Sunday 8/19/07 - Rollercoaster of Life

The world goes so fast some time. 7 years ago last week my father passed away. It was, by far, the worst day of my entire life. For 7 years now I have relived that night over and over in my end, most of the time resulting in me sobbing uncontrollably.

Peter Carl Kremers was 55 years old when he was diagnosed with cancer. A smoker since his early twenties, he had tried numerous times to quit. His parents smoked. His family smoked. His in-laws smoked. Everyone smoked. How does one quit when it is everwhere around him? Like everyone else, he thought he was invincible, so when the cancer appeared so early on in his life, it was a major blow. But like everything else in his life, he was confident he would beat it, or at least survive it.

After about 9 months, we were told he had Phase 4 (or 3?) of cancer. Viki Welling, one of my parents best friends was a nurse and knew what this meant. No one really defeats cancer at this point. But my father felt he could. But sadly, the cancer began to spread to his lungs and lymphnodes. He was confined to a wheelchair. My father was an outdoorsman. He loved hunting, golfing, swimming, camping, nature, etc. The list goes on and on. So to be confined to a wheelchair couldn't have helped his state of mind.

About a month later, things got so bad, he needed to go to the hospital in La Jolla. At first they had him sharing a room, but our family would have nothing to do with that. Within a few hours, my father had a private room in the corner of the hospital with a few of the golf course and water. I took a few days off from work and stayed with my mother. The second day he was there, the doctor took the three of us into a room (my brother as well) and said it was time to make a major decision. "Peter isn't getting any better. We need you to make a decision on how you want the hospital to react if he needs to go onto life support. Do you want us to keep him on it, or let him go?" This threw my mother into a crying hysteria. I wasn't much better but knew we had to make a decision. Of course I wanted him around as long as we could, but deep down I knew what the decision should be. We jointly decided no life support.

After we met with the doctor, my brother and I each went into his room seperately to talk with my father. As I sat down next to him, I held his hand, and probably for the first time since I was a child, told him I loved him. It wasn't that I didn't love him before now, but we just never vocally said that phrase. Maybe since prior to 4 years ago I was a closetted gay man, that I thought saying those words would have been suicide and it would have "outed" me for sure. He looked at me and told me how proud he was. "Really?", I said. "Of course Brian, you're my son." Deep down I didn't feel like I was a man yet. I had so much more to learn. I wasn't ready to let go of the man put here to teach me. I began to cry uncontrollably. He said he loved me too and we just sat there and smiled.

The following day, the doctors told us that there was nothing they could do anymore for him. We decided then it would be best for him to come home and enjoy his last days in the house he purchased with his success in life with the friends and family he loves. We set up hospice and my brother and I along with my mother and sister-in-law set up shifts to monitor him. We never wanted him alone for even one second. The first few days on my watch I would sit with my father and watch his favorite movies or I would just listen to him snore as he slept.

On day 3, my watch was from the later evening to early morning, or something like that. At about 11pm, my father asked me to help him get up so he could go to the bathroom. After he was done, we went back to his bed, and I got him settled. About an hour later, his breathing began to worsen and worsen. I screamed for my mother and brother to come down. We all knew something was wrong. We were all hysterical, not knowing what to do.

"Breath Peter!!", my mother yelled. He looked at her, and took a long deep breath. Then his breathing stopped and we all knew what was about to come.

"Breath DAD!!", Mark (my brother) screamed. My father turned to him and took another long deep breath, and then stopped again.

"BREATH DAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!", I cried outloud. He looked right up at me and took his longest breath of them all.

And then he was gone. What a magnificent man. Even until the end, he showed us how much he loved all of us. He took one last breath for each of us.

My father was my idol. He had so many friends. Everyone had kind words to say about him. He was a success in life. A successful businessman. A wonderful husband. An incredible father. A trustworthy friend. He had many best friends he kept throughout his life. His brother since the day he was born, Jess. His college roommate Dana. His best friend from San Jose, Brent Welling. My father was the life of the parties. He loved to flirt with the girls and drink with the boys. When I came out as as gay man, instead of freaking out and banning me from their lives, he instead took me out to his favorite bar and bought me a beer. He asked, "Do you feel better now?" "Yes, I feel like a piano has been taken off of me", I answered. "Good", he said. Privately, he took longer to adjust to my lifestyle, but never once let me know.

I miss you dad. I miss you more than ever now. Although I should remember the good times more, I can't erase your final night on the earth from my memory. It will haunt me forever. I need my dad. I still have more to ask. More to learn. Do we ever learn enough? How do I fix the sink? How do repair the tile on the floor? I need you to teach me more of the "man" things a boy learns from his father. I will always think of you as I am mowing the lawn. It was you who showed me my first way to mow. The first one to tell me which outdoor chores needed to be done. You taught me to ride a bike. You taught me to pee in the toilet. I am who I am, because of you. And I can't and will never have the opportunity to thank you enough for all you have given me.

RIP Peter Kremers 1944 - 2000

I love you dad.