good days and bad days.  He said there would be days when we could have conversations with him and other days when he would be out of it.  I thought there would be time.  Time to day some things that needed to be said.  I thought I'd have time to really truly apologize for the many things I've done wrong in my life.  Things I've done and things I've said.  I had also hoped to be able to let him know I forgave him for some things that he did and said to me throughout our lives.  I didn't get my chance.  I did say these things to him while he was unconscious on the ride home from the hospital but I wanted to have a real face to face conversation with him.  Looking back at life, there were good times and there were bad times.  After all is said and done and the score has been tallied up, the good outweighed the bad.  He was a good, honest, hardworking man and a good caring father and grandfather.  He lived his life and set examples that I can only hope to achieve in my lifetime.  If I can follow even a fraction of the lessons he taught me I will be doing good.  Wilfred Jens Andersen was/is, my friend, my mentor, my teacher, my counselor and my Father.  Rest in Peace Dad.  I am sorry for everything I've done wrong.  I will always love you and remember you and will do my best to follow the example you set for me.