It Won't Happen That Way: Song for my Dad...from my Dad

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This blog is about our journey with life while living with cancer. John was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer in February 2014. And so we walk "Side by Side." The title of the blog has been a phrase that Joyce and I have used for the past several years. It has been our way to deal with the reality that most plans and most days don't happen the way we had pictured it in our mind. And it has been our way to learn to anticipate the unexpected.

Click here for details of the June 3rd Memorial Celebration.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Song for my Dad...from my Dad

I brought my guitar music along on this trip, knowing that Dad always wants me to play for him. I probably should've started trying earlier, but I eventually got around to asking for an instrument Wednesday (since we've only made it to my parents' house once since I flew in Monday). My high school friend Jenny brought me hers Thursday morning, the first day we moved to Hospice.

Thursday afternoon I eventually got up the courage to play a few songs. Yesterday (Friday), I finally broke out the song that I wanted to and yet didn't want to sing for him. Back in March of 2010, long before he ever was diagnosed, I received the following email.

A Song for You
We were watching Chet Atkin's special on TV tonight, filmed in 1987, he died in 2001. A great Nashville legend. Anyway he played a song on it called, "I just can't say goodbye" Don't know if you have heard it. Mom and I both liked it....I could almost hear you singing it, and I think a lot of people will be moved if you play it.
Dad

At the time, I put together the chords and attempted to play, but just couldn't do it back then. It's a beautiful song, but I just didn't feel *I* could sing it yet. I did my best yesterday, just for him, when others weren't around.

So here it is folks. You can listen to the original he listened to rather than mine - maybe some day.

The weekend doc (another coincidence - someone who was a family practitioner who had common patients with Dad; Mom recognized his name), just left. Same (not overly concise) report - it could be hours, could be days. Dad is essentially unresponsive now. He's fought a valiant fight, and we are all at peace with what lies ahead. As always, the outpouring of support has been amazing and overwhelming and much appreciated.