The following blog is written by WEWS Managing Editor Jim Scott sharing his experiences about his father who is dying of cancer.

Jim will provide daily updates.

You may e-mail him your comments.

I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s becoming a daily occurrence and I know I have to be careful. It’s important to stay healthy through all of this because the body can’t keep working long days and staying up awake most of the night without eventually breaking down. When I was a young Marine, I could stay up and play til the wee hours of the morning, rise and shine early, run six miles and move on with the rest of the day. These days when I hit the floor, my feet hurt, my knees crack and body parts from the waist to the top of my head don’t seem to want to work like they’re supposed to.

Pop said there’d be days like this, but I thought at least there’d be a reasonable explanation as to why. Take the feet for instance. I buy good shoes, and take pretty good care of my feet, so what gives? I’m sure someone will give me the answer in an e-mail.

I called the care center to see how Pop was doing. The nurse didn’t seem to mind that I called, though I was apologetic about interrupting her work schedule at 2 a.m. She told me my Dad was holding his own. Loosely translated, that meant he was still breathing. “He’s comfortable,” she said, and that alone was enough for me.

Mom told me on the phone yesterday that Dad looks so bad, and for her to say that took a lot. And just hours ago today my eldest daughter visited with her Pap. My wife said she cried all the way home. The body she saw wasn’t the same man she knew.

He’s now receiving Morphine for pain. It’s simply mind boggling that he’s had no pain until a day ago. For awhile I thought he was just toughing it, not wanting the family to know he was hurting, but now I know that wasn’t the case. Throughout this battle with cancer and COPD dad had never complained about pain, but lately he’d become restless and finally told a nurse that he needed pain medication. That’s the last he communicated with anyone.

I can’t make the trip to Chicago for the funeral of my wife’s aunt. I’m on my way to Pop’s bedside. Believe it or not, I think he’s holding on until I get there. He’s done this before. Back in 1985 when he had the stroke and I was in Paris, he was too sick for surgery. He’d suffered the stroke because of something called an AVM or Arterio-Venous Malformation which is an abnormal collection of blood vessels. He’d been in a coma-like state for days.

Now this is where some of you probably won’t believe me, but I swear this is the truth.

My hotel was on the west bank of Paris, the hotel Lenox. It was small, only a few stories; rooms without televisions or radios, but oh so nice. One night, I awakened to see my Dad in the hotel room. The first thing he said to me was “pack your bags.” I reminded him that I had to spend a week more in Paris, that the film I was working on wasn’t completed, so packing wasn’t an option. He insisted that I pack my bags saying, “You never know why you might need to do this.” Remember in an earlier writing I told you he was the one who insisted I go to Paris in the first place.

I would discover that this was only a dream, or so I thought. After I woke up for real, I sat by the bed wondering whether this was something I should act upon. I knew my work in Paris wasn’t done yet, but I’ve always tried to do what my Dad told me to, so I packed my bags and went to work.

That morning, the head of the production crew came to me and said “Hey good news, we’re done with the shoot so you can spend the rest of your time here in Paris shopping.” Not more than an hour later, I received a telegram from the United States from my family, telling me that my Dad had taken a turn for the worse and that I should fly home as soon as possible.

Without going through the long story, had I not packed my bags, I would not have been able to catch a flight home that night.

Was it really irony that the film shoot was done or did my Dad have some hand in it? Remember the day before we all went to our hotels thinking we had another week of work.

When I arrived at his hospital back in the States, I quickly embraced his spirit, { remember he hadn’t talked for several days} letting him know I was there and that Momma was okay. Doctors didn’t want to operate because he was too weak we went home for the night. Early the next morning we got a call telling us to return to the hospital that Dad’s vitals were better and that he was strong enough for the surgery. Pop survived that stroke and the brain surgery and went on to live a lot of good years after.

When he used to tell me that he’s had a good life, I didn’t get it, but now I do and that’s my wish for those who read these words. Enjoy a good life and the people around you to the fullest, and never let a moment go by without telling those you love how you really feel.

I’m heading home this evening to spend time with Pop alone. Every night when I go to bed I imagine myself hugging him, holding him, not speaking, just feeling the warmth of his body. That’s what I’m going to do tonight, maybe for the last time.

Thanks for listening,
Jim