When My Dad Died of Sarcoma Cancer

16 May

The doctor checked for a heartbeat and found none. Straightening and removing the stethoscope from his ears, he gently said, “I am so, so sorry.”

It was 1:57 pm on May 16, 2014.

After some minutes, I was the only live person in the room, sitting on the couch and having a difficult time attempting to concentrate on The Tibetan Book of the Dead. My eyes blurred on the page. I repeatedly blew my nose.

When the doctor returned to the room, I was the only one present except Dad’s body. The doctor again said, “I am so, so sorry. Do you have any questions?” I asked about the biopsy and said I believe it went to the Mayo Clinic. He talked a little about that and said he’d call the pathology lab immediately and see about the results.

I felt some relief when Francis returned. He closed Dad’s eyes. By the time the doctor returned with a faxed copy of the biopsy, Francis and I were both sitting at the far end of the room. I folded the papers in half and tucked them into the front of The Tibetan Book of the Dead, the large complete hard cover translation. I didn’t feel like looking over the biopsy yet.


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