How to say Goodbye or Not....

The Chief

It's been a very strange two weeks. Twelve of the past 14 days have been spent in South Carolina dealing with my father's illness and death.

For some reason, you think about a lot of things in your life when something like this happens, it's hard not to. And I say this for several reasons.

It's been a blur as to what happened. The Chief (my nickname for Dad) had not been in great health for a long time. He survived Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in 1998-99. But it took a toll. It left his immune system wrecked. It left him with very little to deal with infection. Any infection.

The Chief and Oliver

And this one hit suddenly. Out of nowhere. I will always remember our last conversation, as sad as it makes me. He called every Sunday night at 8 p.m. Not 7:59, not 8:01, but 8 on the dot. And it always started with me "Hey Chief, what's goin' on with you?"

We talked for about 15-minutes or so like normal, nothing particularly deep, nothing crazy, pretty routine and he handed the phone off to my mother.

And we didn't think anything else about it.

Until that Tuesday.

Mom called and said they were at the hospital and it was pretty bad. The Chief had been throwing up since Sunday night--non stop. He wasn't able to hold anything down. And nobody knew exactly what was wrong. While I was concerned, I also was thinking, he gets pneumonia every couple of months, this too will pass.

Me and The Chief/Graduation Day

It didn't.

I called again on Wednesday for an update and Mom was very upset. I talked to my sister who was there. Same thing. I asked if they needed me and they said not yet.

The next day just didn't feel right. I can't put my finger on it, it just didn't feel like a normal day. I was nervous and decided to go catch a movie to take my mind off things.

I never finished the movie. My sister called. My Aunt (Mom's sister) called. Mom called. All in a 30 minute stretch. And what stood out to me was this. Mom said it's still getting worse, it's not looking good, I don't know what to do.

Michelle and I had already talked. I told her the day before something's not right, we might have to go. And she was ready for it. Because I called her around 3 p.m and said "We've gotta go, this is bad". We were at my parents house 6 hours later.

The whole time, all I could think of was this: The Sunday phone call can't be it. It can't be the last conversation. It's not possible.

Ist Day at Ga.Southern/With Roomie Mark McLean

We moved The Chief to a hospital in Savannah the next day. It was bad. He was transported in an ambulance. The doctor said it was viral meningitis. But nobody could figure out how he got it. Viral meningitis is never a good thing, but for most of us, it's something we can cycle through after a few days.

Not The Chief.

Before he left the hospital in Bluffton, he had to be sedated. He was essentially put into a coma. And still, all I could think of was the last conversation.

We set up camp at St. Joseph's Hospital in Savannah. My mom wouldn't leave the Neural ICU. Michelle and I went back to her house and cleaned it up, straightened everything. And by Saturday...nothing had changed.

One of the toughest decisions I've ever made was the one I was faced with on Saturday. Do I stay? Do we go back? Michelle had to be back. She had a meeting to run in Cincinnati on Monday. She was flying out Sunday. And The Chief, while not improving, wasn't regressing.

Chief at Work/Circa 1985

We went home. We picked up Rosie (the dog) from the kennel and came home. Michelle flew to Cincinnati and I went back to work. And stayed in constant communication. I knew that I was off beginning Thanksgiving morning and off for the next week.

So I held out hope we didn't have to go back until then.

Mom called Monday as I was getting home from work. "It's not good". "He's not getting better". "The Doctor thinks he may not and we may have to make a decision".   And with that my mind was racing--"How can that be?"  "How can they not be able to do anything?" "How can we have to make that decision?". I didn't leave Monday afternoon, though I could have. I hadn't been sleeping well and didn't get much sleep before work. And I had to find somewhere to put Rosie. And Michelle was out of town.

Even with the holiday, I managed to get Rosie to stay at her vet's office. And Michelle got a flight back on Tuesday.

Chief with My Niece Jordan/His Granddaughter

But I left early, as soon as I could get Rosie to the vet.

I got there just after lunch and Mom was in a daze. She knew. Me, I didn't know what to think. How do you wrap your hands around something like this? Sure, in the back of my mind, I knew this might happen one day--but not now.

