Lightning bolts and growling thunder.

Within minutes of posting my last blog post, I received a call from Dad. He wanted me to email photos of his airplane to a guy who responded to his ad. He urgently told me to get him those pictures. Dad seems very determined to sell that airplane, against my urging him not to.

The significance of this call isn't the subject, but rather the delivery. Dad sounded as if he had been drinking, which I know he hadn’t. In fact I’ve never heard him slur his speech due to drinking. I thought it odd.

Within 45 minutes I got the call that began another landscape change for our family. My family took Dad to urgent care where they quickly transported him by ambulance to the hospital. Stroke was my family’s first concern in taking him, but it turned out to be unfounded.

Cat scans at the hospital revealed what we suspected next. The melanoma has traveled to his brain. Nine legions, anchored by one large and rapidly growing legion, populated the left side of his brain, causing slurred speech and droopiness on the right side of his face.

Only two options were presented. Brain surgery which could buy him a few more months or do nothing and let the cancer rapidly take over leaving him only weeks.

Although not completely convinced or resolved to option one, Dad agreed to the move to FL Hospital South where the great neurosurgeons reside.

Dad had planned to go flying that very same morning, but those plans dissolved when the Dairy Queen burned down. Turns out he would be in the sky afterall. He was air-lifted to the Florida Hospital South.

Mark and I met him down there around midnight. We were happy to see he was able to enjoy the helicopter ride and had a great view out the window. We all agreed he was one of the fortunate few that fly in those medi-copters wide-eyed and alert.

Although Dad was very tired, he continued to chat away with Mark and I until he was brought down for his MRI at 2 am. We stayed until 4 when he came back before we decided to go home. Earlier, Dad urged Mom and I to go home and not bother with meeting him in Orlando, but I’m so thankful we defied him. An ominous night, in an unfamiliar place, needn’t be accessed alone.

I enjoyed every minute with him and am conscious of and grateful for every moment that follows.


The next day was met with exhaustion. My brain shrinks on minimized sleep. The day was filled with multiple meetings with doctors orchestrating the next move. My mom stayed every minute and is Advocate Uno for Dad. My brother Michael spent half the day there and I came on the back half. My other brothers and wives came as well, and my sisters in Minnesota and California have been dispatched to come today.


It’s remarkable how we humans hold up in such extreme circumstances. By necessity, we cobble together our daily routines with dashes of tender moments, laughter and tears. We accommodate this daunting new reality we've told ourselves we could never bear to embrace but suddenly are.

The storm rages on, but we can always find peace inside.