Oregon was playing for the National Championship in the year that he died, too. Vickie and I watched most of the game in his room, at the end of the day when he stopped being conscious of everything that was going on. He had started tuning out, saying things we couldn't understand, and talking about places that he believed he was visiting in his mind. This was difficult for emotional reasons, obviously, but also for practical ones. It meant we could no longer rely on him to tell us when he needed more morphine. My recollection is that Vickie and I were largely responsible for deciding how much to administer, and when, to minimize his pain without "clouding" him. That was the phrase the hospice hotline always used.
One moment that reminds me of his state on that day was that while we were watching the game, he seemed to sort of wake up and be present for a minute. It was at some point before halftime, and Vickie and I told him the Ducks were winning! "You can't fool me," he said, and we kind of laughed, and then he went back to sleep. They weren't supposed to beat Auburn and Cam Newton, as I recall. Then Vickie and I just kind of, I don't know, stared at each other in disbelief over the course of the rest of the game, as the Ducks lost the lead and ultimately the game. It was two more whole days before he died. Those were the longest two days of my life.
I am glad Oregon is in the national championship again tonight. But I wasn't really ready for it. Maybe if it had taken several more years the memory wouldn't be quite so raw. I don't know. But I'm also at the point where it feels like he's been gone a really long time, so I am able to recognize that the ability to access really raw emotions about it is a privilege of sorts. Most of those of you who still read this blog are probably feeling pretty raw about his death today, too. So, here the photos we got taken in November but which I had not yet remembered to share. Dad would have loved these pictures. He was very clear in his mind when he told me that sometimes interruptions in the plans we make for ourselves turn out beautifully, like Vickie's surprise conception. And sometimes interruptions in the plans we make for ourselves turn out terribly, like cancer. But, he told me, "Just keep planning on loving Billy."
There are parts of my heart that went dark when my dad died. Fortunately for me, these two are bright enough to cast some light on the shadows.
She's got plenty of sugar but she's mostly spice, Dad. You would get all her jokes.