Michelle got there a couple of hours after me. And we all had to figure out what to do. Mom had already known.

The Chief and I had conversation about what to do if this ever happened. He had it with my sister and my mom too. And that's why we knew what we had to do.

We spoke to the doctor on Wednesday (day before Thanksgiving) and he asked us to give it 48-hours. We agreed but decided that had to be it. We knew. He wasn't improving and it was looking more and more like he wasn't going to. They were having a harder and harder time keeping him stable. His vitals were getting worse, not better.

But how do you just say "Pull the plug?"

We had to talk Mom into going back to the house Wednesday night. We were hoping that if it was going to be 48-hours, we could get her a good meal and some rest.

Visit at Ga. Southern/Parents Day

Thursday morning, we were all up at the crack of dawn. Not because we had to be, but nobody could sleep. And then my sister called to check on him. Mind you, when we left the night before, she and I spoke to his nurse and said "If there are ANY issues, please call us".

She didn't.

The Chief's heart was giving out. He was running out of steam.

We went back Thursday morning as soon as we could. And one of the first people we saw was his hematologist.  It got worse. "His white blood cell count is 0.5". Mind you it was 1.5 the day before. And this was while on medication to improve it.

That's when it hit. This was it. His doctor came and saw us that morning. We all were there. And Mom said it. She had to. It was her decision. "Take him off the ventilator, it's what he would want". But she wanted to wait until her sister got there to do it. And she was still an hour and a half away.

So we sat there. And thought about it. And all I could think of was "That was it, the Sunday call was our last talk?"

Mom and Dad Wedding Day/1963

By 2 p.m we were in his room. And the nurse took him off the ventilator.

We stood there. My mom in tears, my sister and niece as well. I cried for a couple minutes, how could I not? And I didn't move. Michelle stood next to me the whole time. I wasn't going to move. As long as he was still there, he was still breathing, I wasn't moving.

It seemed like a blur, like it happened in minutes, but it didn't. It took over an hour. And I never moved. Not a step.

The Chief passed away, peacefully, at 3:45 p.m on November 22nd. Ken Cantor was 72 years old. He is survived by my mom, me and my wife, my sister, her daughter (my niece) and a great-grandaughter.

Michelle and I waited and were the last to leave the room. It took a couple of minutes. His eye was open just a little, I closed it.  But we did leave. We walked out, we bowed, we saluted and we walked away with the rest of the family.

And all I could think about was the Sunday call was it....the last talk.

Time heals most wounds and softens the sadness. I know this. But it's so strange to me. I'm not sure I've wrapped my arms around all this and don't know if I ever will. The Chief and I became very close, and yes, there was a time we weren't. But as we both got older and wiser, we got closer. He was the best man at my wedding in 2007. I couldn't think of a better honor, it was the best present I could ever give him. And seeing his face that day was one of the single greatest moments of my life.

I got home Wednesday night, just about two weeks after this all started. And it feels really weird. I stayed behind for a couple of days to make sure Mom is good. She is. I think. I don't really know. We talked a little about things, but not in great detail. We talked about what's next, what to do, where does she go from here. She has said the same thing over and over again.

And all I could think about was the Sunday call.

I'm not sure how this Sunday is going to be, not talking to him. Like I said earlier, we didn't always have a deep conversation, but I really looked forward to the call as much as he did. I know how proud he is of me and that I made him happy with my success, I've been a good son. He told me so. And I know that is the greatest thing you could ever do for your parents. But it doesn't make it any easier.

I'll be okay and life will go on. I know this. Everyone deals with loss in a different way. I've seen it so much in my career and it worries me a little that I've become sort of numb to it. But I'm not. The SINGLE biggest thing that The Chief taught me was to always be positive, always look ahead, always take the good from the bad.

And that's what I'm doing. In my own way, I'm incredibly sad, but at the same time I'm incredibly happy. I got to be raised by parents who love me and did everything they could to help me succeed. And I take strength from that. I will not look back and be sad. I will not wallow in my grief. I will celebrate what he did and make myself better from the experience. It's the only way I know to honor him, it's the only way I know to celebrate him. It's the only way I know to make things better.