Saying goodbye to my dad 🕊

On Dec 9th, 2022 my dad told me he picked a date for MAID (medical assistance in death). 

He was done with living life with terminal cancer, he was done with emptying & changing his colostomy bag, he was done with living with no appetite, he was done with the targeted treatment he was on even though it made him feel "better", he was done with feeling weak and tired, he was done with the bloating, he was done with the rollercoaster of ok days to the really bad days, he was tired of not being able to feel his hands and feet, he was done with all the symptoms of the medicine he had to take to just keep him "comfortable", he was done with all the symptoms of cancer in his body, he was done with needing someone to do everything for him, he was done with not being able to do anything that made him happy anymore. 

Even while making one of the hardest, strongest, bravest choice he would have ever had to have made. He was putting himself last, at first he wanted to wait until 2023 so my brother and I didn't have to pay as much taxes. We told him it's just money and that shouldn't be the reason to keep suffering. He also kept asking me what everyone's schedule was and if everyone would be around. He still continued to think of everyone but himself. 

Two days later on Dec 11th, we ended up taking my dad to urgent care to get an IV line for dehydration. His bloating had gotten so bad that he struggled to even drink water. Everything the doctors could do for my dad was always a temporary stopgap, there was no cure, and there was no end in sight to this suffering. The only light at the end of the tunnel was accepting that it was time to let go of life on earth. 

It was on Sunday, Dec 11th that my dad asked me to get in touch with his MAID doctor to set the earliest date possible. The earliest possible date was Sunday, Dec 18th at 3pm. This meant I only had one week left with my dad. It went from a few weeks to a week. He kept saying that he knew he was being selfish. Even though everyone who understood and loved him told him he was brave as hell for making this choice for himself. 

By Tuesday, all family had been told of his decision and I had already rescheduled a previously cancelled professional photoshoot. I knew if I didn't get one done, I would regret it for the rest of my life. One month prior I cancelled last minute on Kerstin from @nomadbynk because my dad ended up in the ER. I emailed her on Dec 11th at 10pm and she got back to me early the next morning. We booked for Friday morning and she even got all the photos edited just in time so my dad could look at them with us. There are no words to express the amount of gratitude I have for Kerstin. I don't think my family fully understood the importance of taking these photos until they saw them so thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

My dad's last week was heartbreakingly beautiful, it was full of love, laughter, tears, and my dad's favourite foods. My dad got to say goodbye to all his friends and family when he still had the energy, still had the mental capacity to tell all of us the things he wanted to say, and while he could still joke and be his true self. 

Even though I tried to capture as much as I could during my dad's last week, there will never be enough photos or videos. I wish I had worn a GoPro so I could just relive my dad's last week over and over again and never forget any details. 

Due to all my dad's medication, he was looking stronger and more comfortable as Dec 18th approached. I kept hoping that he would change his mind. I struggled with showing him that I wholeheartedly supported him but also how I selfishly wanted more time with him. I wanted him to hold on until at least his "bad week" or until his next CT scan to see if his new targeted treatment was making a difference. 

But I know even though on the outside he was looking stronger, his insides were being invaded by cancer, by more tumours, and no one but him knew how much he was feeling and suffering. 

Every day that week my dad was surrounded by people who loved him, my brother bought him the most expensive wagyu beef, lobster, apples, jam, and jello. We had bacon every morning that week. We lived life to the fullest we could with someone with terminal cancer. We asked my dad what he wanted to do every day, we asked my dad questions. Through all the tears, we still laughed and we still smiled. 

The hardest part of this all for my dad was seeing my brother hurt. It broke his heart, he had never seen my brother this upset. I think it was at this moment my dad realized just how much my brother loved him despite their vast differences, and years of not seeing eye to eye.

My brother and I told him that no one would be mad if he changed his mind even if it is 10 seconds before. We told him that even if he had the smallest doubt that he didn't want to go through with it to just tell us. My brother and I gave my dad the safe word "banana". At any time if my dad said the word banana, we would know that my dad needed us to clear the room. 

Sunday morning arrived, I woke up and my dad was still in bed. I crawled into bed next to him and  I cried onto his shoulder while I held him. I told him how much I loved him and how much I am going to miss him, he told me how ready he was, I told him that I knew and that it was okay to go, that I didn't want him to suffer anymore, that he has suffered enough in this lifetime.  I wasn't ready to say goodbye. How can I say goodbye… All day all I wanted was for my dad to ask for a banana. 

Every little positive thing my dad felt I hoped it would persuade him to hold on a little longer. I was hoping he would see that it was worth it to hold on for just one more day with us but deep down I knew it had nothing to do with us. He had to do this for himself even though it was just as hard to say goodbye to us. He really wouldn’t be making this decision if he wasn’t truly suffering physically, mentally, and emotionally.

It had snowed the night before, a piece of me thought my dad would take that as a sign that it wouldn't be safe to drive to the hospital but instead, he thanked god for a beautiful day and that it was his sign that it was the right decision. He is right, there is something so beautiful about the snow. 

I held my dad's hand as I drove all of us to the Cancer Clinic at the Richmond Hospital. I will never forget how comforting and warm his hand had felt. I could tell my dad was at peace, he was calm, he was certain, and he was ready. 

Even though I knew that I still asked my dad twice if he wanted a banana before he passed away. He just laughed and smiled at me. 

We all took our turn to say goodbye. I held my dad's hand as he peacefully passed away with absolutely no suffering. Despite being there and seeing it from start to finish, I still can't believe he is gone. I am still waiting for it to all come crashing down. As we left the hospital without my dad with Kazu riding on the walker just like he did on the way there said “I want to wait for gung gung”. To have to explain to my not even 2.5 year old son that he will no longer see his beloved gung gung is gut-wrenching. The first few times we went over to my dad’s after Kazu expected to see my dad but he has now adjusted his expectations and understands to some level that he will no longer physically be seeing my dad.

Even though I had almost one year and six months to prepare for this day, it still feels impossibly hard. 

My heart just wants to stay in the past, it doesn't want to move forward without my dad. 

All I can do is keep repeating to myself "Your acceptance, peace, and certainty with your decision is what I will hold on to when the grief and sadness overcomes me." 

And I will try to find gratitude. 

I am grateful that we were able to say goodbye, I am grateful that we had time, I am grateful that he didn't suffer, and I am grateful it was so beautiful from the beginning to the end. 

Thank you for being my dad. 

I promise your legacy will live through Kazuhiro. He will never forget how amazing his gung gung was and how much you loved him. 

I will miss you forever in this lifetime. 

IN MEMORY OF JIMMY CHENG, SUPPORTING RESEARCH AND CARE AT BC CANCER

Your donations will support an expanded study on a new method for determining susceptibility for developing colorectal cancer in the future. Dr. Isabella Tai and her team discovered a series of genetic markers which indicate a predisposition to colorectal cancer in a previous, smaller study, and are now working on expanding the study to confirm their findings for publication. The colorectal test being studied has a 90% sensitivity rate, up from the current 40% sensitivity rate of the standard stool-sample test. The test being studied uses DNA in a person’s blood or saliva, meaning they can take the test home and mail samples in for testing rather than having to provide a stool sample. If the study is expanded and published, the test could easily be replicated in labs around the world, elevating the standard of care here in BC and elsewhere, and increasing the likelihood that colorectal cancer will be detected earlier leading to better outcomes for future patients.