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And Dad was in it. Also there was an impending flood. I remember seeing him standing there, waiting for us to pick him up or something. I dreamed we had to get these numbers for some type of registration. I remember knowing that the water would rise up to the level of the sky and we would die…like the world was in a self contained box. I wonder if that is what dad felt when he knew he was dying.
Today was the funeral. Very hard. Seemed easier to face this morning though. Night has a way of exaggerating everything…..
I’ve often second guessed myself these past few days. Like…should we have put Dad into the hospital sooner? Should we have went back to the Oncologist after getting the “bad” PET scan report? Should I have hidden the fact, from Dad, that the scan showed “activity in the area of the left rib cage, and showed several other new growths, one pressing against the vital carotid? Most days I say, we did the right thing. Dad stayed home all the days of his life except when he absolutely couldn’t get up without much much much more help than I could give. Just last Saturday, me, Mom and Dad sat outside his house, I lit a fire in their mainly unused chiimarree, and we got to enjoy the fire, the outdoors, the bird songs, the gentle breeze, the fact that we were NOT in the hospital or nursing home. Sunday, we did much the same…and Dad wanted a ride in my little bug. I complied of course…no whiplash at all! I stayed all night from that night on. Tht was the last day that Dad went anywhere. Monday, not only was Dad unable to talk, he didn’t want go to the hospital for his zymeta or even have the bloodwork done. He needed help to get off the couch. He ate nothing. that’s when we got the wheelchair, commode and aafter discussion, determined we would stay home as long as Dad had no pain and I could still get him up with stand by assistance from Mom. Dad was able to say at home until Wednesday then, we went into the hospital late afternoon for bloodwork, zymeta and in our heart we knew, final admission to the hospital. Mark had to lift Dad from the wheelchair into the Durango. God, what a heartbreaking experience. Dad was in a bad way. So weak, but still no complaints. Once in the hospital bed, which I haven’t seen him lay down for 1 and 1/2 years (not to mention Mom), he rapidly deteriorated. He rested finally after midnight. I went home for a few hours and when I went back, I knew it was almost over. He died Thursday morning. Thank God he didn’t have to suffer anymore. Today, is the funeral. Another difficult day. But I couldn’t wish him back to suffer anymore.
Larry D. Paisley
Jan. 18, 1935 – June 14, 2007
CAMBRIDGE — Larry D. Paisley, 72, died Thursday (June 14, 2007) at Cambridge Memorial Hospital.
He was born in Cambridge on Jan. 18, 1935, to H. Dean and Clara E. (Moore) Paisley. He grew up in Cambridge and graduated from Cambridge High School in 1953.
He served in the U.S. Army from September 1954 to 1956, later finishing his enlistment with the U.S. Army reserve being discharged in September 1962. During his enlistment he was stationed in Germany.
He was united in marriage to Karen Stagemeyer on May 5, 1957. He was employed in the family business of Paisley grocery store one of the main businesses on main street in Cambridge. He worked in the store for 40 years. After retirement, he took up the job as a groundskeeper at the Cambridge golf course.
He was a member of the St. Paul Lutheran Church in Cambridge. He was baptized and confirmed as an adult in May of 1964.
He is survived by his wife, Karen; one daughter, Sheryl and husband, Mark McCurdy; one brother, Terry and wife, Marge Paisley all of Cambridge; and three grandchildren.
Funeral services will be Tuesday, 10:30 a.m., at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Cambridge, with the Rev. David Feddern officiating. Interment will be in the Fairview Cemetery of Cambridge.
Memorials may be left at the Lockenour-Jones Mortuary in his name to either the St. Paul’s Lutheran Church or the Tri Valley Health Systems.
Lockenour-Jones Mortuary of Cambridge is in charge of arrangements.
Stage IIIa non small cell squamous cell carcinoma of the left bronchus.
He suffers no more.
Dad died this morning, June 14th. We brought him to the hospital yesterday and he was admitted around 7pm.
I can’t wish him back.
Not to the life he just left. Not to the shrunken man he’d become.
Cancer is an evil son of a bitch and steals you, inch by inch by inch. Cancer is a steady burn, like a candle wicks decline.
It’s bad now.
Everyday someone asks…”So…how’s your dad?”, and I have to pause and say, “He’s not good, he’s not good at all”. Even though I said that yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that…today…he’s worse. Each day unfolds some new, bad. Every day is hell in it’s own way. There is no word for this disease…this parasitic fungi…this appetite stealing, body wasting, sonofabitch cancer.