[Originally posted June 16th, 2009]
Here's where I am. Midnight. It's a dark room, a hospital room but not a hospital room. It's a waiting room. Me, I'm fine. It's my uncle. It's my uncle.
Two days ago, I got into town at about six. The trees looked beautiful, and I am still getting used to how they paved Kidd Road all the way out to the "T". After letting Murphy smell his favorite trees at my parents house, I walked across the road to my grandparents house. My uncle lives there too.
I had heard all about it. The weight-loss, the cancer, the pain, the blood. But, I hadn't seen it. Living two hours away keeps you in a terrible safety. It was hard to believe that this had all happened in two short months. Back in April everything was normal.
Grandma was so new to retirement, she'd still wake up at 6am without an alarm. And Grandpa, was shedding cattle by the day like hair on a dog. The were making plans for Alaska in the summer, and Texas in the winter. Everything was going perfect.
But that was in April. Now it's June. Now it's different.
The way you enter my grandparents house, is you open the door and say "Knock Knock". You don't actually knock. You've never seen a nicer 30 year old door, because no one's ever knocked on it. The door opens in, blocking view of the living room beyond.
What I got was my uncle Dickey. Sitting on the couch next to Grandma, he looked skinnier, sure, but he looked fine other than that.
Grandpa was sitting in his chair, and I sat on the loveseat. Immediatly Grandpa started talking about the bills, the surgery, what was going to happen. I wont go into it.
Dickey's tounge was swollen with cancer, so when he talked he did sound a little different. But not to much. It was as if he had a Boston accent. You could tell he was in pain though, and that he was nervous. It was terrible to see him and my grandparents like this.
Later that night, after Grandpa went to bed (he didn't go to sleep, he just went to bed) Grandma, Dickey and I stayed up talking. We agreed that this was terrible, and made no sense. He never smoked, he never drank, he never chewed tobacco. There was no reason for the cancer.
Grandma soon retired to bed so she could not sleep, and Dickey and I stayed up. We made each other laugh, we joked and talked about music. He gave me a little boom box cd player, that will come in handy around the apartment.
Every once in awhile, he'd stop laughing. He'd tell me again, in a new way, how he wishes he wouldn't have got this. And how he hopes I don't get it. I'd do my best to tell him that maybe it all means something, but as an agnostic it's hard to preach.
I got an erie feeling. I felt like Dickey thought, for sure, he wasn't going to make it through the surgery. Everything happened so quick. It got hard to eat, he went to the dentist, the oral surgeion, the cancer doctor, and now he's on the eve of a hospital visit with dreams of death dancing in his brain. There was nothing I could do to make him feel any better, so I just hoped for the best. He is such a good person, it wouldn't go down like that.
At 2 am we parted, I walked back to Mom and Dad's and Dickey went to bed, where, like everyone else in the house, he wasn't going to sleep.
This morning, we all met at the hospital. It was 4:30, and Grandma, Grandpa and Dickey were in the lobby. I walked in with Mom, Dad and Daniel. We all sat there, waiting.
When it was time, they came and got Dickey. He went to get ready for his surgery. Grandma and Grandpa looked like nervous wrecks, Mom too. Dad, Daniel and I tried to hold it all together. As if we had some skill to do so.
After about 40 minutes, they told us we could go see him before surgery. We went in, 3 at a time. First Grandma, Grandpa and Mom. Then Grandma, Mom and Dad. Then Grandma, me and Daniel. He looked terrified. A look I never wanna see on anyones face again. A look I hope no one ever sees on my face.
The doctor asked Dickey if he had any questions. Dickey responded, with some of the last words he'd ever speak, "No. I don't know. I've never had cancer before." I hugged him, said "Be good" and walked out with Daniel. We both had tears, but it was a long hall way back to the waiting room to get our faces on.
Now Here I am in the ICU waiting room. Through out the day the family came, and we have a big family. But now, it's just Grandma, Grandpa and Dad here. It's late, it's quiet.
I should tell you, Dickey came out of surgery after 9 hours. A good 3 hours earlier then expected. They cut his tounge out, his larynx and part of his jaw bone, but everything looked good. As if he wont have to have anything else done.
Also, they said he wouldn't be awake til' Wednesday, but he was awake and aware about an hour after surgery. That's when we went to see him. This time I was with Kim, my sister. We walked in and he was hooked up to dozens of machines. He had a stitched scar on his neck ear to ear, a tracheotomy tube on his throat, but he looked good. He looked painless. I think he was surprised and happy he was alive.
Kim and I handed him the small notebook we got, so he could write to us. The first thing he wrote, after all this surgery, after everything he went through, it wasn't "How'd it go?" or "Am I gonna be ok?". No, it was simply, "Are You Ok?". He didn't care how he was doing, it was us, the family. That's what mattered.
Dad and I went into Dickey's room a little bit ago. He was still happy, and his pain level, which he has said was a 10 out of 10 since April, was at a somber, wonderful, 3 out of 10. We flipped the TV on for him and he found Family Guy on Adult Swim. I don't remember what was happening on the show, I just remember laughing, with my dad and Dickey.
Then the nurses, who were great, came in and said that he needed to get some sleep. He had had a hell of a day. We said goodnight, and walked out. I asked Dickey if he wanted the light off, and he shook his head. I could find the switch, but then when I did the room went almost black. It was funny, it was quick. Just dark. Dickey smiled again and gave me a thumbs up.
So now here I sit. Typing on a free computer, about whats been happening. I don't think I'll be able to sit in here all night though. I just feel like I need to be in the room with him. So I am gonna go hold my uncles hand while he sleeps and be there if he needs anything.
Why? Because I know, for a fact, that if the situation was reversed, he'd be there for me. In a second. In a heartbeat.
.................................................
Dickey's cancer got better for about a year.
He visited Texas twice with my parents and grandparents.
He came to my wedding in the summer of 2010.
Two years and five months after his surgery, my uncle Dickey passed away at his home.
He is, and always will be, the best person I ever met.
Richard "Dickey" Hastie
May 23, 1965 - November 2, 2011
My uncle, my friend, my brother.
