Georgia Mike
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2008
- Location
- flowery branch, GA
I'm not looking for sympathy or anything with this post. I'm usually pretty open about what goes on in my life, but over the last year I've been nearly mute on the way things have gone. I've met very few of you in real-life, so it kind of feels good to just blather on to a bunch of strangers lol
Over the course of my entire life, my dad and I have very seldom been able to work together. I'd like to say it's because he wanted to get side-tracked and agonize over every little insignificant detail, while I just wanted to stay the course and get a job over and done. But I know that's not the case; we were much more alike than either of us wanted to admit. Often times working together would find us going our separate ways for days, or even weeks on end. It was an exercise in futility trying to do things together, but that's just how it went for us for the better part of 5 decades. Until one day, it got easy. We were working on his little S-15 Jimmy. He was trying to figure out an unusual problem he was having, I gave a suggestion as to what I thought it may be, and he actually said, "alright let's see if that's it." We worked together for the better part of that day, no attitudes, no egos, just a great father and son day of working in the shop. It was awesome. At the end of the day, I told him "I love you, Pop. I know you think I don't sometimes, but I do, and I'm glad we got to work together today." He told me "I love you, too, son." It was like a healing moment that I'll never forget. That was last February (2024) if I'm remembering correctly. And yes, we did fix the problem with the Jimmy.
A month goes by and I'm hearing concerns from others around him. Talks of "Something's not right" or "You know he's sick, right? Like REALLY sick." I had no idea because we just didn't talk about that kind of stuff. Then I got a call from my sister saying he was heading to the hospital. It was there that we heard the news. Stage 4 liver cancer that had started in his colon and was inoperable. This turned everything upside-down for me. I asked if he'd been getting his colonoscopies like he was supposed to, and he said the last one was about 20 years ago, which put him roughly my age now. He said he'd been using over the counter tests (AKA "wipe tests") and they'd always come back clean, for lack of a better term. My first colonoscopy came back with polyps, and I was scheduled to come back in 3 years, which is this month. After his diagnosis, if we were in the shop, he'd say things like "when I'm gone, this will be yours" or "well we won't have to worry about that in a year or two." It just felt so wrong being up there and hearing things like that, even though I knew it was ultimately the truth. It was especially tough when I felt guilty if had fun while I was in there by myself. It was so conflicting and just not an enjoyable environment anymore.
His original prognosis was 1-2 years. He made it 11 months, passing away April 2nd of this year. Over the course of that 11 months, we still rarely talked about anything, but it was the elephant in the room that always seemed to drag our moods down.
When he laid on his literal deathbed, unable to speak any longer, I told him "I'm sorry we couldn't get along. I'm sorry for anything I ever said or did that was mean to you, and I forgive you for anything you ever did or said to me that was mean. I know you were just doing the best you could. I love you and I'll think of you every time I go in that shop." His communication was limited to gestures and grunts at this point, but he tried to talk, mumbling something that sounded like "I love you, too, son" while trying to hug me, but he didn't have the strength to raise his arms more than a few inches.
The next day he passed away. I was sitting there by the bed, holding his hand when he took his last breath.
He has left the shop to me, and a month later it's still hard to go in there, but it's getting a little easier. I feel a little more relaxed each time I go in there. I still don't call it "my shop." Not yet. It just doesn't feel right.
Two weeks ago, I decided that I was going to get out there and start enjoying the time I have, making the most of it and making more memories with my wife. Just get out of the house and do something. Anything other than sit around waiting for the inevitable like I'd been doing for close to a year. It even feels bad to type that, as if his cancer kept me from having fun. It wasn't like that at all. It was just, the heavy burden we all felt. Wanting it to be over but knowing by "over" it meant we'd lose our dad. In some ways, I'm relieved. He's no longer suffering like he was the last few weeks of his life. He was a fighter, and I truly believe that in most instances, others would've given up way before he did.
So, I sold my motorcycle for a song, then used that money to buy myself a pre-built '95 XJ. It's a nice, mid-level build. Nothing fancy, but just right. The attached pic is actually one from the Marketplace ad where I found it. I'm really hoping to get it out as often as possible this year which should also inspire me to pick up where I left off on my other big project, the Nurple ZJ, and finish it. I've already committed to going to Harlan, KY for this year's NAXJA Cherokee Crawl. I think it will be a very therapeutic trip for me. And as time passes, I'll get more comfortable in that shop and spend more time in there doing what I love. But for now, I just needed something I could go have some immediate fun in. Something that would get me out of the shop and outside amongst the people I enjoy being around, fellow four wheelers. Wendy (my wife) says the only time she sees me truly happy is out in a Jeep on a trail somewhere. I'm hoping this will lead down a healing path to help me get myself turned around and moving forward again in life.
I didn't really have a direction when I started writing this nonsense, I just wanted to talk out loud and let the few people I know in here how things have been going over the past year.
