The day my life changed
Fifteen years feels like a lifetime—a lifetime of precious days missed with my dad. He was gone at approximately 2 a.m. on Saturday, November 21, 2009. His pain ended, while mine began.
I know I should honor him and the incredible impact he had on my life as a father, but I struggle with the pain. On the day I turned 30 in 2008, I felt a shift within me and cried for three months. It was a premonition of the turning point ahead—losing my dad a year and a half later. My husband was serving his second tour in Iraq, which lasted 15 to 18 months.
The journey began in December 2007, when my dad noticed an area on his tongue but postponed seeing a doctor until the pain was unbearable. In September 2008, he walked into the doctor’s office for the first time in over 30 years, only to receive the news that nobody wanted to hear: he had advanced cancer.
By then, we had left Kansas. My husband returned from Iraq changed, and we moved to Germany in August 2008. Just six weeks later, while introducing our kids to a new country, my mom called, sobbing. “It’s cancer,” she said before hanging up.
Despite the gravity of the situation, advancements in treatment gave us hope. Surely everything would turn out fine, right? Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. In November, I flew back to North Carolina, where my parents lived. When they picked me up, I could see the pain and discomfort my dad was enduring. The smell was unbearable; the tumor had grown to a size that made basic oral hygiene impossible.
At UNC-Chapel Hill, his doctors fought fiercely for him. Their efforts granted him another year of life. Fast forward to May 2009, when he triumphed and was finally cancer-free!
I took the kids home via Space-A travel, which cost us just $36 each for a flight from Ramstein Air Base to Charleston Air Force Base. During that time, we shared the most incredible summer months with my dad.
Yet September 2009 brought a harsh reality when the cancer returned fiercely. In all fairness, my dad had once been a smoker but had quit five years before his diagnosis. He had hesitated to see a doctor for nearly a year, which may have cost him dearly. His selflessness shone through; he didn’t want to seek help before we left for Germany, fully aware of the impact it would have on us.
To all of you reading this, take my message to heart: early detection is vital. Don’t wait—prioritize your health and have your dental exams.