It’s 12:39am and the sounds of a techno-remix of “Twist and Shout” are booming from the gymnasium of Fargo North High.
I am chaperoning a Relay for Life event in which students formed teams to walk consistently from 6:00pm on a Friday night until 6:00am on Saturday morning. This isn’t my high school, I don’t have a child who is a student and I didn’t lose a bet. I advise their improv club and a group of students asked me to help back in September.
While I walked around the gym with a series of strangers, I started to think about something that no one else in the room knows. I lost my dad to cancer.
I was barely a few months older than some of these students when I received a phone call telling me that my dad, J.D., was sick. I drove home from a summer job in southeast North Dakota and met with my family. Worry, hope, reality and humor were all that could fit in the room while we talked about the diagnosis.
A few months earlier, my dad’s speech changed a bit. A sort of marble mouth mumble started – nothing that couldn’t be explained away in a million different excuses. During a golf trip, a friend of my dad’s noticed the slur and asked him about it. He was a medical professional who told him to get an appointment immediately. Within 48 hours he was seen by a series of doctors who delivered the news. It was cancer. Specifically a tumor in his tongue and the likelihood that it was also in the throat.
Remove the tongue was their suggestion. It was too large for surgery and the hope (it’s hard to imagine the word hope here) of chemo or radiation was not very high. The conversation about my dad’s quality of life without a tongue was our main focus. More testing was to come, but that day the doctors urged to have the whole tongue removed. After the next series of appointments, removing the tongue was no longer considered. The cancer was found in some additional areas and an aggressive series of radiation treatments were ordered instead.
My dad’s battle with cancer drug on for months. He lost weight, his appetite and the day to day of simply staying alive drained him of energy. From diagnosis to death was only seven and half months. We were even given the news that there was nothing left to do but die. He lived 2 more months after that news.
During those months, I spent time trying to be 19 years old. I had an apartment with friends, I was starting my career in comedy and I did a crappy job of attending classes. In my mind, I pictured having long conversations with my dad about life and say all the things I needed to say or have a heartfelt conversation about his feelings. We weren’t that kind of father and son, even when time was running out. We talked a little bit about movies. We talked a little bit about golf. Nothing deeper than that. It didn’t play out like a movie. I wish it had.
Looking back almost 16 years later, I regret not asking my dad to have that conversation with me. I regret not telling him that I loved him every time I saw him. One of the cruelest tricks of death is the goodbye you deliver from day to day. You always hope for another day and another goodbye. Unfortunately, that last goodbye could be the day you are running late or become complacent. It certainly was for me.
One day, my dad was having visitors and the next he slipped into a very uncomfortable looking sleep. Almost like a coma with his mouth wide open and a very labored, shallow breathing.
J.D. Gordon died in his home during the only 5 minutes of alone time he had that day. A parade of friends and family had flooded the old house to say goodbye. In a great example of who he was, he took the one time when no one was in his room to slip off the mortal coil without pomp or circumstance. It was a great reminder of a humble man who loved saltine crackers and milk as a favorite snack.
A quick dose of reality to those who have never been with a dead body. Eyelids don’t close as easily as they do in the movies. A little bit of massaging is required. Thanks a lot, Hollywood. I sat on the bed and hugged my dad. I heard him take a breath! He wasn’t dead yet! Nope, it was just my hug that forced the remaining air in his lungs out. Again, Hollywood, you couldn’t have given me a heads up on this one?!?!
In the days after his death, people seemed apprehensive to talk about him. Sure, we shared memories – but not the day to day stuff. As the weeks, months and years went by, I started talking more and more about him. I would bring him up. His frat buddies would bring him up. The pictures in our home didn’t cause tears, they caused smiles. Remembering is a huge part of healing.
I said goodbye on the day he died and said things that I wish I had said before. Wishing sucks. Regrets suck. They stick with you like a pair of bad sneakers that never seem to leave your closet. You don’t always see them, but you spot them from time to time.
Tonight, I am seeing those sneakers all over. I am reminded of my dad and how many other people won their battle with cancer. I am also reminded by the sober thought that in a gym there are hundreds of white bags with glow sticks in them representing the stories of people who did not win their battle. Watching young students silently shed a tear standing next to bags with the name of their grandfather, or aunt, or sibling or friend – it reminds me that cancer research is so important. Cancer community is important. Compassion for those who are fighting and those who are caring for loved ones. Cancer sucks. It really really sucks.
Kids are sleeping all over the place in this gym. On the bleachers, on the floor, under tarps – there is even one kid under a drinking fountain. She said, quote, “I like the humming sound it makes.” It is entirely possible that their generation could make the greatest advances in cancer treatment or a cure. They are blasting a classic 80s tune now. Looks like an impromptu game of limbo is the next activity. Better head back to pretend like I know what I am doing as their chaperone.
I’ll think about my dad as I do some more laps while the sun begins to rise. I heard a great phrase once that said, “Death is the price we pay for getting to live.” Those words are comforting and carry the wisdom of the ages. I miss my dad. Luckily, he was such a great person that I carry his memory with me wherever I go.
Additional Content:
KFGO Blog –
How Burt’s Beeswax is Made
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JJ’s Journey “Forgive Me Jenny, For I Have Carb’d”
KFGO Blog –
The Cardigan Cowboy
KFGO Blog –
Inside Out Car, with Super Bowl ties, Spotted in Fargo
(Listen to JJ Gordon every weekday from 11am to 2pm on
It Takes 2 with Amy and JJ
. On the Mighty 790AM KFGO or on our app!)
