A Journey With Cancer

I would like to acknowledge and thank all those that helped and supported my father at the end of his journey and the Teda family after his passing. Your love is very much appreciated and heartfelt. Thank You.

My father’s journey with cancer illustrates well his character, the person that he was and the life that he lived. He was:

• A husband
• A father
• A family man
• A lover
• A wise man
• A man with integrity
• Shined the light of life
• Had a spirit of adventure
• The desire to explore
• A determination
• A filmmaker
• A hard worker
• Enjoyment
• Holidays
• Courage
• Dignity
• Acceptance
• Skilled hands
• Finished the race

My father’s journey with cancer can best be described as a mysterious journey of unknown certainty. Where the outcome is certain – death – but the destiny a mystery – life after death – and the path unknown – everyone is different. My dad walked this journey with great courage and strength. He was joined on this path by the enduring and never-ending lover of his wife, companion and best friend. Who demonstrated great courage and strength of her own. I am extremely proud of the way both my parents carried themselves during this time. With great dignity and care for each other. My father’s first concern, when diagnosed, was for the well-being of his family. That his wife will be taken care of and that his family will be ok after his passing.

Early on during his journey, as we sat around at home, I asked him, “What he wanted to be remembered for”. His answer was, “That he gave to his kids, to his family the most precious thing anyone can give, his time”. Many of the family photos found in our photo albums were taken during family holidays. This is a testament to just that, time spent with his family. I don’t think I have ever met anyone that was taken on as many family holidays as his children were. While Laura and I were honeymooning in Fiji, enjoying the weather and warm water, Laura asked me, “If this is the best holiday ever?” My answer was, “Hmmm, maybe not as good as Blowering Dam”. Our family holidays are by far my fondest childhood memories.

In the past, I have been accused of being stubborn and reminded that “it is ok to ask for help”, a character trait I share with my Father. Another way of putting it would be hard-working, determined or finished. All through his journey with cancer, he was up early, showering and shaving himself. He never complained about his situation or asked why me. He always did for himself what he could and never gave up hope. Sure, he wavered, but he always tried.

You hear people saying, “I’m not going to be like my parents”, or “I’m never going to do this like my parents did”. For me, my hope and prayer is that one day I can be as great a man, father and husband that he was. We don’t always see the things our parents do for us, I certainly didn’t. We just expect them. It was situation normal. With the passing of time and as I watch the way my friends interacted with their kids, I have realised just how much my dad and mum did for their kids.

The last week of his life was tough but was something we went through together. Something we choose to be part of because of our love for each other. During this time, as I sat with my Father, listening to the familiar sounds of the birds outside, the sound of the wind in the trees and the unique sounds found in every house, I understood why he wanted to undertake the final part of his journey in his home. A home surrounded by the love of his family and in the home that he put much of his life, so much of his love into. His skilful hands can be seen throughout his home. In the TV cabinet, he built, in the bathroom he built, in the kitchen he built, the garage he built, the garden tendered to, everywhere. He put all that he was into his home.

I sat there on his final day, watching his irregular and laboured breathing, emotionally torn. As one breath was being expelled, I was saying my goodbyes, letting him go, wanting his pain to be over. For my Father to find his peace. On the other breath, I was willing him to keep breathing. I’m not ready. In the end, the choice is not mine.

He lives on in all of those he touched, in the valves he taught his children, the receding hairline he passed onto his sons, the love he showed his wife and the things that he made.

Thank you all for your prayers, thoughts and gifts during this journey.

God bless.