Go hug your dad if he's still here and go make some good memories with him while you can. If something needs to be said, say it. You might miss the chance. I'm grateful to have had the opportunity to do so. I truly feel like it lifted a huge weight off the both of us.
Over the course of my entire life, my dad and I have very seldom been able to work together. I'd like to say it's because he wanted to get side-tracked and agonize over every little insignificant detail, while I just wanted to stay the course and get a job over and done. But I know that's not the case; we were much more alike than either of us wanted to admit. Often times working together would find us going our separate ways for days, or even weeks on end. It was an exercise in futility trying to do things together, but that's just how it went for us for the better part of 5 decades. Until one day, it got easy. We were working on his little S-15 Jimmy. He was trying to figure out an unusual problem he was having, I gave a suggestion as to what I thought it may be, and he actually said, "alright let's see if that's it." We worked together for the better part of that day, no attitudes, no egos, just a great father and son day of working in the shop. It was awesome. At the end of the day, I told him "I love you, Pop. I know you think I don't sometimes, but I do, and I'm glad we got to work together today." He told me "I love you, too, son." It was like a healing moment that I'll never forget. That was last February (2024) if I'm remembering correctly. And yes, we did fix the problem with the Jimmy.
A month goes by and I'm hearing concerns from others around him. Talks of "Something's not right" or "You know he's sick, right? Like REALLY sick." I had no idea because we just didn't talk about that kind of stuff. Then I got a call from my sister saying he was heading to the hospital. It was there that we heard the news. Stage 4 liver cancer that had started in his colon and was inoperable. This turned everything upside-down for me. I asked if he'd been getting his colonoscopies like he was supposed to, and he said the last one was about 20 years ago, which put him roughly my age now. He said he'd been using over the counter tests (AKA "wipe tests") and they'd always come back clean, for lack of a better term. My first colonoscopy came back with polyps, and I was scheduled to come back in 3 years, which is this month. After his diagnosis, if we were in the shop, he'd say things like "when I'm gone, this will be yours" or "well we won't have to worry about that in a year or two." It just felt so wrong being up there and hearing things like that, even though I knew it was ultimately the truth. It was especially tough when I felt guilty if had fun while I was in there by myself. It was so conflicting and just not an enjoyable environment anymore.
His original prognosis was 1-2 years. He made it 11 months, passing away April 2nd of this year. Over the course of that 11 months, we still rarely talked about anything, but it was the elephant in the room that always seemed to drag our moods down.
When he laid on his literal deathbed, unable to speak any longer, I told him "I'm sorry we couldn't get along. I'm sorry for anything I ever said or did that was mean to you, and I forgive you for anything you ever did or said to me that was mean. I know you were just doing the best you could. I love you and I'll think of you every time I go in that shop." His communication was limited to gestures and grunts at this point, but he tried to talk, mumbling something that sounded like "I love you, too, son" while trying to hug me, but he didn't have the strength to raise his arms more than a few inches.
The next day he passed away. I was sitting there by the bed, holding his hand when he took his last breath.
He has left the shop to me, and a month later it's still hard to go in there, but it's getting a little easier. I feel a little more relaxed each time I go in there. I still don't call it "my shop." Not yet. It just doesn't feel right.
Two weeks ago, I decided that I was going to get out there and start enjoying the time I have, making the most of it and making more memories with my wife. Just get out of the house and do something. Anything other than sit around waiting for the inevitable like I'd been doing for close to a year. It even feels bad to type that, as if his cancer kept me from having fun. It wasn't like that at all. It was just, the heavy burden we all felt. Wanting it to be over but knowing by "over" it meant we'd lose our dad. In some ways, I'm relieved. He's no longer suffering like he was the last few weeks of his life. He was a fighter, and I truly believe that in most instances, others would've given up way before he did.
So, I sold my motorcycle for a song, then used that money to buy myself a pre-built '95 XJ. It's a nice, mid-level build. Nothing fancy, but just right. The attached pic is actually one from the Marketplace ad where I found it. I'm really hoping to get it out as often as possible this year which should also inspire me to pick up where I left off on my other big project, the Nurple ZJ, and finish it. I've already committed to going to Harlan, KY for this year's NAXJA Cherokee Crawl. I think it will be a very therapeutic trip for me. And as time passes, I'll get more comfortable in that shop and spend more time in there doing what I love. But for now, I just needed something I could go have some immediate fun in. Something that would get me out of the shop and outside amongst the people I enjoy being around, fellow four wheelers. Wendy (my wife) says the only time she sees me truly happy is out in a Jeep on a trail somewhere. I'm hoping this will lead down a healing path to help me get myself turned around and moving forward again in life.
I didn't really have a direction when I started writing this nonsense, I just wanted to talk out loud and let the few people I know in here how things have been going over the past year.
Go hug your dad if he's still here and go make some good memories with him while you can. If something needs to be said, say it. You might miss the chance. I'm grateful to have had the opportunity to do so. I truly feel like it lifted a huge weight off the both of us.
