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Thank you for sharing this with us.

When I went to the special blog you started, I thought: what a great gift to everyone who cares about your father. Your technical skills are a great gift to your family and friends. Thanks for the photographs.

Your father's name was on the prayer list this past Sunday at the rural church I attend in Virginia. Okay, I realize that perhaps many people didn't know who he was, thought I did tell a few people.

When my dad was in the hospital three years ago for an 11-day stay, I understood with great clarity what it meant to see life as a gift. In the time since then, I confess that rather than being thankful for his life (and my own) as a gift, I have tended to feel beaten down by the petty behavior I see periodically in my church community. I guess I have high expectations of 'church.' But when I read what you have written about your father, it took me back to the time when my own dad was in the hospital (we knew his body was fine, but it wasn't clear at the time if his mind would ever return)-- it made me remember the clarity with which I saw how fragile we all are, and I remembered also the gratitude I felt at having more time with my dad. Who these days is physically weaker than before, but his mind and memory returned.

You and your family continue to be in my prayers.

Some 13 years ago we were privileged to bring my father home to live with us -- Parkinson's was doing it's work on him. Taking care of him was very hard work but I treasure the memories -- treasure the times when he was able to be his feisty, ornery, mischevious self -- and I treasure the times I was able to be there when he wasn't all that lively. Every day was a gift.

I'm so glad you are able and inclined to record so much -- you are people who enrich the lives of so many of us.

Every day. True dat.

You're exactly right, Gord. My father passed away two weeks ago tomorrow, at the age of 58. We had an excellent relationship - I spoke with him via phone nearly every evening, and had just been to see my parents a couple of weeks before, and had an excellent visit.

Dad had his first heart attack at 29, and at the time of his passing had had a quadruple bypass, a stroke, a pacemaker, and was insulin-dependent. My mother, sister, and I learned to make every day the absolute best, because we never knew when the last one would be.

Nothing was left unsaid between us. At the end of what turned out to be our last conversation, I said, "I love you, Dad, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He responded, "I love you, too. Talk to you then." Honestly, that has made all the difference in the world. We were blessed to have as much time with him as we did!

- jim
******
Jer. 29:11

Thank goodness for no unfinished business, thank God for love freely expressed between father & son, thank God for the support and love and prayers around you - and that you have the people - and the faith - there, in your life, to come to you in this time of need. I know you all receive it humbly and thankfully.

A father is so precious. May ALL your days together - however many there are - be blessed ones. Thank you, as always, for sharing so deeply with all of us, and for reminding us what really matters.

With love & hope for all good,
Janine (from Bldr)

My best childhood friend, the one that is like a big sister to me, was diagnosed with the same form of thyroid cancer at the age of 24, after a supposedly routine biopsy that found her whole throat covered in cancerous nodes. I was terrified, and lost, and I felt guilty about not being there enough for her, and not being able to DO something about this. We could only wait, and hope for recovery, then hope for good news at every one of her follow-up exams.

And now, almost five years later, she's nearing complete remission, against all odds. She took a little longer than expected to complete her Masters, she speaks in a slightly rougher voice (she lost one of her vocal chords in the ordeal) and she's going to be on medication for the rest of her life. But she's alive, very much so, and I can never be grateful enough for that. We went canoeing together last summer, just the two of us, being able to sing together as we paddled in sync - my strong soprano voice and her softer alto mixed together - was one of the greatest joys I'll ever experience.

I hope with all my heart that you will be able to tell the same story about your dad five years from now. Good luck, and I'll be thinking of you.

Catherine