My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer

Eva had asked that I tell him she loved him, so I kissed him and said “Eva wanted me to
tell you she loves you, and I love you too.” Mom said “I love you” and kissed him.
I’d spent so much time at the hospital that I knew how to read a lot of the machines, and I
saw dad was about to go. The nurse said “it’s happening”. Mom rubbed his feet, held
him. I held his arm and cried softly. He died the way he lived – with his family at his side,
respecting his wishes, and on his own terms.
I looked up and saw mom sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. I kissed dad once more
on the forehead – his heart had stopped but I hoped he could still feel my love – then I
walked to mom, hugged her, and asked her what she needed. In a strong, painful voice
she said “I need them to take all of that stuff off of him so I can hug him, so I can hold him
one last time.” I told the nurse and he complied in seconds.
Then I saw the most terrifying and beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Something that was
simultaneously the stuff of nightmares and the stuff of the endings of the most beautiful
Disney princess stories. My dad’s body, his mouth slightly open, still, not breathing, and
my mother holding him. She was holding him lightly in a physical sense, but it was the
strongest hug I’ve ever seen.
I know that in intense situations people see things that aren’t real, but what I saw next I
will believe to my grave to be real. Dad’s body looked full. It will still, he was dead, but
even in death it was full. And with every second mom held him, dad’s body emptied and
mom’s grew fuller. I could see him going into her. She held him until I saw that migration
finish, then, like she knew it was complete, she looked up, let go, and told me that that
was the last time she would ever be able to hold him.
Not true, mom. I’m not a religious man. I do know that nothing in the universe is ever
destroyed; it can change form, but is never gone. I don’t know how I saw what I saw, I
don’t know if it was really visible or just my realizing what it means to spend 50 years
madly in love. But what I do know is that dad is with you, whatever spirit he has, however
it manifests, you carry him with you for the rest of your days.
I don’t expect you to suddenly follow the NCAA. I know it isn’t literally that there are two
people in your body, but the story of your lives was so intertwined with your love that at
the moment of his death your merger became complete. At the time I couldn’t figure out
why you had such an urgency to give him a full body hug, with all the medical stuff gone,
but when I saw what happened, I knew.
You hold in you all of the love you share. Everybody should be so lucky to draw that
much love, enough love to sustain you the rest of your days.
I love you dad. I’ll honor you by being the best dad and the best man I can be. * * *
The funeral was recorded on video and was uploaded in three parts. Many voices spoke
about my father, and each deserves to be linked from his blog. Parts one, two, three.
Posted by Gary Shuster at 01:37PM (-07:00)
Dying
Wednesday, May 02, 2012
I woke up on Wednesday morning and all seemed well with the world. I had just spent the
weekend in Yosemite, was loving my time with the family, and was enjoying an apparent
respite in my dad's illness.
I dropped Eva off at school at 9:00 a.m., and I had Sara and Bel in the car going to
preschool. The phone rang at 9:11 a.m., and it was my mother. Everybody with a sick
relative knows that there are times when your heart drops when the phone rings, but this
wasn't one of those times. I figured she was calling to see if one of the kids wanted to
visit after school. Not so.
My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer
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