“What to do about Mary?”

Preface:  This will be the last post regarding The Month of Bill until next year and even then, I cannot imagine writing of him in such great detail as this year.  Maybe next year, I will just give a bit of a progress report.  And a warning to A, grab a tissue.

As I have mentioned, my father kept a journal chronicling his illness.  Many of the posts were rather vague, describing only his symptoms, treatment, etc.   But the last one, the one you are about to read, gave more.  It was haunting.  I remember being 16 and crying my eyes out the first time I read it.  Simply put though, they were the perfect last words.

Tuesday, March 19, 1991

Up at 6:00.  Breakfast at McDonald’s.  Doctor L at 8:00 – several scenarios including surgery.  Doctor S – surgery definitely a possibility, depending on metastasis, involvement of blood vessels.  CAT scan today, angiogram tomorrow, surgery maybe as early as Friday.  Trying to find me a bed.  We’re both scared, but realize this is my only real chance.  Our faith in the doctors is strong.  Our faith in Jesus will see us through.  What to do about Mary?

Before I dive in, I will give a brief background on the events that happened next.  They found him a bed.  He went into surgery on the 22nd to remove as much of the tumor as they could.  After the 15 hour surgery, the doctors told my mother that the monstrous mass of a tumor could not be completely removed.  They had removed almost all of the small intestine, pancreas, stomach, gall bladder, spleen, and part of the liver.  It was a near abdominal evacuation.  My father was also in a coma after this surgery.  They told my mother to prepare her goodbye to him as he would probably not wake up.  Well, my father woke up.  He could not talk but was writing on his leg to my mother.  From this surgery though, he began to bleed internally.  He was losing blood at an alarming rate and on the morning of the 23rd, they took him in for a second operation to try and stop the bleeding.  After five hours, they seemed to have stopped the bleeding but anyone with an even slight medical background will tell you survival is just not probable after this point.  He had fallen back into a coma and my mother was faced with her final farewell.  He woke up at one point, against all odds of the doctors, blinked responses back to her, then fell asleep again.  At 2:30pm on March 23rd, the machines that had been keeping him alive were turned off.  My mother held his hand as he died.

I remember getting the news.  My aunt had flown out to be with me in Corvallis while my mother and father were at the hospital in Seattle.  I remember that day clearly.  I remember the brass plate on the back of our door as she knelt down to tell me he had died.  I remember my friend’s dad bringing over chocolate covered cherries.  I haven’t had one since that day.

But I didn’t choose to write this today to tell you about the worst parts.  With his last words, “What to do about Mary?”, he left us a challenge.  I think we are still trying to answer that but I suppose we have already come up with something.  We Burger Women, as we like to call ourselves, have spent the past two decades trying to create some semblance of life that is right.  We have failed miserably at times, but have had our world-conquering moments of great achievement.  I know we’re not there yet, but we have something amazing: each other.

This past year has been a year that for some cosmic reason, my mother and I are spending together.  We have fought like Skordo and Olive, we have laughed with the best of them, enjoyed Friday night date nights, and I know we have grown as women out of this.  We have learned of the best sides of each other, the brilliance of our relationship, and that quite frankly, we are stronger than we ever believed we could be.  I’m sure we may do a little bit too much for him or because of him, but I think we are still trying to make this brilliant man proud.  And to be honest, I think we have.

We carry the best parts of him wherever we go.  I think one of my best days here was a day spent at the beach, wearing his plaid flannel shirt.  It was like I brought him with me while all the while, learning to let him go.  The past 19 years have not been a perfect process, but each year marks a new found success within ourselves.  I am still trying to answer What to do About Mary, but you know what, A?  We have something pretty perfect here.

My father in our favorite shirt

Taking the shirt to the beach

“Enough.  Enough now.”

Love Actually

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